Son of Avonar

CHAPTER 34

Once Giano had followed his prisoner into the darkness, Maceron and his men settled for the night in the cavern, rolling out blankets, passing food around, and setting the watch. The sallow-faced young man who had been charged with my security loosened my bonds enough for me to sit on the floor. An eager smile played over his bony face; his tongue licked his full lips. As he refastened the ropes and knots, his tight little fingers brushed my arms, and soon his hands were wandering freely. I almost wept in relief when Maceron called him away.

I told myself to sleep. There was nothing else to do but mourn, and too much of that even to begin. Rowan, Kellea, Paulo, Jacopo… I could not bear thinking of them. And the cursed, foolish Baglos. Earth and sky, how blind I had been. Bound by his Dulcé‘s vows to a master who, by Baglos’s own account, had come near destroying the Prince once before. Loyal to Dar’Nethi traitors willing to sacrifice the prince they had damaged—and my own “mundane” world—in a scheme to save their precious city. Baglos must have been terrified that Dassine’s message would expose him. Had he called in Maceron’s henchmen to attack the herb shop, causing Celine’s death and Tennice’s injury? He had run out of the room during Dassine’s message and been dismayed at finding Zhid poison in Tennice’s wound. I grieved that Baglos was dead, for I wanted to rip out his traitorous heart.

But my anger waned quickly. What was the point? Perhaps I should have allowed Baglos to carry out his plot. Perhaps D’Natheil would be better dead at the hand of his servant than at the hand of his enemy. This time tomorrow none of it would matter. And the Bridge would fall.

Beyond grief and mystery lay the tale of enchantment and corruption from another world. Did I believe the disembodied voice that swore the doom of Gondai was the doom of my world, too? And if I believed it, did I care? For so long, I had cared about nothing and no one on this earth. But when I closed my eyes I saw Paulo embracing a nuzzling horse, and Kellea’s head on her dead grandmother’s lap, and Graeme Rowan’s eyes opening in wonder while grieving for his past, and Jacopo laughing as he helped me tend my garden and paying too much for people’s bits and pieces because they needed his silver more than he did himself… so much goodness in this world… and I knew I did care. Only now it was too late.

At some time in the night, torchlight, voices, and the bustling of horses and men announced another party of travelers. The activity took place far across the cavern mouth from where I sat, and the oppressive darkness swallowed up the new arrivals before I saw or heard anything to identify them. Baglos’s body lay in a forlorn heap not ten paces from me until two of Maceron’s men decided it was in the way, dragged it off, and dumped it under the colonnade.

The horrid night dragged on.

An hour had passed since the last change of the watch, and most of the torches had burned out. Rumbling snores echoed through the cavern, but sleep eluded me. When I closed my eyes, I would see Jacopo’s staring head, and Baglos weeping, and D’Natheil straining to catch sight of me as he was dragged into the darkness. My arms and shoulders were cramped from their awkward position bent backward and wrapped around the stone column, and the muscles in my stomach and chest ached and burned so that it was hard to get a decent breath. My fingers had gone numb, too, so when someone started fumbling at the ropes that bound my hands, it took me a few moments to notice it.

Certain that it was the sallow-faced man come to continue his loathsome caresses, I tried to scream, but a thin, cold hand clamped over my mouth. When my hands fell loose, I twisted around, grabbing and scratching the hands that kept such firm hold of me. All my anger and grief was channeled into that battle, but my cramped limbs had no strength, and my small and wiry captor seemed to have four hands. Soon I realized there were two of the bastards, one wrapping a bony arm about my throat and grasping a painful handful of my hair, the accomplice capturing my flailing hands and helping to drag me through the darkness and down a dark flight of steps.

“Would you stop?” The angry whisper hissed in my ear. “You’re going to bring the whole place down on us! If you promise to be quiet, we’ll let you go. Will you promise?” I nodded my head vigorously. But the attacker was no fool. I had barely opened my mouth to yell, when the hand smothered my mouth again, and the villain twisted one arm behind my back until I thought my shoulder would pop out of its socket. I was shoved through a stone passageway and into a room that smelled faintly of horses. A door fell shut behind me, and I spun about and backed away from it into the dark.

“Give us a light, boy,” said the person just in front of me—a woman, breathing rapidly. “She’d best see who’s here before she sets up a holler.”

The darkness parted to reveal a yellowish light… a sputtering lantern with a dark cloth being pulled off it. A flushed Kellea leaned against the wall in front of me, casually brushed her disheveled hair from her face, and massaged the hand that I had bitten three times over. Paulo squatted by the lantern, grinning despite an angry scratch on one cheek. And slumped in the corner on a pile of ancient straw was a wan, smiling Graeme Rowan. His shirt dangled from one shoulder, and blood-soaked rags were tied about his middle.

I was without words.

“She was determined not to be helped,” said Kellea. “I thought I might have to stick her a bit to shut her up. A good thing the boy was with me.”

“But I thought—” I felt a thorough fool. “One of the men up there—You were all—”

“I think I’m altogether more cooperative when being rescued.” The girl ignored my stammering.

“Indeed you are,” said Rowan in a whisper. “The best thing I ever did.” He shifted his position uncomfortably, and Paulo scrambled to support his shoulders.

“They told me you were dead,” I said. Forcing aside the first tears I’d shed in a lifetime, I squeezed Kellea’s small, hard hand, and then hurried across the room and ruffled a blushing Paulo’s hair. Then I knelt beside Graeme Rowan and gripped his hand and pressed it to my brow, giddy with relief that the three were not illusions. “How did you get here?” I said. “What happened to you?”

“We were going to be dead, but she—”

“I’ll tell the story, if you don’t mind,” said Kellea, interrupting Rowan. “You’ll never get yourself together again if you don’t shut your mouth and be still. I can do only so much.”

Rowan smiled weakly, shrugged his shoulders, and began coughing. Paulo grabbed a waterskin and helped the sheriff to a drink.

“We felt them coming up behind us just at nightfall,” said the girl. “Wicked, creeping—I thought I had spiders in my head. The boy told us what the little man had said, and we stuck to the trees as much as we could. But the valley narrowed and the going was slow in the dark, so we decided to go up the side of the valley where the way was easier. Well, I decided. Graeme thought it was risky, but we climbed up. Straight into their arms. The boy was clever and ducked into the rocks before they noticed him, but I got myself royally captured. Graeme was a fool and tried to fight them off alone. Got himself skewered for his trouble. They believed he was dead, and I did, too,”—Kellea looked at Rowan with fire in her eyes—“but he was stubborn and prideful and refused to die as any sensible man would. Just before dawn, when the villain priests finally left off trying to crack my skull from the inside out, he and Paulo came rescuing. Graeme could scarcely sit his horse.”

Kellea twined the string ties of a palm-sized cloth bag about her fingers. “We couldn’t go far with him so hurt, so we hid in the rocks. The devils were so anxious to find your prince that I thought we might be left alone. At first light I went off looking for herbs to dress Graeme’s wound, but didn’t I see them scouring the hillside for us. And so… There’s a plant I know of—astemia. If you chew its roots, it slows the heart enough to simulate death. Wouldn’t have thought of it, except I’d seen the plant while hunting the others I needed. So I made Graeme and the boy take the astemia, smeared Graeme’s blood over us all, and then chewed some of it myself. By the time it wore off, the cursed priests were gone, and we were still alive.”

“And so you followed us here. You might better have gone another direction.”

“That man out there—that sheriff—he’s the one that fired the shop and killed my grandmother. And Graeme told me he’d seen this Baglos talking to him just before the attack. Since you’d said he was bound to obey the Prince, Graeme figured the Prince must know of it. But seeing the sheriff coming after you with the priests, we decided that the little bastard was up to no good, and we’d best come warn you. I guess we were too late for that. Is the Prince dead?”

“Captive,” I said. “The Zhid are planning something for the morning.”

Rowan leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Sorry I’m not much help tonight,” he said, gasping. His halting breathing—holding every breath and releasing it only when he had no choice—hinted at the severity of his injury. “A few hours sleep, and Kellea will have me up. We’ll get him free.”

Kellea crouched in front of the sheriff and slapped his cheek lightly—enough to force his eyes back open. “Don’t you dare go to sleep until I give you more of this.” She took three or four small leaves from her little bag and crushed them in her fingers, telling Paulo to pour a sip of wine into a cup. She stirred the leaves into the wine and made Rowan drink it. He dozed off almost immediately.

“He’s not doing well,” I said. Rowan’s hands were cool and clammy.

“I told him he’d be no help to anybody if he was dead.” Kellea doused a rag with water and blotted Rowan’s brow. “But he thought you might have need of us, and he’ll not keep sensible where you’re concerned. And he believes I have some stupid sentiment about saving my people.”

“Dassine said the consequences would be dreadful if we let the Bridge be destroyed. Do you think that’s true?” I badly needed Kellea’s help.

“I just want to get out of here and be left alone.” The girl stuffed the herb bag back into the pocket of her leather breeches. She nodded her head at Paulo, and the two of them carefully lowered Rowan to the straw. Paulo pushed a rolled-up cloak under the man’s head.

“We’ve got to free him, Kellea. They’re going to kill him. Even if you don’t care about that, he might be able to help Rowan. I don’t know what all his talents are, but he’s a sorcerer who’s growing more powerful by the day. We should—”

“I’ll help you, no matter,” said the girl, standing up and adjusting her sword belt. “We’ve come this far and are like to get no farther if we’re not smart about it. Pardon me if I don’t trust our safety to you.”

“All right, then.” I climbed to my feet, weariness forgotten. “We’ll need to take him some clothes, and whatever weapons we can get together…”

We set out with three knives, two swords, and Rowan’s black cloak. Kellea left her bag of herbs with Paulo and told him what to do if the sheriff woke in pain or fever. “I’ll bet the Prince can fix him,” said the boy.

“We’ll take care of him,” said Kellea, laying her own cloak over the sleeping man. “Douse the light now, until we’re off.”

Once our eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Kellea and I slipped out of the storeroom and up the steps that led back to the cavern.

“Finding the Prince would be easier if I had something of his, you know,” Kellea whispered.

“If no one’s taken it, I’ve got something…” We crept through the dark colonnade until we encountered Baglos’s body. The Dulcé‘s leather pack had been thrown on top of him. I rummaged inside. No one had bothered to retrieve D’Arnath’s silver dagger.

I gave Kellea the weapon, chewing my lip as she worked her magic with it. When she handed the knife back to me and pointed toward the winding stair, I shoved it into my knife sheath, keeping Rowan’s more ordinary knife in my hand. The Zhid had confiscated my own blade.

Kellea glided through the dark cavern and up the stairway. At each landing, she paused for a moment before continuing upward. I followed close. A faint steady light shone from one end of the third-level walkway. Quiet voices came from the nearby shadows. Kellea drew me toward the opposite end of the span, and we approached the light by skirting the cavern wall through the gallery. One man sat on the floor beside the lantern; two darker forms stood on either side of a closed door. We crept close and crouched in a shadowed doorway, a few rooms away from the men.

“… don’t trust nobody won’t show his face,” murmured a man with a gravelly voice.

“Orders is orders,” snapped a second. “We’ve been in stranger company.”

“Don’t know when. This place gives me the cold sweats. Did you look at that priest, the one that does show his face? I thought I was a dead man when he looked at me— or maybe he was.”

“Me, too,” said a third voice, younger, jittery. The soft lantern glow outlined a youthful profile. “And I keep hearing things. Like voices, but nobody’s there. When we come past that lake… all the birds. I never liked birds, specially ones you can’t see. Did you see any birds, Dirk?”

“Just do your duty, both of you,” said the second man. “Mouth shut, eyes open, and opinions to yourself. I don’t trust those animals downstairs any farther than I can spit.”

So these were the newcomers. Not Maceron’s men.

“Who is this prisoner that’s got everybody so wrought up?” asked the gravel-voiced man.

“It’s not ours to know. His lordship says they’ve got him fair trussed. If we keep him tight, we’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

His lordship…

Kellea pulled my ear to her mouth. “He’s in the chamber just past these three. I’ll get the bastards away. If you can’t free him in a quarter of an hour, leave him be, and we’ll think of something else.”

I squeezed her arm in acknowledgment, and she slipped away into the darkness. Whispers and murmurings floated through the air. I flattened myself into the niche. Moments later, a faint green light twirled and streaked through the air above the walkway.

“Cripes, what’s that?” said the gravel-voiced man.

“Go check it out.”

Scarcely had the running footsteps disappeared along with the green light when a new voice rang out in the darkness. “Dirk! Downstairs at once! His lordship’s orders.” The voice was male, but it was impossible to tell from what direction it came. I had underestimated Kellea’s talents.

The leader spewed out curses. “You’ll have to hold here, Rigo. Don’t budge now. Anything happens to this prisoner, we’re maggot fodder.” He hurried across the walkway and galloped unevenly down the stairs.

The edgy young soldier didn’t have a chance. A handful of pebbles bounced across the gallery floor, then his shrouded lantern was snuffed out by a gust of wind.

“Who’s there?” said the shaking voice. He sounded no older than Paulo.

A faint laugh, another shower of pebbles, then light footsteps tripped down the gallery. The young soldier hesitated only briefly before running after them.

The moment he was away, I jumped up and pushed open the heavy door. The walls of the barren chamber gleamed faintly of their own light. Against the far wall hung the Prince, his feet spread apart and fastened with the silver cord to bolts newly set into the stone. His hands were lashed to a wooden beam high above his head, leaving him to support his weight on the balls of his feet. The silver loop about his neck was tethered securely to another hook in the wall. He was very still, scarcely even breathing. Only a slight tremor in his legs hinted he was alive.

Seri…

I could have sworn I heard someone say my name. But the rag was still in place about the Prince’s mouth. “Stay quiet,” I whispered. “I’ve come to get you.” I freed his mouth, untied the blindfold, and slipped the loop at the end of his neck tether from its hook. While he was still blinking and swallowing, I bent to examine the bonds on his ankles.

Stifling a cough, he whispered hoarsely, “Don’t you get tired of riding to my rescue?”

“We’ve come this far. If we can get you away, you’ll have time to think about what you need to do here. You can come back when you’re ready.” I could not look at his face. I told myself that I didn’t want to shame him because of his nakedness, and that it was only fear of someone catching us that made my hands shake so wretchedly as I worked. But there was more. Enchantment was all about him, stronger than I’d ever felt before.

“Can I cut this cord?” I asked. The silver cord had bitten deep into his flesh, leaving oozing blisters and raw, ugly patches. His legs, stretched so awkwardly, were trembling with the strain of his position as he tried not to make things worse by moving.

“As long as it’s an ordinary knife, not enchanted. I tried several ways to get loose, with sorcery and not, and wished I hadn’t.”

It was nearly impossible to wedge Rowan’s heavy blade under the bindings, and I knew the pain must be excruciating as I sawed away at the cord. “I’m sorry to hurt you.”

“I’ll not complain. Honestly.” But his voice was very tight, and he mumbled a curse when I had sliced through the first one and peeled the cord away, a strip of blackened skin attached. With a grunt, he drew his freed foot under him, supporting his weight less precariously.

The other ankle was even more difficult. His foot was dark and swollen, and I could feel the cord tightening as I worked at it. This was taking too long, and his hands were still bound. Stupid, why didn’t you do his hands first? Where were the guards? There! Ankles free.

I could scarcely reach his hands. They’d put five turns of cord around his wrists and the beam. Five knots, so that each turn had to be cut individually. I jerked violently, almost slicing his flesh, when I thought I heard someone outside the door. But the pounding was only my heart. Three turns done. A quarter of an hour, Kellea had said. Who could tell how long it had been? Another layer cut. Then the last.

After we wrestled the loop of silver cord from his neck, I gave him Rowan’s cloak, unbuckled the sheriff’s heavy sword belt from around my waist, and held it ready. “Maybe this time you’ll keep your clothes on,” I said.

“I promise I won’t throw them back at you tonight,” he said, shaking the blood back into his hands. He stuck his arms through the side-slits in the cloak, pulled the garment tight around his middle, and buckled the sword belt over it. Then I gave him his own dagger—D’Arnath’s blade.

As we slipped into the deserted gallery I felt fortunate, and when we reached the stairway unchallenged, I allowed myself the beginnings of hope. But as I took the first step downward, the Prince caught my hands and stopped me.

“I can’t go with you,” he said. The darkness hid his face. “Though everything in me wants to follow you, I must go up instead.”

“No. Surely, you need—”

He put a finger on my lips. “There are no words to thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve fed me, clothed me, nursed and healed me in countless ways, taught me of this world and how to live in it, and given me a part of yourself that I’ll carry with me always. But now it’s time for me to stand on my own. I had time to think tonight. Once I figured out that I’d best not even move if I valued my limbs, I—I don’t know how to explain it—my mind took itself away from my body—”

My neck prickled. “You don’t have to explain it.”

“Giano has said over and over that my death on the Bridge will destroy it, but I think perhaps it’s only if I let them bind and slaughter me like some stupid sheep. The answer is so simple, I can’t think why it seemed so difficult. Someone’s come to fight me, set me a challenge. If I fail to meet a challenge to the Bridge, D’Arnath’s oath is violated—so the Zhid want me captive… or to run away. It’s not my death will cause the Bridge to fall, I think, but my failure. No one thinks I’m capable or willing or clever enough to see their trick. I have to be there, and I have to fight. That has to be enough. It’s all I know how to do.”

“So you’re going to the Gate to wait for them.”

“You’ve given me the chance.”

Nothing more could be said. It was his Bridge, his battle, his choice. Berating him that he needed more than some wild supposition before tangling himself in mortal enchantments would only bring the others down on us. I had done all I could to bring him to this point, and the fact that I could not bear the thought of leaving him had no relevance to the matter at all. “Have a care, D’Natheil.” I could scarcely form the words.

“And you, my lady.” And then he kissed my hand, there in the midnight of Vittoir Eirit. “There are no demons in this darkness,” he said. “No need to be afraid. Such beauty lies within you, such light. You’ve pushed away the shadows and given me life.”

I didn’t hear him walk away. But my hand stung with fire, and his words hung in the air like the tail of a comet. … no demons in this darkness… Where had he found those words? Words extraordinary only in their familiar composition and the fact that they’d been spoken in another time, by another voice, comforting me when I was afraid. How did he know of my terror of dark places? I’d never told him of it, and yet, in the tunnels under Mount Kassarain, in the darkness of the rift valley…

My boots moved downward to the next step of the curving staircase. It was as if the burning of my hand and the tale of his words had penetrated the barriers of reason and uncovered a jumble of questions I’d stored away there as too odd, too difficult, too inexplicable to think about.

What did Celine mean when she asked what miracle had brought this man to me? What had made the old Healer laugh with delight at the moment of her death? What had made Tennice cling to D’Natheil in the madness of his fever? Why had the Prince come to me… as a storm-wracked ship will follow a beacon to safe and familiar harbor?

You will shine as a beacon to me…

My body trembled with the thoughts that blossomed within it like bonfires at a midsummer’s fair. My mind refused to give credence to the absurd speculation taking shape from its confusion. Impossible. Inconceivable. Lunacy.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Are you mad?” Kellea whispered fiercely in my ear. “You’re a fool. Any one of these bastards could see you standing here. Let’s go some place safer, if you don’t mind.”

I let Kellea lead me. I couldn’t have said where we were.

“Did the soldiers come back before you got him loose? Is he still prisoner?” Kellea asked, when we reached the second-level gallery.

“No, it worked wonderfully well.” I could not focus on Kellea’s words for the chaos inside me and the fire that lingered on my hand.

“Where is he then?”

“The Gate. He went to the Gate to wait for them…” I crushed her hands in mine, knowing what I had to do. “Kellea, you’ve got to put me back.” Now I dragged her down the stairs.

We reached the next turn of the stair, and she balked. “What are you saying?”

“They’ve not discovered I’m gone. The ropes are still there. Put me back.”

I tugged at her again, but she held her ground. “In the name of reason, why?”

“Because I have to know. I can’t explain. I must be at the Gate in the morning, and there’s nowhere to hide in the chamber. So, Giano wants an audience for his triumph. He’ll take me. Please, Kellea. Put me back.”

“You’re mad.”

I yanked free of her and glided downward on airborne feet. Kellea followed me around the dark perimeter of the cavern until we reached the column where I had been held prisoner. A few moments fumbling and I found the lengths of rope. I pressed the bindings into Kellea’s hands.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure. Perhaps this will keep you three safe, too. If you stay hidden until we win or lose, they won’t suspect you’re here. Do it quickly. Please.”

I stretched my arms around the column, paying no attention to the ache of my shoulders or the pull of the bindings or the scratch of the ropes about my abraded wrists. Oh, holy, blessed gods…

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” whispered Kellea as she tied the last knot.

“Be safe, Kellea.”

The Dar’Nethi girl laid a hand on my shoulder, and then slipped silently into the darkness.

In the next hours, I relived every moment that had passed since Midsummer’s Day. When had I first felt it?

At Ferrante’s when he came out of the shadows to check that all was well with me? I had caught the scent of roses and thought I was dreaming. In the forest out of Fensbridge, when his laughter set my blood afire? I had called myself a lustful fool. As far back as the day he threw the knife at the rock and I felt the touch of enchantment? Tennice had seen it in his illness, and I had called it delirium. Stars of heaven, he had even named the great chestnut Sunlight. The Vallorean word for sunlight was karylis, and only one horse in my memory shared the name of the Vallorean mountain that sheltered the lost city of Avonar.

No wonder the stories I’d told him in the ruined castle seemed more like his own memories than any Baglos had provided. I could not shake the implausible, impossible, lunatic conviction that they were his own memories. In some way beyond all rational understanding, the man who had appeared out of nowhere on Poacher’s Ridge, the man who sat upstairs in the chamber of fire, setting himself ready to prevent the doom of the world, was Karon.