Lightning moved into his fluid trot. Darame let her mind settle into the stallion’s gait, trying not to anticipate, trying not to worry. There must be faster ways to get into the mountains… unless the mountains are the protective device the Atares use to guard against invading tribes. Speed was of the essence. Darame felt as driven as she had the evening she spoke to Brant. The food supplies from the ship, untouched her last venture, were coming in handy. Ayers had sketched her a map and Avis herself had packed Darame’s clothing. I’ll bet I was exiting through the town gates before matins.
Do not strain your horse. You will need him to return. This was a nine or ten day ride from Portland, or so Ayers had said. Darame had discovered otherwise, at least on Brant’s excellent stallion. No more than eight days, if the animal could keep up his current pace — and he showed no signs of flagging. If my seat and legs hold out. Darame was in much worse shape than the horse, and knew it. Out of practice…
“How would you like to be part of my new breeding project?” she asked the stallion, who flicked his ears at the echoes of her voice. “I understand that rulers here often reward partisans with land grants. I could start a program to create you beauties for export.” Lightening did not respond, of course, but it took her mind off her legs. He was an intelligent animal, a mixture of the best of his ancient breed and the newer traits that Nualan scientists had added to his strain.… But even he had limits, limits she feared they might reach. “You would do very well out of the deal, you know: ladies galore, and exclusive visiting privileges.”
The trail veered southwest, and moonlight flooded the pass. Crystallizing vapor made plumes about their heads and created halos between the last moon and their path. Huge shaggy trees half-shrouded in snow hunched above them, climbing the sides of the gorge up into wispy cloud. The slightest sound echoed for miles — Darame had no fear of ambush, and no doubt she was announcing her passage to every animal within a ten-minute ride. She kept her hand on the mag gun Ayers had found for her, however — no sense in being careless. Monkey’s paw, at best. Fire this thing and bring down the pass. What I would not give for air transportation — anything in the air! Brant had discouraged it. He did not want the guaard to know she had gone east… not yet. And Dirk knows when any air vehicle leaves or enters Atare.
May you find what you seek. Avis, miraculously, had not pressed for details. When told that Sheel was thought to have gone east, sending Tobias to still another place of safety, she had seemed satisfied. This trip was officially to find Halsey. Too trusting, my friend. Unless Ayers added to my tale? Some information which gave you reason to trust me? Or was it that stupid necklace, again? If Sheel’s interested in me, he has a strange way of showing it.
Did warmth ever come to this land? Lingering puffs of warm air had deceived her, the first few days on Nuala. We are locked in ice, and shall never free ourselves… Ayers had promised her little snow on the high desert plain to the east. But the winds — that part she dreaded. Fingering the poncho Avis had insisted she wear over her jacket, Darame wondered if even Sheel was cold tonight. If he still lives. That thought she avoided — could not face. And if he is dead? Her mind slowed with the stallion’s gait as the footing became more treacherous. No — it could not be faced. She simply was not ready to deal with it. Avis I would take to Riva Ragäree. That tough old woman has no intention of ending up like her brother, and she can protect Avis. If I can get Avis to her safely. Then, she would purge herself of whatever Sheel’s death left her. Anger, futility, bitterness, numbness…
“Why should it do anything to you?” Darame considered her whispered words. You would miss him, woman. Admit it, damn it! Something is not right when you are more than a glance away. Not good, not healthy, this feeling… And when this is settled, one way or another? When you leave him behind as the wanderlust takes you?
She was grateful when they reached dry, hard rock, and the Arab stretched into a trot.
STARRISE MOUNTAINS
ONEHUNDRED FIFTYFIVEDAY, SEXT
A puff of icy wind pushed Darame up the stone pathway. She kept her gaze on the tents below. Still sleeping, for the most part — White had been on night shift, awake when she rode in during the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately she was used to working long hours on little sleep; now a chance had arisen she had not consciously hoped for. A few more steps, around the bend, and there it was – the equipment stash. She paused, the lack of wind at her back an odd feeling, and then hailed the dark hole.
“He is asleep,” came a voice at her ear.
Darame forced herself not to jump. Damn these guaard, and their soft tread! Turning her head, she studied the young man at her elbow. Tall, confident — a bit of White around the eyes. Kin of his? No matter. “I came here to try talking to Sheel Atare,” she started, since he had not been present when she arrived the previous night. “White said we would discuss it in the morning.” I am rested, the horse rests, and I assume White must be close to rising. So get him.
“I imagine he will be awake soon. Wait in here.” Nodding toward the opening, which was catching the last pale rays of the morning light, the young man continued down the broken path and toward the slice in the hills.
Better and better. Told to wait inside! The saints were with her on this venture. Shifting her pack to the other shoulder, Darame entered, her hand moving to the roman strapped to her wrist. A pretty thing, keeping excellent time despite its decorative face and design… designed for a free-trader. Her gaze raked the small, irregular scrape, noting its lack of depth, the one slash leading into darkness. The roman’s luminous dial did not change color — no surveillance equipment. She had expected none. Working the long, thin wire out of the stiff band, she moved to the portable RAM.
Everyone kept their box of rings near the screen. Sure enough, under a pile of rope and a jacket… Moving the items without disrupting them, Darame sat down next to the lockbox. Praise Peter it was familiar… and a nasty one. She had only one chance with this style. If she correctly interrupted the guardian field, she could remove the rings without anyone ever knowing how she had entered the box. White might not even notice their disappearance, if he had no reason to enter it during her stay. And I’m not staying long.… But if she missed, the contents would immediately char to ash.
The far right groove, as she remembered it. A while since she’d done this type of work.… A tiny flash, and the box popped open. Now, if Ayers’ crash course in words had sunk into her brain.…
Names and dates. That was all Darame had tried to learn in Nualan. Names like Leah, and Dirk, and Brant — or anything without names, but in the right time period. And this looked promising; there were only four rings in the box, and they were all dated since the raid in the clay caverns. Tucking the rings into one of the near-invisible pockets in the jump suit she was wearing, Darame carefully shut the box and waited for the… click. Active once again. Bless you, Halsey, for many lessons. Carefully replacing the jacket and rope, Darame paused to jam the wire into the back of the RAM, shorting out the communications system. Now, anything else she should attend to?…
A quick sweep of the room reassured her. Nothing worth bothering with, except a packet of medical supplies. She rummaged in the container while she re-threaded her lockpick, finding a few things she planned on confiscating and a few things that were disquieting. The lip balm was a godsend — the wind had ravaged her delicate tissues — and she took some peroxide, gauze, and pads for caution’s sake. White had plenty, he probably would not notice. But these bottles and capsules… Darame lifted one of the tubes of gels, studying it. Why so familiar?… Unless… Gavriel. She had seen someone use them on Gavriel, to get information out of a sneak. Also the red capsules. Controlling the tightening sensation in her stomach, Darame carefully set the tubes back into the kit and secured the lid.
Her timing was impeccable. No sooner had she smeared her lips with balm, stuffed the chosen medical supplies into her pack, and settled herself into the chair near the entra
nce than she heard the sound of falling rocks. Light angling into the cave was abruptly cut off, and White’s snowy head popped around the cave’s supporting wall. Darame promptly lifted her eyebrows at him.
“Go ahead,” he said briefly. “Down the path and across the gap. The cave opening faces more toward the west. Teague is on watch.” As always the dark gaze flicked over her without expression, and then White disappeared once again.
On watch, she mused to herself as she started down the narrow trail. For what? So you admit it? She realized that White probably did not know what Brant had told her. What do you think I am here to convince him to do?
Raspy breathing brought her to a halt. Some sort of dangerous animal — Darame turned her head slightly, her gaze traveling on ahead to another slash in the rocks. Not even to the ravine. Would White leave any threat in the area?… Deciding he would not, wishing she had left her mag gun strapped to her side instead of stowing it in her bag (at White’s request), Darame ducked into the cave.
Thin, filtered light gave a ghostly aura to the small cave. It was no more than a closet in size, and was empty except for a pallet of cloth at one side. The unknown animal was over by the pile — Darame froze in place for a long moment. Then she moved over to the blankets and knelt.
Finally, suspicions confirmed, and all too late. Halsey — plump and jolly no longer, shivering as if in a stiff breeze, wandering in some delirium. Reaching for his neck, she checked his pulse. Erratic… Moving her hand slightly, Darame was appalled to see a bruise forming. What in Seven Hells — radiation? Here? For a moment she was terrified, and then she understood. They gave you tainted food or water. The effect is not immediate, not to this degree — but it would start to damage you from the inside out. If I had not eaten concentrates this morning, they would know I am immune.…
Something hard angled its way into her throat, but she held herself in check, biting her lower lip until it bled. Grief is only for when you can bear no more. Nothing in that box for radiation poisoning, not that she recognized from her limited experience on Gavriel. Nuclear weapons were among the messiest known arsenal… What kind of barbarians would do this to another human being — Barbarians. That was it. Beneath the polished Nualan veneer was the barbarian, and each person varied in how close it hovered near the surface.…
So this is how we fail. Have I ever told you what you are to me, old man? She knew what he would say in reply, if he could hear that question: Why are you wasting time? Find that infernal ruler and take care of things! And remember: always have options. No options left, Halsey. Somewhere I gave them all away.
Would this have happened if she had stayed in Atare, had never gone to the caverns? Darame pulled one of her two canteens from her side and carefully lifted Halsey’s head. Still conscious, barely — he took several sips of the water. Would it be more merciful to — No; where there was life there was hope. And Sheel was a healer. When she found him, she would ask him what to do.
Capping the canteen and re-attaching it to her bag, she rose to her feet and blindly started out of the cavern. No planning to be done, no anticipation — Dear sweet Magdalen, if Halsey looks like this, then Sheel.…
Darame forced herself to walk, not run, down the sloping trail.
o0o
There was no greeting, no warning in Teague’s stance. The guaard stood outside and to one side of Sheel’s quarters, seemingly oblivious to her presence. Glancing at the plains as an excuse to check distances and angles, Darame saw that Teague could not have seen her enter Halsey’s cave. Good. Would this man accompany her, or not? She started past him, shifting her pack to her other shoulder.
“I should warn you that The Atare has been ill,” the young man said suddenly. “We have notified the nearest base that we need a doctor.” He did not even turn his head in her direction.
Darame scarcely paused. Do not bother — I know that the nearest base is in Atare. The other words sobered her. Doctor? For a healer? Stiffening her spine, she walked slowly into the cave.
It seemed bright at the opening, where starlight poured in, with nothing but shadows beyond. Darkness increased her unease, despite the warmth of the cave. A strong stream of water trickled somewhere out of sight. To her right Darame saw several candle stubs on a ledge of rock. Candles? She remembered she had only one pocket torch, already on low charge.… Taking the largest, she lifted a strike from the small waterproof container provided and flicked it against the stones.
Candlelight was grossly inefficient to see the arrangement of the inner cave. Taking several other squat candles and long, singed strikes, Darame started into the gloom. Walking forward she could do. Call his name? Her nerve failed her.
A glint of metal called her toward the water. A basin, a tiny waterfall hollowing its sides… and just beyond it, the object of her search. Stepping up to the crumpled form, she stood silent and still long enough for the wax to grow warm in her hand. Then she swooped to the flat rock by her left toe, scrabbling for the other candle stubs. Light! She had to see!
Feel, hear… Sweet Mary, is he breathing? One hand reached over to feel for his chest while the other rested against his throat. Yes, breathing, if a bit shallow… pulse rapid, skin warm and shivering. Removing her hands, she watched carefully for bruising. Moments ticked by.… Nothing. Relief passed through her, an actual weakness. Sheel was covered with bruises, which had initially terrified her. Now she could see that the one on his face seemed to be old.… Candlelight was a poor substitute for starlight, but the pattern of the bruise spoke of greens and purples, not fresh reds and black. And I thought you were thin when I first met you.… It took every ounce of self-control she had to keep from screaming: “What have they done to you?”
Darame merely whispered it. There was a slight stirring in response, and she realized he was conscious. “Sheel?” Leaning over, she repeated his name. Glinting metal… Her fingers found wire wrapped around his wrists. “Wire?” The word was husky in her ears. As if you were going anywhere.… It had cut into flesh in several places, prompting her to fumble in her pack for the peroxide. Bubbling foam caused Sheel to catch his breath, inhaling sharply.
On her feet without memory of the action, Darame turned to call Teague — and hesitated, thinking. Thinking… This is intentional. They know very well how sick you are… they want you sick. And only your god knows how long they will let me stay in here. Already facing Sheel again, Darame folded to her knees. Fever. What do I do for fever? Once more she was digging in her bag.
Salicin, she had recognized the symbol for salicin, a natural herb with much the same effects as laboratory aspirin. If she could get him to swallow it — surely Nualans can use it, Ayers would not have put it in my pack otherwise. Her fingers closed on the vial. Pulling out her drinking cup as well, she moved over to the basin, testing the water. No, as tepid as her canteen. Better he drink what she was sure of.
It was not an easy procedure. Darame never claimed to be a good nurse, and Sheel was so confused he certainly did not recognize his attendant. From the smell Darame knew the concoction tasted foul. Somehow she got most of the mixture inside of him. Next… Compresses of water?
Rooting around in her supplies, Darame found the towel and washrag Avis had packed for use on the trail. Moving to the basin, she dipped the smaller cloth into the tepid water and rung it limp. Crawling back to Sheel’s side, she blotted lightly at his face and laid the damp cloth over his neck and breastbone. Next, the towel…
Darame lost track of time as the pale streaks of daylight stretching into the cave lengthened. Seeking a more efficient means of transporting fluid, she filled the container she used to water Lightening and set it at Sheel’s head. This helped with the washrag, but the towel required the full size of the basin. How long should she keep it up? When should she try to give him more salicin? She paused only long enough to dig out the lip balm. Sheel’s flesh was more chapped than her own — enough so that she dreaded touching it with the ointment. As she feared, he flinched sli
ghtly, but was too weak for other forms of protest.
The starlight began to fail, to climb the wall facing the entrance. Outside she could hear snatches of conversation, even as the wind began to rise. Once she thought someone had looked in — but no one addressed her, no one stopped her. Because you think my task is hopeless? The thought was bitter, but anger rose to nudge it aside. He is too strong for you scum! And I’ll rot in hell myself before I let something this foolish carry him off. Slapping the wet towel onto his chest, Darame paused to stretch her raw, sore fingers, shivering as a curl of wind tickled the back of her neck. Coming from the northwest again. No wonder he caught something, with the temperature in here fluctuating so much.
Shaking more of the salicin into her cup, she dissolved it in water and reached to lift Sheel’s head. The awkwardness defied description. The wires were next: somehow, someway. And a blanket out of the pack — the gusts of wind will lower his skin temperature faster than anything I’m doing. Slipping a hand behind Sheel’s neck, she tried to lift and turn him simultaneously. And noticed… Was it wishful thinking, or did his color seem better? Raising a candle stub, she looked closely.
Definitely more color. Touching his face, she realized he was not quite as warm. Tensing all over, refusing to think about it, she set the candle down and gave him the salicin, which he drank obediently. Less like a drugged man, though… more like a sleepy one. Don’t waste time hoping! Wincing as her clothing brushed her chapped hands, Darame pulled out a lightweight thermal blanket and arranged it over his legs. Moving to his head, she seated herself and bent to examine the wires.
Fires of Nuala Page 31