Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (80 page)

Everyone else nodded—even Blind Seer.

They went on without speaking for some time. As she trudged along in the back, Elise found the night's exertions catching up to her. Who would have known when they'd settled down that evening to discuss how best to retrieve the artifacts that some hours later they would have two of them?

Two and hopefully three.

Elise could feel exhaustion threatening her. It had been a long day and promised to be a longer night. She was cold, and her feet—which she had been on much of the day—ached abysmally.

Her head ached, she wanted to weep, to whine like a child, anything but tramp through this cold tunnel with its reek of sewage.

It seemed too much, unfair, that the only reward she could anticipate at the end of the journey was a possible fight followed by further flight, this time through the snow and wind. Presumably they'd ride until hiding became necessary, and then where would they go? Where would they hide?

Ahead, the light of the single torch Grateful Peace carried burned steadily. At least here there was no wind. At least here no one was chasing them. At least here…

Elise straightened and forced a grin. If this was as good as it was going to get, well, then, she'd better appreciate it.

What had she been telling herself—that it was unfair that she had to put up with these conditions?

Well, who insisted you come along, Lady Elise Archer
? she asked herself.

No one but me
was her silent reply.

And in any case, what's fair? Was it fair that Sapphire and Shad were nearly murdered on their wedding day? Was it fair that King Allister had to deal with treachery along with his coronation? What is fair?

"Life isn't fair," she muttered to herself.

Doc, hearing the sound but certainly not the words, paused and looked back at her in concern.

"Are you all right, Elise?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, giving him a determined smile. "After all, it's pretty pleasant here, out of the wind."

I
t wasn't really night anymore when they arrived outside the city; it was predawn. At this time of year when winter had set her seal on the world, that meant it was still very dark, and very cold.

It was predawn inside the tunnels, too, Elise thought, but the thing was, time didn't seem real there, underground. It was just dark and vaguely smelly and the only light in the world came from the flickering torch that Peace had several times renewed from custodial caches along the way.

Elise blew on her fingers and wished for a hot cup of tea.

"Is it true that people sleep most heavily just before dawn?" she asked. "My father told me that once."

"I've heard that, too," Wendee replied. "But I don't know how true it is."

They could talk in a normal tone of voice here—they had to, if they wanted to be heard. As they had trudged along underground, their route had brought them into broader and broader tunnels.

Now they walked alongside what Peace told them had once been a river—a small river, but a very real one. The river had run from the mountains through Dragon's Breath. Some time during the rule of the Founders, it had been sent underground. Tunnels had been built over it.

Where it once carried snowmelt, now it mostly carried sewage. The snowmelt was diverted into reservoirs, though enough was let through to rinse the sewage on its way. The system was more complicated than that, but that was the basic idea.

The liquid in little tunnels had been frozen on top and maybe all the way under, too. Here there was a skin of ice on top. Underneath, the tainted water ran. When it reached the grille work gate, it splashed out into a big river, which carried the waste away. The noise was steady and, best of all, covered the sound of talk.

Elise made a face as the wind brought the sewer smell their way. She didn't know if she'd ever drink from a New Kelvinese river again—not unless the water was boiled and distilled.

How she'd like a cup of tea!

Peace had actually done pretty well by them. There had been food—mostly bars of dried fruit mixed with grains or nuts—in some of the custodial stores. The thaumaturge hadn't known if these were official supplies or some worker's way of making his labor more pleasant.

Either way, having something to eat went a long way toward making them all feel more confident. Peace had found fresh water, too.

Peace had also insisted on rest stops. During these, he'd had them clean off the scarlet paint. Descriptions of the fugitives might well mention that stain.

Hearing how much they disliked the feel of the paint, Grateful Peace didn't insist that they replace it in full. Instead, with a greenish color stick he gave them each a couple of "tattoos." He explained that the average New Kelvinese read tattoos automatically, and would remember what these had said far more readily than details like height or hair color.

Elise's face now said that she was dedicated to a minor cult she'd never heard of before this night. Wendee's said she was a member of some historical society.

But now they'd come to the end of the sewers. Doc—looking much stronger now—was holding the torch so that Grateful Peace could oil the trapdoor. It was supposed to be kept oiled—this being a fairly important part of the sewer system—but Peace wasn't taking any chances on people doing what they were supposed to do.

As she watched the thin man with the bone-white braid trailing down his back, Elise had the feeling that beneath his calm he was even more unsettled by recent events than she was. Like her, he had chosen to be here, but unlike her, she didn't think that he'd planned for the night's venture ending with him exiled from the kingdom he'd served for most of his life.

Elise felt oddly sorry for Grateful Peace. Then the time to feel sorry was over. It was time to head up and out into whatever awaited them.

R
usty Iron rubbed rough granules into Elise's fingers as she hung from the ladder with one hand and pushed up the trapdoor with the other.

The thaumaturge was above already, prowling somewhere in the semidarkness, searching out the residents, checking if any stood watch. He had explained that no one would question his presence, for the Dragon's Eye went everywhere. However, he preferred that their group's presence not be known if at all possible, for he felt there was still a slight chance that he would be able to redeem himself before his people—a chance that grew more tenuous each time his role in helping the outlanders was confirmed.

Their plan had been that if there was no indication that Grateful Peace had been discovered, the rest were to begin their ascent. They had to do without more complex signals, for any' sound Peace might make would awaken the sleepers, and Peace had been forced to close the trapdoor behind him because of the noise from the falls.

Inside the stone guardhouse the noise from the sewage falls was muted. Even so, the solid little building wasn't silent. Silence would have been preferable, for the same dull rumble that covered the sound of their own cautious movements made Elise uneasily aware how easy it would be for someone to sneak up behind her.

Quickly she turned her head, right, then left. Nothing but vague, unmoving shadow shapes were revealed. Not precisely comforted, but certain that at this moment no one was near, Elise bent over the trapdoor and motioned for the others to climb up after her.

She heard a rasping scrape, followed by a pained whine as Blind Seer hauled himself through the trapdoor. The wolf's stiff straining movements were so unlike the lithe grace with which he had mounted a similar ladder only a few hours before that Elise felt her heart catch in sympathetic pain.

In quick succession, Wendee, then Doc—both of whom had waited below to assist the wolf with his ascent—emerged from the trapdoor. When Doc was through, Elise closed the door.

Her abortive sigh of relief nearly choked her when a high-pitched but strong voice spoke from the center of a dark rectangle Elise had taken for a closed door:

"Don't move nor even breath or I'll land a crossbow quarrel soundly in your liver."

Blind Seer, who had been scenting the air, growled—a low sound, full of anger and frustration. None of the others commented even to that extent.

"Now we," the voice continued, "have our sympathies with escaping slaves, even those who don't come announced, but there is a price for sympathy. Do you have it with you?"

With some surprise, Elise heard her own voice answering:

"We do, but it's under our wraps."

What's going on here
? she thought frantically.
Where is Peace? Escaped slaves? I think I understand, but what are they going to do to us when they find we don't have their price
?

She didn't waste energy wondering how they had been detected. The guards must be so accustomed to the noise from the falls that they didn't even hear it anymore. Some sound out of the ordinary must have alerted this woman.

From elsewhere, she heard the slap of shod feet coming down stone stairs. A man's voice called, "Tymia? What's going on?"

"Alarm," Tymia, as their captor turned out to be named, replied economically. "I've three here and a big dog. Bring a lamp, will you?"

"Right."

Where is Peace? Has he left us here?

Elise tried to frame a bluff, but she knew she was floundering—it was hard to bluff when you knew so little. Their time of residence in Dragon's Breath hadn't been long enough to learn the fine details of slavery in New Kelvin. She hadn't even seen a slave, though she did know that most were owned not by individuals but by organizations.

The price this Tymia had mentioned was doubtless paid in currency, but what would be considered a fair amount? Would she be expected to bring out a coin or a purse?

And where was Peace?

Not one but three new figures were revealed in the glow of the lamplight, a woman and two men. All were young, all wore sleepwear—soft trousers and shirt—augmented by boots and weaponry. One man carried a crossbow. The man with the lamp had a sword belt sloppily girded around him. The woman bore both sword and crossbow, though neither was carried in a ready position. Rather it looked as if she had snatched up her weapons from habit rather than volition.

All four—including Tymia, who was revealed for the first time as other than a shadow—were older than Elise, but still hardly beyond their mid-twenties.

Tymia, who wore a uniform, though one loose around the collar and a bit rumpled, stepped forward, studying them with an intent interest that became concern as she got a better look at her captives. Elise remembered seeing a similar expression on the face of young Indatius in the Granite Tower, and dreaded what was coining.

Whatever slaves typically looked like, it was quite clear that she, Wendee, and Doc did not fit the profile. It said something about how odd they must look that Tymia didn't spare a glance for Blind Seer—and that was her mistake.

The great grey wolf didn't leap—his injuries were too great for that—but in the enclosed room he hardly needed to do more than rush forward. His intelligence was evident in that he did not go for Tymia herself but for her crossbow.

A sharp cracking snap proved that wherever else he was wounded, his jaws were just fine.

Elise didn't wait for a second opportunity to act. Bending her head slightly, she rushed at the man who bore both lamp and sword. He brought up his sword in a halfhearted block, but Elise took her tactics from Blind Seer's book.

Wheeling widely away from the sword, she dove for the lamp and knocked it from his hand. It hit the floor solidly. The newly lit wick snuffed out, sending the room back into darkness.

Here Elise and her companions, who had spent so many of the recent hours in semidarkness, were less inconvenienced than the four guards. However, the guards had the advantage of knowing the layout of the room—and of being armed. Moreover, they were skilled fighters—a distinction none in Elise's company, except possibly Doc, could claim.

The former lamp-holder wheeled after Elise, seeming to follow her by the very movement of the air. As he grabbed at her, she felt the flat of his sword blade slide over her arm as he grappled for position.

She kicked out, by luck catching him in the kneecap. He yelled, but the sound was more angered than pained. It blended with Tymia's shrieks as she backed away from Blind Seer, who, having disarmed her, was apparently pressing her in the dark.

There were other yells as well. Wendee and Doc had not left Elise to attack alone, but they had been several steps behind her, even as the remaining two guards had been behind the one Elise had attacked.

Much confused fumbling followed. A thud announced that someone had slipped in the lamp oil and fallen to the floor.

Elise, however, had little attention to spare for this. Her opponent had grabbed her trailing braid and was using it to reel her head in close to his hand.

Ignoring the sharp pain, she tried to pull away, but he had wrapped a length or so of hair around his hand. Again she tried to kick out, but was jerked up short.

"None of that," he warned. "Or I won't bother with keeping you alive."

Moving without conscious thought, Elise sagged.

Her captor leaned to catch her—discommoded by the fact that he'd imprisoned one hand in her hair, while his sword occupied the other. Elise ignored the pull against her braid, though the pain brought tears to her eyes—and fell further forward.

Instinctively trying to keep his balance, the guard shifted to put his sword arm around her waist. At the moment she felt his hold, but before he could straighten, Elise lifted her feet from the floor. She might not weigh over much, but to her already unbalanced captor, it was enough.

He toppled, falling partly on top of her, flailing to keep from cutting himself on his own sword. He let go of her hair, though his fingers remained painfully tangled.

Knowing too well where he was by the heat of his breath, Elise brought up her elbow. Groaning, he jerked back and she was free.

Firekeeper or Sapphire would probably have knocked him cold, but Elise knew her limits. Skipping back, she assessed the situation.