Deltora Quest #8: Return to Deltora (6 page)

T
he caravan swayed. The bells on the reins jingled. But Steven was not singing. Inside, in the dimness, Lief and Jasmine sat with Barda lying between them, trying to protect their injured friend from the worst of the jolts.

They had spent a miserable hour by the hut fire before Steven came looking for them. Lief shivered, remembering what had happened when Steven saw the skeletons and read the note.

Steven’s face had darkened. His face had begun to heave. Suddenly he had screwed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. “No! No!” Lief heard him mutter as he turned away, beating the stone wall with his fists. And Lief knew he was struggling with Nevets, trying to keep his savage brother in check.

After a few moments, the battle was won. Steven turned back to them, his face weary, but calm. “What
cannot be changed, must be endured,” he said grimly. “Our duty now is to the living.”

He bent over Barda. “Ah — this is my fault,” he murmured. “I thought you knew of gripper fields.”

“Will Barda live?” Lief’s throat was tight as he asked the question.

Steven gnawed at his lip, hesitating. “At Withick Mire he will be warm and comfortable,” he said finally.

He bent and lifted Barda as easily as if the big man were a child. Then he strode from the hut without a backward glance. Lief and Jasmine trailed after him, both very aware that he had not answered the question.

They walked in silence through the trees to where the stepping stones began, then picked their way back across the gripper field. Ahead, the caravan stood alone, the horse waiting beside it. The trees that had blocked the road had been cast aside. The cooking fires, the stores, and the rubbish had been swept away as though blown by a great wind.

Of the Guards there was no sign except for a few scraps of bloodstained grey fabric scattered here and there. With a chill Lief realized that Nevets had chosen the easiest way to dispose of the remains of his victims. The grippers closest to the road had been well fed.

Hours later, they began to notice a vile smell. The stench of rot and decay seeped into the caravan till the still, dusty air was thick with it. Jasmine wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is it?” she whispered.

Lief shrugged, then steadied himself as the caravan rocked violently as though it was travelling over rough ground.

He looked down at Barda. The rough bandages that bound Barda’s legs and arms were soaked with blood. He had taken a little water, and when they smeared Queen Bee honey on his mouth, he licked it from his lips. But he had not opened his eyes or spoken.

The honey is all that is keeping him alive, Lief thought. But for how long? How long? Oh, let us reach Withick Mire soon!

So that Barda could be cared for properly. So that his wounds could be washed and freshly bandaged. So that — Lief forced himself to think of it — so that if Barda had to die, he could die peacefully, comfortably, on a warm couch, instead of in this cold, shaking, stinking caravan.

At that very moment, to his surprise, the caravan came to a stop. The back doors were flung open, and Lief and Jasmine scrambled out.

The rain had stopped. The sun was setting, flooding the sky with dull orange light that lit a strange and horrible scene. The caravan was in the middle of a giant garbage dump. Giant, stinking mounds of rags, bones, broken furniture, and household goods, twisted metal and rotting food scraps rose on all sides. Among the mounds, ragged, miserable people bent and shuffled, searching the refuse.

Lief spun around angrily to Steven. “Why have you brought us here?” he demanded. “We must get Barda to Withick Mire!”

Without a word Steven pointed at a sign that stood just beside where the caravan had stopped.

Before Lief could say anything, one of the ragged scavengers came shambling towards them, leaning heavily on a stick. A black patch covered one of his eyes and he had tied a scarf around his mouth and nose, no doubt to protect him from the stench of the mounds. He bent forward, leering at the newcomers with his one good eye.

“What do you seek here, may I ask?” he rasped, his voice just a croak. “Here, amid the leavings of Del?”

Lief and Jasmine hesitated, not knowing what to say.

The scavenger cackled. “Perhaps you seek shelter?” he asked. “Then come with me. All are welcome in Withick Mire.”

He hobbled off, threading his way through the mounds with the ease of long practice. Not knowing what else to do, the companions followed, Lief and Jasmine on foot, Steven leading the horse carefully through the maze.

As they walked, they passed many pathetic hovels made of pieces of wood, tin, and cloth. People crouched outside these hovels, sorting through the pickings of the day, or starting cooking fires. Some grinned up at the strangers. Others did not bother to raise their heads.

At the back of one of the larger mounds, a more substantial shelter had been built. The scavenger beckoned, and Lief and Jasmine, with a backward glance at Steven, followed him inside.

And there a surprise awaited them. Beneath the thin layer of tin and board was a sturdy building. It was far larger than it had appeared from the outside, because all but its entry was buried deep under the mound. It was not only large, but clean and well organized, with many stretchers arranged neatly around the walls, each topped with folded blankets, and with possessions stacked below.

The scavenger turned to them, straightened, and threw off both the eye patch and the scarf.

“Doom!” Jasmine exclaimed in amazement.

“Did you not know me?” asked Doom, his lips tweaking into a smile. “That is excellent! You did not expect the Resistance stronghold to be in a garbage
dump, no doubt. But what better place to hide? No one comes here willingly — not even Grey Guards. And who cares for or about poor scavengers? Some of the people you saw on your way here are true scavengers — sad souls from Del whose livelihoods have been taken from them. Others — many others — are our people. Glock, Fardeep, and even Zeean are out there somewhere, with all the rest. Dain is away fetching water.”

Leif nodded slowly, taking it in. So nothing is as it seems, even here, he thought.

“Doom,” Jasmine said urgently. “Barda is injured. He needs care. And …” She glanced at Lief. “There is other news. Very bad.”

Lief fumbled in his pocket and drew out Endon’s crumpled note.

Doom’s dark eyes grew even darker as though, somehow, he knew what was coming. But he did not take the note. Instead, he turned swiftly to face the door once more.

“Time enough for that when Barda has been seen to,” he said roughly. “Bring him in. We will do what we can for him.”

Later, Lief and Jasmine sat by Barda’s bed. Their own wounds had been washed and bandaged, and the big man lay peacefully at last. The bleeding had stopped, and for this they had to thank a strange ally — Glock.

“You won’t heal this with bandages,” Glock had mumbled, grabbing Lief’s wrist and inspecting it.
“Grippers inject something that keeps the blood flowing.”

He went over to his own stretcher, rummaged beneath it, then came back holding a grubby jar filled with grey paste. “Smear this on the bites,” he ordered.

“What is it?” asked Jasmine, smelling the paste suspiciously.

“How would I know?” snarled Glock. “Those who made it are long dead. But my tribe always used it in the old days — for half-wits and infants who blundered into gripper fields.”

Jasmine bit back her angry response and turned to Barda.

“Do not waste it on him,” Glock growled. “He is finished.”

Jasmine did not bother to reply. Already she was smearing the paste on Barda’s cleaned wounds. Glock spat in disgust, and lumbered away. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

Lief looked up wearily. Zeean, Fardeep, and Doom were standing together not far away, with Steven beside them. Their heads were bent. Their faces were grave. They were reading Endon’s note.

“So,” Lief heard Doom say heavily. “That is the end of that.”

They looked up, saw Lief and Jasmine watching, and moved to join them. Doom handed the note back to Lief.

“The Dread Gnome and the Ralad will arrive to find they have made their journey for nothing,” he said.

Lief nodded. “All our journeys have been for nothing,” he replied through stiff lips.

Zeean’s face was shadowed with grief. “It is very hard,” she murmured. “I had — such hopes.”

“It is well for our hopes to be dashed, if they were false.” The old bitterness had returned to Doom’s voice. “Soon we will all return to our places. And every step we go, we will tell what we know, so no other fools will be tempted to risk their lives in a useless cause.”

There was a sound beside Lief. He looked down, and his heart thudded. Barda had stirred. His eyes were open.

“What is — the matter?” Barda asked weakly.

Jasmine stroked his forehead. “Nothing is the matter,” she said soothingly. “Rest, now.”

But Barda moved his head impatiently and his eyes fastened on the note in Lief’s hand. “What is that? Show it to me!” he demanded.

Lief knew Barda too well to think he could refuse. Reluctantly, he held out the note so that Barda could see it, explaining how it had been found.

Barda blinked at the terrible words. Then, to Lief’s amazement, he smiled. “And — is this what is troubling you?” he asked.

Lief and Jasmine exchanged alarmed glances. Barda’s mind was wandering. Jasmine bent over the bed once more. “Sleep,” she whispered. “You need rest, Barda. You are very weak.”

“Weak I may be,” Barda said softly. “But not so weak that I do not know a falsehood when I see it.”

B
arda gazed wearily up at the ring of astounded faces, and again he smiled. “The note is a good forgery, oh, yes,” he murmured. “The writing is very like that on the note we saw in Tora. But the mind that framed these words was not Endon’s mind. I —”

His voice faltered as he was distracted by a noise. Lief quickly turned to see Dain hurrying towards them from the door, his eyes wide with questions. But before the boy could speak, Doom frowned and raised his finger to his lips. Lief turned back to the bed.

“How can you tell the note was not written by King Endon, Barda?” Jasmine asked gently. “You did not know him.”

“Perhaps not,” muttered Barda. “But Jarred did. Time and again Jarred has told me of Endon’s terrible feelings of guilt. It brought tears into his own eyes to tell
of Endon’s agony when he realized how he had failed Deltora. Yet this, which is supposed to be Endon’s last message, written not long after the escape from Del, says not one word of that.”

“You are right.” Lief felt that he was slowly waking from a nightmare. “Not one word of apology or grief for anyone other than for himself and his family. And this cannot be. The note — the skeletons — were planted to deceive us! That is why the Guards were placed where they were. To force travellers off the road, up to the hut. It was all a Shadow Lord plan.”

I have many plans …

“But …” Like Jasmine, Doom was plainly not convinced.

Barda tossed his head restlessly. “Look at the seal at the bottom of the message. It should not be there. The note in Tora did not bear the royal seal. And why? Because Endon did not have the seal ring in his possession when he escaped. He could not have done so. The seal was always kept by Prandine, and brought out only when messages had to be signed.”

“How do you know this?” asked Zeean curiously.

Barda sighed. “My mother, rest her soul, was nursemaid to both Jarred and Endon. She was a great chatterer, and told me many things about palace doings. Often I only half listened, I admit. But it seems that I learned more than the Shadow Lord suspects.”

“And what a blessing you did,” breathed Fardeep,
his eyes goggling. “If it had not been for you, we would have abandoned all our hopes.”

“I have stayed alive to some purpose, then,” said Barda, with the faintest of smiles. “But now I am very weary.” His eyes closed.

Jasmine drew a sharp breath and pressed her ear to his chest. When she straightened, her face was very pale. “He is only asleep,” she whispered. “But his heart beats very faintly. I fear he is slipping away from us.”

Blindly she put out her hand to Lief, and he clasped it, his eyes filling with tears. How much our journey has changed us, he thought, dazed with grief. Jasmine shows feeling, and reaches out for comfort! I am not ashamed to weep! How Barda would smile at that.

Steven touched his arm. “Do not grieve before you must, my friend,” he said gently. “Barda is strong, and a fighter. He will not give up easily. And Queen Bee honey has performed miracles before.”

Lief felt Jasmine’s hand tighten on his own. Then there was a sudden movement beside him. He looked around and saw that Dain had pushed his way to the bed, and was kneeling at his side. The boy’s eyes were wet, but his face was determined. “Barda must not die,” he said. “If we tend him carefully, surely he will recover.”

Jasmine’s face was glowing with gratitude as she looked at Dain. But this time Lief felt no jealous pang. If
Barda was to be saved, he needed all the hope and help he could get.

That night, and another day, passed in a dream. Lief, Jasmine, and Dain watched over Barda in turns, coaxing him to take honey, water, and spoonfuls of broth. At times Barda seemed to strengthen a little, rousing himself and even speaking. But soon the weakness would take hold again, and before long he would be worse than ever.

It was as if he was on a gradual downward slide that could not be halted. The stirrings were coming less often now.

Barda is dying, Lief told himself. I must face it. But still he could not make himself give up hope. Jasmine certainly had not. And Dain was a tower of strength, taking longer and longer turns at the bedside, sparing them as much as he could.

At sunset, Lief had just stood up from the bedside, giving up his place to Dain, when a shrill cry was heard outside.

“Ak-Baba! Beware!”

Suddenly all was confusion as people began streaming through the door into the shelter. Lief looked around frantically. Where was Jasmine?

Then he remembered. Jasmine had gone with Zeean and Fardeep to collect water. He pushed his way through the throng in the doorway and ran outside. Almost at once he saw the three he was seeking. They
were standing with brimming pails, looking upward at the dark shadow approaching through the orange glare of the sky.

“Jasmine!” Lief shouted. “Run!”

But to his surprise Jasmine simply turned and smiled wearily at him. He looked up once more, then realized what the shadow was.

It was no Ak-Baba. It was a Kin! Ailsa, if he was not mistaken. She was surrounded by a wavering cloud of blackbirds. As they came over the Mire, the birds swooped away and Ailsa began dropping to earth. A small figure in her pouch was waving vigorously.

Gla-Thon, Lief guessed, squinting up at the sky and waving back. Quick-thinking, sharp-tongued Gla-Thon. He recognized her sturdy body, her frizz of brown hair. And who but Gla-Thon would have thought of asking a Kin to fly her speedily to the meeting? Old Fa-Glin may have agreed to make peace with the gnomes’ Kin neighbors. But Lief thought it unlikely that he would have consented to ride with one.

Now six of the seven tribes are represented here, Lief thought, as he ran with Jasmine to welcome the newcomers. I should be excited. I should be filled with hope.

And in a way he was. Celebration, and much talk, would follow this arrival, he knew. He looked forward to explaining everything to Gla-Thon. He was overjoyed to see Ailsa again. But the fear of losing Barda hung over him like a cloud, blurring every thought, every feeling.

A few days later, Lief was sitting beside Barda’s bed, half drowsing, when there was a light touch on his shoulder. Startled, he spun around and met two solemn black button eyes set in a wrinkled blue-grey face.

“Manus!” he exclaimed, leaping up and bending to fling his arms around the Ralad man. “Oh, Manus! You came!”

“Of course,” said Manus. He turned to the golden-maned man standing behind him, with Jasmine. “Our friend Nanion, chief of D’Or, was the means of my arriving so quickly. Nanion has a way with horses which I do not. His feet reach the stirrups, for one thing! But I must say it was an uncomfortable journey. I was terrified half out of my life, and bruised from head to toe!”

Nanion laughed. “To follow a swarm of bees over rough country is no easy task,” he said. “And this Ralad complained from the beginning of the journey to the end. I am relieved to have arrived at last, and to be free of his nagging.” But his eyes were warm as he spoke. Plainly, he and Manus had become good friends.

“How did you come to have a horse?” Jasmine asked. “And such a fine one!”

Nanion shrugged. “A certain shopkeeper made it available to me,” he said. “I only hope he has a good explanation ready for its owners when they come seeking it.”

“I daresay he has,” said Doom dryly, strolling up behind them. “Good explanations are Tom’s specialty. So — he finally decided to take sides, did he?”

Manus smiled. “Not quite that, I think,” he said. “He warned Nanion that lightning does not strike twice in the same place. Meaning, I suppose, that we should expect no more favors from him.”

“But I think he had forgotten that he had already done us one good turn,” Nanion put in. “Shortly before I saw him, he had given two of my people some news. Grey Guards are being ordered to the west. Fighting is expected.”

Doom’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed?” he muttered. He drew Nanion aside, leaving Manus alone with Barda, Lief, and Jasmine.

“This is a sorrowful thing,” Manus murmured, looking down at the big man lying so still on the bed. “Can nothing be done?”

Lief shook his head. “He has not stirred since sunrise,” he said, all his grief flooding back. “I think — it cannot be long.”

Manus bowed his head. “Then I am glad I arrived when I did,” he said softly. “For it means much to me to see him again. He has a great heart.”

He looked up, meeting Lief’s eyes squarely. “He has not given his life in vain,” he said. “Jasmine has told me why I was summoned, though I think I had already guessed. You three have worked a miracle.”

“Part of a miracle,” Lief answered. “The heir is still to be found.”

“And is that not why we are all here?” Manus asked quietly. He stood up. “The moon is rising. It is time for the seven tribes to join once more. It is time for the heir to be summoned.”