Exile's Children (93 page)

He landed gasping. Large, booted feet surrounded him, descending from sturdy legs clad in tanned leather. When he looked up, he saw a ring of bearded faces that made him think of the gnomes Aunt Dory had told him dwelt inside the hills and came out by night to steal away human children. They wore wide swords, and several carried battle-axes, the blades like lethal crescent moons. Their eyes were large and luminous, peering unreadable at the refugees. Davyd lay panting, turning his head to find his companions. Flysse crouched against a wall of stone, her gaze intent on Arcole. He lay on his face, the shaft of the demon's
arrow rising from his back. Davyd could see his shirt and breeches stained with blood; he could not tell if his friend still breathed. Behind them, where he and Arcole and Flysse had been pulled into the mountain—where the cavern's mouth should be—there was only smooth dark stone.

Davyd stared at the blank stone, wondering for a moment if he lost his mind. Or perhaps he dreamed all this—the attack, the desperate flight, the impossible rescue—and would in a while awake. But he
felt
the rock against his back, and when he dragged a hand over the floor he felt his skin abraded, so he decided it was not a dream but only impossible. He caught Flysse's eye and saw amazement and disbelief on her face before she returned her attention to Arcole.

Davyd said, “This cannot be,” less in belief than for want of hearing his own voice, the reassurance that they were safe, if that were the case and they not hauled from the frying pan to be set in the fire. He looked at the odd, gnomic creatures and asked, “What are you?”

They smiled—that baring of the teeth a comfort, for their expressions were friendly—and one tapped his chest and said in a guttural voice, “Colun,” and then a string of syllables Davyd could not understand, though it seemed they stood on the edge of comprehensibility.

He said, “Davyd,” and touched a shaking hand to his own chest; then pointed at Flysse and said her name, and then Arcole's.

The one called Colun nodded and spoke again, gesturing the while at Arcole, and though Davyd could not understand him, the sentences had a reassuring sound, so when the craggy little man knelt beside Arcole to study the arrow, Davyd said to Flysse, “They mean us no harm, I think.”

She seemed not to hear him but hovered protectively over Arcole, and when Colun touched her shoulder she flinched and swung desperate eyes to Davyd.

He said again, more firmly now as conviction took hold, “They mean us no harm, Flysse. They saved us from the demons, no? And my dreams brought us to them, so surely they cannot intend harm.”

She looked at him, and then at Colun. Tears ran down her cheeks as her eyes returned to Arcole, but she allowed herself removed from his side and took position at his head, cradling him and stroking his hair.

Colun gently touched the arrow and spoke, gesturing with a knife he drew. Davyd gathered that he pantomimed the removal of the shaft and nodded and said to Flysse, “I think he'd take out the arrow.”

“Is that safe?” Flysse asked. “Can he?”

Davyd had no idea, but he thought that Arcole should likely die if such surgery were not performed; and knew it was beyond his capability. He nodded and said, “Can you remove it?” And when Flysse shook her head, “Then best we let … Colun?”

The little man nodded enthusiastically, seeming somehow to comprehend the exchange. He beckoned two of his companion gnomes forward, indicating that one hold down Arcole's legs, the other his shoulders. Then he smiled reassuringly at Flysse and slit Arcole's shirt that it might be removed. Arcole groaned and stirred, but the little men held him firm as Colun examined the wound. Another of his kin approached with a torch and he turned his knife blade in the flame. Then, with a delicacy surprising in one who appeared carved from the rock itself, he applied the blade to Arcole's skin.

Arcole cried out; Flysse gasped as he bucked, her eyes wide and intent on Colun. Davyd winced in sympathy as blood welled from the cut. Colun bent closer, working the blade cautiously into Arcole's back. Then he set one gnarly hand around the shaft and tugged it clear. The head came out all bloody and he studied it a moment, then said, “Chakthi,” which sounded to Davyd like a curse, and flung the arrow away.

Another picked it up and broke the shaft in two, then went to where the cave mouth had been and set a hand flat on the stone and murmured softly. Davyd gaped as the opening reappeared and the broken arrow was hurled out—as if, he thought, they'd not have it contaminate this place of sanctuary. He watched bemused as some reversing cantrip was uttered and the hole once again sealed itself.

He looked to see if Flysse had witnessed this fresh marvel, but she was focused entirely on Arcole. Nor did any of the gnomes heed the
magic, as if it were to them mundane, and Davyd returned his attention to his wounded comrade.

Arcole's breathing was for a while ragged as a mossy compress was set on the wound and bandaged in place, but then it grew even, and when a gnome moistened his face and brought a cup to his lips, he murmured faint thanks. Davyd exhaled a sigh of relief; Flysse smiled gratefully.

Colun shrugged and spoke, gesturing at where the cave mouth had been, his rocky features expressing distaste. Davyd understood none of it, save that several times a word that sounded like
Tack-in
was spoken, and
Chakthi
. He supposed they referred to the demons, and thanked whatever power sent him his dreams and had brought them there, for the rescue. He could no longer doubt that these odd, underhill folk were friends.

Colun rose then, wiping his blade clean, and barked orders that sent two of his fellows scurrying off into the depths of the cavern, which was, Davyd now saw, not a cave but a tunnel that ran back deep into the mountain. He studied it closer and wondered dazedly what produced the sunny light, and then thought again of the opening appearing in the impervious cliff—closed now as if it had never existed—and realized his saviors commanded magic. He hoped they entertained no animosity toward Dreamers: he recognized there could now be no turning back.

Then the two gnomes Colun had dispatched returned with a litter, and Arcole was lifted gently onto the makeshift stretcher. Colun beckoned, indicating Flysse and Davyd rise and accompany him, and they obeyed unquestioning as he set off into the mountain.

Colun's men bore the litter and Flysse and Davyd took station at either side. Flysse took Arcole's hand, but he seemed unaware of her touch, gone away into restful unconsciousness. She kept her eyes on him, only occasionally glancing up to see what lay ahead, whilst Davyd—confident Arcole was in good hands—stared awed about.

It was a journey of wonder to walk that passageway, its floor smoother than a city pavement, the light radiating from the walls and roof bright as summer's noon, the air flinty crisp, seeming to smell of the rock itself. More marvelous still was the knowledge that they traversed the mountains, that this tunnel ran straight and true through heights impossible to scale. As they progressed steadily deeper, Davyd felt growing inside him the absolute conviction that they came to sanctuary. He smiled, confident now that his dreams had guided them well, that he
was
the Dream Guide and had not failed his comrades. He looked across Arcole's supine body to Flysse and saw her smile, albeit wanly, before her attention was returned to Arcole.

They went on through the perpetual light, which shone always around and ahead of them, though when Davyd glanced back he saw that it faded behind them, as if their passage allowed the glow to subside into twilight. He guessed—it was not possible to reckon time accurately on this subterranean journey—that they walked away the morning. Surely he felt weariness pervade his limbs, muscles strained by the desperate climb beginning to protest this further exertion. Flysse, he saw, began to limp, her breath laboring, and he quickened his pace so that he drew alongside Colun.

“Is it much farther?” he asked, then snorted laughter and shrugged as he realized that Colun likely understood him no better than he comprehended the gnome's language. He pointed back at Flysse and then pantomimed exhaustion.

Colun nodded sagely and then shook his head, uttering a burst of the guttural syllables. Davyd frowned, thinking that the small man's words seemed clearer now, almost understandable. It was as if they each spoke some oddly distorted version of the same language, denied interpretation only by accent and emphasis. But that, he thought, could not be: he spoke Evanderan, and Colun was surely not of that country—save Aunt Dory's tales had all been true and gnomes did exist. But not, he quickly told himself, as Aunt Dory had described them—not child stealers, but benign. Still, some growing measure of communication was reached, for he gathered they had not much farther to go before they could rest. Perhaps, he thought, whatever magic gouged this tunnel and lights our way also gifts us with tongues, that we come to understanding.

He nodded to Colun, smiled, and fell back to speak with Flysse. “I think it's not far,” he said, “before we can rest.”

Flysse smiled wearily. “You speak their language now?”

Davyd shrugged. “It's as though”—he shook his head helplessly, grinning in mild embarrassment, for he'd not appear presumptuous in her eyes—“as if I
almost
understand. And Colun seems to understand me.”

“Perhaps,” Flysse returned him, echoing his own thoughts, “magic unites us. Why not? God knows, there's surely magic here.”

They halted where the tunnel expanded into a circular stony chamber, openings gaping in the rock as if this were some kind of under-mountain crossroads. At the center was a well, and around the walls were benches wide enough to sleep on, with mattresses and brightly colored blankets. An oven was cut into the circular wall, set ready with kindling, and with niches to either side from which food was produced and set to cooking.

Arcole was lowered carefully to the floor, and Colun examined his bandages and his face, grinning delightedly as his patient opened bleary eyes and asked hoarsely, “Where am I?”

Flysse was at his side on the instant, clutching his hands and stooping to kiss his cheek even as she said, “Safe! Oh, God, Arcole! I feared you were slain.”

“I too,” he croaked. “Davyd?”

“We're all safe. Davyd's warning came timely. He was right about everything.”

“Did you doubt him?” Arcole attempted to rise, but Colun set an irresistible hand on his chest and pushed him back. Arcole gaped as he saw the craggy features. “I thought I'd dreamed you,” he muttered, “but whoever you are—or whatever—you've my thanks, 'sieur.”

Colun beamed as if he understood, and with words and gestures indicated that Arcole rest.

Davyd came to his side with a cup of water—this place was well equipped, as if it were some kind of dormitory—and brought the cup to Arcole's lips.

Arcole drank and nodded thanks and said, “You did well, my friend. I'd not have thought to come here, wherever this is.”

“We're under the mountain.” Davyd waved an excited hand, indicating the chamber. His words came tumbling out, impelled by the delight he felt that Arcole survived. “The cliff opened and the gnomes pulled us in. Then the cave closed and they dug the arrow out of your back and carried you here. Their leader's called Colun, and I think the demons are their enemies.”

Colun glanced up at mention of his name, and Arcole said, “Well, 'sieur Colun, you've my gratitude. Indeed, my undying gratitude.”

He chuckled at the pun and then began to cough. Colun came quickly to his side, indicating he should not speak, but lie still. Flysse stroked his hair and mopped his sweat-beaded brow.

“Rest,” she urged. “You were sore hurt.”

Arcole said, “I know,” and grinned. “But it appears I am in good hands now. Surely, I've a pretty nurse. And”—he reached to take Davyd's hand—“a true friend to guide and guard me.”

“I was afraid,” Davyd admitted. “I feared I was wrong, and that you were slain.”

“You saved us,” Arcole replied. “I'm the more in your debt now.”

Davyd grinned and shrugged. Flysse said, “As Colun tells you, rest. They prepare food, but after you've eaten you must sleep.”

“As you command”—Arcole's eyes fixed on her worried face—“my lovely wife.”

She smiled and stroked his cheek and for a while it was obvious that they saw only each other. And so relieved was he that Arcole lived, Davyd could not envy that communion but feel only a tremendous gratitude that his friend was alive.

He withdrew a little way, settling on a bench as the chamber grew redolent of cooking, reminding his stomach it was a long time since last any of them had eaten. He smiled his thanks when a gnome handed him a bowl of beaten metal filled with meat and vegetables, and hungrily set to consuming the tasty food. Colun, he saw, mashed a bowl for Arcole, sprinkling the resultant soup with herbs of some kind before passing the dish to Flysse. The gnome nodded approvingly as she began to spoon the mixture into Arcole's mouth, watching awhile as the man ate. Davyd assumed the little man satisfied with his patient's progress, and that was a further comfort: Davyd realized he trusted Colun without reservation, as if his dreaming talent spoke on the gnome's behalf.

When they had finished eating, Colun allowed them to rest awhile longer. Arcole was gone to sleep, and both Davyd and Flysse welcomed the respite. Flysse's eyes drooped shut as she leant against a bench, still holding Arcole's hand; and for all his wonderment, Davyd felt sleep's curtains drawing closed. He could, he thought drowsily, sleep away days—now that he felt safe.

But soon enough Colun was shaking them awake, indicating that they press on. Davyd went to the well and splashed cool water on his face, realizing the while that only Colun and the two litter bearers remained. He wondered where the others had gone, and with much gesturing, Colun succeeded in advising him they were returned to the cave mouth. To keep watch, Davyd thought; and wondered if that was a thing these strange folk always did, as if they were guardians of these mountains.