“They’re on our trail now,” Giliead said grimly. He helped Tremaine with a hand under her arm, then climbed after her.
Ilias gave him a wolfish grin. There was another reason besides grend and burrowers that this surface shaft was dangerous. “They’re in for a surprise.”
A few more moments of scrambling progress up the passage and they reached the bend Ilias remembered. A big stone pipe, large enough for a couple of men to crawl through abreast, stuck out of the rock at an angle, pointing down the rough steps. It was dripping with slime and had strange white parasitic vines growing along it. The end was closed off with a heavy iron cap and there was a lever to release it along the top. Ilias found handholds in the slippery rock and pulled himself up, saying over his shoulder, “Go, go, I’ll take care of it.”
Giliead managed to get the girls to move past but Ander shoved the torch at Tremaine and climbed up onto the rocks. Ilias grabbed the lever, glancing back to make sure the others were clear, then tried to swing it over. It creaked but barely shifted. He swore, bracing his feet on the mossy stone, and threw all his weight into it. Ander leaned in to help and Ilias shifted position so he could pull while the other man pushed.
Ixion had used this ancient waterflow so he could periodically drown the burrowers when they got too numerous. The valve that controlled the flow hadn’t been opened since Ixion had used it to trap Ilias inside the cave last year; if some important part of the mechanism was rusted through, they were dead.
The lever gradually began to move, the metal groaning from the effort, and foul-smelling liquid gushed from the pipe. Then white wizard light blazed from the passage below and Ander yelled a warning. Throwing his weight on the lever for all he was worth, Ilias glanced down and got a confused image of figures in brown, and one white face. For a heartbeat he froze and that might have been the end, but Ander was still pushing and the lever gave suddenly, releasing a torrent of foul-smelling water that burst down the passage with the force of an avalanche. The loud bang of a wizard weapon blasted off the rocks and chips of stone rained down on his head. Ilias flinched and Ander grabbed his arm and they both leapt off the pipe.
The fluid gushing down the tunnel forced the wizards back, but it wouldn’t last forever. Ander made a relieved comment and turned back up the passage, following the wavering light of the torch to where the others waited. Ilias had to stand there a moment and get control of himself. It was your imagination, he thought. It couldn‘t have been him. Gil cut the bastard’s head off and no wizard comes back from that.
“Ilias,” Giliead called from above, his voice barely audible over the growing roar of the pipe. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, climbing up toward him. “I’ll tell you later.”
Chapter 11
Tremaine’s jaw throbbed and she was so tired she was stumbling. She followed Ilias with Florian and Ander behind her and Giliead bringing up the rear, carrying the still unconscious Gerard. Ilias and his friend would call comments or questions to each other occasionally, but Tremaine, Florian and Ander were too occupied with trying to keep up to talk much.
Tremaine scrambled over a rock wedged across the way and looked up to find herself facing a dead end. It was a good-sized chamber, a relief after the narrowness of the last passage, and the walls reached up to the open air only twenty feet above. It was a shock to see the soft gray daylight framed by dark leaves and vines clustered along the edge of the shaft. It’s day again, she thought blankly, not sure how long they had been down here.
“That’s a relief,” Florian said, sounding heartfelt as she stumbled to a halt.
“I didn’t think I was nervous of enclosed spaces until I came here,” Ander agreed. He shifted the strap of their satchel on his shoulder and studied the open air above. “Do we know where we’re going?”
“Away from here?” Tremaine suggested. At the moment she just didn’t care.
Ilias and Giliead held a quick consultation in which they seemed to hold opposite opinions. Ilias won and started to climb, using the thick vines and chinks in the rough stone face, while Giliead watched with a disgruntled expression.
Ander grabbed a vine to follow but Giliead motioned for him to stay back. Accustomed to the exploring technique they had used so far, of waiting for Ilias to conduct a reconnaissance every time they entered a new place, Florian caught Ander’s sleeve, explaining, “Wait, they want to make sure nothing is up there.”
At the top Ilias scrambled over the edge, then appeared again to call back down. With a muttered comment, Giliead started up, Gerard still slung over his shoulder.
They all made it to the top with a minimum of injury and aggravation, crawling out onto a flat rocky surface in the shadow of a fifty-foot cliff. Stunted trees and thick green-black vegetation clung stubbornly to the rock all around. The sky was still heavy with gray clouds and mist drifted among the branches. Tremaine just sat on the ground for a moment, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, her shoulders aching and her arms trembling from the strain. She hoped there wasn’t much further to go; she knew she had just about reached her limit. Florian didn’t look any better and even Ander was worn from his injuries and the long scramble through the cave passages.
Nearby was a canal like the one they had seen at the entrance. The opposite side was bordered by a high wall of more long black stones. Beyond it were wind-twisted trees, smothered with choking vines.
Standing up, Tremaine discovered that the foul odor of the vines they had climbed had transferred itself to any skin and clothing coming in contact with their sickly green surfaces. She groaned, wiping her hands on her muddy jacket. Ander noticed and wiped his own hands, commenting, “Everything on this island smells bad.”
They couldn’t afford a rest stop. The Gardier had been temporarily blocked by the water pipe, but Ilias had indicated that the flow wouldn’t last forever. As he led the way down to the edge of the canal, Tremaine moved behind Giliead, trying to get a look at Gerard. Giliead obligingly stopped so she could check the unconscious man. Peering past her, Florian asked, “Is he any better? Can you tell?”
Tremaine brushed Gerard’s hair out of his face and carefully lifted one eyelid. He was still deeply unconscious. “No,” she said, then clarified hastily, “I mean, ‘no, I can’t tell.’ ” She patted Giliead on the back. “Thanks, we can go now.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see what she meant, then moved on. She had noticed he seemed more reticent than Ilias, though she had the feeling he was just shyer with strangers than his friend. Ilias was the more animated of the pair, making broader gestures, and it was easier for her to understand what he was trying to say.
In the gray daylight she could see Giliead was not only built on a bigger scale, his skin had a dark olive tone under the tan, though that might be ground-in dirt. About the only physical resemblance between the two men was that they both had kind eyes. He was dressed like Ilias in mud-spattered cloth and leather though there was enough of his shirt left to tell it had been dark green. He wore earrings too, but didn’t have the silver mark on his face. She frowned, noticing he had red streaks on his upper arm and the tattered sleeve of his leather jerkin looked charred. That, and the possibly duralumin debris Ilias had had in his wound, meant they both must have been nearby during the explosion in the Gardier hangar. She shook her head, making a mental note to see what Florian and Ander thought later.
Ilias picked a path for them along the side of the canal. The surface was thick with green scum and weeds and it smelled worse than the vines. After only a few yards the walls rose up on either side, covered with lichens and small plants growing determinedly in every niche, and they had to pick their way along the edge. Gripping the rock as best she could for balance, Tremaine looked at the scummy surface and winced. “I might as well go in headfirst now and get it over with.”
From behind her, Ander said, “Don’t be such a pessimist. You’ve been wonderful so far.”
Tremaine
glanced back to give him a weak smile, uncomfortable with the praise. Mostly because she didn’t believe that it was particularly true or that Ander meant it as anything other than an attempt to assuage her feelings.
He added regretfully, “I just wish we’d been able to collect some more information.”
“Maybe we still can,” Florian put in. She nodded to Ilias and Giliead. “If this place has been a Gardier base for any length of time, then their people might know all about them.”
Ander conceded that reluctantly. “We’ll have to learn their language before we can get any facts out of them. I was hoping for something faster.”
Because we don’t know how much time we have left at home, Tremaine finished the unspoken thought. She sighed. Daring escapes aside, they weren’t exactly doing a great job at assisting the attack. A random thought occurred and she asked, “If that Gardier was a sorcerer, why didn’t he do something about the burns?”
“That is odd.” Florian frowned thoughtfully.
Ander asked, “What are you talking about?”
“The leader of that patrol, the one who put the spell on Gerard,” Tremaine explained, looking back at him. “He had recent burns on his face. Why didn’t he heal himself?”
Ander stared into the distance, his brow creased. “Good question,” he said finally.
Ilias crawled up the embankment and over the roots of the gnarled dead tree. The clouds were low and heavy and mist rose off the sea, the view of the water stretching out around the headlands obscured by the roiling white vapors. The thicker than usual mist would be an advantage in leaving the island unnoticed. If the Swift was still there. Ilias was too relieved at finding Giliead alive to worry much; if Halian had followed their plan and left, it just meant a few more days of hiding out from the wizards while they built a boat to sail to the mainland.
Ilias reached the bluff and pushed himself up to look over the tufts of grass clinging to the edge. Below, the mist hung in shroudlike shreds and streamers. Waves lapped on the tumbled black rocks that protected the cove, and in the shadow of the bluff, the Swift lay at anchor. Ilias let out his breath in relief.
The Swift wasn’t the biggest ship ever to leave Cineth’s harbor but at the moment she was the most beautiful. She was high in the stern with a fore and aft rig and the bow had a stylized eye painted on it so she could always find her way home. Her purple sails were furled and he couldn’t see any movement on the deck. Getting to his feet, Ilias picked up a loose stone and threw it at the ship.
It bounced off the roof of the small aft cabin. For a heartbeat the ship was silent, then Arites exploded out of cover behind the water barrels like a flushed quail, holding a bow. Ilias waved and grinned while Arites slowly lowered the weapon, staring, then waved wildly back.
Halian and the rest of the crew appeared from concealment belowdeck. Ilias signaled for them to drop the gig, waited for Halian’s acknowledging wave, then climbed back down the embankment to where the others were waiting.
They crouched among the rocks at the base of rise, near the edge of the canal. All their new friends jumped in alarm when Ilias slid through the brush. Giliead, who would have heard and recognized his footsteps, looked up in mild inquiry.
“Halian’s sending the gig,” Ilias told him.
“Good.” Giliead nodded, relieved. “Let’s get them down there.”
As Giliead got to his feet, Ilias leaned down to look over Tremaine’s shoulder at the unconscious man. “He’s still breathing strong, that’s something. Maybe it’ll wear off on its own.”
“Maybe.” Giliead spared the man a concerned glance. “I’ve never seen a sleeping curse before.” His hands on his hips, he looked around blankly, as if wondering how best to move the others along.
Ilias tapped Tremaine on the shoulder and pointed toward the cleft in the rocks that led down the rise to the beach. She blinked and looked up at him, so weary she could hardly keep her eyes open. “It’s not far,” he promised sympathetically, helping her to her feet. The trip down the canal hadn’t been easy either; everyone but Giliead had fallen in at least once.
Ilias watched Tremaine’s face as they emerged from the rocks and was rewarded by seeing her perk up at the sight of the ship. The mist curled up around the Swift’s painted hull and Arites and Elanin were just lowering the gig. Halian was leaning over the rail and Ilias waved at him.
All the travelers exclaimed over the Swift as if they had never seen anything like her before. Elanin jumped over the side to swim the gig out to them and they got the unconscious man, Giliead’s sword and the strangers’ gear into it. Then Ilias swam out to the Swift and climbed the net Gyan threw over the side. Hanging on with one hand, he slung his wet hair out of his eyes and looked back. On the beach, Giliead tied the gig’s rope to his waist so he could tow it while the others paddled toward the ship.
“Who are they?” Gyan leaned over the rail to ask. He was getting on in years and girth for a sailor, but he had been with Halian since the early days fighting the Chaeans.
“Shipwrecked travelers,” Ilias said as Florian reached him. He caught her arm and steadied her as she climbed the net, bracing himself to catch her if she fell. “They don’t speak a word of Syrnaic or anything else recognizable so we don’t know where they come from.”
Tremaine was next and she was obviously having trouble. Ilias caught her around the waist and lifted her until the others waiting above could help her over the rail. “How many women have you got on this island?” Gyan asked, his brows quirking.
“Just the two so far,” Ilias told him with a grin. “Want me to ask if they have a sister for you?” He kept an eye on Ander as he climbed, but knew better than to offer the stubborn young man a hand. Then Giliead arrived with the gig.
They used the net to haul the unconscious man up with a little difficulty and Gyan and Arites carried him back to the aft cabin, the women and Ander following. Ilias and Giliead got the gig back aboard as the rest of the crew scrambled down to unship the oars.
As they finished tying it off, Halian arrived, slapping Giliead on the back and catching Ilias around the shoulders in a one-armed hug. “I didn’t think I’d see you two again,” he said, grinning and ruffling Ilias’s hair.
“I didn’t think you’d see us again either,” Ilias told him honestly. Halian looked so relieved, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Ilias hated to think that the news he and Giliead brought was going to put that weight right back, with more besides.
Giliead smiled at Halian, clapping a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes were shadowed. “We need to talk as soon as we’re under way.”
Halian’s face stilled. He knew Giliead well enough to read the look in his eyes. “All right. As soon as we leave the mist, I’ll give Gyan the helm.” He nodded to Giliead and gave Ilias another affectionate shake as he released him.
Halian gave the order to haul up the sleeping stones; released from her mooring, the Swift began to drift. As the rest of the crew unshipped the oars, Ilias stayed on deck, leaning on the rail next to Giliead as the ship plowed through the mist. Gyan was in the bow, watching for rocks and signaling back to Halian at the tiller. No flying whales appeared out of the clouds to menace them and after a time he let himself relax a little. The familiar thump and splash as the oars stroked the water made him feel like they were home already. To his relief the brief swim had washed off much of the remaining mud and canal ooze; it was like washing off the caves with their distorted creatures and lingering memories. He glanced at Giliead to say something to that effect and saw the grim expression on his friend’s face. “It’ll be all right,” he said instead, trying to sound certain.
Giliead cocked a brow at him and smiled faintly, but didn’t comment.
They watched until the Swift left the unnatural mist and the wind came up. Halian gave the order to ship oars and raise sail and Ilias headed back toward the aft cabin, leaning in the doorway. The girls had taken off their wet boots and Florian was sitting on
the bunk next to the unconscious man.
Dyani appeared from below with a bucket of water and an armload of blankets. She deposited the bucket pointedly next to Ilias with the succinct comment, “You stink.”
Dyani was another fosterling like Ilias. Her father had been a navigator for Halian, killed during the battle with the Eastern Islands Wizard. Halian had brought her home knowing Karima would love having another girl to raise, but shortly after that, Ixion’s curse had made it too dangerous for Dyani to live in the house. She had gone to live with Gyan down in the village and now she wanted nothing more than to be a ship’s captain and go venturing out past the Salamin Sea.
Ilias lay in wait at the doorway while Dyani stepped in to give the blankets to Florian. With a shy smile she turned to leave and as she passed him he caught her in a big hug, managing to transfer much of the remaining mud dripping from him to her shirt and pants during the brief struggle. She clouted him in the ear and escaped, laughing and making disgusted noises. “Oh come on,” he called after her, “you’ve been at sea for days, you don’t smell like flowers either.”
He turned back in time to see Tremaine and Florian exchanging an enigmatic look. Then Tremaine started to wave agitatedly, digging in her bag.
Giliead passed Dyani, saying dryly, “We’ve got guests, don’t you think you could clean up a little?”
Ilias watched Tremaine take the metal ball out of her pack. She gestured urgently, pointing to the bucket of water. With a shrug, he handed it to her. She shoved the metal ball into it, then pushed her already sodden jacket down on it, apparently to keep it from floating to the top. Then she took some other metal boxes from her pockets and dropped those in too. “Right,” he muttered, scratching his head.
Giliead watched this performance with a frown, puzzled. “What’s that?”