Wolf Captured (88 page)

Waln wanted to command the men to clear out, to get away from this place before something bad happened, but he had known for hours now that the time for turning back was long past. He strode forward, schooling his gait to the same easy confidence he would use if he were walking across his own courtyard at home.

Elwyn bounced beside Waln, his motions ridiculously childlike for such a hulking fellow.

“Five,” Elwyn crowed. “I count five towers. One in the middle, four set around.”

“That’s a traditional arrangement for sorcery,” Shivadtmon said, and he now had his voice under control. He might have been giving a lecture to a group of new acolytes. “The tower in the center—the one shaped like a half-moon—represents Magic. She stands, balanced between her potentialities, supported by her family all around her.”

“I’m betting,” Tedgewinn said, “that the best treasure will be in the Earth tower, then. After all, riches come from under the earth, right?”

Shivadtmon gave a short laugh that wasn’t quite condescending, merely patronizing.

“Our cosmology is not nearly so simplistic. Each metal and gem is associated with one of the elements—and sometimes the reasons for association are fairly abstruse. Since this complex was dedicated to the use of Magic, if I were betting on where the most valuable things were stored, I would choose the center tower.”

Although he walked ahead, Waln could hear the frown in Nolan’s voice when the ropemaker spoke.

“Waln, you never said anything about taking us to some place where magic had been practiced.”

Actually, Waln hadn’t realized the type of place this was any more than Nolan had. His surging apprehensions, born from a hundred different tales in which sorcerers were the villains, made him speak harshly.

“I didn’t say anything,” Waln echoed mockingly. “Only because I didn’t think I’d need to say something so obvious. Didn’t I tell you that we were going to a place where the Old Country rulers had lived? Doesn’t every child old enough to listen to bedtime stories know that the Old Country rulers were all sorcerers?”

“Still …” Nolan began tightly, but he bit off the words before saying more.

Waln knew that none of the others would add anything either, lest they seem as stupid as Elwyn. Like Waln, their pride committed them to moving forward, even thought their best judgment told them to retreat.

“The center tower, then, Shivadtmon,” Waln said. “So it shall be.”

The center tower was crafted from a light cream-colored stone glittering with tiny flakes of imprisoned mica. From its top rose a step pyramid, similar to those atop the temples they had already seen. Waln found himself wondering just how closely magic and religion had been associated by the Liglimom’s ancestors. If symbols said anything, the relationship had been at least cousinly.

The pyramid was embellished with a device that vaguely recalled a weather vane, though the directions were not marked nor was the shape one that would easily provide a pointer. Instead it was a rendering of the full moon. When the wind blew, the corroded metal spun, creating the illusion of a complete globe, but it was long since the works had been oiled and the motion was far from smooth.

Temple or not. Place of sorcery or not,
Waln thought as once again he examined the solidity of the towers,
these Old Country rulers built for defense as well as for height. It was much the same in Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, as I recall. New Kelvin is too insane to be sure what their founders built for. I wonder what the Old World rulers feared? Each other, perhaps? Harjeedian did say that we northerners had become demons in their legends.

At the thought of Harjeedian, Waln found himself wondering if any on the mainland had missed them yet. Probably so. Not only did the fisher folk rise early, but many of the temples had services soon after sunrise. Even if none of the servants who tended to their residence had noticed, someone would have seen that the
Islander
was no longer in her slip.

However, missed or not, certainly no one had the least idea where to seek them. They would notice the
Islander
gone and check up and down the coast, first. No one would even consider looking into the forbidden interior of Misheemnekuru.

Waln felt a momentary uneasiness as he considered the possibility that the seals might give them away. Then he shook the thought from him. What could a bunch of lolling water bears do? Wasn’t the whole reason for the eagerness to kidnap Lady Blysse because, for all they reverenced them, the Liglimom couldn’t really communicate with their “wise” beasts?

Still, anxiety nibbled at the edges of Waln’s soul, and he picked up his pace. Perhaps, if there was a stair intact within one of the towers, it wouldn’t hurt to send someone up to take a look. Elwyn, maybe, though he’d probably just call down something about how pretty the water looked. Maybe Nolan. A little job to quell the incipient spirit of mutiny.

That decided, pleased with himself, Wain halted before the double door that marked the way into the tower. The door was set in the exact middle of the flat side, its core sheathed in a dark metal. The sheathing was pitted in places from the salt air, but otherwise in remarkably good condition.

Around the edges, the door’s surface was embossed with intricate patterns. A large illustration dominated the center section, bridging the two panels so skillfully that Waln had to look twice to confirm that this was indeed a door.

The illustration depicted the tower before them. Men and animals alike marched in the air around the half-moon, their mouths open, though whether in song or screams Wain really couldn’t tell. Some of the marching figures had reached the top of the tower, and at least one lay draped across the apex of the pyramid. Stylized rays ending in what might have been raindrops or stars burst from the tower, more thickly at the top than at the bottom. Waln, remembering how the Liglimom believed Magic fragmented and those fragments had lodged in various people and things, couldn’t escape the feeling that in this picture Magic was somehow being dislodged.

The thought made Waln’s flesh creep, and he hurried to open the door before any of those who followed him could get too long a look at the picture.

“I wonder if it’s locked,” Waln said, keeping his tone jovial.

He placed his hands on the broad, wide latches and lifted. He had expected them to stick, but they snapped out of their groove with an obedient metallic click.

“They pull open,” Shivadtmon said from beside him. “Most ceremonial doors do. It saves space within.”

Waln resented being told what he could have worked out from a look at the hinges, but he did not stay Shivadtmon’s hand when the other made as if to open one of the doors. Better to get them open and that alarming picture out of view.

“Ready?” he asked, and Shivadtmon nodded.

Together they pulled open the massive metal-bound doors. These swung lightly on their hinges without a creak or hint of sticking. Again Waln felt his flesh creep. He’d come prepared for broken ruins, wild animals, spiders, snakes, and other filth. This was too easy, too quiet.

Shivadtmon, however, was clearly uplifted. The nervousness had vanished from his voice. His eyes shone with religious transformation.

“She welcomes us!” he said reverently. “She welcomes us!”

He spoke so softly that Waln’s men, all of whom had dropped back and readied crossbows in case something came rushing out when the doors were opened, didn’t hear him. Waln was relieved. Shivadtmon might be delighted at what he took for evidence of divine welcome, but tell these northern sailors that Magic was making them welcome and they’d be down to the
Islander
as fast as they could run.

For a jealous moment, Waln wondered if this was exactly what Shivadtmon intended. After all, that would leave all the treasure for him. Then Waln took a second look at that transfigured face and doubt left him. Shivadtmon had found a treasure here already in this confirmation that among his deities, Magic, at least, did not resent his intrusion.

The aridisdu was already stepping inside, and Waln hurried to catch up with him. He didn’t know what they would find, but he knew for certain that he did not want Shivadtmon to find it first.

INITIALLY, Rahniseeta had been too stunned both physically and emotionally to do anything but go mutely where she was told. The last of her headache had dissipated on the voyage over and by now she had certainly had more rest than any of her captors.

The lethargy and depression that had sought to claim her had ebbed, replaced by fear of the sacrilege she was being forced to commit. The arrival of the seal the night before had seemed an omen, a promise that rescue was coming, that she had not been forgotten. Would the yarimaimalom feel the same now that she had trespassed—no matter how unwillingly—on their preserve?

Rahniseeta might try and explain how she had no choice but to do as Waln directed or the foreigner would kill her. Would the yarimaimalom accept this, or would they feel she should have died rather than break a sacred trust?

No, Rahniseeta certainly should not wait to be rescued. Not only could she not be sure that the yarimaimalom would rescue her, but waiting would also mean she could be used as a hostage against her friends. Rahniseeta wasn’t sure if threat to her safety would stop Lady Blysse from doing whatever the wolf-woman felt was right, but she was certain that neither Harjeedian nor Derian would act if their actions would bring injury to her.

Therefore, Rahniseeta must escape, preferably long before rescue arrived. She considered fleeing into the forest, shouting as loudly as she could that she was a friend of the Firekeeper. Rahniseeta knew few details about the wolf-woman’s visit to Misheemnekuru. She didn’t even know if Lady Blysse had come to this particular island, but she was certain that the yarimaimalom were at least as devoted to gossip as were humans. Whoever lived here would have heard of Firekeeper.

Then, if the yarimaimalom let her live, Rahniseeta could beg their forgiveness and hopefully redeem her life by telling in detail about the weapons the sailors carried with them, and their willingness to kill.

Rahniseeta discarded that plan almost as quickly as it shaped in her mind. The area between her and the forest’s edge was wide and open. The well-groomed cobbles would make for easy running, but the lack of obstruction would mean that a crossbow bolt would reach her all too easily.

Shelby’s groping caresses had left no doubt about his interest in her, and she’d caught an appreciative glance from a few of the others. Yet, despite this admiration, she had no illusions that if ordered to shoot her, any one of them—even Shelby—would not hesitate. Hesitation would raise doubts as to where loyalties lay, and Waln Endbrook was not a man to take disloyalty lightly.

Rahniseeta was certain that not one man here particularly liked Waln Endbrook—Elwyn excepted, since Elwyn seemed to like just about everyone. However, liking was not the issue—getting home was, and Waln Endbrook had offered the northerners a way they could get home with honor and maybe fortune.

During the voyage over from the mainland, Rahniseeta had heard doubts expressed that they’d ever see that home except by their own efforts. She wished she could be indignant at this lack of trust, but she had seen enough now of the intrigues and factions among the disdum that she knew the northerners had reason for their fear.

She recalled that Barnet had been the one to introduce the subject, and wondered if he had been indirectly offering an excuse for his own action in joining Waln’s party—something he might see as a betrayal of a sort, given how long he had resided in the Temple of the Cold Bloods and acted as if he thought her a friend.

But Barnet and his possible guilt were not here on this island hilltop. Waln Endbrook and his associates were—along with Shivadtmon, an aridisdu who had returned to the way of blood sacrifice. Rahniseeta didn’t think Shivadtmon would hesitate if Waln threatened to cut her throat. He might even volunteer to perform the act himself and make her blood an offering to the divine five.

Yes. Definitely, she had to get away from here, but if running into the forest was out of the question, what remained?

As she was herded toward the five towers and noted their relatively good condition, an idea came to her. If she could not run away, perhaps she could run into one of the buildings. Waln and Shivadtmon both seemed to believe that treasure would be found below. That would be where their attention would be fixed.

So I,
thought Rahniseeta,
must find a door and get it between them and me. A strong door. Maybe I can even find a stairway up. From above I could call warning to the others when they arrive. And maybe, maybe, Waln will not even bother to come after me. I’ll be locked up where he can get me later, after all, and he won’t want to waste time to chase me down when I can be retrieved easily enough.

As Shivadtmon, closely followed by Waln, took a few steps into the tower, the filtered sunlight that came in with them illuminated an area in far less good repair than the outer precincts. Blown leaves had accumulated on the floor, along with a liberal scattering of dirt and grit. A shaft of light from a window set high in the wall revealed the likely source of this intrusion.

“Shutter must have broken,” Waln said, glancing up. “Clearing away this crap is going to have to come first if we’re going to find a way down.”

Shivadtmon nodded.

“Reasonable. However, we should test the floor as we go along. The same window that admitted dirt and leaves may have let in enough water to encourage rot. If there is a cellar beneath …”

Waln nodded and sent Tedgewinn out to cut some saplings to use as probes.

“See if you can cobble a broom or two while you’re at it,” he called after.

Rahniseeta heard the carpenter’s reply only absently. Her attention was fully occupied scanning the room. This particular chamber took up only about the front third of the tower, and another set of double doors stood resolutely shut along the back wall. She noted these as possible escape routes, but even more interesting was a door set on the left side of the room. From her knowledge of architecture from before the deities visited their retribution upon the Old Country sorcerers—a style of building she saw daily in Heeranenahalm—she guessed there was a staircase behind that door.