Rhodry was just rummaging in the carved wood chest for candles when Garin and Mic returned, bringing with them two servants carrying trays of food, pitchers of water, and other necessities for a guest. Once the food was laid out and the other things stowed, the servants left, shutting the door behind them.
“Sorry about the delay,” Garin said. “The council was more concerned about what to do with Otho, and I had to shout to get their attention and all that. Well, let’s sit down, lads, and pitch in. I’m hungry.”
So were Rhodry and Mic, and for some time no one spoke. The food was mostly mushrooms, stewed in various sauces with various vegetables and scooped up with rounds of a thin herb bread. On one platter, however, lay what seemed to be disjointed birds, crisped with some sort of batter and fried. When Rhodry tried a bite it tasted of meat, not fowl.
“Bats?” he said.
“Just so,” Garin said. “Er, hope you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least. Rather tasty, they are.”
“Good. You never know how guests will take to them, like. And, speaking of guests and all, the council says it’ll allow you the run of the main cavern though that’s about all. My apologies, but I couldn’t get them to give you a look at the high city. No one goes into the deep city, of course, who wasn’t born here, not even other dwarves.”
“Well, that’s that, then.”
“But you can go out into the basin all you want,” Mic broke in. “And over to the old watchtower. It’s kind of interesting. The doorkeeper’s been told to let you in and out.”
“Just don’t go wandering too far, with that Alshandra creature lurking about. There’s enough iron in the city that I think you’ll be safe outside if you stick close to the cliff walls in daylight.”
“Probably so,” Rhodry said. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”
Garin looked disgusted and raised his hands to the heavens.
“If Otho would mind his nasty tongue, I’ve no doubt we’d be on our way to Haen Marn in a bare two days. If.”
“I see. We could be here a fortnight, then.”
“Well, I hope not that long. I’ll keep a watch over him, like, and his brother will, too.”
“That reminds me,” Mic chimed in. “He said I can go. My father, I mean. He said I could go on with you to Haen Marn, at least, and maybe beyond if Garin here thinks it safe.”
“It’s never going to be safe, lad,” Garin said. “Hunting dragons. But I’ll assess the risk, like, when we get there. It would be a good thing for you to spend some time with Enj, if it looks like you’ve got a chance of living through this little adventure.” He glanced Rhodry’s way. “I’ve been thinking it’s time I took an apprentice, like, and Mic here seems to get along well on the outside.”
“Ah. May I ask just what your craft is, then?”
“I never did explain.” Garin paused for a grin. “I’m an envoy, and among us, that’s not such an easy thing to be, a man who goes back and forth between different cities, to say naught of going down among your people. You have heralds and emissaries and even warleaders, and in a way, I’m a bit of all of those. Not that I could captain a troop in a battle, I mean, but when we go outside, we need someone who can make himself listened to, like, and obeyed if the situation demands it.”
“It’s dangerous, outside,” Mic said. “We all know that. I don’t know why, but it’s fascinating as well.”
“And the very fact you think so, Mic lad, is the reason I’m considering taking you on. Well, we’ll see what Enj has to say about it, too, but if naught else, you’ll travel to Haen Marn and see what you can see. And I’ll see how it affects you, being outside for so long.”
“It’s a fair ways to Haen Marn, then?” Rhodry said.
“It is. It lies to the north and the west, and it’s not so easy to find, even for a man who’s been there before.” Garin paused, looking away in some abstraction. “If they don’t want you to find it you never will, and even if you find it, you may or may not be welcome there. But that’s a worry for another day. First we’ve got to get the judges to let Otho go, so he can oversee the paying of the debt we owe you before they take up the matter of his old debt.”
“If they want to hold the trial first, how long?”
“Months.” Garin made a sound halfway between a growl and a groan. “It’ll be deep winter by then, and we’ll never survive up in the high mountains.” He glanced at Mic. “Your father and I are just going to have to make your uncle mind his manners, and that’s that.”
Garin summoned the servants by the expedient method of sticking his head out the door and shouting. Once the meal was cleared away, Garin and Mic retired for the night as well, leaving behind them a silver flask of a murky dark liquor that tasted stronger than Bardek wine and a small glass goblet to drink it out of. Rhodry poured himself a moderate amount and sat back in the window again to watch the stars over the cliffs of Lin Serr. Where was Alshandra, he wondered, and what was she up to? He hated thinking about her for more than a moment or two, so much so that he realized he was afraid, deep in his heart, that mentioning her name would summon her.
Overhead the great drift of the Snowy Road hung across the clear sky, so close in the mountain air that it seemed he could step out of the window and walk onto it, to follow it where? Evandar’s country, perhaps, or the Otherlands. He looked down at the sheer drop, hundreds of feet into the night, and laughed, just softly under his breath, then raised the goblet in a toast.
“To my one true love,” he said. “My lady Death.”
He finished the liquor off, then swung his legs back into the safety of the room and the solidity of the stone floor, before he was tempted to let Jill’s errand go hang and join his beloved instead.
On the astral border, there was peace, too much peace to be trusted—not one gashed tree, ruined tower, burnt or plundered view, not a single hoofprint, heap of offal, cracked stone, dead animal, to mark his brother’s presence or passing did Evandar see on his long ride round his country. No doubt the evil fool was plotting something, then, lurking in his own territory and scheming no good. Only Evandar himself seemed to have achieved this dark insight, however. When he gave the order to turn toward the astral river and the place they all called home, the men of the Bright Court riding behind him sang aloud. Those who possessed some sort of consciousness, whether true or rudimentary, began the song and carried the melody, while the shadow creatures, the flickerings, they who might or might not someday evolve from a concatenation of energies into individuals— they hummed and rumbled and warbled in harmony and descant. Evandar was surprised to find himself pleased that they were happy. Never before had he done a thing to make them happy, the way he’d restored their part of the Lands. He was planning on telling Dallandra about this strange thing, that he’d done them a favor, and in turn it had pleased him.
When they reached the river, flowing broad and silver in the noontime light, the golden pavilion still stood, a good omen in itself. The men of the court dismounted, scattered, flickering here and there about the magical lands and taking their less than real but more than imaginary steeds with them. Left alone, Evandar dismounted, calling for his page. Nothing answered him but silence. His horse, which was as real as he was and in the same manner, tossed its head with a jingle of silver bridle rings.
“Here! Boy! Come take my mount to its stable!”
Not a sound, not a word, not a sigh of wind, broke a silence turned suddenly grim. Leading the horse, Evandar walked to the door of the pavilion and peered inside. Tables lay overturned and broken. So. His brother had gone too far, this time, encroached upon the holdings of the Bright Court and taken himself a prisoner.
His first thought was to summon the court again and ride out to war. His second, more prudent, was to discuss this matter with Dallandra. She’d promised him, after ail, that she’d return to speak with him before sinking back down in the world of Time and Death to tend to Elessario’s birthing, and her return was due soon. E
vandar decided that he’d stable the horse himself and then summon a harper or two to entertain him while he waited. Once he’d spoken to Dalla, then would be the time for his rescue and revenge.
For some days Rhodry waited for the judgment upon Otho’s request to postpone his trial. For the first day, walking round the main cavern turned out to be amusement enough. The area into which he was allowed stretched several hundred yards across, and every inch of the walls lining it sported intricate decorations, some stone, some steel. Some of the panels depicted the countryside round Lin Serr; others showed scenes of farming life or hunting in the woodlands. The bas reliefs that he found the most interesting, however, told stories from the past of the Lin Serr clan. Some showed an unfamiliar landscape which, Garin confirmed, surrounded their old home in the far west, Lin Rej. There were views of those ancient caverns as well, and portraits of the folk who had lived there.
While Rhodry made his way round, studying each panel in turn, the citizens of Lin Serr came and went, hurrying across from tunnel to tunnel on their own affairs. Most ignored him, a few honored him with gruff nods not so much of greeting but acknowledgment that he existed. Mostly for something to do, Rhodry spent hours watching them and came across a puzzle that he mentioned to Garin and Mic that night at dinner.
“I don’t mean to be insulting,” Rhodry said. “Or pry unwanted into your ways or suchlike, but I’ve got to ask. Where are your womenfolk? I’ve not seen a one since we’ve been here.”
“No offense taken,” Garin said. “It’s a natural enough question.”
“Truly,” Mic joined in. “I can see why you’d wonder, now that I’ve been to your country. Why, you see women all over the place, walking round right in the sunlight.”
Rhodry waited for some minutes, but neither said a thing more. Apparently he could ask, but he wasn’t going to be answered.
The next morning Rhodry walked out to the old gates. He stayed close to the cliffs and kept a good watch, as well, but whether it was the presence of Lin Serr’s iron, or whether she was off on some other evil errand, Alshandra never appeared. For a while he sat in the grass in front of the gateway and studied both towers—the freestanding spire, the half-carved column still joined to the cliffs along one tall side.
This second tower sported two smaller round structures, in shape much like a Deverry broch, at its base—the old guardrooms, or so Garin had told him. When Rhodry explored them, he found them crammed with stored weapons, iron single-bitted axes, spearheads on old and splitting wooden shafts, knives of various shapes. They’d all been thickly greased to keep the rust off, and the smell of ancient lard in hot rooms drove him out in a short while. Before he left, though, he found some iron knives of the same crude form and primitive construction as the bronze knife he carried at his belt. He could guess that someone in Evandar’s country had seen dwarven workmanship, but of an era very long gone.
Out on the freestanding spire, a ramp ran some thirty feet up the side to an open doorway. Rhodry paused there to catch his breath and look back at the lacy cliffs of the city, then went inside. He found a tiny chamber, little more than a landing round a stone spiral staircase, sculpted out of living rock. For a moment he simply marveled at it, then started climbing, round and round in one long rise inside the spire. Even though it was cool in the shadows, damp with the smell of ancient rock, still he was sweating by the time he finally gained the top.
The stairs led him out into one last chamber, some twenty feet on a square side, where huge windows dominated each wall, cut thick out of the rock and ledged some five feet wide, Rhodry walked round from one to the next, forcing himself to look down at the various views: the long rolling plateau south and west, the river and distant hills to the east, the white mountains at the northern horizon beyond the city itself. As long as he was looking at the horizon, he felt perfectly composed, but a sharp look down brought his dizziness and the cold sweat. He felt that he was taking up a battle that he should have fought long ago and forced himself to look down for as long as he could endure it. When he finally turned away his shirt was stuck to his back and chest both.
After that first visit Rhodry took to spending long hours alone up in the old tower. Since Garin and Mic could only spare him odd moments, except for their meals together, and Otho of course was under guard at the law courts, he’d often puff up the long ramp to the guard post in the spire, where he could sit and look past Lin Sen — to the white mountains, just visible over the tops of the artificial cliffs. At times, when the warm sun was coming in through the window, he’d drowse off, taking every chance at sleep like the soldier he was. In his dreams the mountains assumed some enormous importance that he could never quite remember when he woke. It would seem to him that there among the snows of the high peaks he would finally find a thing for which he’d been searching all his long life, even if he couldn’t remember what that thing was. Often as well in those dreams he would feel the watchers, the calm, cold gaze of the dragon eyes, the twisted malice of the human, turning his way.
In between dreams he would often wonder how Cengarn fared. What might be happening to Yraen, Carra, Prince Daralanteriel, and all the rest galled him, because he was being forced to do nothing while they might well have been in danger. Although he never worried about Jill’s safety—he was quite confident that she could take good care of herself—he did often think of her. At times, when her memory rose as he watched the white mountains, he would find himself coming dangerously close to that secret he refused to uncover, that insight threatening his entire view of the world. Perhaps, just maybe, and what if, anyway, just what if a man’s soul moved on when he died, rather than dying with him, to take up some new life somewhere, some-when else? Whenever the question crept up on him, he would shove it away with a physical shake of his head.
Late on the fourth afternoon, he was sitting in the window as usual when he saw Mic, trotting across die basin and heading for the spire, most likely coming to fetch him. Rhodry got up and left, hurrying down the long ramp to meet him halfway. Mic was grinning in sheer excitement.
“We can go!” he called out. “The council of judges met today, and they gave Uncle Otho his postponement.”
“Splendid!”
But Rhodry paused, looking back at the spire rising above with a certain regret. Most likely he would never sit there again, most likely he would never see Lin Serr again, once he left it.
“What’s wrong?” Mic said.
“I’ll miss this place, that’s all.”
“Why? It’s not your home city.”
“Well, true spoken. Where’s Garin, by the by?”
“Waiting in your quarters. He’s got some kind of news, too, bur he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
They found the envoy sitting at the table in Rhodry’s chamber with a pair of wax-covered tablets in front of him. When they came in, he made a notation and laid his stylus down.
“Just figuring out what we’ll need to take with us,” Garin remarked. “We’ll have the mule at first, but we’ll have to leave him off at one of the last farms or suchlike. No doubt the farmers will board him for the use of him.”
“No doubt,” Rhodry said. “Mic told me you had news?”
“I do, and a very strange thing it is. Mic, go find your father and your uncle.”
Mic opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and left the chamber. Garin waited a few moments.
“The thing is,” the envoy said, “this is totally unprecedented, so I’d just as soon as few people know of it as possible. Otho’s mother wants to see you.”
“Otho’s mother?”
“Just that. She’s very, very old, Rhodry, and so sick she’s bedridden, but she’s been clinging to life for years in the hopes that Otho would return so that she could bid him farewell. Now thanks to you he is back, and she wants to meet the man who saved her eldest son’s life.”
“I see. I take it that your womenfolk don’t allow strangers to see them very often.”
/> “Just so.” Garin hesitated for a long moment. “And here’s the hard thing. Will you travel blindfolded into the deep city? Once we’re down, we’ll take the hood off, but for you to walk down sighted is against every law we have.”
Rhodry hesitated, but he was always aware that his success in finding the dragon, to say naught of staying alive, depended on Garin’s good favor.
“Well and good, then. Blind it is.”
“My thanks. I would truly hate to disappoint the old woman. She’s not got long left now.”
“Then far be it from me to cause her anguish. When do we go?”
“Soon. One of her servants—her youngest great-grandson, in fact—will come to fetch us when she wakes from her nap.”
“Ah. Very well, then. Could you answer me one thing? As long as it doesn’t go against your laws, I mean. Why do your women hide themselves away? Out of modesty, like our priestesses?”
“There’s some of that, but it’s more that they hate the outside, and they shun the sunlight, too.” Garin picked up the stylus and began fiddling with it. “We’ll, hum. Don’t know how much I dare tell you.”
“Now here, it’s just curiosity on my part, so don’t trouble your heart over it.”
“My thanks. Now then. When we leave Lin Serr, think you’ll be able to carry a pack when you have to?”
“If I’ve got a few days walking first to get my muscle back, I should be able to.” Rhodry flashed him a grin. “I won’t have any choice, will I?”
Before Garin could answer a knock came at the door. Rhodry opened it to find a boy, a scant three feet high but no infant, waiting outside. Barefooted, the lad wore only a knee-length smock, though he carried a scarf of some fine white cloth. When Garin smiled and spoke to him in Dwarvish, the boy answered in the same, his voice as clear and high as a flute.
“She’s ready,” Garin told Rhodry. “Her maidservant’s just giving her a hot drink, like.”
Days of Blood and Fire Page 30