Where The Ni-Lach

by Marcia J. Bennell

  “And now you do walk, because of him,” Poco hissed softly. “How does that excuse your betrayal?”

  “Saan Drambe says that the Ni-lach are our enemies. I—I didn’t know that—”

  “Efan!” Saan Drambe appeared, crossing the tree-shrouded campsite in long, swift strides. The boy stood up quickly, his eyes round in fear. “What did I tell you last night?” Saan Drambe hollered. Grabbing the boy by the arm, he flung him away. “Go on, go help Seen with the fire—and stay away from the prisoners!”

  As Efan scurried away, Saan Drambe came over and looked down at Dhal. “What were you saying to him?”

  “He wasn’t talking to Efan,” Poco said. “I was.”

  “Talking about what?” he snapped, turning on the girl.

  “About traitors!”

  “Traitor he is, girl, but he is my traitor and I won’t have you trying to convert him. So keep your mouth closed”—he paused and looked at Dhal—“both of you, or I’ll have your tongues out! Is that clear?”

  “We understand,” Dhal answered.

  Saan Drambe looked at him a moment longer, then signaled two of his men. “Untie them and feed them, then detail two of the men to stay in camp to keep an eye on things.”

  “Only two, Saan?”

  “Yes, we’re going to need the rest to search the cavern. It’s big and there are tunnels all over the place.”

  The other man looked down at Dhal. “Can’t you make him tell you where the treasure is?”

  “To be truthful, I don’t believe he knows. According to Efan, the Green One has only seen this Tamorlee in his dreams.”

  “He’s never been here before?”

  “So he claims.”

  “How did he find this place then?”

  “How do the Ni-lach do anything, Vetch? That may be one of the things we learn when we locate this Tamorlee.”

  After Saan Drambe left, Poco and Dhal were untied. While Vetch left to get them something to eat, Poco leaned over, ignoring the other guard, and kissed Dhal on the lips. “Something I’ve been thinking about,” she answered, drawing back. “Thought I might not have another chance.” Tears began to well in her eyes.

  When he saw the tears spill over, Dhal drew her close and held her, thankful that the guard did not interfere. “You haven’t forgotten Ssaal-lr, have you? Or Gi?” he asked softly.

  “You think they can help us?”

  “They’ll try, you know they will.”

  “But against so many.”

  “Still they’ll try, and we must be ready when they do. Understand?”

  Poco nodded. “Dhal—I’m sorry about Haradan. He—he was so good to me. If only—”

  “I know. I know. Please, don’t talk about it right now.”

  A few minutes later Poco moved in his arms. “Dhal,” she whispered. “You said that you didn’t find anything in the cave yesterday. Do you think there is anything to find?”

  “I don’t know, Poco. It looks so much like the Val-hrodhur I visited, but it couldn’t be the same place. The stairway, the cave, the building, none of it has been used for years.”

  “Or made to look that way.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “But if it’s only made to look that way, why do I feel such emptiness here?”

  “Dhal, about Efan—”

  “What about him?” he asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

  “I think he regrets what he did.”

  “Regret isn’t going to help us, nor will finding the treasure— even if there happens to be one.”

  “You think Saan Drambe means to kill us, no matter what?”

  “Yes, and if Efan isn’t careful he may just find himself included on the list. A man like Cerl sar Drambe uses others, then, when they are no longer useful, he gets rid of them. The dead don’t talk or demand rewards for their service.”

  After three days of searching the cavern tunnels, Saan Drambe’s men had found nothing, and many were ready to give up. They had been twenty, now they were fourteen. One man Dhal had killed the day of the chase; two men had been lost in the tunnels; two had disappeared from camp; and the sixth man had died in a fall off the cliff when a slab of rock had given way beneath him.

  After losing two men from camp, Saan Drambe had ordered all of the packs and equipment brought up into the cavern where they could be guarded more closely. He kept Efan with him at all times, as if he did not trust the boy.

  Poco nudged Dhal with the toe of her draak-hide shoe. He caught her eye as she nodded toward the two guards. One had fallen asleep and the other was engrossed in a game of One Man, the soft slap of one card atop another running competition with the crackle of the fire.

  Softly Poco spoke to Dhal. “Do you think Screech is responsible for the missing men?”

  “The two camp guards, yes,” he whispered back.

  “Will he be able to find us here?”

  “Gi will find me. Screech will follow.”

  “How soon?”

  The card-playing guard looked up for a moment, then returned to his game.

  Relieved to have escaped his notice, Dhal turned and saw a strange look cross Poco’s face. Her eyes were wide in surprise, then suddenly she smiled. She started to turn her head to the side, then stopped herself. She looked at Dhal and mouthed a few words, but he did not understand.

  Suddenly something moved near her shoulder. A small, furred head appeared, two large, golden eyes glinting in the firelight. Gi!

  Dhal peered into the darkness beyond the firelight, searching for darker shadows in the gloom, but there was no sign of Ssaal-lr.

  Poco was sitting up straight now, giving Gi room to move around behind her. Dhal was not sure Gi’s small fingers would be strong enough to untie the cording that the guards had used, but what he could not accomplish with his fingers, he could finish with his teeth.

  Five minutes passed. Suddenly Poco’s arms moved outward slightly. She nodded. Her hands were free. Now her feet.

  Readjusting her position without moving her arms, she brought her legs around to the right. A moment later Dhal saw Gi lying next to her legs, working on the rope at her ankles.

  He looked away, afraid of drawing attention to Gi and Poco by staring. He watched the guard play his cards. At the same time he kept his eyes on the cavern darkness beyond. Where are you, Screech? he thought.

  Then he noticed the twin flares of light that appeared on the other side of the cavern. Dhal glanced at Poco. Was she free? Her eyes were on the approaching Sarissa.

  The man who was playing cards looked up, then quickly turned and hissed at his friend. The second man woke and by the time the others arrived, he was up and adding sticks to the fire. Two of the four who came carried torches. One of them addressed the guards. “Everything all right here?”

  “Tomb quiet,” the card player replied. “Find anything yet?”

  “Yes, that’s why we came back. Saan Drambe wants us to bring the Ni to a chamber we’ve found. There’s something carved on the floor. He thinks the Green One can decipher it.”

  “Can doesn’t mean will,” the card player said, glancing at Dhal.

  “He’ll do it if he wants to live,” the other replied, moving over to Dhal. “Come on, Green One, you’re wanted.”

  As the man bent to untie the ropes at Dhal’s ankles, Dhal cast a quick glance at Poco. He did not see Gi-arobi. Dhal’s heartbeat quickened as the card player started toward Poco. “Want the woman too?”

  “No, just the Ni.” Dhal was hauled to his feet.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Depends on him,” the man replied, nodding at Dhal.

  The guards took Dhal’s arms and steered him across the cavem floor. He wanted to look back but did not, fearing any show of concern for Poco might alert the guard and cause him to check her bonds.

  As they entered the tunnel beyond the cavern, Dhal consoled himself with the knowledge that Poco would not do anything foolish. She was free, but she was wise
enough to play the docile prisoner until Ssaal-lr made his move. The derkat was out there in the cavern somewhere—he had to be. Save her, Screech, Dhal thought silently. She’s your responsibility now.

  They turned into another tunnel, and Dhal was filled with a heavy foreboding, a feeling that he would never again see his friends. Death thought? If true, he thought, then let it be my death, not theirs.

  Dhal recognized the chamber as soon as they entered. There were the large columns, the intricately laid stone floor, and the carved circle. Above he saw the oval opening wherein the Tamorlee should have rested. Knowing that no two places could possibly be so much alike, he felt a chill sweep through him. This was Val-hrodhur! There was no mistake. But where was the Tamorlee? Where the Ni-lach? Had his earlier visits somehow warned them of the coming invasion into their home? How long had it taken them to move the Tamorlee, to make everything look so long abandoned?

  Suddenly his thoughts turned to Saan Drambe’s missing men. Perhaps Ssaal-lr was not responsible for their disappearance. But if the Ni-lach were there somewhere, why were they still hiding? Surely they must outnumber the Sarissa.

  “Bring him over here,” Saan Drambe ordered, motioning with his hand.

  As Dhal was pushed forward, he saw Efan standing behind Saan Drambe. For a moment their eyes met. Traitor, Dhal thought silently, because of you Haradan is dead!

  He looked around at the faces of the Sarissa. Not counting Efan or Saan Drambe, they were six. Two were guarding Poco, so five men were unaccounted for. Probably still searching other tunnels, Dhal thought as he was brought to the edge of the stone relief.

  “Tell us what this is,” Saan Drambe said, pointing down at the stone.

  Dhal kept his eyes on Saan Drambe as he answered. “It is what you see—a stone carving.”

  “You are in no position to play games, Green One. Tell me what the symbols mean!”

  The grip on Dhal’s arms tightened. “Answer!” the man to his right growled softly.

  Dhal shook his head. “I don’t know what they mean.”

  The grip on his arms became painful. Something hit the back of his legs, throwing him forward onto his knees. Dhal felt an arm wrap around his neck. The sudden pressure at his throat made it impossible to breathe. He clawed at the arm but could not break free.

  Dhal gasped for air. He was close to losing consciousness when Saan Drambe ordered him released. “The symbols, Green One,” Saan Drambe pressed. “Tell me what they mean.”

  Breathing deeply, Dhal doubled over, his hands coming to rest on the stone circle. Realizing that Saan Drambe would not accept the truth, he lied, interpreting the symbols in his own way. “The circle means life. The suns represent growth and harmony.”

  “And those lines near your hand?” Saan Drambe demanded.

  “Water and flame, symbols of power. The others, those around the inner circle are swords, death omen to any who stand against the Ni-lach.”

  “And the hand in the center? What does that mean?”

  Dhal knew that in the ring world the touching of a real hand to the stone had caused some link with the Tamorlee, but here there was no Tamorlee. Saan Drambe was waiting for an answer. Dhal said the first thing that came to mind. “This is a prayer circle. When one comes here to pray, he sits within the pattern and places his hand so.” Reaching out, he started to set his hand in the stone depression.

  “Stop him!” Saan Drambe snapped.

  Hands grabbed Dhal, pulling him away from the stone circle. “I don’t trust you, Green One,” Saan Drambe said, moving into the circle. “Efan, come here. Put your hand on the stone. Let’s see if anything happens.”

  “Please, Saan, I don’t want to—”

  “Get over here! Now!”

  The boy slunk to the center of the stone pattern and knelt, his fear of Saan Drambe outweighing his fear of the unknown. Dhal began to understand the power of Saan Drambe’s hold over the boy and he wondered what the man had done to Efan to make him so afraid.

  Gingerly Efan placed his hand on top of the stone hand. Seconds passed. The chamber was silent but for the sound of breathing. When nothing happened, Saan Drambe snapped at the boy. “Well, do you feel anything?”

  “No,” Efan answered without looking up.

  Saan Drambe looked at Dhal. “Finish what you were going to say.”

  “Here it is quiet,” Dhal said. “The touch of cool stone helps one concentrate.”

  “Why do I feel that you are lying, Green One?” Saan Drambe nodded to the two men who held Dhal. “Take him back to the cavern. There is no more to be learned here.”

  The guards’ fire should have been visible from the tunnel exit, but the cavern was dark except for the torches carried by Saan Drambe’s men. As they crossed the cavern floor, Dhal heard Saan Drambe grumble. “Damn fools, if they’re asleep, I’ll have their hearts!”

  “We haven’t been gone that long, Saan,” another man said. “It’s been no longer than twenty minutes.”

  “Are you saying you think something is wrong, Dafon?”

  “It could be a trap, Saan. We’ve lost six men already. I would recommend that we approach carefully.” At Dafon’s words, the pace slowed. Dhal heard the sound of blades being drawn and saw the flicker of light on metal.

  “Anyone see the fire?” one of the men asked.

  “Should be straight ahead,” Dafon answered. “I smell smoke.”

  The smell became more pungent as they neared the other side of the cavern. It was overlaid by another odor, the stink of burned flesh. Praying it was foe and not friend who had fallen into the fire, Dhal watched as Cerl sar Drambe waved two of the men ahead. Each with a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other, the two Sarissa guards moved forward, stalking the camp.

  Saan Drambe turned and looked at the rest of his men. “We’ll follow them. Keep your eyes open.”

  The grip on Dhal’s arm tightened as they continued on toward the camp. When they were within a hundred running paces of the camp, the two advance guards raised their torches and beckoned them in. Hurrying, Saan Drambe barked at his men to follow.

  The camp was empty, the guards and prisoner gone. The fire had been deliberately doused with water. There were signs of a struggle, packs and blankets thrown about and the extra firewood scattered.

  “Something here, Saan,” one of the men said, putting his torch down to the cavern floor.

  Saan Drambe knelt before a large, dark puddle a step or two away from the still-smoldering fire. He dipped his fingertips into the wetness, then brought his hand toward the torchlight. The wetness was dark in color. Saan Drambe sniffed at his fingers, then slowly rose. “Blood,” he said softly.

  For several moments Cerl sar Drambe stood looking down at his hand, then suddenly he whirled around and struck out. Dhal never saw the fist that sent him to the cavern floor. The guard to his right fell with him.

  Before Dhal knew what was happening, he felt Saan Drambe land on top of him, crushing Dhal’s arms, which were caught behind him.

  Saan Drambe’s hand closed round his throat. “You!” he roared. “This is your doing! They’re out there, aren’t they? The Ni-lach! They’re hiding—waiting for us! They’ve taken my men and killed them!” Voice rising to scream pitch, Saan Drambe drew his knife.“Green slime! We were right to slaughter your kind!”

  Suddenly Efan was there, grabbing at Saan Drambe’s arm and pulling it back. “No!” he yelled. “You promised you wouldn’t kill him!”

  “Get him away from me!” Saan Drambe bellowed.

  “Someone, help me!” Efan cried. “Stop him! No! No, let me go!” The boy struggled.

  As several of the guards pulled Efan back, the hand at Dhal’s throat loosened. Then he saw the knife. It arced up and out, then Saan Drambe drove it into Dhal’s side. A triumphant laugh overtopped his cry.

  While part of Dhal’s body cringed from the pain, that part of him that was Healer rose quickly to the surface, muffling the pain and seeking out the wound.

>   A hand smashed across his mouth. “Feel it, Green One! You can’t heal yourself as fast as I can cut you apart! Don’t even try!” The hand slapped across his face again and again, breaking his concentration. Then Saan Drambe gripped his knife and turned it in the wound.

  The shock of pain was so great that Dhal could not even scream. Saan Drambe laughed aloud and turned the knife again. Gasping for breath, Dhal tried to pull away from the pain but the knife stayed buried in his side.

  Pain… no. Must concentrate. Breathe… shallow… pain… no…concentrate. Cutting the mind from the body was no simple task. Dhal tried—and failed. The pain was too great. The knife was pulled free, then he felt the warm gush of blood wetting his tunic and side.

  An open hand smashed across his face again. “Open your eyes, damn you! Death awaits! Look at it!” The knife was held before his eyes, then against his lips. “Taste it! We may not make it out of here alive, but neither shall you! You can keep your damned Tamorlee! I am beginning to doubt it ever existed! I was a fool to even consider it! But I am a fool no longer. You are—”

  “Saan!” a guard cried. “Someone’s coming. I think it’s one of our men!”

  Dhal saw the flicker of indecision on Saan Drambe’s face. Then, as if coming out of a dream, Saan Drambe lifted his head. “Is it one of ours?”

  “Yes, Saan.”

  The runner arrived a few seconds later, babbling in excitement. They had found the Tamorlee! Everyone started talking at once.

  Dhal felt Saan Drambe’s weight lift from his body and he knew that he had been forgotten in all the excitement. Ignoring the voices above him, he closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward, summoning his diminished reserves of energy to heal the still-bleeding wound in his side. He willed the severed blood vessels to touch and reseal themselves, then began work on the torn tissue and muscle. One by one, he repaired the slashed muscles until at last he reached the outer layers of skin. By the time he had sealed the last layer of flesh, he was shuddering with exhaustion.

  Carefully he drew in a deep breath. The pain was gone; the healing was complete. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find Saan Drambe still talking with the guard who had announced the finding of the Tamorlee. It seemed as if no time had elapsed since he had gone into his healing trance.