A Debt Paid
“Tell me,” Aleria said, “this visit of yours to Arenthenia. Did anyone else talk to you?”
Daric glanced over the fire at the old woman. She was sitting with her back to the wall, mending something. Her question came out of the blue; they had been talking about rations and how much dried meat they had left.
“Anyone else? I don’t remember saying I spoke to anybody.”
“You said you talked to a tree, that it spoke of a man in a cave, remember?”
“Oh yes,” Daric said. “Sorry, I thought you meant a real person.”
How could he forget his lie? He had told Aleria about the tree because he had not wanted to admit he had been to Tevaryn and spoken to Rysa Storm. Telling the old woman about that would inevitably lead to talk of the lattice, which, in turn, would lead to questions about the old man, and Daric would have to admit his mission – that Rysa wanted him to go to Aldregair and speak with Tamri Maison.
“And?” Aleria said.
“And what?”
“And, did you speak to anyone else?”
“Aleria,” Daric said, his voice full of feigned impatience, “we have a day before the Tandrian blade unhitches itself and becomes just like any other blade; don’t you think we should limit our conversation to the attack? How is Gyna getting on with the herbs? Does she have enough? Have you chosen which well you are going to dose with the sleep potion?”
The longer he spoke, the more he realised his refusal to answer the question would reek of suspicion. He should have just said no. Why did the old woman make him nervous?
It’s not the old woman who makes you nervous, he told himself. It’s the questions; she knows you are keeping secrets.
He wondered again why he could not just tell her the truth. But every time he thought of doing that, the little voice in his head – the Knowledge of Ages, if Rysa were to be believed – told him to keep his thoughts to himself. It’s not for her, the voice had said, over and over.
“If you don’t want to tell me,” Aleria said, “you need only say so; it was your vision; I have no right to pry. I was just curious. Not even in Arenthenia have I heard of anyone talking to a tree.”
Yes, she knew he was lying.
No talking to trees, he told himself, and added that tidbit to his woeful knowledge of magic.
“There is more, but as you say, it was my vision. If I thought you could help, I would tell you.”
“How do you know I can’t help? I am an Oracle, Colonel. The span of my knowledge of such things is vast. And if I don’t have an answer, I know who to ask.”
Yes, Daric thought, the Knowledge of Ages – you will go to the Road, won’t you? No doubt you will ask one of the dragons. And then what? Will you want to come to Aldregair with me?
That thought was oddly comforting; he would not mind having some company on his little quest to visit with the man in the tunnel.
“I’ll think about it,” Daric said. “If I think you can help, I promise, I will share.”
Aleria shot him a grin. “That’s all I ask,” she said. “You know you can trust—”
Abruptly, Aleria turned toward the cave entrance. The look on her face made Daric wonder if one of Breen’s guard patrols had found their hiding place, but there was nothing there. Still, Aleria stared as if a bear were standing in the mouth of the cave.
“What is it?” Daric asked. “What’s wrong?”
Aleria dropped the pack harness she was mending. Slowly, she stood, never taking her eyes from the cave entrance. Was there something in the woods?
“Aleria? What are you staring at?”
“Now what have they done?” she whispered.
“Who? What has who done?”
Daric stood and walked to the cave entrance. There was nothing there. Or rather, there was nothing that could cause such a reaction in the old woman. The pre-dawn haze was making a silhouette of the forest to the east. Daric could just about see Yacob striding back to camp, a bundle of twigs and small branches in his arms; the girl, Mags, was busy sharpening her knife. She and Brin would be off to spy on the old farmhouse soon. Nana was off on her own; plotting local game trails, so she had said – in other words, nothing out of the ordinary.
Daric turned back to Aleria. “Tell me what has happened,” he ordered. “Is it the dragons? Are they attacked?”
“No,” Aleria said. “Ban and Lyduk are by the stream.”
She seemed to settle down. Arranging her skirts, she sat crossed legged by the fire and picked up her harness. She resumed repairing the strap as if nothing had happened.
“Aleria,” Daric said, trying to keep the testy tone from his voice, “tell me what happened? Why were you staring to the north? Is someone in danger? Gialyn? Elspeth? Where are they? Tell me.”
“I have no idea,” Aleria said. “Something has happened to the northeast. I do not know what it is, but it was powerful, not unlike when the Karakin finally freed themselves from their prison – although, this sensation was nothing like as strong as that one had been. As to where, I would guess the witch’s island, or maybe Toi’ildrieg, but other than that simple fact, I could not say.”
She said all that without raising her gaze from the broken pack harness.
“Something like the Karakin?” Daric whispered. “And Toi’ildrieg?”
He sorted through his thoughts. Was anyone he knew on the dragon island? He did not think so. Had Sek gone home? Were the Gaw Dragons up to something?
He asked the question of Aleria.
“Like I said, I do not know.” She paused in her mending, seemingly considering something. Then, “Assuming it is the dragons, Brea will no doubt have heard something. I will ask her when next we meet on the Road.”
“And when will that be?” Daric asked.
Aleria looked up at him, a wry grin creasing her lip. “As with you, Daric, my visits to Arenthenia are my business.” She regarded him, likely expecting a comment. When none came, she added, “If Brea knows, I will be sure to share. Whatever that was, every man and woman with the Voice will have heard the cry – it is hardly a secret. Maybe Ban or Lyduk will have heard from Karlas – I believe he is on Toi.”
Karlas? Daric mused. Wasn’t he the young dragon Brea had rescued? What was he doing back on Toi’ildrieg?
Daric decided, asking that question would be a futile exercise. Instead, he nodded his thanks to the old woman.
At least it’s not anything to do with Gialyn, he thought, guiltily. Absently, he wondered if Elspeth had gotten herself into trouble again – that would be just like her. But he dismissed that thought; she was safely tucked away on Eiras, doubtless annoying Elucia and the other witches.
He glanced to the northeast. Had the Karakin found a way off Bly? Was that what Aleria had felt. It would happen sooner or later, Daric knew, and when it did, it would likely involve magic – the spirit wolves could have Travelled to the Eastern Isles. Although, thinking about that, Daric supposed they could not call them spirit wolves anymore; they were well and truly real.
Can’t worry about that, he told himself. Deal with the problem in front of you; you can’t be everywhere at once.
Sighing, he pushed all thought of the Karakin aside. They were a problem for tomorrow. Today, he had his wife to rescue.
* * *
The sun was half its own height above the trees when Brin and Mags came back from their trip to the old farmhouse. Mags seemed excited about something, but Brin had the look of a man with a problem.
“What is it?” Daric asked.
Brin dropped his bow by his bedroll and knelt by the fire. He tested the pot for hot water, then grabbed a cup. Pouring, he said, “There’s definitely something going on over there. The farm is a wreck, it looks run down, like no one has lived there for years, but we saw signs of at least six guards. There were sacks of feed for their horses, and one of the men was carrying a crate of dried beef in from the barn. They have been there a while, and looked like they were there t
o stay. We hid by the stone wall, maybe twenty paces from the kitchen window. Mags says she saw a woman sitting at the—”
“It was Ally,” Mags said with a wide grin. “It wasn’t just some woman, it was Ally.”
Yacob perked up at that. The old man shuffled off his bedroll toward the fire. “Are you sure?” he said. “What was she doing?”
Mags opened her mouth to speak, but Brin got in first, “You saw the woman for a second through a dirty window; you do not know if it was this friend of yours.” There was a tired tone in his voice, as if this was not the first time they had had this conversation.
Mags glared at him. “I know what I saw,” she said. “And who else could it be? Six men guarding one woman! It had to be Ally.”
Brin was shaking his head. “We must have missed something. Great fighter or not, why keep a single prisoner in a deserted farmhouse and assign six men to guard her?”
Yacob chuckled. “You haven’t seen her fight,” he said.
“Then why not just kill her?” Brin said. “Why waste all those resources? No, we missed something, I’m sure of it.”
“It was Ally,” Mags grumbled, her age showing in her pouting lip. She had sat by the fire, and was now ostensibly ignoring Brin’s offer of tea.
Should have sent Nana, Daric thought. We haven’t got time for all this childishness.
He wondered for a moment if he should send someone else, maybe even go take a look for himself. Brin was right; never mind she was some sort of hero to the legites, Lord Breen would not send six men to a rundown farmhouse just to guard one woman.
“Tell me everything you saw,” Daric said. “Start at the beginning.”
Brin started the tale with their finding cover behind the stone wall. He gave a description of the layout; the barn, the state of the farmhouse, and the overgrown yard. Then he gave a brief account of seeing the man fetch food from the barn, and said how, at dawn, the three men they had seen when they had arrived were joined in the kitchen by another group, and how they all appeared to sit down for breakfast. He told of where the horses were kept, the featureless landscape – the stone wall being the only cover – and the small pond. In short, there was not much to see, just an old building and at least six guards.
But what were they guarding? And just who was the woman Mags had seen?
“Are you sure there were only six of them?” Daric asked.
“Well, there was another man, but he was no guard.” Mags laughed.
“What other man?” This from Brin. “I did not see another man. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mags waved off the comment. “He was just some servant or something.”
Brin sighed. “Did it not occur to you he could have been another prisoner? You should have said something, pointed him out.”
Daric had to agree. Yes, you should have sent Nana.
“Describe him,” he said.
“I told you, he was just a—”
“Please, Mags,” Daric said, doing his best to hide a twinge of annoyance – it was not her fault; he should have sent an adult to do the job. “Just tell me what he looked like.”
Again, Mags gave him the pouting lip. She looked ready to storm off in a sulk.
“Mags,” Yacob said, his voice level. “Do your job, young lady. Make your report.”
Daric was surprised at his tone. For a religious man, Yacob would have made a good sergeant.
Mags stared at the fire for a moment longer, then flung her hands up in the air. “Oh, all right,” she said, and turned her glare on Daric. “He was a skinny man, no bigger than me, with greasy black hair and a long nose. He was dressed in fine clothes and was complaining to one of the men about something; likely the food, judging by the way he was stabbing a finger at the bowl in front of him. Like I said, he’s a servant.”
Brin closed his eyes. Sighing, he said, “Why would a servant complain about his food?”
“How would I know? Maybe he was…”
Daric stopped listening. Had she just described Odaman, the king’s secretary? It certainly sounded like him: a skinny little man with greasy hair and a big nose. And if Odaman was there, Mairi must be there, too.
“His tunic,” Daric said, “was it blue and red with a silver trim on the collar?”
Eyes wide, Mags stared at him. “How did you…?” She raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh.”
“Oh, indeed,” Daric said.
There was silence in the cave. Then Yacob said, “Would that be your wife’s man?”
“The king’s man,” Daric corrected. “But yes, Odaman was with her when she left Bailryn.”
“I-I didn’t see another woman,” Mags said. “Just Ally.”
Brin made a growling noise in his throat. He picked up his tea and moved over to his bedroll. Aleria stirred in her sleep, then sat up.
“You back already?” she said. “I told you to wake me when you got back.”
For answer, Brin gestured toward the fire. “We’re just getting to the good bit,” he said. “We found Colonel Re’adh’s wife.”
* * *
“I told you not to make any promises,” Aleria said.
Two hours since Brin made his report, and they were still in the cave, talking. Daric wanted to go. He knew where Mairi was, and that only half a dozen men were guarding her – twenty minutes, and one of the dragons, and he could have her back!
So why were they still talking?
Because you promised the boy, you idiot.
Why had he done that? Was it his pride? They were twelve against at least two hundred; why had he promised the boy he would save Whitecliff?
Because you thought Mairi was in the manor house.
He scratched at the lump on the back of his neck. Why wasn’t the lattice saying anything? It knew everything about rocks and berries and trees, why did it not have an answer for this?
So much for the Knowledge of Ages. When it came down to it, wisdom was what counted, not knowledge. He had acted like a fool. Of course he could not save Whitecliff with a dozen men and two dragons. What was he thinking?
“I’ll come back,” he said. “Soon as I get Mairi home safe, I’ll come back with more men.”
“And what will Breen do in the meantime?” Yosil said. The young man’s face was red, his eyes fixed in a scowl. “You know what he is like; do you think he will just sit about waiting for your return?”
They were all there, even Ban and Lyduk. Neither the dragons or the folk who had come up from Lop with Daric had said much of anything. All but Aleria, that was. She had an opinion on everything.
“I don’t think you need worry about what Lord Breen will do,” Daric said. “Not if I make sure he knows this is my doing. He will just think this is one man rescuing his wife, he will not expect another attack.”
“The gods alone know what Breen may do,” Yosil said. “You tell us not to worry, but do you think that demon will let it lie?” The young legite squirmed on the rock he was sitting on. “Of course he won’t. You will be safe up there in Bailryn with your wife while we suffer the consequences of your actions.”
“I will not leave my wife, Yosil. I have to get her out of there. We cannot attack the manor while she is their prisoner; we have no idea what they will do to her.”
“But they will know we are here. As soon as you rescue her, they will know we are in the forest. Cannot you at least rescue her at the same time as attacking the manor?”
“We are a dozen, Yosil. Even with the dragons help, we don’t have enough men to split our attack across two fronts. Have patience. I will take Mairi home, then come back with more men. I promise you.”
He regretted saying that last as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Another promise,” Yosil scoffed. “We all know what your promises are worth, Colonel Re’adh.”
“That will do, Yosil,” Yacob said. “No need to be rude.”
“But he did promise,” Yosil insisted. He pointed at Aleria. “She heard him; he promised he wo
uld—”
“I promised I would do my best,” Daric shouted. Anger blazed in his chest. He had had about enough of this boy. “I cannot leave my wife in enemy hands while attacking a stronghold not two miles from where they are holding her. They will know, Yosil. As soon as the guards in the compound raise the alarm – and they will, no matter how quiet we are – as soon as they raise the alarm the kidnappers will know Lord Breen is under attack. Tell me, what do you think they will do to my wife a minute after that happens? Tell me, Yosil, I want to know what you think. Should I risk her life just so you can have your fight now instead of a week from now?”
Yosil looked down at his folded hands. He appeared to have no answer to that, although the look in his eye said his anger was just as bright.
Aleria, on the other hand, was not nearly so reticent, “Don’t forget the dagger,” she said. “You only have a day and a night, Daric. The Tandrian blade is our best hope of ridding Whitecliff of this blight. You must act now if you are to take advantage of its power. All those innocent people, you cannot just—”
“Don’t tell me what I cannot do! That’s my wife over there in that farmhouse.” Daric scowled at the woman. Old lady or not, he could have punched her. “You have no idea what is down there. How do you know the blade will work?”
“The Tandrian blade repairs damage to the Balance.” She sounded like a woman instructing a six-year-old on how to fit a harness. “The creature over in that compound is interfering with the Balance. Therefore, the blade will destroy it.”
“It might destroy its ability to interfere with your precious Balance,” Daric admitted, “but you do not know if the blade will kill it. You could just make it angry. It could kill all the folk it has brainwashed – assuming it was this creature who brainwashed them; you still cannot prove that. Would you risk their lives, knowing you could be wrong?”
“Perhaps,” Aleria said. “If that’s what it takes to restore the Balance…” She shrugged.
Daric gapped at her. “You are out of your mind,” he said. “You would take this action knowing it could kill thousands?”
“The creature must be destroyed, Daric. It is getting stronger. Every day, I feel its presence growing within the Voice. Yes, folk might die, but what of all the folk who will die if you chose not to take this opportunity? Think on it a moment – this creature wants war; why else would it build an army? You must stop it.”
The Ship of Tears: (The Legend of the Nine: Part One) (The Eastern Kingdom Chronicles Book 8) Page 33