The Luck of Brin's Five (20 page)

I could not speak after this for the fear and helpless anger that I felt. But Diver had flushed. His blue eyes blazed, and he was as keenly alert as when he was flying the
Tomarvan
.

“The score will be settled, believe me!” he said. He peered around at the field and the tent, far off, and the few passers-by.

“Are there any Pentroy vassals keeping watch
outside
the tent?”

“No,” said Vel Ragan, “not that we have seen.”

“There are only seven,” said Brin slowly. “It is a thread I never expected to unravel. These creatures have united in Gulgarvor, a seven-fold cord, a covenant to perform a certain task.”

“My capture,” said Diver. He felt under his cloak and asked Onnar, “How are they armed?”

“They have knives, and the two who stand at the door of the tent have a bludgeon and a limed net.”

“Nothing else?”

“They mean to take you alive,” observed Vel Ragan.

“Diver,” I croaked. “Blacklock will help you!”

“Against his own clan's vassals?” inquired Vel Ragan. “That I would like to see.”

“It is a different branch of Pentroy,” said Brin. “Diver, shall we send for his help?”

“We need help, that's certain,” said Diver, “and Blacklock would do it . . . but time is short. I will not have those creatures in the tent any longer. It is a long way back to the Bird Clan . . .”

I thought of the fairgrounds we had crossed, two or three weaver's miles at least; I felt myself running the distance.

“Not so far!” said Brin. She pointed to the southern corner of the tented field, where there stood a wooden tower, decorated with drooping flags. A mirror flashed from its summit and I realized what it was: the Fourth Mark of the Bird Clan circle.

“The voice wire!” I cried. We all explained at once.

“Thank heaven for fire-metal-magic!” said Diver. “Will it still be working?”

“If our luck holds,” said Brin.

“Can we use it?” I asked. “We have never seen a voice wire.”

Vel Ragan laughed. “I have seen too many,” he said, “but none so welcome as this one!”

We left Onnar watching under the tree and made our way quickly back through the outskirts of the cloth market and across a patch of nettle bushes to the tower. There was a small tent of Bird Clan blue-green at the tower's base and it was sealed with waxed threads bearing a warning message. Diver snapped this seal impatiently, and we crowded into the empty tent. Ragan stayed back however, peering up at the tower.

“Still firmly in place,” he said over our shoulders, “but how are the cups?”

Brin adjusted two window flaps, and we saw it. Two innocent looking clay cups, for all the world like ordinary drinking cups, but covered at the base with a fine mesh of wire and linked by a thick cord to a leather bag on a pole.

“Where is the outlet?” demanded the scribe. He came past us and took up the cups in a familiar way.

“In the pavilion? Well, we'll see what the Bird Clan staff do when it is all over . . .” He pulled on the linking cord and rattled the two cups together so that they made a hollow clopping sound.

“I was wondering how you would do that,” murmured Diver.

Vel Ragan went on clopping at intervals, and I found suddenly that I did not believe in the voice wire. It was impossible that what we did here could be sent to the Bird Clan pavilion. Then from one of the cups there came a loud rattle. Vel Ragan immediately pressed the cup over one ear—which I thought was a very brave thing to do—and proceeded to speak resonantly into the other.

“Are you there? Bird Clan pavilion . . . answer!” There was a breathing sound, another voice, and he held the cup from his ear. The voice spoke from the cup, magically, and it was a real voice, a voice in accent and tone quite unmistakeable.

“Who calls? What cheeky wretch is bothering us in the course of our duty? Who is that, I'd like to know?”

Brin and Diver and I all shouted together.

“
Ablo!
”

Diver stepped up and took the apparatus from Vel Ragan. “Ablo, this is Garl Brinroyan calling from the Fourth Mark.”

“Excellence, I hear you wonderfully clearly,” said Ablo, “but you had no need to check. The escort is doing a fine job of protecting our winnings!”

“Good Ablo, you have served us well,” said Diver, “and now you must render the greatest service of all. You must save my Family from peril!”

We heard Ablo gasp. “Excellence, anything, anything . . .”

“Then leave the senior member of the Pentroy escort in charge and take the next in rank with you to the tent of Murno Pentroy. Tell the Highness himself or Fer Utovangan that my Family is imprisoned in their tent near the cloth market by a Gulgarvor who seek my own capture. Tell them that the one who has ordered this deed is the same who lost a silver ship. And as proof of my good faith say all this in the name of the Maker of Engines.”

Diver said more, giving the location of the tent and schooled Ablo in the message, which he seized quickly.

“Go then,” said Diver, “our prayers go with you. We will not wait Blacklock's coming but make shift to free those who are trapped by ourselves, if we can.”

Then Diver returned the cups to Vel Ragan, who broke the link and left us forlorn and still helpless in the stuffy tent. Diver was filled with energy, like a twisted thread or a metal spring. He led us, very fast, to a place behind the patch of nettles. We were much closer to our tent and in a desolate corner of the fairground where no one came.

“What weapon have you?” asked the scribe. Diver brought out his stun-gun; Vel Ragan whistled in admiration and produced a wooden box from his sleeve.

“This fires a dart . . .” he said. A metal tube with a wooden grip lay in the box.

“The tent has a blind side,” said Diver. “I think the brutes are watching the door and the eastern wall.”

“Correct. Narneen, the ancient, and the baby lie on that blind side,” said Vel Ragan.

“Then Mamor and the Harper are tied to the tree,” guessed Diver.

“You see it well.”

“What is your plan?” asked Brin.

“The stun-gun?” I whispered.

“Dangerous in a confined space,” said Diver. “They must be lured out.”

“You will not budge them,” said Vel Ragan. “They will not stir until they can take you, trussed, to their cruel liege. Their own lives depend upon it. Surprise is their main weapon.”

“Then they have lost the game already,” said Brin, “for they cannot surprise us. Diver . . . I have a plan if the scribe Vel will cooperate.”

She told the plan, which seemed good, and then I went with her, back to Onnar under the tree. “Narneen asks if you are coming,” said Onnar, “and I have told her not yet. But I cannot lie to this Witness . . . I can barely shut her out.”

“Do it, I pray,” said Brin. “The less she knows the better.”

She outlined the plan to Onnar, then we moved on. We went to the northern edge of the field, dropped into one of the ditches circling the ground and made our way crawling through nettles and dead leaves to come up on the tent's blind side. It took less time than we expected. The tent loomed ahead, and we crawled again, from one clump of bushes to another. Brin took her amulet on its chain and caught the suns' light, flashing towards the field and the place where Diver waited with Vel Ragan. She handed me Diver's knife and drew out her own, pressing a hand to her mouth for silence.

There was an empty time of waiting; then we saw two figures approaching the tent, passing among the trees and the other tents as they came. Diver, still in his gray silk cloak, stumbled along oddly, pushed and urged by Vel Ragan. They came on until they stood before our tent's closed flap door. Then Vel Ragan shouted in a harsh ringing voice, “Gulgarvor . . . I have your prize!”

He wrenched back Diver's cloak, to show his blue suit, and shoved him to the ground, on his knees. Diver's hands appeared to be bound. “Here is the devil for you!” cried Vel Ragan. “Here is your release!”

The scene already attracted attention from the few weavers and idlers who were not at the fair. They stood peering around trees, poking heads from flap doors. Vel Ragan was a frightening figure; his scarred face was revealed, and he held a long knife in one hand.

“Bargain for your devil, Gulgarvor! Pay ransom or the devil will die!” He flashed the knife high in the air and made as if to stab Diver, who cried out piteously in his own language.

For the first time there was movement from our tent and the sound of voices.

“Hold . . .” A single figure stepped out; one of the intruders, heavily built, blinking in the sunlight. I thought I recognized the face of a vassal from the convoy, one who had gone back for the Galtroy litter.

“Not so fast, friend,” said the creature, thumbs in its red belt. “Perhaps you have something there we need.” Another stranger came out of the tent, by the back flap, and sidled towards Vel Ragan in a circle.

“No closer, or the devil dies and takes his secrets with him.”

“Who are you to tangle with devils, friend?” asked Red-Belt, taking a step closer.

“A poor adventurer,” said Vel Ragan smoothly.

Diver, groveling, cried out again, as if in fear of his life and suddenly the members of the Gulgarvor all burst from the tent together and rushed upon Vel Ragan. I saw Diver and Vel begin to run, drawing them away, then I was inside the tent with Brin, on the blind side.

They were all there, just as we had been told; Narneen sat up screaming and Mamor and the Harper were straining at their bonds. I hacked at their ropes while Brin closed and weighted the back flap and stood to the door, speaking to comfort Old Gwin and Tomar as best she could. Mamor wrenched out his gag and did the same for the Harper, as I freed their feet.

“What was that, for the fire's sake?” roared Mamor.

“A game to draw them off . . .” I said.

“Help Diver!” said Brin. “Mamor . . . Roy . . . can you fight?” I rushed to the door, but Mamor held me back.

“Stay here. Is that the scribe helping us?” He plunged out into the daylight, followed by the Harper, and at last I was able to get a look at the struggle.

Diver had his stun-gun out and had already felled one vassal as he drew away with Vel Ragan to the open ground at the end of the camping place. But the bond of Gulgarvor made them heedless of any danger, and Vel Ragan, unsteady on his lame leg, stumbled and fell in their path. They were swarming onto him; Diver rushed back, stunning two more, and dragged the scribe to his feet again. Diver, speaking plainly in Moruian, warned them to keep back, but they did not heed him. Then Mamor and the Harper joined the fray, each seizing a vassal from behind and wrestling. Diver had used his stun-gun with measured force; already those that he felled had bounced up again, and as he altered the setting two of the largest brutes leaped upon him. Vel Ragan, behind a tree now, fired his weapon, and I saw Red-Belt, the leader, clutch a wounded arm, pierced by a dart. Diver had one of his assailants down with a chopping blow, but the other was pressing him dangerously. A crowd was gathering now, to watch this strange, long battle.

Narneen crawled to my side and said, “There is a flying machine . . .”

Blacklock flew in low, with the big wind-blade churning the air and tossing the treetops. The crowd scattered and crouched, but the members of the Gulgarvor still fought on as if possessed. I saw the machine land on open ground, then a present danger made me cry out for Brin. Red-Belt and another vassal, who had an arrow skin-sewn in blue on its upper arm, were racing upon us, determined to regain the shelter of the tent or seek hostages. Brin sprang to the door again, pushing me aside; she carried a loom board as a weapon and I heard Red-Belt grunt as she used it.

She held it out of the tent, prodding and parrying the assaults of Red-Belt and Arrow.

“Devils!” panted Red-Belt. “Nest of devils!”

“Keep back!” cried Brin. “I charge you in the winds' name!”

“Repent!” growled Arrow. “Make clean, mountain weaver! Give up your bond with the Foreigner!”

“Keep back from my Family, my children and my home tent that you have defiled!” said Brin, in a voice that made me shudder. “Or I swear by Eenath I will strike you down!”

Then she struck at them again, more fiercely still, and I felt Old Gwin come closer, placing the whimpering Tomar in my arms. She drew back the flap until she stood at Brin's side and in a sharp chanting voice she cried out, “Keep back, for the fire of Eenath has consumed your souls! We know you all, and you are all accursed! You will go down into fire and have Gulgarvor enough, for your very bones will be consumed to ashes . . .”

The pair of them, Red-Belt and Arrow, halted for a moment at the ancient's curse; then they came on, and Old Gwin dipped into a leather sack on her wrist and flung a handful of dust in their faces.

“Narneen,” she shrieked, “call the names of the Gulgarvor for all the world to know!”

“
VARADON
!” cried Narneen, kneeling by me in the darkness, and I echoed her cry and so did Brin. The Leader gave a cry of pain and surprise, for Old Gwin was throwing the dust of the fireweed.

“
MEETAL
!” cried Narneen. The vassal marked with the arrow reeled back, and its eyes were stung with the dust.

“
ARTHO
!” cried Narneen. The two, backing away from the tent, half-blind, fell over another vassal coming to their aid. Brin, holding the loom board and Gwin with her sack of pepper, edged after them. I stood up, holding Tomar, and took Narneen's hand and we stepped out into the sunlight.

“
TRANJE
!” cried Narneen.

“Tranje!” echoed Brin and Gwin and myself at the tops of our voices. A vassal, wrestling with the Harper, stood back amazed.

“
TROY
!” cried Narneen.