Dragon Stones Page 4

  Adaran stood, brushed himself off, listening to the debris pattering to the ground and the distant voices of the men trying to figure out where he had gone. He doubted they would be able to climb the sheer cliff to reach him, but come the morning they could search for him from the air. He had to think of these pursuers as hawks, not as men. He started down the slope, moving away from the ridge, darting quickly from one tree trunk to another, not stopping until he came to an abyss. This precipice appeared much higher than the last; the ground dropped away into a vast, howling darkness, as if he had run to the edge of the world.

  Well, he had known all along that escaping from Dosen's camp would not be a matter of walking down a slope, into a valley, and out of the mountains. He was going to have to climb, with little knowledge of what he'd be climbing into; he had not watched the terrain during their flight from the dragon's lair, and so he had no idea where exactly they had landed. He remembered that Orioke had said they'd flown west. If the wizard was correct, that would have put them deeper into the mountains, perhaps even past the Salt Flats. In the morning he would be able to see into the gulf at his feet, and have a better idea of what he faced.

  For now, he moved back under the shelter of the trees, curled up beneath the concealing spread of a thick pine, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  Pyodor Ponn gathered Plenn and the remaining five children in the living room of their small apartment at the back of the inn. He had put out some discreet inquiries around the village, but no one had seen Prehn, his youngest, since the previous morning. He let it be known that anyone who happened to find her would be rewarded; if this individual also happened to return her, the reward would be doubled. He held out little hope, though; astride their eagles, Gelt's men could have taken Prehn far beyond the reach of any rescue.

  He sat on the floor in the center of the room, the four younger children on his lap or in his arms. Only Pord, the oldest, sat apart, his arms folded, sulking. Ponn knew that the boy wanted to be out with his friends, chasing a ball or swimming in the warm waters of the lagoon; instead, he and his siblings had been stuck indoors for the better part of two days. As long as Gelt remained in the vicinity, the children would not leave the inn. Ponn had failed to protect Prehn, but he would protect her brothers and sisters.

  "Tomorrow morning, your father has to go away for a few days," Plenn said. "He has to take some men out to the islands."

  Pord perked up. "The islands?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Can I come too?"

  "Not this time," Ponn said.

  "But you promised I could come next time you went out in the boat. I'm old enough now, I can help sail!"

  "This isn't a regular voyage," Ponn said. "We're going to the volcanoes."

  "The volcanoes! You mean where the dragons are?"

  Ponn realized that he had only piqued the boy's interest further; he should not have mentioned their destination. "There probably won't be any dragons," he said. "They don't come very often anymore."

  "I want to see them!"

  "Hush," Plenn said. "You can go with your father next time, but this time you must stay home."

  "But—"

  "No, Pord," Ponn said. "Next time."

  Pord settled back, looking even more cross than before.

  "The people who are going in the boat with your father are not good men," Plenn said. "They're the ones who rode the big birds. Remember the birds?"

  The children made noises of assent, and Pres, the next to youngest girl, said: "The birds are pretty."

  "Yes, they are pretty," Plenn said. "But they're dangerous. They eat little children. You must stay away from the birds and the men who ride them."

  Pronn, Pres's twin brother, said: "They asked me if I wanted to come see the birds, but I said no."

  Plenn stared at the child. "When was this?"

  "Yesterday."

  Ponn and his wife exchanged a glance. Perhaps that was how they had lured Prehn away, Ponn thought. She loved animals, and would perhaps have accepted such an invitation. He had imagined one of Gelt's thugs simply picking the little girl up and carrying her off; the thought that she might have gone willingly, a trusting smile on her face, made him feel even more guilty.

  "It's good you didn't go," Plenn said. "If you had, they might have taken you, the same way they took Prehn. Isn't that right, Ponn?"

  "Yes," he said. "Yes, they would have taken you away. They could have taken any one of you."

  "Not me." Pord made a fist with his right hand, slammed it into his left palm. "If they tried to take me, I would punch them. I punch hard."

  "Me too!" Pronn said. "I'll punch them the next time I see them and make them give Prehn back!"

  "You will do nothing of the sort," Ponn said. "You'll stay away from them. You will all stay away from them. In fact, none of you will leave the yard until I return from my journey and your sister is back home."

  This injunction raised predictable howls of protest from the smaller children, but Pord merely frowned and remained silent. "You heard your father," Plenn said. "Now, off to sleep. Come on." She shepherded the children back to the room they shared, leaving Ponn alone for a few minutes.

  Feeling aimless and ineffectual, he stood and wandered into his bedroom, stretching out on the pallet, staring up at the underside of the thatched roof; then he rolled over onto his stomach, buried his face in the mat, inhaled deeply. They had stuffed the mattress with fresh fern leaves only three days ago, and it was still spongy and fragrant. Prehn had attempted to help, toddling back and forth holding fronds taller than herself, beaming every time one of them had been used.

  Plenn came in and pinned down the beaded curtain over the doorway, then slipped out of her sarong and settled onto the mattress next to him. "Ponn," she whispered, "they will give Prehn back after you help them, won't they?"

  He had wondered that himself. "I don't know. I hope so."

  "Who are they? Where are they from?"

  "I have not been able to find out."

  "Gelt has a northern accent. Madroval, I think."

  "Yes, but he's a mercenary. Anyone could have hired him. They wear no country's colors, carry no country's emblem."

  "What about the birds?"

  "No one I've spoken to has ever seen such creatures. Some of the villagers think they must be gods."

  Plenn snorted. "They're hardly gods. Devils, perhaps."

  "Devils indeed," Ponn said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adaran woke with a start as someone touched him on the shoulder. He rolled away and jumped to his feet, reaching for his daggers; but he swiftly realized that he was alone, and what he had taken for the tap of fingertips was nothing but a small pine cone that had fallen out of the tree under which he'd slept.

  Shivering, Adaran tightened his cloak and slumped against the broad tree trunk. He stayed there for a few minutes, gathering his wits, and then slid around it and went to the edge of the cliff. The first traces of dawn had become visible, veils of dim blue light creeping over the mountains to his right. He crouched near the precipice, watching as the scene below slowly became visible.

  His position was even worse than he had feared; he appeared to be facing the Salt Flats from the southwest. The flat, arid wasteland stretched to the horizon, rimmed by mountains to the east and west. Even if he managed to find a way down, there would be no villages, no towns, no farms, no trade. He had only been in the region once, many years ago, with a small party coming out of the swampy fens of southern Yttribia. They had passed around the spur of Lake Achenar, then skirted the eastern edge of the wasteland before reaching the sprawling city-state of Achengate. Not much worthwhile came out of the Salt Flats, but everything that did went through Achengate.

  The job that had brought him to the Achengate—breaking into the vast salt warehouse and stealing a copy of the seal used for stamping salt crates—had been called off at the last minute when the merchant bankrolling the operation had backed out. The trip ha
d not been an utter waste, though; it had earned him the acquaintance of a clever young burglar named Redshen.

  Traveling along the edge of the Salt Flats had been unpleasant, but it would be paradise compared to trudging through the heart of the wasteland. He would find himself wandering among clouds of drifting, stinging powder, fording streams of toxic brine, slogging through noisome thigh-deep slurries of dust and water. He was not equipped to travel through such an environment; but the alternative was to try to cross the mountains and then descend into the wild jungles of northwestern Enshenneah. He'd never been there, although he had heard tales of snakes as big around as a man, ground that looked solid but would suck you in and drown you, plants whose intoxicating fragrance made you lay down and sleep while their roots burrowed into your body.

  It seemed his options were to die slowly of thirst in the Salt Flats, of exposure in the mountains, or as a meal in the jungle. Or he could return to Dosen's camp and die quickly, taking some of Dunshandrin's henchmen with him.

  Adaran looked up the steep, wooded slope, toward the stony ridge, invisible through the trees. It wasn't necessarily such a bad idea, sneaking back into camp; if he could steal some supplies—a few water-skins, some dried meat, some bread—and ration it properly, he might be able to reach one of the mining operations in the barrens below.

  He moved away from the tree, making his way slowly up the slick, loamy slope. He soon reached the edge of the trees, where the spiny ridge broke through the skin of the earth. The umber cliff rose thirty feet or more above his head, weathered and crumbling; fortunate he hadn't been killed, falling blind from such a height. He quickly located the chute he had come down, not far to his left; the ground was disturbed where he had landed. Something gleamed from the earth and brown needles: A lost dagger, the same one he had dropped when he'd tumbled off his eagle yesterday. Evidently the strap that held it in its scabbard was in need of a leather-worker's attention.

  He retrieved the weapon and slipped it back into its sheath; then he moved closer to the cliff, eyeing the stone. The gully would be a good spot to climb, offering concealment during the crucial moment when he hauled himself over the edge of the cliff, unless Dosen had realized the same thing and thought to post a guard over it. That was unlikely, Adaran decided; Dosen wouldn't be expecting him to come back. One man against twenty? Only a desperate fool would willingly walk into those odds.

  Adaran assessed the rock face, his experienced gaze locating the cracks and crevices where his fingers and toes could find purchase. After fully planning a route, he climbed the wall as quickly as he could given the crumbly slickness of the stone and the need for silence. He soon reached the lip of the chute and scrambled inside, pausing there to listen for sounds of movement from the camp. Nothing. He moved forward, crouching as the crevice grew shallow, stopping at a spot where he could peer out without being seen. The camp looked much as it had yesterday; they had left up the tents where he and the others had slept, where Redshen and Jenune had been murdered. Orioke's tent, of course, had been destroyed. He wondered if the wizard had survived, or if he had immolated himself and taken Dosen's men with him.

  The steward's pavilion stood some distance away, flanked by the smaller shelters used by his men. Beyond the tent city, the great birds were tied to iron posts driven into the rock. He noted that most of the eagles were missing; he only saw two of them, one sitting like a hen on a nest, the other idly scratching at an animal carcass, the remains of an earlier meal. Where were the others? Out looking for him? On their way back to Dunshandrin with the dragon stones?

  The supply tent stood near the eagles; in order to reach it, he would have to sneak past all the guards, and then past the giant birds.

  Fortunately, sneaking was his specialty.

  Adaran lifted himself out of the crevice and scurried up the slope toward the camp, his soft leather boots silent against the stone. The avians saw him coming, of course, and watched him with unblinking eyes, but they did not screech or otherwise raise an alarm. Perhaps they remembered him.

  Suddenly he realized that what he had taken for the bodies of goats or sheep were not animals at all. He froze, appalled, an unexpected fury coloring his face. Last night's treachery, while odious, was at least comprehensible as an attempt to conceal Dunshandrin's plot, to eliminate hirelings who might speak of it; but what manner of men would use human beings for offal, as if they were of no more consequence than squirrels or rabbits?

  Adaran realized that he had taken out two daggers, holding one in each hand. He didn't remember drawing them, and though he felt a strong urge to use them, he forced himself to put them away. The birds did not act out of malice; their handlers had given them meat, and they had eaten it. If he were going to wake the camp, it would be by sinking his blades into Dosen's fat belly, not by attacking a pair of overgrown chickens.

  Trembling, he crept the rest of the way to the supply tent, opening the flap and ducking inside. The cache of food and water was smaller than he had expected; perhaps they had taken some of it away on the missing birds. He rummaged through the sacks and crates, taking whatever looked useful or edible and stuffing it into his voluminous pockets.

  Pulling aside a blanket, he came across a small woven net, not much bigger than a bird's cage, with a sturdy wooden floor and topped by a thick leather loop. Something lay curled up inside of it. He knelt down for a better look and then paused, shocked again, staring at the occupant: A very small, copper-skinned, black-haired girl, apparently asleep. With the blanket removed, she shivered in the morning chill; she wore only a thin green wrap that looked more appropriate to the tropics than these windblown peaks.

  Suddenly, the eagles outside began to squawk loudly. Leaving the girl, Adaran peered outside. One of Dosen's thugs stood nearby, urinating off the edge of the ridge. He turned his head to the screeching birds and shouted, "Be quiet! I'm not feeding you, you stupid birds!"

  Adaran drew a throwing knife, weighed it in his hand. He could certainly hit the man from here, but there was no guarantee of a kill, and if he failed the guard would rouse the others. He still didn't know how many henchmen remained in the camp, but he had to assume there were enough to overwhelm him. He reluctantly put the knife away and withdrew into the tent.

  The commotion had awakened the child; she clutched at the woven bars of her prison, small fingers curling through the gaps, huge dark eyes staring up at him. "What is your name?" he whispered. "Where are you from?"

  No answer, other than whimpers. He eyed the basket, trying to figure out how it opened, but there didn't appear to be a door. Maybe they had put her on the wooden base and then knitted the thing up around her. He took out a dagger, intending to cut through the tough-looking fibers, but the girl took one look at the blade and began to scream, her voice shrill and piercing. How could someone so small be so loud?

  "Hush!" he hissed, looking at the entrance to the tent and then back to her. He put the dagger away. "See? All gone."

  It didn't help; she kept screaming. Adaran looked at the flap again. Between the birds and the girl, the entire camp must be awake by now; someone would come to investigate. He quickly tossed the blanket back over the net and then moved to the back of the tent, up against the canvas wall, sliding into a dark corner behind a half-empty crate of dried meat. After a moment he grabbed a piece of jerky and stuffed it into his mouth. Tough and salty, but edible. He started to reach for another, then froze as a man came into the tent and said: "Shut up already!"

  The child's cries subsided into a muffled whimper. The man's expression softened a little bit; he knelt down and lifted the blanket. "Are you hungry?"

  No answer.

  "You must be cold. I'll put you by the fire." The soldier picked up the little prison by its leather handle and hauled it out of the supply tent.

  Adaran snatched another bit of meat and gobbled it down as well, scarcely bothering to chew it this time. He wondered if the man would return; he didn't know whether or not the girl could talk, or w
hat language she spoke, or if she would tell the soldier that a stranger was in the tent. Finally thirst got the better of him and he crept out of his hiding place in search of water, finding it in a barrel with a tap. He took a drink directly from the spigot, then filled a water skin for the journey out of the mountains.

  He heard someone approaching and scrambled behind the water barrel. He stayed motionless in the pocket of darkness, watching as another man entered, rummaged in the food, and left with a handful of bread and some dry cheese.

  This was a bad place to hide; people would likely be in and out of here all day long. He was trapped now, though; the camp had come awake, and if he exited through the front of the tent he would certainly be seen. Perhaps he could cut a slit in the back and slip out that way.

  But what about the girl? What was she doing here? A little morsel for the eagles perhaps, something to whet their appetite?

  He had to be sensible. If he tried to rescue her, he would probably get himself killed. But he couldn't stand to see anyone in a cage; and if Redshen were here, she would want to rescue the child. She had a maternal streak that she was determined to keep hidden. On the other hand, the child didn't appear to be in immediate danger. The soldier hadn't made any move to harm her, other than frightening her by shouting.

  He needed time to think, to plan. Rescue the girl, or not? Try to escape by day, or wait until dark and sneak off into the woods?

  Leaving the questionable safety of his hiding place behind the water cask, he picked up the girl's blanket and took it to the far back corner of the tent, moving into the gap next to the crate of dried meat. He enshrouded himself with the rough fabric, leaving a gap so he could see the entrance, and then cut an escape route in the tent so that he could slip out in case of emergency.