The Well of Darkness (11 page)

As I fastened up the corners of the blanket, and used the long ends I had left free to tie the pack across my shoulders, anticipation and determination swept through me, making me feel more alert and awake that I had in days. I had felt the sensation before, at the moment when planning ended and action began. It was a carryover from Markasset, and it was well entrenched in Rikardon.

I slipped out the window, made my way through the torch-wavering shadows to the water tank, opened the tap, and drank deeply. Then I filled a small leather pouch, the only container I could bring without generating suspicion of my actual route. The cut-away part of the blanket was inside the pack, for the same reason—to leave no clues. The pouch wasn’t prepared for water storage and would swell in the heat, stealing some of the precious liquid from me. Even with the special qualities of this Gandalaran body, I knew the water wouldn’t be enough to last the entire journey, and I could look forward to a dismal last day.

I’ll make it,
I told myself, as I moved toward the stone wall of the enclosure. The wall wasn’t extremely high—the surrounding desert was a much more effective barrier.
I know I’ll make it. More importantly, Tarani knows it. She’s counting on me, and I won’t fail her again.

I ducked back against one of the slave barracks as a perimeter guard rounded the inner corner of the wall. He glanced in my direction, but the shadows hid me well enough. He was wearing such a look of boredom that I nearly pitied him.

When the guard had passed, I moved along the wall to the corner. The small spaces where the stone blocks met imperfectly were nearly useless elsewhere as hand- and toe-holds; there wasn’t enough depth to them to support the vertical lifting of a man’s body. But here, where one could brace between two walls, using the angle both for support while climbing and for greater pressure at each contact point, those spaces were sufficient.

Wheezing from the tension and exertion, the healed dralda wound throbbing in my arm from the unusual strain of the climb, I dropped quietly into the sand
outside
the Lingis camp and left it with no regret.

I pushed myself that night, running hard through the relative coolness of the silvery desert. I wanted as much distance as possible between me and the mining camp before my absence was discovered. Even after the moon set, and the darkness was nearly absolute, I kept moving. Caution slowed my pace, but I had already outrun the desert’s edge with the ground-hugging bushes that could trip the unsuspecting. Now there was only salty sand, spraying up behind me and settling soundlessly to the gently rolling ground. As long as I made allowance for the ups and downs, I kept up a reasonably good pace.

In fact, I felt rather confident and self-satisfied as I ran through the blackness. I was as sure of my direction as if I could see Eddarta in the distance.

That might be Markasset
‘
s “inner awareness”
, I speculated, my mind separating itself from the hypnotic, rhythmic motion of my body.
But he
‘
s never shown evidence of such a strong link to the All-Mind. More likely
, I thought, and a warmth not of the desert filled me,
it
‘
s a light compulsion from Tarani. Lonna would have reached her before nightfall, so she knows I
‘
m on my way, and she
‘
s helping as much as she can. It doesn
‘
t feel quite like the compulsion she used in Eddarta to bring us back together
—
but then, the distance is much greater.

The lady does have power
, I thought.
Enough, I hope—
no,
I
‘
m sure, because she said so
—
to keep Indomel
‘
s at bay. But I won
‘
t rest easy until I get the Ra
‘
ira and Tarani away from Eddarta
‘
s corruption.

I had to pause, and laugh at myself.
Until
I
get them away,
I thought.
That
‘
s a good sign. I
‘
m beginning to feel powerful again, myself.

That good feeling sank a little the next morning, when something called my attention into the sky. I could barely see the small, gray-green bird against the grayness of the cloud cover, but I knew the maufa was on its way to Eddarta, with Tullen’s trouble-making report in tow. I don’t know whether the maufa or I was more astonished when a piercing shriek sounded and a huge white bullet dropped down from the clouds. The white shape collided with the green one, its straight course zigzagging with the impact; then wide wings opened and the two birds drifted down. Lonna dropped the maufa at my feet and hooted at me. I gripped my forearms and held them out; she settled into the square nest and lay her head across my shoulder.

I sat down, still holding her, and freed one arm to pick up the other bird, tiny in comparison to Lonna, its feathers stained with blood, its neck loose.
Why, Lonna
, I thought,
Why didn’t you tell me you were a chicken hawk?

“Tarani sent you, of course,” I said aloud. “To gain time. No news to Indomel is good news. What’s this you’re carrying?”

When my hand felt the lumps under Lonna’s wings, the big bird spread her wings and hopped out of my grasp. Tied to her sides, beneath and behind her wings where they wouldn’t put direct strain on her powerful breast muscles, were two hand-size pieces of leather, not quite flat. I cut the lacings which held them, and they plopped into the sand, changing shape.

“Water!” I said, picking them up. They were small water bags made of specially treated glith skins. Tarani had put only a small amount of water in each one, out of consideration for the bulk and weight of Lonna’s burden. But what she had sent nearly tripled my water supply.

“Tarani, Lonna—thank you,” I whispered to the desert.

Lonna stayed with me for three days, feeding on the maufa she killed and flying off in the evenings to find her own water source. Following this straight desert route, the trip back to Eddarta was slightly shorter, but even more boring. I rejoiced when I caught a glimpse of color against the even grayness of the desert.

Eddarta was no exception to the one rule of landscape in Gandalara: where there was water, there also was abundant life; where no water flowed, “life” was brief, very chancy, and preferred night to day. That glimpse of color—nothing more, really, than a change from the gray scrubby bushes that clung to the sand to a greener variety—told me that the city was close.

On the trip from Eddarta, the troop had followed the River Wall out of Eddarta, marching along gentle slopes at the base of the long, sloping wall. Near the city—and the lifegiving waters of the Tashal—those slopes had been thick with crops. From the crest of a hill, we had been able to see patterns to the land, smooth geometric shapes that changed color as the crops varied made use of every accessible square inch of irrigated land.

We had quickly left the farms behind us, but for miles beyond them, the land had continued to enjoy the rich base of groundwater supplied by the broad cascade of the Tashal and its myriad branches. The terrain had been wild and overgrown; without the smooth, winding line of road, it would have been slow going. It had reminded me of the terrain near Thagorn, except that here the uncultivated dakathrenil trees, their woody trunks twisting about only inches above the ground, were mixed with the slim but straighter, coniferous-looking trees I had seen planted in orchards near Dyskornis.

Walking through the one had brought back memories of riding through the other—which had led inevitably to the precious memory of the first time Keeshah’s mind, and not merely his thoughts, had touched me. I had been embroiled in a fight with two Sharith, and keeping Keeshah out of it had been an essential element of my disguise—had they seen him, they would have known me as Markasset. So Keeshah had joined me in the only way he could—through our mindlink. His consciousness had merged with mine, providing instant interpretation of sounds and sights and scents that Markasset could not have processed so quickly, helping me win. Then—again for the sake of disguise—he had allowed me to ride the sha’um of the other men.

The memory had been with me constantly on that march, alternately a comfort and a torment, as the reality of Keeshah’s absence pierced my reverie. I was just as glad now, as I stopped and let my panting slow, that I was approaching Eddarta from just this angle. I had missed that woody area, which had climbed the rolling upward slope of the River Wall and covered a narrow strip of level ground at its base. And I was too close to the wall to meet the treacherous salt bog that was the terminus for every surface water source in Gandalara—that, too, would have brought memories of Keeshah and our first trip together, out of the Kapiral Desert toward Raithskar. I was approaching Eddarta from the east, entering the cultivated area through an interface of scrubby bushes whose only differentiation from the desert growth was the healthier-looking green of their spiked leaves.

I called Lonna to ground, opened my pack, and wrote a brief note to Tarani. I tied the note to the bird’s leg, and sent her off with Tarani’s name as directions. Then I dug out a hollow in the sand in the scant shade of one of the bushes and settled in to wait.

It was dark when Lonna returned, and her call of welcome woke me from a deep sleep. It had been the first time in recent memory that I hadn’t been troubled with restless dreams of unfilled needs and unanswered questions—whether that meant that the prospect of seeing Tarani had set them at rest, or merely that exhaustion had given me peace, I couldn’t say.

The message Lonna carried was brief:

Lord City gate, midnight, tomorrow I will come to you. T.

The packet also contained a few small coins—a thoughtful addition, since I didn’t dare try to change the gold pieces I carried. They displayed the countenance of Pylomel, the former High Lord, and had been minted some twenty or so years ago in honor of his planned marriage to Zefra. His plans had been delayed for two years, during which time Zefra had left Eddarta with Volitar, had given birth to Tarani (who had thought Volitar her father until recently) and had been, finally, captured and returned to Pylomel. The memorial gold coins hidden in my belt were rare enough to invite attention—the last thing I needed. The coins Tarani had provided were small in amount, but precious in their usability.

A small doubt crossed my mind, brought on by the realization that it was not only the dimness of light, and the flowing angles of Gandalaran cursive that made the note difficult to read. The words had been written in haste, and for a moment I wasn’t absolutely positive that it was Tarani’s handwriting.

Lonna was resting on my shoulder. I stretched out my arm and she side-stepped along it until her weight rested on my upper arm. “Did this message come from Tarani, Lonna?” I asked. She hunched forward and spread her wings; I laughed, and tossed her into the air. The big wings beat down, lifting her. “I see you haven’t forgotten your stage training,” I said, as she circled around my head and settled again on my shoulder. I stroked the feathers on her breast as I walked along. Your word is good enough for me, lady. Let’s go find Tarani.”

While I had moonlight, I walked on through the bushes and into farm land. I rested, then moved on at dawn. Mid-morning I struck one of the wide roads that followed branches of the Tashal River, and led into Eddarta.

The city had no perimeter wall, but looked from a distance as though a giant hand had shaken buildings in a cup, like dice, then cast them in an untidy spill across the lowest slopes of the River Wall. From the time I stepped onto the road—and I knew it was my only choice, since sneaking around would only draw attention to myself—the skin on my back and neck prickled with the expectation of swordpoints behind me. I reached the outskirts of the city at noon, found myself a mediocre inn, had a mediocre meal that tasted like ambrosia after the hard, dried fruit and meat I had taken into the desert with me, and collapsed into a mediocre pallet for a sound eight hours of sleep.

I woke in the darkness of deep night, my “inner awareness” telling me that midnight was a good two hours away. I was alone in a second-floor room, and slightly amazed that I had rested so well.

I can think of several reasons,
I thought to myself while I dressed,
why I shouldn
‘
t have slept a wink last night. Uncertainty whether Indomel knows I
‘
ve left the Lingis mine, that just-before-action surge I
‘
ve felt before when I got close to the Ra
‘
ira, and
—
certainly not least of all
—
eagerness to see Tarani again. So why did I just check in here without thinking twice about anything, and pass out?

Exhaustion has to be part of the answer
, I finally decided.
But there’s more.
I felt my teeth clench as I speculated. It was Ricardo who found the answer, in a memory from my early days in the Marines, when I’d been a well-trained but green kid on a soggy, enemy-infested island.

It
‘
s because I
‘
m not giving the orders any more
, I realized.
Tarani said escape, so I did. She said meet her at midnight, when I got here I had time to kill, so I caught up on my rest. It
‘
s kind of the reverse of Ricardo
‘
s wartime experience on Pelihau
—
when I got there, I was a buck private and I slept the sleep of the dead; when I left, I
‘
d been promoted to Sergeant Carillo by default, and I
‘
d learned to go for days without sleep.

I shrugged.
She
‘
s the only one who
‘
s in a position to know what
‘
s going on,
I admitted, then felt a twinge of the guilt that still hovered at the back of my mind.
And she kept us on track while I was nonfunctional. We
‘
re a team
, I reminded myself.
Getting the Ra
‘
ira out of Eddarta is the only thing that counts.