The slope here was steep, so Edric attempted a series of switchbacks. He’d lost track of the trail and after the first curve, he couldn’t see the lights, either. The mare stumbled on loose rock. Halting, he considered the risk of a fall and resulting lameness, maybe a broken leg. No matter how difficult the rescue was, it would be nigh impossible without a sound horse.
Idriel, largest and brightest of Darkover’s moons, rose behind the western crest. Edric felt his heart rise with it. He was not an especially devout man, adhering to the form of worship rather than its spirit. At times like this, however, he felt the nearness of something he had no words for, something inexplicable and wondrous.
Star lifted her head and, unasked, began to climb again, up and up, through moonlight now almost bright enough to cast shadows. A night hawk cried overhead, wheeling away on the air currents.
When he was almost to the top, Edric caught a noise so faint, he could not be sure he’d heard it. He brought the mare to a standstill, listening hard. There it came—men’s voices, but faint and echoing, most likely from the side leading to the main road.
Edric dismounted and used touch more than sight to locate a stone to anchor the reins. His sword banged against his legs, yet it would be his best defense in an armed fight.
He collided with the wall so suddenly, he almost lost his balance. The stone ran on, straight-sided although roughened by wind and the seasons, for the length of a man’s body . . . and then another length. And then he no longer touched stone but wood. As he hoped, the wood proved to be a door, weathered but clearly still in use. The fortress had at least two entrances—a front gate that led to the main road, and this. He would have wagered a substantial fortune that it was by the lesser road and through this, the lesser door, that the men of Sain Erach had brought Kyria.
Although the hinges creaked, the door opened wide enough to slip inside. He found himself at the end of a short hallway. At the far end, a lighted torch set in a wall sconce cast enough light to get a look at the hallway. Openings to one side showed chambers either empty or with piles of jumble too ill-lit to distinguish. The doors had either rotted or been removed.
Reaching the end, he found stone stairs leading both up and down. He took the torch from its holder and moved it from side to side, aloft and then low, searching for clues that anyone had passed this way and in which direction they had gone. Cobwebs clung to the corners. The stairs leading upward dipped in the middle, where the stone had been worn glossy, and only a little dust covered the outer edges, whereas it lay thickly across those leading down except for a clear, central swath. With as much stealth as he could summon, he went down.
The stairs ended in a landing, then descended again. Edric paused, willing his heart to slow while he listened. He thought he heard a sound coming from below—a woman’s whimper?—but it might have been the passage of wind through a chink in the wall.
He passed a second landing on the way to the bottom. The air smelled dank, and the torch guttered. The thought of Kyria, alone and frightened in such a place, tore at his heart.
The stairs debouched onto another opening, this one bearing bits of wooden framing. The torch illuminated only the first yard or so of floor, but it was enough to make out a trio of doorways, two to one side and one to the other. Like the others, their doors had long since disintegrated or been taken away for firewood.
Edric paused at the first doorway and lifted his torch. The room was empty, bare except for a pile of what might have been straw before time and nesting rats had turned it to powder. Moisture gleamed on the walls. The walls were solid, as to be expected this far below ground, except for a heavy staple of metal—iron, he guessed, from the rust stains running down like pale, bloody ribbons. It must have been set so deeply in the wall that even the most resourceful of scavengers could not pry it loose.
When he stepped across the central corridor toward the single room, his boots made a scuffing sound. The whimper came again; he had not imagined it. He reached the farthest opening in three long strides. The interior resembled the one he’d inspected, except for the woman on the floor. She’d been blindfolded, and her wrists bound together and pulled overhead by the rope looped through a similar iron staple. He rushed to her side and, setting the torch on the bare wood, eased off the blindfold.
“Edric?” she asked in a hesitant, roughened voice. “Am I d-d-dreaming? What are you d-d-doing here?”
“You’re awake, Kyria.” Edric began working the knots tying her wrists loose. “And I’m here to rescue you.”
9
“R-rescue m-me? Are y-you mad?” Kyria was shivering so hard her teeth chattered. Both her jacket and cloak were missing, and the cell was as frigid as the near-frozen ground outside.
“Should I go away and leave you here?” Edric said, trying to keep his voice light.
“N-n-no! I mean—w-why would you—?” Kyria broke off, gasping and then gritting her teeth as Edric’s efforts to loosen the knots only jerked the loops tighter around her wrists.
“Why would I go to the trouble of saving you when the men who should have been responsible for you refused?” He could not possibly say such cruel words to her.
Edric gave up on the knot, removed the eating knife from the top of his boot, and applied it as carefully as he could. Kyria stifled a cry as her arms fell to her sides. She tried to rub her upper arms, but the movement was clumsy. She must have been left in that position for hours.
Edric held out his hands to help her to her feet. She flinched, then made a visible effort to control herself and nodded. As he lifted her, he felt the chill of her skin through the sleeve of her bodice. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her, then added the gloves tucked into his belt. Both were too large, but far better than nothing.
She fumbled with the gloves, then held out her hands for him to put them on her. “My sister—?”
“Safe with Francisco and his men.”
“But you came after me.”
He bent to scoop up the torch. “There’s no time to explain. We need to move quickly and quietly. Can you manage stairs and then a steep downhill slope?” He didn’t know what he’d do if she couldn’t. Carry her across his shoulders and pray he didn’t slip?
“Mmm.”
He took that for a yes and led the way down the corridor. She followed on his heels. He heard the swishing of her skirts, then a pause at the bottom of the stairs as she gathered them up. She managed to keep pace with him, although toward the top, she was breathing hard. At the outer door, he lifted the torch, casting a feeble light down the rugged slope.
“I don’t know this place,” she whispered. “This isn’t the way they brought me in.”
“But it’s how I came,” he said. “Listen, the first part will be rough, even if we dare use the torch. But I’ve got a horse waiting in a little ways and then my pack horse across the valley. You’ll be able to ride once we get there.” He meant to sound encouraging, but the prospect sounded bleak to his own ears.
“We mustn’t use the torch,” she said, her voice steadier. “When they find I’m gone, they’ll follow us by its light. With any luck they’ll think I’ve retraced my steps through the other gate.”
Even shaken by her captivity, she was able to think clearly, to plan. Edric dared hope that together they stood a chance.
Their progress, while slow, was steady. Edric fell into a rhythm of testing the ground with the foot on the downhill side, stepping, joining his other foot, and reaching down again. The terrain was rougher and steeper than he remembered. He quelled his fear of getting lost by reminding himself that down meant away from the fortress, and that sooner or later, he would come to the uphill slope.
The roan mare nickered a greeting even before he could see her, and he used the sound as a guide. Kyria gave a little cry of relief as they reached the horse. Without meaning to open his mind to hers, Edric caught her fear
that something would go wrong and both of them would be dragged back to the fortress. He donned his second jacket from his saddlebags, swung into the saddle, and pulled Kyria up behind him. With a little maneuvering, they were able to arrange his cloak around both of them.
Trusting to the horse’s superior night vision, he let Star pick her way down the hill. Although Idriel shone ahead as brightly as ever, he could not make out anything resembling a trail. Star seemed to know where she was going.
Kyria wrapped her arms around Edric’s waist. A moment later, he felt the gentle weight of her head on his shoulder. The air around them felt warmer under the draped cloak. His heart beat faster. He said nothing, only pressed her arms closer to his body with one hand while he held the reins in the other.
Still there was no sign of alarm from the fortress.
Star reached the flat bottom of the valley, then slowed again as the land grew steeper. She struggled up the slope under the weight of two riders. Edric lifted the reins, and she halted, head lowered, sides heaving. Just as he debated dismounting, he heard shouting behind them.
Distance distorted the sound, as it echoed off the rocky sides of the valley. Behind him, Kyria tensed. Edric swung his leg over Star’s neck and dropped to the ground.
“We’ll go faster this way,” he explained, “and we’ll spare the horse. With any luck, we’ll be over the crest before they realize which way we’ve gone.” Taking hold of the reins, he headed up the hill.
“I should walk, too,” Kyria protested.
“Save your strength.” Edric concentrated on climbing, pushing himself with the thought of the Sain Erach men rushing down the trail on fresh horses.
“Edric?”
He kept going, trying his best to keep sight of the trail. “Yes?”
“Edric! Pay attention!” She sounded so very much like the mistress of novices at Tramontana that Edric’s feet rooted into the rock. “Look!”
Turning back to the valley, Edric spotted a line of torches, three or four of them, moving rapidly away from the fortress, but angled away from their own position. He made out the shapes of mounted riders.
“They’re following the main road,” he murmured, hardly daring to believe in this stroke of luck.
“That’s how they brought me in,” Kyria reminded him. “This isn’t good.”
“No, it’s great. We can make it back to our original route without those brigands on our tails.”
“That’s exactly the problem. They took me down that trail and then along there.” She indicated the road from the fortress. “When they attacked our party, they came at us from two directions—from up the trail and down. If we continue the way Francisco was taking us, we’ll head straight into them. Even if we don’t, they’ll know every deer path and rabbit-horn den for miles around.”
Kyria was right. The Sain Erach riders would know this territory like the insides of their own bedrooms. They’d search the trail in both directions, and if they didn’t find their quarry, they’d launch a daylight search, combing the area.
“What are we to do?” Kyria said. “We can’t go back over the pass, not without warm clothing and food, and we can’t continue down the trail.”
“I’ll think of something.” Edric remembered the crossroads and the track he’d taken his horses up, hiding until Dom Ruyven and the others had gone. It might lead to one of the main passages through this part of the Hellers. Unless the Sain Erach riders were extraordinary trackers, they would not realize which trails Edric and Kyria had taken, for the stony ground was already crossed by the prints of other horses.
Edric explained his plan, trying to sound confident. “At the worst, if we have to come back down the trail, the hunt may well have disbanded. The two of us should be able to slip through their territory without drawing the attention of a larger party.”
Kyria turned silent, her doubt like a gray miasma, so he gave up his attempts to buoy her spirits.
Idriel had set, and clouds obscured the stars by the time they arrived at the crest where Edric had left the pack horse. From here, just past the crest, they were out of the line of sight from the valley. Kyria sat hunched in the saddle, as if she could not summon the strength to dismount.
Edric held out his hands, and she fell into his arms. Her skin felt like half-frozen silk. She drew a shuddering breath and when she let it go, he felt her warmth on his cheek. Not daring to linger in the moment, he eased her to the ground.
“I’ll bring you water and a little food,” he said in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own. “You must rest while you can.”
She nodded, a movement of shadow upon shadow. Searching by touch as well as sight, he found a water skin and the saddlebag in which he carried trail food. He unfolded the oiled cloth wrapping and took out a flat cake of dried fruit and nuts, pressed together with honey. He also had jerked meat, but that required softening; the sweetness of the confection would give Kyria energy more quickly.
She accepted the cake and bit off a piece. Edric took a portion for himself and soon felt the lift as his body responded to the concentrated nourishment. He was tired, but that could not be helped. At Tramontana, he had worked all night and thus learned the limits of his strength. He could go on for some time.
At the memory of his Tower work, something brushed his mind. His storm sense woke, nudging him. The sensation was not an outright warning, not yet, only an awareness of the shifting atmospheric currents. The storm he had sensed earlier as only a possibility was gaining strength.
He unloaded the pack horse and redistributed the bags, taking into account that each horse now must carry a rider. Francisco would have accomplished the task more efficiently, but in the end, Edric was satisfied he’d done the best he could.
The red sun had not yet cleared the eastern ridge of mountains, but dawn had given rise to day. Dark-bellied clouds condensed across the north, heading in their direction.
“Kyria? It’s time to go. Are—are you all right?”
Kyria lifted her face to the north, her gaze fixed on the clouds. A wind sprang up, pulling at the loose strands of her hair and bringing color to her cheeks. “Yes, I’m fine. Just ashamed that you have done all the work while I sat here like a lump.” Waving off his offer of assistance, she clambered to her feet and brushed dirt and bits of dried grass roots off her skirts.
Edric boosted her onto Star, for the mare was weary and she was the lighter rider. Then he mounted the pack horse. The pack saddle wasn’t nearly as comfortable, and he knew from experience the dun’s gaits were rough and his mouth like leather. He tapped the pack horse with his heels and sent the beast into a trot. They had to get well beyond the crossroads before the Sain Erach men reached it. More than that, they must find shelter before the storm hit. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw how Kyria’s mouth was set in a fierce, determined expression, and her eyes were wild.
Her promised husband lacks the sense of a moon-blind rabbit-horn to let such a woman slip through his hands.
Luck rode with them, and when they reached the main track, they saw no sign of their pursuers. Without any need for speech, as if they had one thought, they urged their horses onward. Edric had already traveled this section of trail twice before, but now he counted every minute, every hoof beat. The wind fell away, and the air, which had been growing progressively more chill, turned milder, but he was not lulled into believing the clouds would dissipate.
“There!” Edric broke his silence to indicate the crossroads, now only a short distance away. The side trail was but minutes away.
Clouds darkened the sky. The air tasted of lightning to come.
He could see the flat place where they’d camped and the main road leading down and away, curving around the shoulder of the hill—
Two riders emerged from behind the hill, followed by three more.
Behind him, Kyria let out a cry of dismay.
Edric hauled on the reins. The pack horse resisted, dipping his head. Kyria’s horse crowded his rump, and he threatened to kick. Edric jerked the horse’s head up, trying to see a way out. They had enough room to turn around, but this trail would only lead them back to the fortress.
They hadn’t been spotted, not yet.
He glanced up at the clouds, denser now and laden with promise. The wind picked up again.
Use me, pleaded the storm. I am yours for the taking, all the power of wind and lightning . . .
Something inside Edric yearned to answer the storm, to seize control of it. He had the power to save both of them, to save Kyria, and all he had to do was reach out with his mind. Use his Gift, as he had been born to do.
In memory, he heard Lady Renata relating how his kinswoman Dorilys had killed her own mother with such a Gift, how the lightning had overwhelmed and then consumed her. Stripped of self-control, she’d become a deadly menace to herself and to the people who loved her.
I dare not use the Gift. I will not use it.
Half in horror, half in desperation, Edric kicked the dun so hard, the beast leaped forward. Within a few strides, they reached a full-out gallop. Down the trail they sped, each moment bringing them closer to the crossroads.
The lead rider must have seen them, for he lifted one arm in signal to the others. Edric could not hear the other man’s words, only the shout of exultation.
Faster! Edric clapped his heels to the pack horse’s sides.
Edric and Kyria reached the crossroads, and Edric wrestled the pack horse under enough control to send him down the same branch they’d used before. They had no hope of outstripping their pursuers, he thought with a spasm of sick despair. They had only a short lead, they’d been sighted, and the hunt was on in earnest now.
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