Giant Thief (13 page)

  It was nowhere near enough, of course.

  "
This
is the plan? The mayor is a donkey-bred idiot, and you're worse for following her!"

  Mounteban didn't bother to respond. He was focused on charging the last distance to the campsite border, and probably wondering how he was going to negotiate the small but well-armed force gathered to cut off our escape. It may also have been that my terrified grip around his waist made it hard to speak.

  I wasn't about to let that stop me. "You're insane! We're all going to die. We could have cartwheeled out with more chance of success!"

  I had more to say but suddenly no time to say it. A rider to our left went down in an incomprehensible blur of hooves and showering dirt. The beast's scream seemed to go on longer than it had any right to. I looked away, in time to see the man on my right jerk into thin air, as though suspended by ghostly hands, while his mount pitched from under him. He was spread-eagled on the ground before I saw the fletching jutted from his chest.

  The squad of troops ahead was three deep now, painted in inhuman colours by the shivering torchlight. Not one of them looked like they planned to get out of our way. We might have been able to ride down the scimitar-wielding front row; but behind I could make out the cruel glint of spears.

  Something passed us, a blur of movement against the sky. The other riders sheered away, barely in time. A rhythm like war drums drowned out our horses' thrashing hooves. I'd only just registered that the shadowy colossus was Saltlick when he struck the first line like a boulder rolled into a haystack.

  Most of Moaradrid's men had the sense to dive out of the way. Those that didn't he batted aside. One sailed past us, his strangled cry echoing behind him, blood streaming from his forehead. A spear-bearer was brave and stupid enough to prod his weapon toward the giant. Saltlick caught it without breaking his stride, plucked up man and spear together and hurled them effortlessly over one shoulder. He broke through the last rank without pause and plunged on, indifferent and terrible as an avalanche.

  Those Northerners still conscious and relatively whole were just beginning to reform when we struck in Saltlick's wake. One made a half-hearted swipe at us, and received Mounteban's boot in his face for thanks.

  As we hurtled clear, I fought down a whoop of joy at the sheer outrageousness of our escape. That was until I glanced over my shoulder, in time to witness the remainder of our band meet the remnant of the defenders. Shocked and disordered though they were, they'd had an instant to recover. It was all they needed. The front rider was torn down by a forest of spears, which sprung up as if from nowhere. The other two reined in to avoid his staggering mount and lost – in quick succession – their momentum, their saddles, and their lives.

  The exultation turned bitter in my throat.

  If Mounteban knew what had occurred, he didn't let it show. He veered to the left, leaning low over his mount's neck, placing the bushes and short slope that bordered the road on our right. Saltlick, who'd come to a halt there, fell in behind. Mounteban threw us into another sharp turn, this time up the incline. Our horse nearly stumbled, then caught its footing and burst through the tree line.

  I couldn't see what had guided Mounteban to this particular spot, but there was a faint trail visible through the undergrowth. There was just space enough for us to pass at a canter. Saltlick pounded along behind us. As branches lashed into my face, I wished Mounteban had had the foresight to make him go first.

  Almost immediately, I became aware of a light ahead. I couldn't identify its source until we came out right upon it. A crevice split the cliff face, men with torches guarding it to either side. They looked more surprised than pleased to recognise Mounteban. They'd likely had as much faith in our chances of survival as I had.

  "The others?" one called.

  "The same way we'll all be if you don't get inside," snapped Mounteban.

  As my eyes began to adjust, I saw how great stones had been piled to both sides of the entrance, amidst mounds of broken foliage. The passage had obviously been sealed and hidden, and only recently cleared. When we dismounted and ducked into its mouth, I noticed ropes leading from the beams supporting the roof.

  Further in were the two disgruntled mules to which they were attached. Mounteban's companions were trying to drive them forward, with hard slaps to the rump and a stream of curses. One chose to understand and strained forward, shifting its prop a hand's length inward. The other dug in its hooves, baring yellow teeth in a stubborn grin. The first heehawed appreciatively and followed its example.

  Shouts and heavy footfalls growing louder behind told me we hadn't evaded our pursuers. An arrow thunking into the rightmost beam confirmed it.

  Saltlick stood hunched inside the entrance, staring straight ahead. I called his name, expecting him to ignore me. Instead, he looked down. I hadn't appreciated quite how badly hurt he was until then. A fresh gash ran down his cheek to his shoulder, bleeding freely, and other cuts nearly as bad covered his torso and arms. He'd given worse than he'd received, though; the knuckles of each hand were wet with blood. I pointed to the beam beside him, the rope hanging slack from it. He seemed not to understand at first. His eyes travelled to the mules and hung there.

  Another arrow hurtled from the darkness, embedding itself with a wet thud in his shoulder. He didn't appear to notice.

  "Saltlick," I pleaded.

  He shook his head, as though waking from a particularly unpleasant dream. He looked at me, and back at the beam. Then he reached with one huge hand and shoved it aside, as lightly as if it were a bundle of twigs. The roof moaned, and sank visibly. Dirt showered down, followed by pebbles and then rocks as big as melons. A couple struck Saltlick, leaving scarlet welts in their wake. He didn't flinch, let alone try to move.

  The recalcitrant mule, panicked by the noise and dust, reconsidered its position. It drove forward, hauling the second, already weakened strut along with it. The wood split with a crack like thunder, and the ceiling dipped further.

  I caught hold of Saltlick's free hand and hauled. He gazed at me, or perhaps through me. I realised I couldn't possibly move him if he didn't want to be moved. Then abruptly he strode forward, dragging me with him. It was just in time. An instant later, the cave mouth was gone.

  I stood blind and choking, amidst dust so thick that it almost hid our frail torchlight. The earth grumbled and trembled around me, even after the last falling rock had rolled to a halt.

  Someone nearby heaved a sigh of relief, and a voice said, "Come on. We're not home yet."

  I recognised it as Mounteban's, though it sounded strange in the soupy air. The torch glow, still indistinct and a murky orange, contracted and darkened. I heard feet and hooves nearby, receding with the dimming light.

  "Wait!" I called, and for my trouble got a lungful of dust that set me choking again.

  I was still clutching Saltlick's fingers. They were unpleasantly sticky, his own blood mingled with that of Moaradrid's men. I didn't let go. In that filthy gloom, even the company of a gore-stained, sulking giant was better than being alone.

  "Let's get after them," I muttered, striving not to suck down more dust.

  I tugged at his hand. I might as well have tried to shift one of Mounteban's obstreperous mules by pulling its ears.

  "I know you're hurt, but staying here won't help."

  "Did bad."

  Saltlick, as usual, spoke as if the words cost him the kind of effort usually associated with climbing mountains or swimming oceans.

  "All right, I shouldn't have left you. But I came back, didn't I? I could just as easily have made a run for it."

  "
Saltlick
did bad."

  I stared, aghast – a waste of a good expression, since our torches were nearly out of sight. "Are you insane? You saved our lives."

  "Bad. Not hurt. Not kill."

  "You were defending yourself! And me, and that fat crook Mounteban. Can't you even do that?"

  It struck me that there was a real risk of ending my life debating morality with a giant in a pitch-black mine shaft while my air slowly ran out. My mother had often told me I'd talk myself to death one day, and I wasn't about to prove her right.

  Still, even that motivation possibly didn't excuse the ploy I fell back on. "Saltlick, if you don't come with me then who'll stop Moaradrid going after your family?"

  He was moving almost before I finished the sentence. Running, I could just about keep up with his strides. It was a nerve-shattering business, with the constant risk of tripping and the passage creaking as if at any moment the rest might collapse. The space quickly narrowed, until Saltlick was jogging along crouched almost double, nearly blocking the scant light ahead. I could have reached from wall to wall by stretching my arms.

  When it opened out again, I stepped into light so bright that I had to shade my eyes. I realised after a moment that it was only the torches. We'd caught up with Mounteban, his companions and the rebellious mules. They stood waiting in a small chamber, though after the confines of the passage it seemed vast. A contraption like a high-sided cart rested on a plinth in the centre, chains running in clusters from its beamed roof up into the dark. I decided it must be some sort of lifting platform.

  Mounteban called, "Please, don't hurry. We only lost five of our best men saving your worthless hides."

  It didn't seem politic to point out that I'd only needed saving because he and Estrada had sent me into the jaws of death. I stepped onboard, and Saltlick followed. Mounteban pulled on a cord and a bell clattered far above, the echoes reverberating frantically back down to us. We lurched upward, with a groan of timbers. The platform had been built to move ore or contraband, perhaps even men and mules, but full-grown giants were a new challenge, one it obviously didn't relish. Our progress was painfully slow. With nothing to see but damp, mottled rock and my gloomy companions, I considered giving up to the weariness creeping through my body and mind. It seemed an age since those hours of peace and quiet in my little cell. I thought of it longingly, and my eyelids drooped.

  I was jolted out of half-sleep by the whole carriage rattling, end to end. We'd arrived in another, larger cavern. I couldn't tell if it was natural or man-made, but it was huge, with half a dozen exits leading off in every direction. The ceiling rose high above us, and then dipped off sharply towards the edges, like the roof of a pavilion. The cave was being used principally as a storage area, crates and barrels piled against the walls filling most of the space not taken up with the lifting platform and its mechanism. Light came from torches in plinths spaced around the walls. A couple of dozen men had turned to watch our arrival, all of them arrested in the midst of some chore: polishing weapons, oiling armour, or packing rucksacks and saddlebags from the sacks and boxes.

  Marina Estrada stood with folded arms at the entrance of the lifting platform. "You made it," she said.

  She sounded both glad and weary. If she'd been bedraggled when I'd last seen her, she now looked as if a strong breeze would break her in half. It had clearly been a trying night.

  I wasn't about to make it any easier. "We made it, all right, no thanks to your hare-brained…"

  Mounteban shoved me aside, hard enough that I nearly ended up in the dirt. The look of disgust he cast in my direction would have rotted wood. "I lost them all, Marina. I hope your scheme was worth that. I hope
he
was worth it."

  He stormed past and disappeared into a passageway, followed by two-dozen sets of astonished eyes.

  Estrada let out a sigh more like a shudder and said, so softly that she couldn't have meant for anyone to hear, "But you
did
make it."

  She turned to me. "Nothing's ever worth the sacrifices." She shook her head. "Castilio understands that… or he will when he's had time to calm himself. You did well, Easie Damasco."

  "I had no choice."

  "If there's one thing I've learned over these last few days, it's that there are always choices, even when every one's terrible." She looked towards Saltlick. "Master Saltlick, isn't it? I'm honoured to have you here, and saddened by what you've had to endure."

  Saltlick held her gaze for an instant, and then hung his head. There was something so dignified in her manner, just for that moment, that I couldn't tear my eyes away. Then the exhaustion took over her again, like a wave devouring an elegant pattern drawn in sand. Once more, all I could see was a woman in urgent need of a good night's sleep.

  I could tell from her expression that there was scant hope of that. She turned to the motley crew lounging about the cave and called, "These tunnels will be in Moaradrid's hands by dawn. Everyone muster outside in ten minutes. Pass the word."

  It was remarkable how they snapped to attention, as though lightning had darted the length and breadth of the chamber. In a few seconds, it was empty.

  Estrada turned back to Saltlick and me and said, "You can't rest just yet, I'm sorry. What I told them is true; this refuge is lost to us. I've a proposition for you both, but I think you should hear what I have to say to the others first."

  "Based purely on your record so far, the answer will probably be no."

  "Perhaps. I can't force you this time. All I ask is that you'll listen."

  "Well, I'm a little dizzy from blood loss and starvation. I'll do my best."

  I thought Estrada smiled, though it was hardly more than a flicker. "There's food in those crates. We can't take it all with us, so help yourselves." She pointed to one of the cavern's numerous exits. "Just head that way in ten minutes time, and see if what I say makes sense."