Another pregnant silence, and Matthew frowned. “I wish I could believe she has woken, Gil. But that’s too much like the happy ending in an empath storysong. When I were a lad in th’ Land, I saw life as a grand story full of heroes an’ villains an’ sleepin’ princesses that mun be wakened with a kiss. I nivver guessed it might be a sad story that ends in misunderstandin’ an’ tragedy.” A silence. “I have nivver lost heart. I just ken that mebbe I have been wrong tryin’ to force a battle. Mebbe the prophecy is true, an’ Dragon mun come here before this Land can be free. I mun gan back to th’ Land. I am sure I can convince Elspeth an’ th’ others to let me bring Dragon here, once they understand that it may be th’ only thing that will wake her.”
Gilaine laid a hand on his arm, and he flushed, then paled. “I dinna expect her to love me. I scorned her affection when she was a lass, so how could she love me now? An’ she will be a queen. It’ll be enow fer me if she can be restored to her people an’ will let me serve her.” There was a caressing quality to his voice that made me think of the blaze of wonder I had seen on his face when Dragon had tried courageously to save two children from a Herder just before she had fallen into her coma. He had been enchanted by her heroism, but something in his voice and face now suggested that boyish infatuation had ripened into something deeper and more real.
They were staring out to sea again, and Matthew said in a different voice, “I dream of them sometimes—Elspeth, Dameon, an’ Rushton. Th’ others. They all seem older.…”
Gilaine looked eagerly at him, and he smiled at her. “Well, of course ye do, for if anything could reach across all that distance, it must be the love between Daffyd an’ you.” His smile faded and again he looked out to sea. “I just wish I kenned what is happening in th’ Land. The slavemasters talk of it but mostly in their own language to one another, as ye ken. The slaves from th’ Land talk, but it’s hard to glean much more than that the rebels have driven out both Council and Faction on one side of the Suggredoon, while the Council and Herders have the west coast, an’ from what you saw of Daffyd …” He broke off as a man whose face was vaguely familiar joined them. It was not until he spoke that I recognized Jow, Daffyd’s elder brother. Both brothers had once served Henry Druid, before realizing they were Misfits.
“You’d do well to keep your mouth shut hereafter, lad,” Jow said. “It’ll be the Entina pit for you if you’re caught fighting.” Gilaine must have made some protest, for the man touched her cheek gently. “Speaking of it won’t make it happen, child.”
“He is right anyway,” Matthew said grimly. “It is only lucky that no one saw Naro attack me, so I could claim I had fallen. The masters were suspicious, of course, but as an overseer, I get more work out of a crew than any other, so it would be a terrible waste to feed me to th’ Entina.”
Jow laughed. “You conceited young whelp. But it’s true you have a gift for moving men about a job that would be hard for the masters to replace. Still, you’d best lie low for a while.”
I woke with the complete certainty that I had not merely true-dreamed of Matthew; I had seen him and the others in the present. The only way to have done so over such distance was on the dreamtrails, which meant I must have drifted onto them in my sleep. I had too little knowledge of the mysterious and dangerous dreamtrails to know how this could have happened, but to feel sure I was right, I had only to think of my previous dream of Matthew, in which he had seemed to hear me call out his name. The thought that I had made contact with Matthew in the Red Land was thrilling and revolutionary, but it went with another thought I had sometimes had: that true dreams were merely dreams experienced while the mind drifted close to the dreamtrails. I decided to endure the discomfort she always made me feel and discuss it with Maryon when we were back at Obernewtyn. If I was right, perhaps I could ask Maruman to guide me to Matthew on the dreamtrails.
But what had woken me? By the darkness, it was still night, though perhaps not far from dawn. I got up, shivering with cold, and peered through a small gap in the laced canvas. The chink of sky visible through the overhanging branches was the dense starless indigo of predawn, and the air was so damp that it must have rained again while I slept. I decided to walk back at once, rather than waiting for Gahltha to arrive. I would be able to tell the others of the letter I would scribe for Vos and outline my plan over firstmeal. I began marshaling the arguments I would need as I groped for my boots. I was about to pull them on when I heard a branch snap loudly.
I froze and sent out a probe. It would not locate, but when it brushed several areas of buzzing resistance, the hair on my neck prickled, for that could only mean men with demon bands. I was able to distinguish four separate areas of resistance close by and two farther away in the direction of Khuria’s cottage.
Another branch snapped, and then I heard a man hiss softly that the wagon must be close. I felt sick. Their knowledge of the wagon’s whereabouts meant they had been up to Noviny’s homestead to question the others. Worse, the stealthy approach meant that they knew I was inside it, for Zarak would never willingly give me away.
Hearing another footfall very close, I reached down and carefully unfastened the disguised hatch in the wagon floor that was the lid of the compartment where Swallow’s plast suit lay. Lifting it open slowly to prevent the hinges creaking, I climbed carefully into the cavity. Hauling my boots and wet clothes in with me, I lay down flat and lowered the hatch. Once it was in place, I felt for the pin that would allow me to secure it from beneath.
I relaxed my muscles, trying to calm my breathing so that I could hear, for the coffin-like compartment had been built solidly to ensure that it would not give out a telltale hollow sound if it was knocked. Minutes passed until I heard a hiss of triumph and a furtive rustle as the canvas was thrust aside. The wagon rocked as first one, then a second and a third man climbed in, their boots loud on the wooden boards over my head. I heard one curse, and through a crack to one side of the compartment’s lid, I saw a light flare.
“Empty,” snarled a voice. “The boy lied.”
“I dinna think so,” said a man in a rough highland accent. “She has been here, all right. And from the smell of it, she cooked.”
“Where is she, then?”
“She got away. Vos won’t like it,” said another man.
“Malik will like it even less,” responded the highlander. He bellowed an order for a thorough search of the area surrounding the wagon. There was the sound of a locker opening overhead, then rummaging and banging and our belongings shattering. Finally, someone hammered at the floor. I trembled as the point of a knife showed between the boards, but Grufyyd had done his work well, and the knife would penetrate no deeper because of crisscrossed metal strands laid in a grid under the wood. After a moment, the knife was withdrawn.
As the search continued, I learned from their talk that a troop of armsmen had ridden to Noviny’s homestead during the night, and Khuria had been tortured to make Zarak say where I was. It was horrible to think that this had been happening while I slept. But why had Vos sent his men after me? Or were they Malik’s men, dispatched when he heard about the meeting with Vos? And where were the others now? They might still be in the homestead, but it seemed more likely they would have been taken to Vos’s property where, as chieftain, he would have cells.
But what about Maruman and the horses? Gahltha must have been taken prisoner, or he would have come to warn me, so I tried to beastspeak Maruman. The probe would not locate. I told myself it was inhibited by the tainted ground between us, but at the same time I had a dreadful vision of the armsmen slaughtering all the beasts to ensure that none could help me.
The wagon rocked, and I realized that the armsmen were climbing out of it. I pressed my ear to the wood to listen. The other searchers had returned with news that there were no tracks or any other sign of me. The rain had been too heavy.
One of the armsmen said they must take the wagon back to Vos’s and suggested using their own horses to draw it. Another p
ointed out that it would be impossible since the wagon had no proper harness.
“Let’s burn it, then,” said another.
Hearing this, I turned onto my belly and closed my fingers around the pin that held the bottom of the hidden compartment in place. Grufyyd had created the second opening in case a person concealed there needed to slip away. But finally the highlander, who appeared to be the group leader, said that the wagon had better be taken back to Vos’s in case Malik wanted to look it over.
There was much groaning as they dragged it out from under the tree and pushed it onto the track, where they tried to hitch two horses to it. By the time the wagon set off at the uncomfortable jerky pace that comes of mismatched horses, my senses told me that dawn had come and gone. I tried to beastspeak the horses, but both wore demon bands whose strength was such that it produced a queer discomforting numbness in my mind.
“What is this?”
Hearing Malik’s cold unmistakable voice made my scalp crawl.
“This is th’ wagon that th’ mutants used, Chieftain,” answered the highlander who had elected to ride along with the carriage after commanding the others to continue searching for me. As he explained where they had found the wagon, it became clear that Malik had neither sent the men nor instructed Vos to do so. It was also clear that Malik knew I had vanished but did not know who I was.
“I should have been informed before anyone made a move against Noviny and these mutants,” Malik said, his voice sharp with displeasure.
“Chieftain Vos commanded that the servants were to be sent home, an’ Noviny an’ his granddaughter be taken prisoner, along with the mutants an’ the horses. One of the mutants turned out to be a gypsy, but the armsmen took him as well, just in case. All other beasts were killed, as well as two maidservants an’ a man who refused to leave.”
I bit back a cry, thinking of the servants I had seen and the dogs that had greeted me upon our arrival. And Maruman!
“You said the mutants were questioned?” Malik prompted.
“They were nowt questioned until they were brought back to Vos’s homestead. That is when we realized th’ female mutant, who had presented herself to Chieftain Vos, was not among them. At first the mutants tried to tell us that one of the women killed was the missing woman, but after we tickled the mutant lad’s da, he told us she had sent a horse to tell him that she was waiting out the storm in the wagon.”
“Probably the other mutants used their freakish powers to warn her as they were being taken away.”
“They couldn’t have, Chieftain,” the highlander said. “The armsmen put demon bands on the lot of them at Noviny’s place. But mebbe the female mutant saw them pass.…”
Malik grunted. “What did the mutant boy say they were doing here?”
“Only what th’ female told Chieftain Vos yesterday: that they were headed for Sutrium an’ had merely stopped here on th’ way fer the lad to see his da. But it’s clear they came because of something the old man scribed in a letter. Chieftain Vos had th’ captives thrown into the cells an’ gave orders for us to find the woman. That is when I sent a rider to ye, Chieftain.”
There was a silence; then Malik said, “Very well. Take the wagon to Vos and make sure the prisoners are not questioned again. I will deal with them myself when I come. Tell him to concentrate his men and his efforts on finding that female mutant. With luck, she has stumbled into one of the perimeter traps and is dead. If so, I want to see her body.”
I heard the sound of horses galloping away, then the slushy clop of hooves and the jingle of harness as the wagon lumbered on. I laid my face on a fold of the plast suit, insisting to myself that Maruman had not been slain and wondering if I really had the courage to put my plan into action.
I MUST HAVE fallen asleep for I woke to the sound of horses’ hooves clattering over cobbles and realized that we had reached Vos’s holding. I tried to picture the layout of the yard I had seen the day before. When the wagon turned left and came to a halt, I reckoned we had stopped in front of the barn that stood nearest the grass surrounding the main house in a sea of green. As the horses were freed from their makeshift bindings, I sent out a probe for Gahltha and then tried to reach Lo and Zade, to no avail. A large area of buzzing rejection came from what I guessed to be the direction of the corral. Perhaps Gahltha and the others were in the midst of the banded horses, and the collective disruption of their demon bands prevented me from reaching them. I farsought Zarak and Khuria with no more success, before remembering the highlander had spoken of their being demon banded.
After the two horses that had drawn the carriage were led away, I rolled on my back and was reaching for the pin that held the overhead hatch when I heard the voice of the armsmen who had brought the wagon in with the highlander.
“I do not see why we should be worried about making sure Chieftain Vos does what Malik commands,” he said in a low, truculent voice. “He is not our chieftain.”
Another voice told him authoritatively not to be a fool. “Do you think Chieftain Malik camps in Saithwold province these long winter months because he is concerned about protecting our coastline? He could just as well leave that to his men. I believe he intends to offer his name to the Council of Chieftains as candidate for Saithwold.”
“But Chieftain Vos—”
“Will do nothing because he will be under charges for setting up the blockade and trying to force the people here to vote for him. Why else would Malik encourage him to do such things? But the main point is that Chieftain Malik is like to take on those of us who have proven useful to him.”
“All right, but how are we supposed to make sure Vos obeys Malik’s command not to question the prisoners again?”
The other man answered in a sneering voice, “Vos can be steered as easily as a sheep. Didn’t you hear the highlander say in Vos’s hearing that it is Malik’s practice to keep prisoners in isolation and solitude to weaken their wills? If he follows his usual pattern, Chieftain Vos will simply appropriate the idea as his own.”
The banging sound of a door came from the direction of the main house, ending the conversation. I heard the sound of many boots approaching and then Vos’s voice, sneering at the wagon’s smallness and its “grotesque and freakish ornamentation.” To my horror, one of the armsmen again suggested burning the wagon, adding that the prisoners be made to watch. But Vos said loftily that he had decided the prisoners would stay where they were for the time being. A bit of isolation would stew their terror and make them more amenable when they were again questioned.
Vos derided the wagon for a little longer, then ordered it to be dragged out of his sight. There was a good deal of pushing and shoving before I heard the muffled sound of receding boots, and I prayed that the wagon had been pushed into the shed. It would be much easier to sneak out under cover.
After listening for a long time to be sure there was no one close by, I turned onto my belly, pushed aside the plast suit as carefully as I could, and pulled the pin at the bottom of the concealed section to release the lower hatch. I hung my head out, startled to find myself looking down at thick green grass. The wagon was not in the barn after all but on the grass beside it. With a sinking heart, I visualized all the windows in the long side of the homestead that would face me as I crept out.
I opened the hatch farther, hung my head right down, and looked around, but it was not until I gathered my courage and climbed out that I discovered that the wagon had been pushed under a weeping tree growing beside the shed. Better still, the barn door was flung open so wide that it blocked part of the wagon from view. I closed the hatch and crept along the side of the barn into the dense trees surrounding the homestead, giving thanks for the barn door’s protection. All I had to do was stay hidden until dark, then slip inside to find the others. I refused to let myself dwell on how I would rescue them when all of the armsmen wore demon bands. I told myself that I should first find the horses. They might be able to tell me where the prisoners had been taken, and Gah
ltha would know what had happened to Maruman.
I moved through the trees behind the barn and around to where I had seen the corral, only to discover a large empty yard I would need to cross before I could reach it. I could not see any armsmen about, nor could I check for smaller buzzing areas of disturbance because it had begun to rain again.
My heart leapt into my mouth when, among the horses, I spotted a coal-black head I would have known anywhere. Gahtha. I beastspoke him and was close enough that I ought to have reached him even in the light rain, but he did not respond. The buzzing repulsion and the glint of metal about his neck gave it away. He had been banded! Gahltha could not reach me any more than I could him, yet his sense of smell was acute. He lifted his head and wheeled suddenly, causing an eddy in the slow swirl of horses. Then he was at the edge of the yard, his nose quivering.
I crouched and slipped through the fence posts into the empty yard. I ran across it, bent low, for I had spotted a group of armsmen sitting on the front porch of the homestead, talking and cleaning their weapons. Assuring myself that they could not possibly see me with all the moving horses between us, I had almost reached Gahltha when, to my astonishment, he laid back his ears and bared his teeth at me!
I stopped incredulously. What was the matter? I moved toward him, but this time he reared up slightly and gave a low, urgent whinny, stopping me again. I recognized the whinny he had given as a warning and looked around, but I could see no one. Baffled, I took another step. Gahltha snorted and shook his head.