The Sword of the South - eARC (59 page)

“I don’t especially want to be her guest, or to die trying to break in and failing.” She stretched tiredly. “Tell us about this door, Wizard.”

“Certainly. But we should rest the horses while I do that; we’ll need them again soon enough.”

They withdrew deeper into the trees and dismounted, and the horses blew heavily and nosed in the tumbled beech leaves while Bahzell and Kenhodan poured water into Wencit’s old hat for them to drink from. The coursers were just as thirsty as their “lesser cousins,” but they waited until all of the horses had drunk before taking their own turns.

“All right, Wizard,” Chernion pressed.

“Very well.” Wencit sat on a rock and leaned back against a straight-trunked ash tree as he pointed at the castle’s battlements, just barely visible through a gap in the branches. “We’d never make it to the lake, much less across the walls, without being spotted by those guards. Agreed?”

“Aye,” Bahzell said, and Kenhodan seconded him with a nod.

“So we won’t go that way,” Wencit told him. “We’ll go there, instead—to that hill north of the lake. See it?”

Kenhodan peered along his pointing finger to find the hill in question. It was perhaps four thousand straight-line yards from their present position and just over a thousand yards back from the lake, with a bare, craggy top, but its flanks were heavily wooded and a dense belt of trees stretched all the way from their present position to it.

“That’s the door Wulfra left unlocked,” Wencit said. “What we’ve come for is hidden in a maze under the castle. What Wulfra doesn’t know is that there’s a backdoor—a secret way into the maze—from under that hill.”

“Is there now?” Bahzell murmured. “And it’s certain you are as she’s not found it?”

“Yes.” Wencit’s voice was flat with assurance, and the hradani nodded, his ears half-flattened in thought.

“Just what’s this ‘secret way’ like?” Kenhodan asked warily.

“It’s a tunnel—too low and narrow for the horses, much less the coursers, I’m afraid. But there’s an outer cave big enough to hide them all, with Walsharno and Byrchalka to watch our backs and see to it that none of the ‘lesser cousins’ stray. The tunnel runs out under the lake and—unfortunately—enters the maze at one side, not in the center, so we’ll have to make our way through whatever guards and traps she’s set up in the maze itself.” Wencit shrugged. “At least we’ll avoid her outer defenses.”

“So even if we go in through the tunnel, we have to fight our way through her
inner
defenses,” Kenhodan mused. “I have to admit, that idea beats fighting our way through her outer defenses, as well. But how do we get out
again afterward?”

“If we don’t reach our goal, that won’t matter,” Wencit said bluntly, “because we’ll be dead. If, on the other hand, we do reach it,
Wulfra
will almost certainly be dead. And in that case, do you think a black sorceress’ guardsmen will really want to face whoever—or whatever—was powerful enough to kill her?”

“I see.”

Kenhodan pursed his lips and drummed on his sword hilt, and it didn’t seem odd to him that all three of his companions simply watched him think and waited for
him
to pronounce upon the plan’s acceptability.

“How likely is she to have arranged something too strong for us to get through?” he asked finally.

“I can’t say,” the wizard replied calmly. “I would’ve said she couldn’t summon anything we can’t handle, but then I’d’ve said she couldn’t control a dragon, either. I don’t
think
we’ll meet anything cold steel and courage can’t match, but—”

He shrugged eloquently.

“It’s an unhappy man I am whenever you’re after admitting fallibility, Wencit,” Bahzell rumbled.

“No one’s infallible, Bahzell.”

“Aye, but it’s a great comfort it’s been to my mind over the years to be
thinking
as you are.”

Kenhodan paid their byplay little heed while his mind weighed and analyzed. Yet even as he considered his scanty information, he knew there was no point. They’d come too far even to think about stopping now.

“Well,” he sighed finally, “I suppose we’ll have to try it.”

“I’m thinking you’ve the right of it, lad,” Bahzell agreed, rather more seriously.

“And if you three are fool enough to go, I might as well, too.”

Wencit glanced at Chernion, but this time she was too busy wondering about her own motives to notice. Even her Elrytha personality had never agreed to this! Yet she couldn’t turn back. Ashwan was dead, and breaking into the castle might get her close enough to Wulfra for the kill. That was her motive, she told herself: vengeance. And the possibility of using Kenhodan for her own ends afterward, of course.

Her thoughts skittered carefully away from her ambiguous emotions where the red-haired man was concerned.

“Very well.” Wencit accepted their decision calmly. “In that case, I suggest we move to the hill now, before full daylight. The woods will cover our approach, and we can rest in the cave before we enter the maze.

“Sounds reasonable,” Kenhodan agreed, and retightened Glamhandro’s girth as the eastern sky turned pale lemon and the rose and pewter light strengthened. He swung into the saddle and the others mounted around him. “How do we get there from here?” he asked the wizard.

“Follow me,” Wencit said simply, and they fell back into formation behind Bychalka once more, with Glamhandro immediately behind the courser and Chernion’s mare and the packhorses at his heels. Bahzell and Walsharno followed, covering their rear, and each rider rode with a hand inches from his or her hilt.

Wencit and Byrchalka picked a careful, quiet way through the woods. Their route was well concealed, but its twists and turns made their journey at least twice as long as a bird’s might have been, and the horses tossed their heads uneasily as they caught their riders’ tension. But the presence of the coursers seemed to offset their anxiety and they made no sound beyond the occasional snuffle…usually. Sometimes there was just a bit more noise. When Chernion’s mare sent a loose rock clattering down the hillside, the sound threw Kenhodan’s heart into his mouth and they all froze, but nothing happened. Of course not, he chided himself. The actual noise must have been far less audible to any sentries than their fear had made it seem.

A gully under the trees offered even better cover…fortunately. They’d gone no more than half a mile along it when Kenhodan’s suddenly raised hand halted them instantly. Bahzell eyed him questioningly…and then sat very still, wondering how Kenhodan’s human ears had heard what had been too faint for his own—and Walsharno’s—to detect.

The twenty-man patrol rode out of the tree cover between them and the lake and trotted past less than a hundred yards away, and Kenhodan only realized he’d reached for his sword when he felt its weight in his hand. He watched the patrol vanish, then sheathed his blade quietly and heard more steel rasp and click as Chernion and Bahzell sheathed theirs as well. At least their reactions were good, he thought, and wiped a sticky sweat film from his forehead.

Wencit waited until all sound of the patrol had faded before he led them onward once more. Kenhodan followed him, but he couldn’t stop glancing to his right, watching the battlements through the treetops as the castle notched the growing dawn more and more boldly. He knew he wasn’t as nakedly exposed as he felt, but telling himself that seemed to help very little.

At last the wizard led them up out of the gully, across a slope, and around to the back side of the hill which was their destination, and Kenhodan sighed gratefully as solid earth interposed between him and Castle Torfo. Then Wencit wheeled abruptly to his right and ducked in the saddle to vanish under an overhanging lip of stone. Kenhodan and Chernion followed quickly, with plenty of overhead clearance, leading the pack animals, but Bahzell had to dismount before he and Walsharno could squeeze under the overhang.

A narrow tunnel pressed tight on them for several yards, then opened into a wider space, and Wencit stopped, murmured a word too soft to hear, and raised one hand in a tossing motion. A globe of light arced from his palm to hang overhead, and Kenhodan looked around at the dry stone walls of a cave the size of the entire Iron Axe Tavern…and its stables.

“We can rest here,” the wizard said calmly. “We could all use some sleep.”

“And you’re not worried about Wulfra noticing that?” Kenhodan jutted his chin at the glowing globe, and Wencit chuckled softly. There was an unpleasant, satisfied edge to that chuckle, the red-haired man noticed.

“The cave’s shielded, Kenhodan. I ─”

“Thought that might be a good idea back when you were setting the Dragon Ward,” Kenhodan interrupted, and Wencit grinned.

“Precisely,” he murmured with a half bow.

“Well I’m sure it’s a great weight off my mind that all’s working out to plan so well and all,” Bahzell said sourly, “but it’s not so very happy Walsharno’s after being at all this creeping about like so many worms in a burrow. It’s entirely too much of that we’ve done before—aye, and most of it with the likes of
you
, Wencit!”

“It’s scarcely my fault you and your friend are built on a…lavish scale,” Wencit pointed out.

“No, but I’m thinking you’ve quite a penchant for meeting sorceresses in holes in the ground,” the hradani rumbled, allowing his eyes to flit briefly—but pointedly—in Kenhodan’s direction.

“Perhaps I do,” Wencit replied mildly. “On the other hand, most of those previous ventures seem to have worked out fairly well. Which undoubtedly owes a little something to my habit of bringing along the right people when they’re needed. Why,” he allowed his own glowing eyes to drift even more briefly towards Kenhodan, “sometimes I don’t even know they
are
the right people until the proper moment comes along. Still, I’m seldom wrong, am I?”

“Aye, there’s that,” Bahzell agreed. “Still and all, it’s in my mind as that’s after being the sort of mistake a man only gets to make once.”

“That’s probably true enough,” Wencit conceded. “This isn’t that ‘once,’ though, Mountain. Not yet. So, as I say, let’s get some rest. I want to move in early this afternoon. Wulfra should feel confident we can’t penetrate her patrols without the cover of darkness.”

“Surprise is always worth having,” Kenhodan said, setting his saddle aside, and poured grain into a feedbag for Glamhandro. Then he grinned. “Bahzell might not like caves, but do you realize it hasn’t rained on me for over a
week
, Wencit? And with this nice roof—” he waved at the cave walls “—I may even stay dry!”

“Get some sleep, Kenhodan,” Wencit advised kindly. “There’s no rain in here…but there
are
a few damp patches.”

Kenhodan looked at him reproachfully as he shook out his bedroll.

* * *

Kenhodan sat up quickly when Bahzell woke him six hours later, and his heart gave one strong surge before its beat dropped back to normal. The cave seemed dark and threatening, but the smell of horse flesh was comforting and his panic passed. He sat quietly, feeling its echoes vanish into his depths to be replaced by a sort of quivering tension—something more like eagerness than fear.

“Leave the horses saddled behind us,” Wencit advised. “I hope we won’t be in any hurry when they return, but you can never be sure.”

“And if we don’t return?” Chernion asked harshly. “This little lady’s served me well. I won’t leave her tied to starve!”

“Never fear, Border Warden. We won’t tie them at all; Glamhandro and Byrchalka will see to it they don’t stray…or stay here and starve if we don’t come back.”

Kenhodan listened to them absently as he stroked Glamhandro’s nose. The big stallion was unhappy at being left behind, but the exit tunnel was far too cramped for him, just as it was too narrow for Walsharno and Byrchalka. Kenhodan soothed the big gray gently until Wencit took up a torch and brought it alight with the touch of a finger. He waited until its flame burned steadily, then waved them all in close about him.

“The cave may be shielded, but I’d prefer not to use the art any further from this point on if I can help it,” he said evenly. “Sooner or later, I’ll have to, but I want to wait as long as possible. I’m even dispelling my blocking spell—this close to her, even that might sound Wulfra’s alarms. Besides—” he smiled wolfishly “—I doubt she’s scrying this particular spot.

“I’ll go first to probe for trap spells, but we’ll rely as much on your eyes and ears as my spells from here on. Understood?”

They all nodded silently.

“Good. Our way lies there.” Wencit’s torch waved at a narrow stone gut to their right. “Kenhodan, you’ll follow me, please. Then you, Border Warden. Mountain, I’ll trust you to watch our backs, but it might be unwise to try raising any of Tomanāk’s power this close to Wulfra…until she already knows we’re here, at any rate.” Bahzell chuckled grimly and nodded, and Wencit continued. “The passage narrows occasionally, but it’ll always be wide enough for us to pass. Be ready, but carry no drawn steel! Some of Wulfra’s servants will sense a readied weapon long before they can see us.”

He paused once more, until each of them had nodded yet again.

“Then let’s begin,” he said calmly.

* * *

Wencit’s torch cast sharp shadows whose flickering dance confused the eye. Kenhodan wished he were leading rather than the wizard so that he could see ahead, but only Wencit had any idea of their route or of what they might expect to meet.

At first the passage was high and wide enough for even Bahzell to move easily, but then it narrowed, twisting back and forth with serpentine patience. The ceiling lowered as it dove under the lake’s water, and the rock grew slimy and damp, covered with algae and odd, knobby projections, almost like rocky mushrooms. The air smelled wet, and a damp breeze pressed coldly into their faces and fluttered Wencit’s torch flame. Before long, the passage became so narrow Bahzell was forced to turn sideways, and sword hilts hung irritatingly on rough spots. Kenhodan swore as his bow stave scraped the roof and caught infuriatingly on the walls until he finally slid it from his back and carried it in his left hand. The sounds of their panting breath, the scrape of weapons and mail on stone, the splash of boots in puddles—all seemed magnified by the passage so that Kenhodan felt
someone
must hear them coming.