Silent Hall (33 page)

C
riton had only just pulled
the sky-net off Bandu and taken Hunter's armor from her hands when the girl lurched to her feet, snatched the net away from him and threw it with all her might. “
Now
we go,” she said.

When they stumbled out of the mists, it was raining heavily. The wet forest and mossy stones welcomed them with a benevolent inertness – one that he had always taken for granted before. All around him, other bodies were crashing through the bushes, falling and springing up again – running for their lives.

“Find cover,” Hunter shouted. “They're still coming!”

Criton and Bandu staggered forward together, collapsing at last behind a huge mossy cornerstone. Hopefully the fairies would not find them here. He wished he had a horse for them to ride away on – surely even a regular horse could outrun an exhausted elven one. He wondered what had happened to the horses they had left here.

The sun was just setting dull and gray behind the rainclouds when the captain and Raider Eleven rode out of the mists, holding their nets at their sides.

“Hurry,” said the captain. “We don't have long before the sun here sets and the barrier closes again. Hurry! The prince will be furious if our quarry escapes.”

Raider Eleven nodded, her newly pale skin shining as if with the light of the unrisen moon. She whistled once, a low whistle that made Criton feel queasy.

“Come out, little ones,” she sang, her voice high and intoxicating. “Follow my voice, little things.”

They would not be able to resist her call for long, Criton knew.
He
could barely resist it, and the call wasn't even directed at him. The children would come to her, and they would be eaten.

Suddenly, Narky came into view, leaping onto a rock with his hands outstretched before him. “I am a child strangler!” he shrieked, his voice cracking. His burnt out eye socket gaped menacingly in the semi-darkness while his good eye darted wildly about.

“Come out like the elf says,” he cried, “and let me get my hands around your little necks!”

The elves hissed furiously at Narky. He gave them a sarcastic salute. He certainly looked like a madman, but would the children be frightened enough to stay in hiding? They had been imprisoned with him for over a week, after all, and he hadn't strangled any of them.

For now, no children emerged. Of course! The memory-boxes! Narky had figured that the children wouldn't remember him at all, and that they would find his figure frightening. And so far, at least, he was right.

Raider Eleven made a frustrated sound and tucked her net under her left arm. She reached for the sickle that was slung over her back, but the captain stopped her.

“There's no
time
,” she hissed. “Lure the children. I'll deal with him.”

With an impossibly smooth motion, the captain retrieved her own sickle and spurred her horse toward Narky, who jumped down from his rock and tried to run away. Raider Eleven resumed her call for the children, but this time Hunter jumped up.

“I cut children to pieces!” he shouted, standing on the other side of the tower's foundation. “Come out here and I'll skewer you!”

With a grunt, the elven captain veered off and charged now at Hunter, allowing Narky to escape into the woods. Hunter also turned to run as the captain bore down on him, and once again Raider Eleven took up her song.

“Come to me, children!” she trilled, her voice sweet and ethereal.

With a silent prayer to God Most High, Criton shot into the air. “I come from the seed of dragons!” he shouted, breathing fire in all directions and turning the nearby raindrops to steam. “Come near me, and I'll burn you!”

With a look of disgust, the fairy captain turned away from chasing Hunter and cast her net into the air. Criton had no chance to avoid it, but in the end he didn't have to. The twinkling sky-net faded as it neared him, disappearing into the growing darkness. Both elves cried out in anguish. Their time was up. They turned their horses and galloped back through the misty gate. Within moments, they were gone.

Criton could hardly believe the islanders had won. As soon as he had touched down upon the earth again, he fell to his knees and kissed the muddy ground. He was safe. They were all safe.

The children, though, remained in hiding. “Rakon!” Criton called out. “Tella! We didn't mean it – we're not going to hurt you! You can come out now! Adla? Delika?”

“How do you know my name?” asked Delika, from the boughs of a tree. How had she managed to climb all the way up there?

“The fairy riders who were here just now stole your memories,” Phaedra said. “We've known you for over a week. We're your friends.”

“I don't know anyone like you people,” Delika insisted.

Phaedra winced. “Come down from there,” she pleaded, “and we'll tell you all about it if you like.”

“Cold here,” Bandu whispered to Criton. “Make fire and they come.”

Criton nodded and went to recruit Hunter and Narky to help him gather firewood. It was all hopelessly wet, but they built a decent woodpile anyway, against one of the moss-covered building stones.

“All right,” Criton said, “now step back.”

When he breathed his flames onto the wood, he nearly choked on the smoke that billowed up from it. He took a step back, coughing. It took five attempts to get the fire started, and by then he was beginning to grow lightheaded. He sat down on a damp stone and put his head between his knees, while the fire crackled and hissed.

“Thanks,” said Hunter, clapping a hand on his back. “You don't have to stay out here. It's been a long day – get some rest.”

Criton nodded gratefully and rose, looking back for Bandu. As she had predicted, Phaedra was finding it much easier to coax the children out of hiding now that there was a welcoming fire for them to sit by. Bandu beckoned them over, pointing to the large tent that was, thankfully, still intact.

“When you are tired, sleep there. We find food tomorrow, after sleep.”

The next morning, Criton awoke to find Narky in the tent with him and Bandu curled up at their feet by the entrance. Bandu was still asleep too, so Criton rose quietly and tiptoed past the two of them to leave the tent. Hunter and Phaedra were already up, as were several of the children. They were dressing a deer to be roasted on the fire, while Phaedra's elven horse stood nearby, placidly cropping the tall grasses among the ruins.

“Where was the horse?” Criton asked Phaedra. “I didn't see it last night.”

Phaedra did not look up from her work. “I gave it a slap when I dismounted. I thought maybe the elves would follow its tracks instead of looking for us here. Hunter found it by the stream this morning, just standing there.”

Criton nodded, and helped them rebuild the fire. The rain had abated, though the sky remained uniformly gray. Criton doubted their clothes would dry today. The air was sticky.

When Narky came out for breakfast, Criton went back into the tent to see how Bandu was doing. The dress that had once belonged to Phaedra's nursemaid hung strangely on her body now, still too big in the sleeves, yet growing tight around the belly. Her pregnancy was really starting to show.

Bandu was in a cheerful mood. “We are not with elves now,” she said happily.

She ate more breakfast than Criton would have believed possible. He did not blame her: the venison was heavenly. The others too were hardly shy filling their stomachs. Apparently, they had been living on mushrooms for days. Between the five islanders and eight children, they ate more than half the doe in one sitting.

When they could eat no more, they spoke of their next move. They were not well equipped for travel: they had only one horse, and no saddlebags. The woolen tents were too heavy to be carried easily on foot, so they would have to be left behind.

Then there was the problem of where to go. They could not travel far with all these children, at least not without more tents and horses. Even feeding them all would probably be difficult. Narky suggested that they find the nearest village and leave the children there. Naturally, his suggestion terrified the children. Terrifying them seemed to be Narky's specialty.

Criton asked them where they all came from. They answered him all at once, but Phaedra helped to clarify since apparently she knew them fairly well at this point. As Criton had suspected, the fairies had gathered them from all over the continent. The twins were from Atuna. Adla and Temena hailed from some village near Ardis. Rakon was from Laarna. Caldra said she came from the mountains, but she could barely describe her home beyond that. Delika could only say that she lived in a forest village near a big river. Breaker was from Parakas.

Parakas. Criton had already told the others he wanted to go there; who could deny him now? Besides, it was closer than any of the other cities.

“If we go to Parakas first,” he suggested, “we can travel north along the coast from there, to Atuna and Laarna. There should be roads and inns along the coast. We won't have to worry about tents.”

“I don't know,” said Phaedra. “Do we even still have money?”

“We should,” Hunter said. “I didn't leave it with the horses, so unless someone else has been here in the last week and a half, it should all still be in the tent where you three slept.”

“Really?” said Criton. “I didn't notice it there.”

“What is wrong with all of you?” asked Narky, sounding nearly hysterical. “Last I heard, Mayar is still worshipped in Parakas. If Tarphae's plague was His doing, we'll be going straight to our deaths!”

“I'm not so sure anymore,” Phaedra said. “First off, we don't know that it was Mayar who killed our people. Don't forget that we sailed away from Tarphae in a boat. The Sea God could have drowned us, but He didn't. The more I think about it, the more I think it must have been someone else.

“Even if it was Mayar, though, we will be in a less vulnerable place this time. Tarphae is an island, surrounded by His domain. Parakas is only a coastal city right on the edge of His territory, where His powers might come into conflict with others. So we have some protection there too.”

“And some of the Gods are protecting us,” Hunter added. “That's what you told me in the mountains. They have a plan.”

“Yes,” Phaedra agreed, “though we're not really in Ravennis' territory over here, and He's the one who seems to have been watching us most closely. On the other hand, we don't know whether the God who cursed Tarphae cares that we're still alive. The rumors in Atuna were that King Kestan is being punished by having to live out the rest of his life on an island of corpses. He probably didn't know we made it off the island, so our deaths would have been no further punishment to him. We might be safe as long as we don't try to go back.”

“Those are all great theories,” Narky admitted grudgingly, “but would you bet our lives on them?”

“These children deserve to be brought home,” Hunter said.

“Right,” said Criton.

And if their homes take us past a library full of dragon lore, all the better.

B
eginning
their journey was a complicated affair. Even leaving two tents behind, there was still a lot left to pack. They threw a pair of blankets over the horse – the empty horse, as Bandu called it – and tied them there with rope from one of the woolen tents. It was not as good as a saddle, but it was a start. Hunter carried the canvas tent, all folded and bundled up on his back. He seemed surprised and pleased that Bandu had brought his armor back from the fairy world, and while the loss of his shield clearly upset him, he tried not to show it.

“There's so much to carry,” he said, pulling the shirt of scales over his head. “I wouldn't have had room for it anyway.”

Narky carried the remaining venison and their cooking supplies, and Criton took the tent stakes and the three blankets that were not already on the horse. After that they set out eastward, moving at the children's pace. The children slowed them down, but at least Bandu was no longer scaring all the game away.

After a week's travel they came to a winding river, which Hunter said should lead them to Parakas. “The city stands at a delta between the sea and the Parek River,” he said. “The river is supposed to be lined with red settar trees, which I think is what those big ones are.”

“Where did you learn all that?” Narky asked.

“There was a war a little after I was born,” Hunter said. “My father told me about it. He was the king's champion when we allied with Atuna against Parakas.”

Phaedra looked around at the rust-colored trees and nodded. “So this is the famous Parek,” she said. “Just like in the myth.”

“What myth?” Criton asked.

“There's a myth that Parek was once a great king,” Phaedra said. “A greedy king. He only ever gave the Gods what was outright required of him, and no more. When Mayar had a special celebration for His daughter Karassa's birth, all the kings of the world raised sacrifices in special tribute to Him except for Parek. Mayar became so angry that he cursed Parek and turned him into a river, so that from then on he has brought the Sea God a tribute every day, in the form of river water.”

“Huh,” said Narky. “Now that you mention it, I know that story. My pa told it to me, when I asked how come he always sacrificed an extra lamb on holy days.”

“It doesn't go well with Katinaras' theory,” Hunter pointed out. “It assumes that Karassa really is Mayar's daughter.”

Phaedra smiled. “If everyone agreed with Katinaras, he wouldn't be radical.” She looked around and must have seen how confused Criton was, because she spent the next half hour explaining what she and Hunter meant.

They followed the river for another two weeks until the trees thinned and the sea became visible. The land here, fertile and well cultivated, sloped down toward the delta where the Parek met the sea. By the intersection of river and sea, just as Hunter had said, stood Parakas. Criton's eyes did not stay on the city long. He was looking for the wizard's tower.

That must be it! The ruins were a good deal closer to Parakas than Criton had expected – perhaps a mile or two at most. Psander's mentor must have had a commanding view of the city before he and his tower had fallen under the Gods' might. Criton shuddered as he imagined looking down from the tower to see an army gathering in front of a roiling sea. That final view must have been terrifying.

“Oh, good,” said Phaedra, when she saw the city. “I'm tired of sleeping in the mud. Let's get to an inn!”

They hurried down through flowering apricot orchards and fields of wheat and barley, craving civilized life. But when they reached the city walls, the gates would not open for them.

“Move along,” the olive-skinned gatekeeper called down at them. “We have no use for slavers.”

“We're not slavers!” cried Phaedra. “We have no intention of selling these children! We're just here to take Breaker home.”

“If that's so,” said the gatekeeper, “send him forward and I'll let him in alone.”

Breaker looked at them nervously as he approached the gate, but when it opened he darted in without so much as a glance behind him.

“All right then,” said the gatekeeper. “Move along.”

“Why can't we come in?” asked Narky. “We're not carrying a plague, you know.”

“All the same, you'll stay outside,” the man replied. “If you need a place to stay, ask Scypho by the seashore. Like with like.”

“How do we get to Scypho?” asked Hunter.

Scypho's house turned out to be more of a shack, with cracked clay walls and a sod roof. It stood right at the edge of the shore, so close that at high tide the waters would come almost to the doorstep. Criton could see the uneven lines in the ground where the farthest waves had reached. A wisp of smoke rose from the house's central chimney.

Hunter knocked on the door. “Someone there?” a voice called from inside, and a short while later the door opened, revealing a bent old man. The children gasped even as Criton let out a sigh of relief: the man was an islander. Frizzy white hair grew out of his black scalp, and his dark face was lined with wrinkles that deepened when he beheld the crowd at his door.

“I thought I heard something,” he said. “How can I help you all?”

Everybody spoke at once. The old man covered an ear with one hand, waving at them to stop. “Enough, enough!” he cried, “I'm only a
little
bit deaf.”

He turned to Hunter. “Why don't you start?”

“We are refugees from Tarphae,” Hunter said. “We met these lost children in the woods and are trying to bring them back to their homes. We brought one back to Parakas, but the gatekeeper wouldn't let us enter the city. He said we should see you instead. We're wet and tired from travel, and my friend is pregnant. We need food and horses and a place to stay before we start our journey up to Atuna, where these two come from. Can you help us?”

The old man looked behind him and then back at the travelers. “I don't have room for you all to stay here,” he said, “and I have no money for horses. But come on inside for now.”

They left the elven horse outside and crammed into his hut as best they could. There was barely enough room for them all to stand in there without anyone ending up in the fire. A small pot of fruit was bubbling over the fire pit, and Scypho went back to stirring it.

“It's been a long time since I had children in my house,” he said. “The ones here in Parakas all grew up after the war. I'm the only black skinned man they've ever seen. They think I'll boil them.”

Criton noticed Tellos and his sister sharing a glance. They didn't look entirely certain that the old man
wouldn't
boil them.

“There were more islanders here before the war?” Phaedra asked, sitting down on the dirt floor.

“Islanders?” Scypho repeated a bit scornfully. “I'm no islander, young miss. I was born and raised in Parakas. My children were born here, and my grandchildren. We had a fine house right in the center of town, with four rooms and a garden, and walls and floors made of stone. People came to us to have their shoes mended. Mine wasn't the only family, either. There weren't many of us, but we had a community here before the war.”

Bandu sat on the floor beside the old man, and Criton followed her lead. It was so comfortable here in this house, even though there wasn't enough room for Hunter to sit down, and Phaedra had to hold Delika in her lap. Criton felt more welcome here than he had felt at any time since leaving home.

“Do you blame Tarphae for what happened?” Hunter asked.

The old man shook his head and poked angrily at the jam. It smelled like apricots. “Of course not,” he said, sounding only half truthful. “Our neighbors were always itching to get rid of us. If it hadn't been that war with Tarphae and Atuna, it would have been something else. That's what my sons said, when they took their families and left. They said we were never wanted here, and it wouldn't do any good to stay. So I gave them my blessing and they went. They weren't wrong, but I'm too old to be sailing off and starting a new life on an island somewhere.”

His voice was bitter, and Criton wondered why this place felt so welcoming. The little home that Scypho had taken for himself was full of the old man's misery, his loneliness and abandonment. Yet here, Criton could relax. The islanders had been traveling among continentals for most of a year now, and Scypho was the first one who did not stare. Their skin meant nothing to him.

Scypho stirred the pot one last time before lifting it off the fire and placing it on the ground beside him. “There's some bread up on that shelf there,” he said to Hunter. “It's not much to go round, but we'll have to make do. Yes, just tear off a little piece and pass it along. You can all dip it in here if you like.”

“Why did you leave your old house?” Phaedra asked.

“It wasn't my choice,” Scypho said. “I'll tell you that. They said I couldn't stay within the walls anymore. Have to keep the city pure and all that.” He snorted. “I hear my old house is a brothel now.”

“You still trade with the cityfolk though,” said Narky. “I mean, you didn't pick those apricots yourself, did you?”

Scypho looked at him sternly. “No, I did not. There are still some people left in this city who would not stand by and see an old man starve, Mayar be thanked.”

“If we gave you the money, could you arrange to buy us horses?”

Scypho lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Refugees who travel with piles of gold?”

“My father was Lord Tavener of Tarphae,” Hunter said, “who led the island's forces in the Parakese War. He did not send me from home empty-handed.”

“No,” said the old man, looking him up and down, from his young noble face to his heavy purse and rusting armor. “I see he didn't.”

“Please?” Phaedra asked him, holding Delika close. “We'll never reach Atuna without horses. We can't take a ship, because it might be Mayar who drowned Tarphae. We need your help.”

“You want my help because you think my God is your enemy?” Scypho's hand went to the necklace of shark teeth that he wore as a symbol of his God. Then he sighed. “How many horses do you need?”

“Five,” said Hunter, “but we have much travel ahead of us, and we'll need money for food and inn stays too. I think we can afford four.”

“I hope you're wrong about being Mayar's enemies,” Scypho said. “Of all the friends I've had, He's the only one who hasn't abandoned me yet.”

He passed a hand over his eyes. “I'll see about the horses tomorrow. Where are you going to stay?”

Criton looked around. Temena had already fallen asleep, slumped against a wall. “Could the children sleep here tonight?” he asked. “We can set up a tent outside for the rest of us.”

Scypho looked as if the very thought tired him. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose that would be all right.”

They put up the tent against one of the shack's outer walls. There was only barely room for four to cram in there, but Hunter volunteered to sleep outside this time. Criton was glad to have shelter for once. The islanders had slept out in the elements on the way down, and let the children sleep in the tent. It was easier to fall asleep, knowing that he would not be covered in dew the next morning.

Criton awoke to the sound of Hunter sharpening his sword outside. “Morning,” Hunter said, as they all stumbled out of the tent. “Scypho's out buying us horses.”

“Great,” said Narky. “I can't wait to get out of here. This place is depressing.”

The children were less sullen. They spent the morning on the beach, laughing and trying to see how far they could follow each receding wave without getting caught by the next one. Criton went and sat on a stone at the edge of the sand, watching them play. He envied them.

“They're sweet,” said Phaedra, noticing his gaze but misinterpreting it. She came over and sat beside him. “Are you ready to be a father?”

He looked away. “I don't know what it is to be a father.”

Scypho returned shortly before noon, leading a single horse. “My friend will try to find you three more by tomorrow,” he said. “You'll have to suffer my company for another day.”

They ate a midday meal, after which Criton asked about the wizard's tower.

“It's dedicated to Mayar, just like you say,” the old man confirmed. “They have guards there day and night to make sure nobody goes treasure-hunting. Only my God's priests are allowed up there, to gather sacrifices for festivals and special events.”

“Sacrifices?” asked Phaedra. “What kind of sacrifices?”

“Whatever they can find,” said Scypho. “Furs, papers, scrolls, little carved statuettes – whatever the guards dig up, the priests burn it on the altar and scatter the ashes on the sea. It's amazing how many scrolls and things that dangerous old wizard had up in his tower. I always knew he was trouble, but now we know that he had a whole library full of blasphemies! Good riddance.”

Phaedra looked horrified. “They burn scrolls?” she gasped, clutching her elbows as if suddenly cold.

Scypho looked at her sharply. “Of course they do, girl. The Tidefather protected us from that wizard for many, many years, and now the wizard's gone forever. I'd say a proper set of sacrifices is the least we can do.”

“He was supposed to be an expert on dragons,” said Criton, feeling sick.

“Dragons, yes,” Scypho agreed. “The great lizards who thought they could fight the Gods. I'm glad I never had to live in those evil days.”

“When is the next sacrifice?” Criton asked.

“We've completely lost track of time,” Phaedra explained hurriedly.

“The Storm Festival is next week,” Scypho said. “Five days, really. I used to prefer the Rain Ceremony, but now I look forward to the Storm Festival every year.”