The general hauled Elspeth outside, then pushed her towards another tent. She could see the camp sprawling along the base of the large cavern. There must be five or six hundred Kel’madden – only a tiny portion of her force. They looked organised. Rack upon rack of weapons lined one side of the cavern. Water barrels and salt sacks, piled four high, stood in one corner, while heaps of linen – probably tents – made high piles in the other. A staging post; that’s what it looked like. Not that Elspeth had seen one before, but she had heard the stories – yes, the witch’s forward staging post.
The general dragged her across a narrow stream and pushed her headfirst into a dark tent. Elspeth fell on the floor. She yelped as the coarse rock grated her elbow and shoulder. The general followed. She could hardly see; only the light from one of the camp fires filtered in through the open flap. The general put the worm jar on a table, then looked at her. A cruel smile blossomed across his face.
“You back yourself up into that corner, girl, and you don’t move until I come fetch you. Do you understand me?” Elspeth nodded. “I can kill you if you try to escape. Believe me, I’d like nothing better. But my mistress wants answers, and you will give them to her. Remember, the second you are of no use…”
The general made a gesture like a knife cutting at his throat. Elspeth didn’t need to see the show; his words were enough. She watched as the big man turned. He paused for a second to give orders to the guard standing by the door, and then he was gone.
Elspeth laid her head down on the ground. “Oh, Gialyn, where are you?” A tear trickled down her cheek and she sniffed. “No, I’m not going to cry. They are out there, they will do something.” She pulled her knees up and tried to find comfort. “Gods, I hope they do something.”
CHAPTER 26
Of All People
Despite the dark, Gialyn had run as fast as he could. More than once, he had collided with a wall or jutting rock, but that hadn’t slowed him down. He didn’t care about the pain in his knee or the bruise that would soon form on his shoulder. All he had cared about was getting back to the others so they could help him rescue Elspeth.
His mind had raced with evermore outlandish ideas on how they might free her from the Kel’madden. But nothing that made any sense had come of it; how could the five of them attack a force of hundreds any better than one man alone? That hadn’t stopped him thinking, though. Maybe go back, find the crazy old man, and ask for his help. Maybe one of the others knew of a secret, never-before-discussed, way through the tunnels that they could use to sneak up right beside Elspeth and pull her out of there. Each thought was more foolish than the last. A miracle… that is what he needed. But still, he ran.
Fran caught him by the shoulder. “You must slow down, Master Gialyn. You’ll be rescuing nobody with your leg broke.”
Gialyn pulled up sharp and leaned against the tunnel wall. He could hardly breathe. He didn’t know if it was tiredness or panic. His vision was blurred, his legs ached and his lungs felt as if a fire burned within them. “But… I… We must save her, Fran.”
Fran gripped his shoulder tighter. “You have the heart of a bull, boy, no doubt of that, but a bull facing a nest of vipers will lose every time. You need the mind of a crecotta.”
“A what?” Gialyn asked, as they continued at a fast walk along the tunnel.
“The crecotta are small cats. They hunt by hiding in the shadows and mimicking the call of birds and other small animals. Crecotta never go hungry.” Fran sighed. He looked upset but resolute. “There will be a way to save her, Gialyn, but rushing in is not the answer. You will be stung by the vipers, and Elspeth will be lost.”
Gialyn knew the little man was right. A spark of hope fluttered in the darkness, then faded. “Wildlife lessons are all very good, but what are we going to do? Gods, we don’t have a plan, and there isn’t enough time to go for help. They could leave at any moment, taking Elspeth with them, or just… just, kill her. You shouldn’t have killed those men; they will take it out on her.”
Gialyn felt a surge of anger. If they did kill… If Fran… Gods, stop thinking about that. He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to her.
“If I had not, we would be prisoners, too.”
Again, Gialyn knew Fran was right, but if they had surrendered, at least he would be with Elspeth, instead of leaving her alone. She must be scared. That thought made Gialyn feel sick to his stomach. I have to save her!
* * *
It felt like hours before they finally made it back to the others, although it was probably less than one. Gialyn couldn’t speak at first. He stood silent, wondering what to say while Olg and Bre’ach peered into the darkness behind him.
“Where is she?” They both asked, almost in unison.
Gialyn tried to open his mouth and tell them what had happened, but he couldn’t. It was as if admitting it made it all the more real.
“She’s captured,” Fran said.
Gialyn watched as the three gazed at one another.
“Who? Who has captured her?” Bre’ach asked.
“The witch, of course,” Gialyn said, in a none-too-pleasant tone. Who does he think took her? No, it’s not his fault; calm down.
“How long?” Bre’ach asked. He struggled to his feet and pulled his pack closer. “How long, Gialyn? Where are they?” The fool stood tall and stuck out his chest. As if he was going to rescue her from Gialyn’s blunder, single-handed – like he could make it there without leaning on Olg.
“They are in a cavern, maybe an hour along the tunnel, but it’s no use, Bre’ach; there are at least five hundred of them. We barely made it out alive. Fran had to kill two of them.”
Fran gazed at the floor, and Bre’ach rolled his eyes. “Well, there goes any chance at barter; not that I think the witch would be interested. I hope they don’t take it out on her.” Bre’ach sat on his pack and gazed into the darkness.
“We need a plan,” Gialyn said. “Something clever, that doesn’t involve getting ourselves killed.”
“That’s bleeding obvious,” Lud said. “I say we go find the old man; let his bugs deal with them.”
Gialyn nodded; he had thought of that, too. It seemed the best idea, but it meant travelling all the way back, and there was no guarantee that Tamson would help, even if they did find him. Gialyn thought he might help, if only for Elspeth’s sake; the old man had seemed to like her, but who’s to say what the crazy man thought? He was odd, to say the least.
“The beast,” Bre’ach said, still staring at nothing.
“Who?” Fran asked.
Bre’ach looked up at Gialyn. “You said, uh… Olam, is it? And the beast – that Arfael, character – travelled to Bren’alor Valley. That’s only a few hours west of the tunnel entrance; we can count on their help.”
“You’re not marching anywhere,” Fran told him. “You can barely stand. And how do you think they will react when a group of Salrians come marching into their valley? They will run us off without as much as a ‘who goes there?’ That’s what they’ll do. Do you want a pitchfork in your backside?”
Bre’ach growled. “I know all that, Fran; do you think me a fool? It’s still our best chance of finding help. If anyone can get her out, the beast can.”
“Maybe so,” Gialyn said, “but Arfael won’t be able to get to the cavern. Not unless we can find a different route. Even I had to squeeze through some of the tunnels; there’s no way that Arfael will get through.”
“I don’t think the witch will kill her,” Bre’ach said. “At least not until Elspeth has been interrogated. We could wait outside for her to exit the tunnel, or find another way in. Whichever way we go, we need help. I can’t believe I’m considering it, but Olam and Arfael are our best choice.” Bre’ach shuddered. He must have been remembering the last time he came up against Arfael.
Gialyn didn’t like it. Not that he was against finding Olam and Arfael, but five or six hours! And that was only once they figured a way out of the tunnels. He had
to admit, though, it was a better plan than anything he had come up with. “So we go to Bren’alor, but what about you? You can’t come. If Arfael sees you, he will likely kill you on sight.”
“We will worry about that later. I will… wait outside… or something, until you have explained the situation. Besides, I doubt he will give me a second thought, once he knows Elspeth is in danger. The way she talks about him, I imagine they are very close.”
Gialyn suppressed a pang of jealously. It was ridiculous, being jealous of Arfael – he wasn’t even human. And it was hardly the time for such feelings. “If I know Olam, he’ll come up with a plan,” Gialyn admitted. Surely, Elspeth didn’t think of Arfael in that way. Or did she? No, it would be wrong! “And maybe there are others there who can help.”
He was thinking about the dragons, but best not to say that in front of the others. A few dragons could rescue her.
“Then we make for Bren’alor,” Bre’ach said, getting back to his feet. “Will you lead the way, Fran? You’ve already been down there once.” Bre’ach nodded towards the other tunnel.
Fran was busy changing the candle in Lud’s small lamp. “I was a good mile or so down the tunnel last time. I don’t think the entrance is much further; I’m sure I could hear the stream echoing loudly. It’s either the cave mouth or another cavern. Whichever it is, the path is good, it won’t take us long, I’m sure of it.”
“Then stop your blabbering and get on with it,” Lud said.
Fran murmured something inaudible to Lud, then lit the candle and started down the other tunnel. Gialyn followed.
“And who the hell is this bloody beast you are all talking about?” Fran asked Bre’ach.
“You’ll find out,” Bre’ach said. Gialyn thought he saw him shudder again. “Just behave yourself when you see him.”
Lud snorted a laugh. “Behave myself? Boy, I’m a picture of good manners when it comes to meeting folk. You ask anyone.”
Bre’ach sniggered, and Olg said, “You have the manners of a river rat, Lud. No, don’t try denying it. It’s a wonder your wife can put up with you.”
Olg grinned at Gialyn and Fran laughed.
Lud opened his mouth but said nothing.
The path did indeed open up after twenty paces or so. It was much wider now, and round – perfectly round – and much bigger than any of the other tunnels had been. Gialyn heard the stream; it ran down the centre of the tunnel, echoing against the high ceiling and smooth walls. “This must be the stream the old man mentioned,” he mumbled, but nobody answered. They had followed it for nearly an hour before the tunnel narrowed. Well, it did not “narrow” exactly – it dipped off to the right and flattened out. Not a circle anymore, more of egg shape. But it was still plenty high enough for them to walk through. After another fifteen minutes, the floor fell away. Gialyn could not see the bottom of the chasm, but the echo of their footsteps said it was deep.
“Now what do we do?” Lud asked, staring down the hole. “There’s no crossing that.”
Gialyn’s heart sank. All that time wasted; they should have gone back to the old man. Elspeth was surely lost now.
Fran let out a hoot. “There’s another tunnel, look, over there.”
Gialyn began running towards the other tunnel before Fran had stopped speaking. This had to be the way. He couldn’t wait to find out; dark or not, he headed through the small opening.
He heard the calls of Fran and Olg coming from behind but ignored them. He could see light. This was it! It must be! Excited, he squeezed his way through the last few feet of narrow tunnel.
Then he froze.
Three feet in front of him was the head of a huge animal, its eyes staring directly at him. The beast curled its lip and hissed. A forked tongue flicked from between enormous teeth. Gialyn was about to turn and run – the beast wouldn’t be able to follow them through the narrow tunnel – when he heard a loud voice shout up from below.
“You! What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Gialyn could not believe his eyes. He ignored the dragon and stared down into a large cavern where four people stood gawping up at him: Arfael, Olam, Ealian and… and a young girl he had not seen before.
“Gods, am I glad to see you.” He choked out the words, hardly believing his eyes. His prayer had been answered; this was his miracle, it had to be. He looked at the dragon, who was now sitting with one eyebrow raised, gazing at him with a puzzled expression – like a dog, wondering where you had thrown its toy.
Hold on Elspeth, just hold on for a few hours. We are coming to get you.
CHAPTER 27
To The Gate
Daric walked over to Faelen’s wagon. “Anything interesting?” he asked Si’eth.
“Mostly fancies,” the Salrian answered, lifting his head out of a wide wooden chest. “Silk sheets, a porcelain chamber pot, and a padded chair, of all things.” He lifted the chair so Daric could see the plush cushioning. “The tent is good, but it has a crest on it. There’s some fancy food in those crates, but I wouldn’t feed it to my dog. We can’t even use the wagon; it’s got a High Council sigel on the back.”
Daric walked to the back of the wagon and looked at the shield-shaped sigel.
“Do you know whose it is?” Si’eth asked him.
The sigil, fastened to the back door of the half-covered wagon, was of a bull’s head on a gold background. “I think this is Lord Breen’s; his family made his money from cattle. Break it off and put it in the wagon. We’ll use this to take Paiden to Redgate; it’ll keep him dry if it rains again.” Daric kicked the wheel and testing the canopy rings. “Take out everything we can’t use. We’ll transport the prisoners in this, too.”
Si’eth frowned.
“What is it?”
“You should have killed them; they’ll only hang for treason; now we have to waste time guarding them. We don’t have enough men.”
Daric laughed. “So, it’s ‘we’ now is it? I’m glad you’re thinking that way. Now if only we can get the rest of Moyathair to think like that.”
Daric folded his arms and looked over his shoulder at the barn, where two of his guardsmen were watching the prisoners. “They don’t seem to hold much loyalty. The young one said they threatened his family; told him if he didn’t follow orders… No, better if we deliver them to the Redgate magistrate; they may yet prove useful.”
“‘Useful?’ What use is there for a few traitors?”
“We know there are powerful men involved, Si’eth, but I doubt the magistrate will take our word for it. If we can persuade the prisoners to talk, he might issue warrants for Faelen and the other one, whoever he is.”
“This… Lord Breen?” Si’eth asked. “Is he a traitor, too?”
“All we know is a wagon belonging to him was used by a traitor… but yes, I suspect he is. After all, he is a patron of the Black Hand, although he has never admitted to it publicly. Unfortunately, being a patron doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what Faelen has been up to.”
“Didn’t Ialin say he saw him?”
“He saw someone, maybe an aide. It wasn’t Breen. If his lordship were this far west, he’d have a couple of hundred guards with him. And they wouldn’t be badly trained amateurs.”
“So it’s Redgate first; then what? Do we go to Bailryn knowing what awaits us? Shouldn’t we find more allies?”
“That’s why we’re going to Bailryn. I get your point, though, and I’ve already given it some thought. We’ll cut across country and come in from the Townhill Road. If they’re expecting us, they will be at the northwest gate, hopefully.”
“Hopefully…? You put a lot on hope, Daric.”
“Well, we have no choice, my friend. We deal with what’s in front of us the best we can.”
An hour had passed before the wagon was ready. Mrs. Wild complained bitterly about being “dragged along,” but Daric wasn’t about to leave her and her three daughters behind. “A few days, until we are sure it’s safe,” is what Daric told her
, which made absolutely no difference to the woman whatsoever. In the end, two guardsmen had to force her into the seat at the front of the wagon, next to Si’eth.
She was none too pleased about that, either. Apparently, her husband, Etan, was an old soldier, and had fought against the Salrians. But Daric didn’t care; in fact, he defended Si’eth against her barrage of insults. That was something he never thought he’d do: defend the honour of a Salrian. And yet, Si’eth had proven himself more than once. Now, Daric considered him a friend; a good friend.
After a fitful half hour securing prisoners and organising horses, they finally got underway. They had a good three hours of daylight left; more than enough time to reach Redgate, Daric hoped.
The rain had stopped and the sky had cleared somewhat, but it was still dull, and there were dark clouds to both the north and south. The track from the farm to the main road was steep. The horses struggled up the hill while Mrs. Wild moaned that her chickens needed feeding. Tied to the back of the wagon were two lines of horses – those belonging to the Black Hand, and Paiden’s, of course. There were more horses running around the fields south of the farm, but Daric had no time to round up runaways. The locals would probably gather them up; he didn’t think Faelen’s men would come back for them.
They made quite a procession. Four of the guardsmen flanked the wagon. Mrs. Wild’s daughters followed. Their mother refused to allow them to sit in the wagon with the prisoners, and Daric had conceded. The three girls, even the little one, rode their own horses. The eldest, Rebecca, led Mrs. Wild’s horse. Daric didn’t trust the woman to ride; she would have turned back at the first opportunity.
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