‘What?’ came the question from above.
‘I’ve got a small problem.’
‘What?’ asked Marcus, looking down.
‘I’ve let my feet get above my shoulders. I can’t lower my feet, and I can’t get enough push to get my shoulders higher.’
‘Don’t move,’ shouted the elfling. ‘I’m almost at the top!’
Nicholas knew that once Calis was up there he could lower the rope and pull him up. All he had to do was hold tight.
Seconds slowed and passed before Nicholas’s mind’s eye like a parade of snails upon the garden path. He forced himself to look at the unforgiving rock face opposite him, for he knew that if he looked down he might fall.
He felt panic start to rise, and his left foot now throbbed as badly as when it had been injured back at Crydee. He wanted to flex his calf to remove some of the discomfort, but couldn’t without slipping. He closed his eyes and turned his mind to Abigail.
He remembered sitting in the garden with her, that last night, and he remembered the swell of her bosom against the gown she wore, the ringlets of her hair, golden with highlights from the torches on the wall. She smelled of summer blossoms and spice, and her eyes had been enormous pools of blue. He relived the moment of their first kiss and could feel her full lips upon his. He had to get to the top of the cliff, he told himself. If he ever hoped to see Abigail again, he must not let himself fall.
Suddenly he felt something slap him in the face as a voice shouted, ‘Tie it around your waist!’
Nicholas opened his eyes to see a rope before him and he reached for it with his left hand. He pulled; more line was fed out to him, and he snaked it around his waist. Pushing his shoulders hard against the rocks, ignoring the pain of torn skin and burning muscles, he reached below and found the rope with his right hand. He pulled it up and around and awkwardly tied it about his middle. ‘I don’t know if it will hold.’
‘It’s not far. Just grip tight with both hands.’
He gripped the rope with his right hand and shouted, ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ came the answer.
He let go with his left hand, grabbing the rope as his feet lost purchase on the opposite wall. Suddenly he was hanging from the rope, twisting as he felt it slip around his waist. He swung into the rocks, bruising his face. The rope seemed to hold, and he shouted, ‘Pull!’
Faster than he had thought possible, he rose, scraping every exposed inch of skin on unyielding rock. Then he was at the rim of the cliff, and saw two large brown eyes staring down at him.
The goat gave a surprised bleat and scampered away as Nicholas was dragged up and over the edge of the cliff. He let himself be pulled away from the brink, rolled over on his back, and stared at the blue sky. Then he tried to sit up. Every muscle in his stomach and back clenched in spasm and he cried out in pain.
‘Don’t move,’ cautioned Marcus. ‘Just lie there and rest.’
Nicholas turned his head and saw Calis standing a short distance away, putting down the rope. ‘He pulled me up by himself?’
Marcus nodded. ‘He’s a lot stronger than I thought.
Calis said, ‘I have unusual parents.’ Without further comment, he took Marcus’s rope and tied it to the end of his own with a strong knot. He ran it out and re-coiled it until he had inspected each foot for possible frays and damage. Judging it suitable for the task, he said, ‘I need the other.’
Marcus helped Nicholas sit up, and while every muscle in his body was agony, he could move. He let Marcus pull the rope off his shoulder, and looked around. They were in a small glade with tough grass growing below odd-looking trees, with bark that grew upward in points like a ring of blades, from the base to the top, some twenty feet or more above their heads. There large broad green leaves grew like giant fans, providing shade. A murmur of water nearby announced the presence of a small spring, and near the edge he saw a small band of goats, including the one who had greeted his arrival.
Calis went to the edge and shouted down, ‘Can you hear me?’
A faint response indicated they could, though Nicholas couldn’t understand the words. He motioned for Marcus to help him to his feet, and when he was standing he said, ‘I’m glad that’s behind us.’
Marcus smiled, the first open expression other than hostility Nicholas had ever seen in him. ‘I’m glad you were behind me,’ he said, extending his hand.
Nicholas shook it. ‘I’d say it was my pleasure, but I’d be lying.’ He stretched his shoulders and commented, ‘I don’t think there’s an inch of me that doesn’t hurt.’
Marcus nodded. ‘I know.’
‘How high did we climb?’
Marcus said, ‘Less than three hundred feet, I judge.’
‘I thought it was a couple of miles.’
‘I know the feeling,’ said Marcus.
Calis stood with his feet planted in the ground and said, ‘I could use some help.’
Marcus said to Nicholas, ‘You rest,’ and went to hold the rope with Calis.
After less than five minutes, Brisa’s head appeared above the edge of the rim, and she clambered over. She rose and dusted herself off and smiled at Marcus. ‘I’ve done a lot of climbing in my day. Made sense for me to come up first. Ghuda’s next.’
Nicholas hobbled up to stand behind Marcus, and he took a grip on the rope. Even though there were now three others beside him, the little effort he could expend to assist them caused his shoulders and legs to cramp. But he was determined to help, and after a few minutes, Ghuda appeared.
The large mercenary pulled himself over the edge and stood up at once. he looked at Calis and said, ‘I’ll spell you.’ He took the elfling’s place at the head of the rope and planted his feet. ‘If we had another hundred feet of rope, we could wrap it around that date palm.’
‘Is that what it is?’ said Nicholas, grunting with exertion.
‘Yes. I’ll show you how to climb one if you’d like. Should be dates up there we can eat. It may be fall at home, but it’s spring here.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be wishing to climb anymore today,’ Nicholas answered as a sailor climbed over the edge of the cliff. As the sailor got to his feet, Calis said, ‘Lend a hand.’
Saying nothing, the sailor came to where Nicholas was and took his place on the rope. Nicholas stumbled to the edge of the pool and knelt, his entire body protesting. He drank deeply. He pulled himself upright and took a deep breath, then looked up. Suddenly the sky turned above him and he fell into a black pit.
Nicholas regained consciousness in the dark. He saw Harry’s face above him, illuminated by firelight. ‘How long?’ he asked.
‘You passed out a couple of hours ago. Ghuda said to just let you rest.’
Nicholas sat up and found he was still light-headed and bruised from head to toe, but he didn’t have the horrible cramps that had seized him after letting go of the rope.
‘Harry helped him to his feet. Nicholas looked around and saw that a fire had been built in the center of the clearing. Men sat around eating quietly. ‘Is everyone up here?’ asked Nicholas.
Amos came and said, ‘All who are going to come.’
Nicholas counted and found only forty-six in the clearing. ‘Another eleven?’
‘Six were too ill to climb,’ said Amos bitterly. And the rope parted as the other five were climbing. Night was coming, and they panicked and didn’t wait long enough to let the men before them get up the rope. It could hold three, but not five.’
Harry said, ‘Calis and Ghusa lowered the rope as far as they could and I climbed up with the broken part and fastened it with a good knot and I climbed up. I was the last that came.’
Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps we can lower some food.’
Ghuda said, ‘Come with me.’
Nicholas glanced at Amos, who nodded. Calis approached and the three walked through a small screen of tough grass, and then into another opening. Nicholas halted.
Before them the grass stretched out a few doz
en paces, then, beyond that, sand. Under the moonlight, sand stretched away as far as the eye could see. Calis said, ‘The men below are dead. ‘You must accept that. We will need all the food and water we can carry.’
‘How far?’ asked Nicholas.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Ghuda. I saw it just after the sun set, before it got really dark, but my guess is a three-or four-day crossing. We can hope to find another oasis out there.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Ghuda.
‘What?’ asked Nicholas.
It was Ghuda who answered. ‘Those goats. Someone left them here. There was a glyph tattooed into the ear of the older ones. The young ones did not have it.’ He stroked his grey beard. ‘I’ve traveled the Jal-Pur. If the desert men leave animals at the oasis, it’s because a particular tribe claims that water. Other tribes leave them alone. It can cause blood feud to take another tribe’s water without its permission.’
Nicholas said, ‘You think someone is coming here?’
‘Sooner or later,’ said the mercenary. ‘I don’t know if there are smugglers using the cliffs or if these are just wanderers who don’t like strangers, or why they’d have a herd out here at the edge of the world, but I can promise they’ll not look happily on our having butchered their entire herd. They won’t leave them here long untended, as goats would strip this oasis of every plant in less than a year. That little herd was someone’s food reserve, and they won’t be thrilled by our eating their stores.’
‘And we’ve two swords, a bow and quiver of arrows, and two dozen daggers and knives among forty-six of us,’ pointed out Calis.
‘Not much of an army,’ agreed Nicholas. ‘How are our food and water?’
‘We have enough dates, goat meat, and water to last five days if we’re careful,’ said Ghuda.
Recalling some desert lore he had heard as a child, Nicholas said, ‘Should we move at night?’
Ghuda said, ‘Given our health, that’s best. I’ll show everyone the proper way to rest during the day, and we’ll move at night.’
Nicholas nodded. ‘Then we’ll spend tonight and tomorrow regaining our strength. We’ll start at sundown tomorrow.’
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN •
Bandits
THE WINDS CAME.
Nicholas lay on the ground dozing, a stick held in the crook of his arm, propping up a makeshift shelter above him. Ghuda had insisted that everyone try to find a way to shade himself during the day, using whatever was handy, to keep an airspace between the material and the skin. They had all donated whatever clothing they possessed beyond tunics and trousers. All vests, great cloaks, sail scraps – anything used to protect them from the bitter cold of night, even food sacks – had been cannibalized to make head coverings. They had even taken the clothing from those who had died the first night in the desert. As he tried to rest during the second day of unrelenting heat, Nicholas understood why Ghuda had been so insistent that the protection of the living was far more important than any concern for the dignity of the dead. They all had to have shade for their heads and protection for their feet. The sands were hotter than Nicholas had imagined possible.
The desert was nothing like what Nicholas had expected. Like most citizens of the Kingdom, he knew of the Jal-Pur Desert at the northern frontier of the Empire of Great Kesh, but he had never seen it. He had imagined an endless expanse of shifting sand.
Instead, this desert was mostly broken rocks and salt flats, with enough sand wastes in between to make Nicholas thankful it wasn’t all sand. Whenever they came to the sand there was an audible groan from at least half the party. The travel was slowed by more than half as fatigued legs had to push terrain that slipped away underfoot and provided nothing to push against as they tried to step.
The wind rubbed his nerves raw; it was a dry thing, sucking moisture from the body even if cold. And there was always a grit in it, a sand so fine that no amount of cover could keep it out of eyes, mouths, or noses. As much as his parched mouth made Nicholas dream of water, he longed to wash his face, his hair, and his clothing. The constant friction of the fine grit had rubbed raw spots on arms and legs, as well as making food crunch between the teeth.
They had moved out two nights before and made slow but steady progress. Ghuda had taken it upon himself to circulate through the party, ensuring that no one broke the order of march, drank before it was permitted, or stopped walking. They all knew that any who fell would be left behind. There simply wasn’t enough strength among them for any to carry anyone else.
Nights in the desert were as bitter cold as they had been on the beach, and moving kept everyone warm, but exposure was taking its toll. Then when the sun rose, the heat came in waves.
Nicholas remembered the day before. At first the sky had brightened, and when the sun topped the plateau, it seared. As soon as the sun had cleared the cliffs, Ghuda had ordered the halt. He then squatted and took out one of the sticks – a long twig cut from a plant in the oasis – and showed how to sit upright with the stick holding his cloak above his head, fashioning a tent. He then hurried to supervise everyone else’s attempts.
When sundown had come the night before, Ghuda had ordered everyone to their feet, telling them to scan the horizon for any sign of water, either birds in flight or changes in the heat pattern. There were none, and they discovered that three more men had died. Now they were forty-three. Nicholas knew that when they rose for their third night’s trek, it was likely more men would not get up. He felt a dull ache of frustration at not being able to do more for them.
Nicholas dozed, unable to sleep. When he at last fell into a deeper sleep for a moment, the movement of the stick jerked him awake. A few had tried to dig holes or use rocks for the sticks, but they were resting upon hardpan, and it was as unyielding as stone. Ghuda had promised that while they would feel tired, they would get enough rest during the day to continue on at night. At this point, Nicholas doubted it. When he peered out at the desert surface, waves of heat rose in shimmers that distorted the horizon.
Nicholas let his mind wander as he tried to sleep. The desert made him remember his brother Borric’s tale of being carried as a prisoner through the Jal-Pur, but nothing he had told Nicholas compared with this. Since leaving the oasis behind, there was no sign of life upon the plateau. Nicholas thought about his brothers, and how they had changed during their journey to the Empress’s court in the City of Kesh. They had blundered into a convoluted attempt to destroy the Empress’s family by pulling the Empire into war with the Kingdom. Borric had been captured by slavers and had escaped and during his travels had met Ghuda and Nakor. There had been another, a boy named Suli-Abul, who had been killed attempting to aid Borric. The experience had made Borric much more considerate of the little brother he had once teased unmercifully. Nicholas felt a stab of nostalgia and came fully awake. He suddenly felt very young again, and wished deeply he could be back at home once more, a little boy in the bosom of his family, defended from the harsh realities of the world by a warm and gentle mother and strong, protective father.
Nicholas closed his eyes again and tried to will sleep to come. His memories drifted and soon he was thinking of Abigail, but in this dream he couldn’t quite make out her face. He knew she was beautiful, but details shifted in his memory and suddenly she resembled a serving girl in Krondor or a girl glimpsed in the village of Crydee.
A voice cut through his half-dream. ‘It’s time.’
Shaking himself awake, Nicholas unbent from his cramped position and stood, pulling the loose cape around his shoulders. He carried the stick in the left hand. Without being told, he started peering at the horizon, toward the sunset, seeking any sign of birds heading for water. The others looked to different quarters, but no one shouted any news of birds.
Nicholas glanced around them and saw that two more figures still lay upon the ground. Swallowing bitter certainty, he went to examine the two and for a moment felt a stab of fear when he saw one of them was Harry. He knelt next to
his friend and was almost overcome with relief when he heard a faint snore. Shaking him awake, he said, ‘It’s time.’
Harry came slowly awake, blinking eyes swollen with heat and lack of water. ‘Huh?’
‘It’s time to move.’
Harry came reluctantly to his feet, and Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know how you can manage to truly sleep.’
‘You get tired enough, you sleep,’ said Harry thickly.
Ghuda came and said, ‘One more dead.’
Now they were forty-two. Others quickly stripped the body and passed out the clothing to those who needed additional protection from the sun. Ghuda handed a waterskin to Nicholas, who shook his head no.
‘Drink,’ commanded the mercenary. ‘It’s murder to drink more than your share, but it’s suicide not to drink when it’s time. I’ve seen men refuse their ration and be dead two hours later before they had a chance to ask.’
Nicholas took the skin, and the moment water touched his lips, warm and sour as it was, he started drinking. ‘Two mouthfuls only,’ cautioned Ghuda.
Nicholas obeyed and passed the skin to Harry, who also drank his allotment and passed the skin along. Nicholas was glad the men were Royal Kingdom Navy, for their discipline kept a desperate situation from becoming hopeless. He knew each of them longed to gulp as much water as possible, but each followed orders and limited their intake to two swallows.
Nicholas glanced at Amos, who stood motionless, watching three of his men push rocks over the dead man. Nicholas knew he had seen many of his crewmen dead over the years, but he was doubly troubled by the death of these men, who had left Krondor expecting a simple voyage to the Far Coast, then home to their Admiral’s wedding.
Nicholas wondered how his grandmother was enduring Amos’s absence. He knew that word of the raids had reached Krondor by now, and most likely his father would be leading a fleet of relief ships to the Far Coast, ready to run the Straits of Darknes even as the weather of late fall and early winter closed them down. Aid would be coming over the North Pass through the Grey Towers mountains, from Yabon, as well.
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 74