“Let us just say that we have some place we want to go,” Poco said. “And we need bomal to get there. How much for three?”
The man rubbed the back of his jaw with his hand, his glance taking in their clothing and their tattered packs. “Why three?” he asked.
“One extra to carry our supplies,” Poco answered quickly. “How much?”
“Two hundred marks each,” the man answered.
“It’s too high, Dhal! We would never be able to—”
The man cut Poco off. “How many bomal have you ever bought, miss? That price is not high. It’s standard.”
“Would you trade?” Dhal asked.
“No, Dhal!” Poco protested.
“I know what I said, Poco, but we haven’t much of a choice. It would take us a week to earn money to pay for the bomal.” He turned to the man. “Would you accept something in trade?”
“Like what?” the man asked.
Dhal unlaced the flap of his belt pouch and brought out one of the two pieces of Ni artistry he had left. The large brooch of wood overlaid with carved shell depicted a gensvolf attacking a berry cat half its own size. The workmanship was exquisite.
Dhal hated to part with the brooch, but knew from the man’s expression of desire that he had chosen correctly.
“For that you can have two bomal,” the man said, reaching for the brooch.
Dhal drew back his hand. “Three bomal and whatever gear is needed to ride them.”
The man hesitated only a moment. “All right, three— and gear.” The man quickly took the brooch. “Do you want them now?”
“No. Tomorrow,” Dhal answered.
“Do you have a name?” Poco asked the man.
“Rahn sar Evvan,” he answered.
She nodded. “We will be back later to talk with you, Rahn. We are inexperienced riders and will have to trust you to choose our mounts for us, and give us instructions in caring for them, if you will.”
“My pleasure.”
“That was easier than I expected,” Dhal said, as they made their way back up the dirt road to the main street.
“Too easy maybe,” Poco said.
“What do you mean?”
Poco looked at Dhal, wondering how so intelligent a person could be so innocent. True, his upbringing in the Deep had sheltered him from some of the grimmer aspects of life, still she found herself continually amazed at his trusting nature. Would he ever change? Did she want him to?
“Poco?”
“I just don’t trust him, Dhal. I can’t tell you why.”
“Should we go back, get the bomal and leave?”
“No. Let’s go and see what I can earn by singing a few songs. We still need some supplies if we’re to make this trek across the plains. You know what wild roots we can eat, and Screech told me he can supply us with water, but we ought to have several more water flagons to carry and another sword or two; one for me, one for Screech.”
“Can you handle a sword?” he asked seriously.
“Not with any finesse, but I can learn. You will have to be my teacher.”
“I only know what Haradan taught me.”
Poco smiled. “He was good with a sword. If you can make me even a third as good, we should have no problem.”
“What about Screech? Can he use a sword?”
“Yes, but I think he prefers claws and teeth when he fights.”
“I’ve been thinking about Screech,” Dhal said, his face suddenly grim, “and what could happen to us if we run across some of his kin.”
“As long as he is with us, we should be all right. And if we are mounted, we can always outrun them.” I hope, she added silently.
Chapter 8
LONG AFTER THE SUPPER HOUR, POCO NOTICED FIVE newcomers enter the dining hall. She continued to sing the last verse of “Guard the Gates,” and watched as the men moved around the crowded dining tables, making their way toward a bench situated along the south wall of the inn.
Something about the men made Poco feel uneasy. A moment later she realized what that something was: the men were not dressed as Bannoc traders; their tunics were cut differently, and not one of them wore the baggy pants common to the plainsmen.
The five late arrivals took seats where they could find them, two down on the far end of the hall, two at a table in the back of the room. The last man stopped near an open window to her right. Poco did not like the satisfied grin on his face as he leaned back against the window ledge and folded his arms across his chest.
She glanced over at the proprietor of the inn, a heavy-shouldered man with whom she had contracted to perform that night. When Benjor caught her eye, he nodded, his grin telling her that he was pleased with the number of patrons she had drawn into his establishment.
She returned his nod and glanced at the side door just behind him. She was looking for Dhal to return. He had left over an hour ago; certainly he had had time enough to pay for the supplies they had ordered and return to the inn. So, where was he?
She glanced at the five men who had entered last and quickly decided that it might be best if Dhal did not return to Benjor’s at that moment.
Poco had been singing off and on for about three hours, and had more than met her agreement with Benjor, so she felt no qualms about calling it a night. She cut the chorus of the song she was singing and signaled Benjor that she intended to take a break.
The men and women who had drifted in and out of Benjor’s inn during and after the supper hour had been attentive and generous. The coins thrown to her during the first hour were worth twice what they needed to pay for the things she and Dhal had chosen from the well-stocked shelves at the trade shop down the street.
Poco deftly caught several coins tossed her way as her audience showed its appreciation by stamping their feet and clapping. Someone called for another song. But Poco slid off the table upon which she had been sitting and raised her hands.
“You have been kind to a stranger, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, giving them her best smile. “If you will permit me some time to catch my breath, I will be happy to rejoin you in a little while.”
A spatter of hand-clapping followed Poco as she made her way to Benjor. One man caught her wrist as she passed his table. He pressed a large coin into her hand.
“I have not heard singing like that since I left Port Bhalvar years ago. Do you know Port Bhalvar, Singer?”
“It was my home until recently,” Poco answered, smiling. “But I have restless feet and am prone to wander.” She held up the coin and nodded. “Thank you for this. It is a gift much needed right now.”
Poco quickly reached Benjor, who was waiting for her near the side entrance. “Has my friend returned?” she asked.
“No. I haven’t seen him. Pocalina, you will sing again won’t you?” Benjor asked.
“I need some air,” she answered, avoiding a direct reply. “Does this door lead outside?”
“Yes. Go down the hall to the left and it takes you out.”
Poco started to turn away, but Benjor held her arm. “You’re doing a good job here, daughter of Jamba. Would you consider a more permanent arrangement?”
“I might,” she lied, anxious to leave and look for Dhal. She definitely did not want him returning to Benjor’s inn. Either he was still at the trade shop or he had taken everything down to the bomal pens. He had to be one place or the other—or somewhere in between.
Damn, she thought, we should have stayed together!
Benjor released her arm. “Back in a few minutes, then?”
Poco nodded. “As soon as I get my breath back.”
She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. She was sorry to have to lie to Benjor, but her instincts told her it was time to leave as quickly as possible.
She was halfway down the hall when the door to the dining hall opened and a man wearing a hooded tunic appeared. By his size Poco knew it was not Dhal. As he hurried after her, she ran toward the door at the end of the hallway.
/> Hands grabbed her from behind and jerked her backward. She started to scream for help, but a hand slapped over her mouth, cutting off her cry.
She brought her right knee up as her attacker slammed her up against the wall. The man turned sideways, as if anticipating that move.
“Not again, you she-cat!”
The voice was familiar! Suddenly the man’s hood fell back to reveal the ugly mask that was Jesh’s face: Where there was no bandaging, his burned skin was swollen and oozing, and a great patch of hair was missing from the right side of his head. Poco’s eyes widened.
Jesh pushed his face down close to hers. “It took some doing, but I finally caught up with you, Singer! You are responsible for this! And I swear, you will pay for it if I have to chain you in a cellar and sell you to every man in Port Sulta!”
Poco tried to slip out from under the arm pressing against her throat, but Jesh was strong and she was no match for him. Remembering her knife, she changed tactics.
Jesh swore and loosened his hold as she kicked him in the legs. At that moment she reached for her knife.
She was not fast enough. Jesh blocked her thrust and captured her hand, bringing it back and banging it against the wall. The knife slipped from Poco’s fingers as her hand went numb with pain.
Jesh laughed. “You are not going to come quietly, are you? No matter. I don’t need your cooperation. It will be more fun this way.”
The horror of Jesh’s scarred face leering down at her made Poco feel sick inside.
Suddenly the door to the street slammed shut. Jesh turned to see who had interrupted him.
In three running steps, Dhal was on top of Jesh, his knife drawn. Jesh managed to evade Dhal’s first thrust by turning sideways. But the moment Jesh released Poco, she kicked out. Her foot connected with his leg, knocking him off balance.
Jesh grabbed for his own knife but with snakelike speed, Dhal struck a second time, his knife plunging into Jesh’s stomach and ripping up.
The big man screamed and staggered, then slowly crumpled to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Dhal snapped as he turned to glance at her.
Unable to find her voice, Poco nodded. Everything had happened so fast. She looked down at Jesh and saw him shudder once, then still.
Dhal leaned down and withdrew his knife.
“Is he dead?” Poco asked softly.
Dhal pulled Jesh over onto his back. One glance at Jesh’s staring eyes gave Poco her answer. Slowly, she bent to retrieve her knife.
“I was afraid you would come back and walk into a trap,” Poco said. “It looks like I was the one to—”
She stopped short at the sound of the hallway door banging open. Two men appeared; she could hear others behind them. “You!” one of the men yelled. “What’s going on? What are you doing—”
Dhal leaped up, grabbed Poco’s arm, and started for the door. “Move!” he shouted.
Out on the street, they hesitated as two men ran around the corner of Benjor’s inn, cutting off a direct run to the bomal pens.
“This way!” Poco cried, running toward the trade shop a few doors down.
Dhal followed. They cleared the porch steps in several bounds and went in through the trade shop door. Dhal slammed the door behind them and quickly located the bolt.
“What are you doing?”
Poco whirled to face the tall, thin proprietor of the shop, the same man she had seen earlier that day.
“Someone is after us,” she explained. “Have you another way out of here?”
“Who are you? What is going on?” the man demanded.
“We came in earlier, remember? My friend came back after supper to pay for the things we ordered.”
The man looked at Dhal. “Oh, yes, now I—”
Heavy pounding erupted at the front door. “Open up!” someone outside yelled.
The man looked at the door, then at Poco and Dhal. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Poco answered. “The men out there are thieves! They followed us all the way from Port Sulta!”
The men outside began throwing their weight against the door.
“Quick! Another way out!” Poco cried, moving away from the door.
The man growled a curse at strangers and their problems, then waved toward the back of the shop. “Through that doorway and take a right. There is a door to the outside in the room at the end of the hall. Go on, I will see if I can hold things up here.”
Poco did not wait to thank the man. She and Dhal were around the end of counter and into the back of the shop before the owner could order the men outside to stop pounding on his door.
Dhal and Poco followed the directions given and stepped out a back door into an alley. Avoiding the main street, they made their way down a narrow, dirt lane between some one-story buildings. They came out into the open by the main stockade gates facing south, the same gates through which they had entered the town earlier that day.
They paused and studied their surroundings. The sky was still light though evening shadows were growing longer. They had two choices: hide and wait for dark, which would give Jesh’s men time to regroup and start searching, or try to circle around to the west and return to the bomal pens where they had left their packs.
After talking it over, they decided to move on. Staying to the low side of the hill on which they stood they crossed the road and circled the last building at the end of the street. From there they threaded their way through small gardens and around an odd mixture of cages and holding pens. Some were empty, others held birds and small animals. At one point they passed a stone ledge enclosing a pit where a pair of gensvolf paced restlessly.
When they reached the trees near the bomal pens, Dhal carefully led the way to the stockade wall.
“After I had the packs ready and the bomal saddled,” he explained, “I led them down here out of the way, then I went back to speak to Rahn a minute. I wanted to ask him if we would have any trouble leaving Bannoc after dark. I was thinking about the gate guards.
“When I reached the barn, I saw Rahn talking to two men so I hesitated. Something about the men made me nervous, so I made my way down alongside the barn until I was close enough to hear what was being said.
“You were right about Rahn, Poco. He told the two men about us and charged damned high for the information.”
“They were probably more of Jesh’s men,” Poco said.
“They had to be. Who else would be asking about us? Anyway, I thought of you up at Benjor’s. Not knowing how many more men Jesh had sent, I got back to the inn as fast as I could.”
“You could not have timed it better had you planned it,” Poco said, as she moved into Dhal’s arms. “He must have wanted us badly to have come after us hurting like he did.” Poco shivered. “Gods, but his face was a mess!”
Dhal held her close a moment. “Hate can do strange things to people.”
“What do you think Jesh’s men will do now that he is dead?”
“Nothing, once we are out of Bannoc. Men like that need a leader. Without Jesh to drive them, they will go back where they came from.”
I hope so, Poco thought, as Dhal helped her mount one of the bomal. I sincerely hope so.
Chapter 9
POCO LOOKED UP THROUGH A BREAK IN THE LEAVES overhead. The stars above made her thoughts turn to the legends of the first men, the Ral-jennob, who were said to have come to Lach from a far distant star.
Poco knew that the written history of man on Lach went back over two thousand years, and began with the founding of the rock city of Annaroth. Whether or not the Ral-jennob and man were one and the same only the winds knew. If the legends were true, Poco thought, man had come far from his home world but had lost much in the coming.
She looked at Dhal, riding just ahead of her. Man lost his own world and now claims yours, Dhal, and you can do nothing about it but run and hide and hope that somewhere there will be safety.
Man and Ni, we are so much alike, she th
ought. Why can’t we live together in peace?
Dahl turned in the saddle. “Everything all right, Poco?”
“Yes.”
“Getting tired?”
“A little,” she replied. Poco’s first experience at riding bomal had proven to be pleasant, for the large, horned animals were gentle and easily guided; but after hours in the saddle, her body ached and her legs kept going to sleep.
Dhal pulled his mount’s head around. “Do you want to stop and rest a few hours?” he asked.
Poco nodded thankfully. Dhal loosened the draak-hide saddles, then showed her how to adjust the foot rests to ease the numbing of her of legs.
“I wish I had known that before,” she said.
“Sorry,” Dhal apologized. “I should have told you. Why not lie down and rest a while, Poco. I will call you when it is time to leave.”
“You need rest too,” she said.
“I’m fine. I’ll get some sleep when we meet with Screech and Gi. I think it will be best if we do most of our traveling by night until we reach the plains. There will be less of a chance of anyone seeing us.”
Poco agreed. She unrolled one of the blankets they had purchased at the trade shop, and lay down. The last thing she remembered was feeling Dhal’s hands rubbing her back and legs.
After Dhal’s ministrations and a good sleep, Poco found the second half of the ride more comfortable than the first.
“We had better go slow,” Dhal said, as they approached the sheltered camp where they had left their friends. “Rahn told me that bomal become extremely unmanageable if they scent derkat. It seems that bomal make up a large portion of the derkat diet.”
Poco swore softly under her breath. “That means that Screech will not be able to ride with us.”
Dhal nodded. “He will have to go ahead of us, or follow behind; but don’t worry, it will work out all right.”
He stepped down from the saddle and whistled. A trilling whistle sounded from the tree ahead; Poco recognized the olvaar’s all-clear signal.
She left her mount with Dhal and walked toward the sheltered hollow just ahead. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the blue-green shadows and a moment later she saw Screech and Taav sitting together near a dead fire.
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