Point of Hopes (64 page)

The wind was still strong, tearing the clouds of the
day apart to let through bits of starlight. Rathe stopped, confused
by the dark and the sighing trees, and Denizard pushed past him, a
dark lantern ready in her hand.

“
This way,” she said, and the
others followed.

She led them cautiously around the manor house,
following some path that Rathe couldn’t see, and brought them out
at last beside a small stream. Now, at the height of the summer, it
was more sound than water, the stream itself perhaps a foot wide,
clattering over the rocks at the center of its bed, but Denizard’s
lantern showed higher banks where the spring floods had carved a
deeper channel. Beyond the far bank, a path led uphill following
the course of the stream, barely wide enough for a man and a pack
pony to walk abreast. It rose steeply, without much regard for
travellers’ footing on the rocky ground, and Rathe heard Eslingen
swear under his breath. Denizard heard him, too, and gave a grim
smile.

“
It’s all uphill from here,” she
said, and the soldier swore again.

“
How far?” Rathe asked, adjusting
the sword he’d borrowed from b’Estorr, and the woman
shrugged.

“
According to the deed to the
estate, a couple of miles, but it’s always felt further to me. The
road gets better about half a mile up—this is the path they use to
bring the gold down, they don’t want it to seem easy to
strangers.”

Rathe sighed at that and glanced up, wishing that
the trees didn’t cut off so much of the starlight. The waning moon
was no help at all, had already set, and Denizard’s dark lantern
did little more than add to the darkness. Rathe looked away from it
deliberately, stretching his eyes as though that would help him
find his night sight more quickly somehow, and followed the others
up the stony path. As Denizard had promised, it got easier as they
climbed higher, widening until two horses could walk abreast, but
even so it took most of their concentration to keep from slipping
on the rocky track. It was well over an hour later when Eslingen,
walking a little ahead of the others, stopped and held out a
hand.

Denizard shuttered her lantern instantly. “What is
it?” she murmured, her voice barely a breath above a whisper, and
Eslingen waved her toward the woods.

“
Guardpost,” he murmured. “Only a
couple of men, so it’s not the real thing yet.”

“
Probably here to catch any of the
children who try to make a run for it,” Rathe whispered, and ducked
behind b’Estorr into the shadow of a bush. He could see movement
now, darker shadows among the trees, and then, as one turned, he
saw the spark of a lit slow match bobbing at chest height. He held
his breath, seeing that, fought the urge to duck, and the spark
moved away again, vanished as the guard turned back to his
post.

“
Probably,” Eslingen agreed, “but
we can’t afford a fight at this stage. We’ll have to go
around.”

Denizard made a sound that might have been a sigh.
‘This way.”

She led them up the slope to her left, climbing
cautiously through the trees and rock until they could pass the
guards unseen and unheard. The guards’ interest seemed to be
focussed on the mine; they stood facing uphill, turning only
occasionally to glance back down the road toward Mailhac. They had
a brazier with them, and a lantern, Rathe saw, and hoped it had
ruined their night vision.

Even after they had passed the guardpost, Denizard
did not return to the road but led them along the slope parallel to
it, her boots silent in the thick carpet of dead leaves and debris.
It was quiet enough, Rathe thought, following more cautiously, but
the same soft cover hid all but the largest rocks and was
dangerously slick in places, making the footing treacherous. He
slipped once, and swore silently, pain shooting up from a wrenched
toe, but that eased almost at once and he allowed himself a soft
sigh of relief. All they would need now was for someone to get
hurt.

Ahead, a light showed between the trees, a cool,
diffuse light, and Eslingen stopped, tilting his head to one side.
“Mage-fire?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and
b’Estorr nodded.

“
I would say so. They’ll have to
work all hours to take advantage of the proper stars, and there’s
no better way to light this large a space.”

“
This way,” Denizard said, and
pointed to her left again. She led them further up the slope where
the trees and brush were thicker, crouched at last behind a cluster
of rocks and screening bushes. Rathe copied her, then reached aside
to part the branches, staring down at the mine. It lay in a hollow,
long since cleared, filled with the cool, shadowless light of the
mage-fire like sunlight through fog. If anything, the area seemed
surprisingly ordinary, the long run of the sluice lying crooked
across the yard, the stone storehouse with its ironbound door, the
scattering of wooden shacks that must hold tools—ordinary indeed,
Rathe thought, except for the children. A gang of twenty or more
stood at the long table at the mouth of the sluice, picking
listlessly through the rubble that covered its surface. Behind
them, the mine entrance loomed, an empty hole framed with heavy
timbers. The mage-light didn’t penetrate its darkness, and Rathe
suppressed a shiver at the sight, made himself look more carefully
at the yard. There were more guards, of course, a trio—all armed
with calivers and swords, though no armor—keeping a close eye on
the laboring children, and at least five more scattered across the
yard, two by the storehouse, the other three on the hillside to the
right of the mine. He shook his head, watching the children work,
their movements slow and uncoordinated.

“
Why make them work at such an
hour?” he asked.

“
Taking advantage of a favorable
conjunction,” Denizard answered, almost absently, and Rathe nodded.
He had known the answer, or could have guessed it, but he was glad
to hear another voice.

b’Estorr reached for his pocket orrery, looked up to
the sky to find the clock-stars among the scudding clouds, then
held the little engine so that its rings were lit by the reflected
glow of the mage-fire. He twisted one of the inner rings, and
frowned as the metal refused to move. Denizard frowned, too, and
b’Estorr pressed harder. This time, the orrery turned easily, and
he checked the settings.

“
Trouble?” Denizard asked, and
b’Estorr glanced at her.

“
It may just need
oiling.”

Denizard lifted an eyebrow at that, and b’Estorr
sighed. “Or there’s enough aurichalcum down there to affect it. But
whatever it is, that conjunction is ending—it has to be within a
degree or two to be effective. So the children should be let off
any minute.”

Eslingen nudged Rathe. “Look.” He pointed to one of
the guards, who had set down his caliver and was consulting a
battered-looking almanac. A moment later, the man put a whistle to
his lips, the shrill sound seeming to make the mage-fire shiver,
and the children stopped what they were doing. One, too slow, too
tired, kept going, pulling a chunk of rock from the table, and the
closest guard cuffed him, hard, then tossed the rock away. Together
he and the others began herding the children back toward the stone
storehouse—which had to be the stronghouse for the mine, Rathe
realized. What safer place to keep the children than in a place
meant to be locked and defended? And how in the name of all the
gods are we ever going to get them out of there? he thought. Or,
for that matter, how are we going to get into the mine?

Eslingen seemed to have the same thought, and turned
to look at the magists. “You expect to get in there?”

b’Estorr nodded. “We have to. It’s the only way to
be sure.”

Eslingen slid back down, to sit on the dirt with his
back against a rock, and Rathe saw the glint of white as he rolled
his eyes. “The madness of magists,” he muttered, and took a breath.
“Right, then, I’ll have to clear you a way, won’t I?” He started to
get to his feet, but Rathe put a hand on his arm.

“
What did you have in
mind?”

“
Cause a distraction—draw off the
guards and keep them busy while the magists do their work.”
Eslingen glanced around the rocky ground. “There’s plenty of cover,
and we’ve got four pistols between us. We should be able to hold
them.”

Rathe shook his head. “If you want to do that, and I
think it will work, we have to free the kids first. Otherwise they
can use them against us.” He squinted through the trees toward the
storehouse. The children had vanished inside, and now the guards
were taking up their positions outside the door—only two of them,
Rathe saw, but that was enough. “A distraction would be nice for
that, too.”

“
We could probably provide that,”
Denizard said, and b’Estorr showed teeth in an angry
smile.

“
I’d like nothing
better.”

“
Can the two of you handle the mine
yourselves?” Rathe asked.

“
Oh, yes,” Denizard said.
“Polluting the mine is really quite simple—I’m sure that’s why the
guards aren’t at the entrance itself.”

“
It’s just getting away from it
that might be difficult,” Eslingen muttered. He shook his head.
“This is getting complicated.”

“
I don’t think we have any
alternative,” Rathe answered. He looked at the magists. “All right.
Give us time to get into position, and then—make noise or
something. Draw off the guards. We’ll release the kids, and then
return the favor.”

“
Freeing the children will probably
be a good enough distraction in itself,” Eslingen said and grimaced
at Rathe’s glare. “Well, it will be. And they have every incentive
not to hurt them, which is more than I can say for us.”

b’Estorr nodded. “As soon as we see the children
leave, we’ll head for the mine.”

They were right, Rathe admitted, much as he hated
the idea, and nodded shortly. “All right,” he said again. “Let’s
go.”

They made their way along the side of the hill,
careful to stay well back in the shadow of the trees. The glow of
the mage-fire was both a help and a hindrance, enough to light
their way but deceptive in the lack of shadows. It seemed to take
forever to reach the slope overlooking the stronghouse, and almost
as long again to work their way cautiously down to the edge of the
clearing. Rathe was sweating freely, certain that they had taken
too long and that the magists would act before they were ready, but
made himself stay behind Eslingen, matching the soldier’s pace. At
last, they reached the edge of the trees and stood peering out at
the building.

“
Two guards on the door,” Eslingen
said, his voice a mere breath of sound. “But the others have a
clear view, damn it.”

Rathe nodded, the weight of the pistol awkward in
his belt. At least it was a flintlock, not the matchlocks the
guards were carrying, but he wished he had more than one. He jumped
as a crack like breaking wood sounded from the other side of the
yard, and then realized that the magists were finally moving. The
sound was repeated closer in, and the guards started toward it,
leaping the stream and heading up the slope.

“
There he goes,” Eslingen said
softly, and Rathe saw one of the two guards from the stronghouse
move to join the others.

“
I suppose it was too much to hope
they’d both go,” he muttered, and saw Eslingen smile.

“
Be grateful for small favors,” he
said, and darted forward, pistol raised. He dropped the remaining
guard with a single blow and dragged the unconscious figure out of
sight while Rathe surveyed the building. There was only a single
lock on the door, but it was a heavy one, and he didn’t dare risk
the noise trying to shoot it off. He took a step back, peering up
into the darkness. There were, of course, no windows—why should
there be, in a building designed to keep gold safe?—and he swore
softly. Eslingen stepped up beside him, leveling the musket he’d
taken from the guard, but Rathe pushed the barrel aside.

“
I don’t see that we have any
choice,” Eslingen said.

Rathe shook his head. “Oh, yes, we do. Keep an eye
out, would you?” The soldier turned obediently to face the yard,
shouldering the musket. Rathe pulled a small knife from his sleeve
and set to work on the mechanics of the lock. It was not, he saw
with considerable relief, a mage lock, and why should it be?
Trouble was the last thing Timenard was expecting, his plan had
been almost perfect. Not, Rathe thought, propitiatingly, that he
had grown careless, or that Rathe thought him a fool. But the lock
was a fairly straightforward affair for one born and bred in
Astreiant’s southriver. He felt the mechanism give, gave a small
grunt of satisfaction, and wrenched the lock from the door.
Eslingen gave him a slightly incredulous look.

“
Did you learn that before or after
you became a pointsman?” he asked. Rathe just bared his teeth at
him, and plunged into the darkness. With a small sigh, Eslingen
followed, striking a flint and lighting one of the lamps along the
wall. There were three barred doors off the little entrance way,
two to the right, a single one to the left, each with a grilled
opening in the center: Rathe tapped quietly at one of the
right-hand doors.

There was no response from behind it, but there was
a small scurry of noise from behind its neighbor. Then a face
appeared in the small, barred window: Asheri. Rathe let his eyes
flicker closed for an instant, then moved to investigate the
lock.