Curse of the Black Heron
Curse of the Black Heron
Chapter Two
Finally I heard her moving down the ladder again, and shuffling around. I heard the creak of her bed as she climbed into it, and the rustle of her blanket as she pulled it over her. Then I waited some more. I didn't dare do anything until she fell asleep. In the meantime, I had to be sure that I didn't give away the fact that I was awake, or that I knew what had happened and what was about to happen. So I continued to think calm thoughts to keep my body relaxed and limp and my breathing regular and slow and deep. Calm thoughts-green hills and the steady rhythm of shuttle through warp forming weft and the feel of a song in my lungs and my belly and my throat. Calm thoughts and a relaxed body, when all I wanted to do was run.
And at last I heard her breathing change, the soft burr of her snore; the only signal I would get.
I got up carefully and dressed, then packed my few belongings-my sleeping shirt, my other breeches, my other tunic, my other undergarments, the wooden flute my father gave me, my knife and whetstone, my personals. Everything I owned, when rolled tightly enough, fit into the pockets of my cloak. I wondered if I dared climb down the ladder to retrieve my boots. I had thought to just cut through the rope that bound the roofing slats to the crossbeams, then push my way through the thatching to get outside; but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I would have to travel in the mountains if I hoped to find some form of safety, and if I traveled in the mountains I had to have my boots. Which meant climbing down the ladder to retrieve them-and then, since time was my enemy as much as noise, lifting the bar that held the oaken door locked and slipping out of it into the street.
Then hurrying clear across the village without giving the impression that I was hurrying, to get Giraud up and out of Blackwarren before the empress's hunters came to kill him. Then running. East to the Stormfather Mountains, then through whatever passes the two of us could find, and north into Lieda. Running ahead of the soon-to-be-knighted Aymar dar Ressti and the empress's killers and the villagers who would come after us, eager for reward.
I took a deep breath and eased myself over the edge of the loft, braced myself on the ladder, and crept down. Twice as fast a I should have, a thousand times more slowly than I wanted to. The ladder didn't creak, and I stepped barefooted onto the wide-boarded floor of the cottage. I knew from experience that some of the boards squeaked; what I couldn't remember but desperately needed to was which of them. I hadn't been in the practice of sneaking out of the house; my only experience came from the rare hurried trip to the outhouse in full darkness, and in those situations, I'd had nothing to hide.
And that was my answer, of course. In the event that Birdie woke enough to notice me, I would say I had to go to the outhouse. Of course, when I failed to return, she'd come after me. I'd lose hours of the small lead I'd have anyway. So I kept quiet, tested each board with a cautious step before moving onto it, and balanced my weight as carefully as I could to avoid making any noise. Even so, something about my presence disturbed Birdie, for when I was more than halfway across the room, she rolled to one side and murmured in a half-awake voice, "Wha's tha'? Did 'ou say somethin'?"
Now I did hold my breath. And I prayed, Neithas, if you love me, make her go back to sleep.
Neithas heard me, for after a while that seemed like forever, Birdie's snoring resumed. I finished my trek across the single room, tugged my boots on-for if anyone saw me putting them on while sitting on the boardwalk outside our door, they would know instantly that I was sneaking about something-and lifted the door bar. I settled it on the floor in its customary place. I always left the house to go to Marda's shop long before Birdie woke and rose-she was accustomed to seeing it out of place. Only if she got up during the night for some reason and discovered the unbarred door would she realize something had gone wrong. If she didn't realize I'd left far too early, I could hope that she would assume I had gone to the shop, and that Marda would assume that Birdie was keeping me busy around the cottage.
The door opened quietly-Birdie had never been able to stand the noise of squeaking hinges, and so kept them well-greased. I pulled it shut behind me as I stepped out onto the boardwalk, then looked down the street in both directions. I saw no one, which was good for more than the obvious reason. In Blackwarren everyone rose when the sun rose and slept when the sun slept. Anyone out with me would be up to no good.
I jumped off the boardwalk and moved through the street, which was terribly dusty but at least not knee-deep with mud as it always became in the spring. I didn't mind getting dusty-I just didn't want my boot heels to clatter on the boards.
I hurried through the streets, keeping to back ways and always choosing dirt streets over cobblestone ones, because I could run faster and more quietly over dirt. I moved steadily uphill, between the huddled houses over Blackwarren that grew bigger and more attractive the further uphill I went. Blackwarren House stood at the top of the hill, unwalled and ungated because the greathouse held neither an army nor the wealth that would tempt invaders.
That worked in my favor, of course. It would have played havoc with my plans if I first had to work my way past gate guards and an army barracks and a houseful of servants. Lucky for Giraud his father was a poor, weak lord. Well, maybe not so lucky. If Lord dar Falcannes had been rich and powerful he might have still been alive, and his private army might have been intimidating enough that the Empress dar Kothia Surdosti would have thought twice about attacking his home and replacing him with some sneaking, murdering sycophant.
As it was, I went up the rose trellis outside Giraud's room and rapped on his window until, rubbing his eyes and yawning, he opened it.
"Izza! What in the world-"
"Get a change of clothes and your weapons and come with me," I said. "I don't have time to explain, other than to tell you that the empress's men will be here at first light to kill you."
Giraud never had a stupid day, and bleary-eyed and sleep-fogged though he was, he didn't have one then, either. Without argument or question, he ran from the window; only moments later, he returned. In that length of time, I'd had time to think.
"Which of your servants is most loyal to your family?" I asked him.
"Beidus. He served my father when they were both boys, and has been with us ever since."
"Get him quickly. Shortly after we leave, he needs to set fire to the house, then rouse the villagers to fight it; when all the village is stirred, he and the rest of your servants need to escape in the melee."
Giraud's eyes narrowed and he studied me for a moment while a cold and terrible blankness stole over his face, robbing it of expression. "Yes," he said. He vanished into the darkness of his room again, and this time took much longer to return.
"It's done," he said. "Those I trust will be wakened shortly, so that they'll have time to gather what few belongings they can. I've told Beidus to empty the stables and chase the horses into the hills, then set fire to the outbuildings first. I told him that Da had been murdered and the killers were coming for all of us next." He handed me one pack, and slipped a second one under his cloak and shrugged into it. Then he swung his leg over the window and only when his back was to me and I'd donned my own pack and we were both climbing down the trellis did he add, "That's what has happened, isn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
"And somehow you found out."
"I found out a lot," I told him.
We took only his two best horses. We would not travel far on horseback-we would be too conspicuous if we rode like lords instead of walking like commoners. But the horses would give us some distance from Blackwarren before anyone discovered our absence. We could cool the horses down and turn them loose before we got into the heart of the mountains-they'd find plenty of food in the uplands and we wouldn't have to worry about how we were going to feed them, rest them, water them, or get them over some of the worst of the mountain passes that led to Lieda.
We would have enough to worry about with just ourselves.
We rode out of Blackwarren without a backward glance. We cantered through the hills to the Gateway of the Mountains; we were all the way to the first difficult traverse of the Gateway Pass before the pink light of dawn began to creep between the black spears of the trees that rose from the edge of the path all around us.
We dismounted and surveyed our situation. The path had been nearly level, with mountains rising to either side of it. Now, however, it slid up onto the hip of the right mountain and the left side of the path fell away into steadily deepening ravine. Below and ahead of us, we could hear water rushing.
"Time to get rid of the horses," Giraud said, "while they can still turn around."
I sighed. I almost never got to ride anymore, though when I'd been a young girl-before whatever had brought my father to Blackwarren-I'd had my own horse and I had ridden every day. I'd been delighted to discover that I still remembered how. When I swung down out of the saddle, I was less delighted to find that, though memory had served me well, my out-of-condition legs had not.
"Oh, Neithas, I'm sore," I muttered. The insides of my thighs cramped, my calves ached, and though this is surely indelicate, I'll admit that my rump burned like a brush fire.
We stripped the saddles from the horses and threw them down into the ravine, listening to them rattle and thump and jingle until either trees stopped them or distance muted their movement. We rubbed our mounts down, walked them until they were cool, then slapped them on their haunches and sent them back the way they'd come.
Before us lay a sharply rising scree-covered ledge that didn't look as if anyone had been over it in ages.
"I wonder why this is in such disrepair," I said. "The dwarves of Kekger Deshin travel the pass between their mines and Blackwarren several times a month during the summer."
"Slide must have just happened," Giraud said.
I looked at the mess, wishing that we could wait for brighter light before essaying out onto it. "I'm sure you're right." In the half-light of dawn, it seemed to me that prudence would almost demand that we wait just a bit longer. The ledge appeared to rise above the thick forest quickly, and the few trees that grew on the steep, rocky slopes above were stunted by their poor soil and twisted by wind-they would provide us with no cover. Once we had no trees on either side of us, the passage would become much more dangerous. Surely we needed better light before trying something like that.
To stall for time, I said, "I've never been through the dwarves' city. I haven't even spoken to any dwarves since I visited with the traders and officials who used to visit with my parents. Do you think they'll tell anyone we passed through their city?"
Giraud shook his head. "We deal . . . dealt . . . with them often. They don't care much about humans as long as we leave them alone. And as a rule they actively dislike human politics and human disagreements. I know this. My father and brothers and a handful of village volunteers went riding after a thief once-he'd been robbing the merchants blind every night-and the dwarves let the thief pass because he was alone and bothered no one. But when my father's party tried to pass, even when my father explained what they wanted with the man and why, the Kekger Deshinites blocked the roads with stone and refused them passage. The thief escaped."
"Good," I said, then glanced at him. "Not that the thief escaped, you know. Just that the dwarves will possibly be kinder to us than they will be to those who come after us."
Giraud said, "Let's get moving."
The light was a bit brighter. I nodded and followed him onto the ledge. We worked our way up the path, crouching over and brushing off scree with our hands so that we could keep both feet firmly planted all the time. Neither of us wanted to try kicking the debris away only to lose balance and go bouncing down the rocky wall of the ravine after it.
The path climbed more steeply, and I realized that seven years of sitting on a stool and weaving had done little to prepare me for a frantic climb through mountains with a pack of killers after me. We climbed for the better part of a candlemark, I'd guess, during which time we left the trees behind and at least part of the air.
When we finally reached a level wide place, both Giraud and I stood panting like dogs on a hot summer day.
"I have to . . . stop for a while," I told him.
He nodded. "Yes. This is . . . hard work."
I'd thought he would be more able to travel than I, but I'd forgotten Giraud's habits. He spent his days in a library with a tutor his father brought in from Balter. He skipped every sword practice he could get away with and avoided as much hand-fighting as he could, too.
We sat with our backs against the stone wall behind us, and I said, "If someone were to go through the village and pick the two worst people to run away through the mountains, they would pick us."
Giraud closed his eyes. "I know. I've been thinking that. We have no food with us, and no water, and nothing to carry water; we don't have warm clothes or sturdy mountain boots or ropes or picks or any of the tools people use when they go through the mountains; we have no map; we've never been on this path; we have no idea where we're going or how long it will take us to get there; we have no weapons nor any tools with which to make them."
Until he listed the problems he saw, I was just thinking that we were neither one of us in very good shape to go mountain climbing. I hadn't thought past that to the fact that we had nothing anyone would need to survive in the mountains. "Thank you for making me feel worse," I muttered.
He glanced at me. "You brought it up."
"I hadn't considered all the details."
"Oh."
We sat in silence a while longer. Finally he asked me how I'd come to find out about his father's murder. I told him. He listened attentively, his face growing darker with every word.
"They were going to sell you?" he interrupted at one point, and, "Your father is dead?" at another. But other than that, he said nothing until I finished. In fact, he said nothing for a while thereafter.
Finally he turned and put an arm around my shoulder and kissed me once on the cheek, firmly. "You are my family, Isbetta dar Danria," he said, "and I am yours. You risked your life to save mine and the lives of my family's loyal servants, and I will die first before anyone touches you against your will." He stared into my eyes and I could see in them grief he could not allow himself to release, and his fury at the betrayal and destruction of his family. "We must swear a pact, you and I," he continued, "that no matter what happens, we will protect each other, and that someday we will destroy those who tried to destroy us." He held out his hand.
I thought of how ludicrous we looked to the gods, sitting on that mountain pass with no guarantee that we would survive the day, swearing the destruction of our enemies-but I took his hand. "By Neithas my patron, who tramples her enemies and feeds their hearts to her owl, and by my blood and soul, I swear it," I said. My voice trembled.
"By Hadres my patron," Giraud said, "who remembers all things and who finds all things, and by my blood and soul, I swear it."
We sat looking at each other, hands still tightly clasped, until Giraud sighed and loosened his grip. "May we live to make it so."
A terrified whinny and a scream echoed up from the ravine below and behind us, distorted by distance and the rush of water. Both sounds seemed to me to come from a long way off, but as we walked, sometimes our own voices had bounced back to us, making it seem that we were some distance from ourselves. The whinny could have been from a wild horse down in the ravine attacked by some hunting beast, or from one that had fallen and broken a leg, or perhaps from one of the animals we'd set free that had become panicked or injured-any of half a hundred explanations would have explained it. The scream, however, had sounded human, which meant that however far off it was, it wasn't far enough.
"Do you think it's them?" I asked.
Giraud nodded.
"Maybe there was only one person coming after us, and he fell into the ravine," I said. I didn't believe it, but I said it anyway.
"Maybe we're that lucky. But sensible people wouldn't travel into these mountains alone. If that scream was because one of our hunters fell to his death, I'd almost guarantee that there will be others behind who will be more careful."
I looked around. The wide spot where we sat was the only place we'd yet found along the path carved across the face of the mountain that might let two or three pursuers on horseback turn. If there were more, only the last three would be able to turn around. The first travelers would have to continue on. And if we could force them to travel on to the next wide spot-all of them-while we hid somewhere, we could, perhaps, double back and set a trap for them . . . or . . .
I didn't know what we could do, but I knew we needed to do something quickly.
Wary of the echoes that might whisper my words to Giraud into the ears of the hunters behind us, I leaned close to him and said, "We need to figure out a way to go on far enough that their tracker will be sure we intend to stay on this path, then either climb up the rock face above us or down over the side below us and find someplace to hide until they pass us."
"So that we can go back the way we came?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "But that's stupid. We want to get away from Blackwarren."
"I know. But if we just keep running along this path, sooner or later they'll catch us. If it isn't in the next hour or day, it will be when we arrive at the other side. Maybe when we go back we can set a trap for them. Maybe. Or something." I stared into his dark eyes, feeling uncertain and scared, and said, "I don't know what we should do, Giraud, but my gut says we have to do something. Soon. Now."
He nodded and rose. My gut feelings were a bit of a joke between us-along with my father's musical ability, I had inherited his instinct for coming trouble, but where I recalled his instinct being almost magically accurate, my own was erratic. Sometimes embarrassingly erratic. At that moment, it didn't matter to me how wrong I'd occasionally been in the past. I knew we had to get off the path.
"Fine," Giraud said after he'd studied my face for a moment. "Let's move on. We'll be sure to leave a clear trail at least until we're completely out of sight of this shelf. Then we'll go either up or down, depending on what we find."
I stood and readjusted my cloak. I felt the emptiness of the pack he'd brought for me on my shoulders, and the weight in my pockets that wasn't food and wished I'd taken something to eat from Birdie's larder before I ran, or that I'd had the presence of mind to tell Giraud to get us something . . . but perhaps if I'd taken that time, we wouldn't have lived to escape. And better alive and hungry than dead with a full belly.
We moved along the path, this time constantly looking both up and down for places where we might safely get off of it. Giraud spotted something promising, stopped, and pointed. "Look up," he whispered.
I looked up, and saw more of the same damnable rock covered with the same red and white and green lichens I'd seen all day. But Giraud said, "There's another ledge up there, I think. It's just a place where a line of red lichen becomes green."
Then I saw it. In fact, looking carefully, I could see that the lichens didn't match up, that a faint, straight line divided a span as broad as a tall man's outstretched arms.
"Let's go up," he whispered.
And as sure as I'd been that we needed to get off the path, I suddenly and as certainly knew that we didn't dare go up.
I looked down. I could see no sign of haven there at all, but instead I shook my head, put a finger to my lips, and carefully moved off the path and down.
Giraud's mouth dropped open, and he waved his arms wildly, gesturing for me to return, but I just shook my head and kept on moving downward. I moved a hand around the smallest of knobs, shoved a foot cautiously into a tiny crack, shifted balance cautiously from left to right, then from right to left; I scrabbled and slipped and clawed, and all the while, as I crept down the cliff face, the feeling of the void beneath my feet weighed on me as heavily as a kicking child clinging and fighting me, and I felt the sheer expanse of nothingness behind me and the certainty of my own death if I fell.
And at the same time, I had the oddest certainty that I was right. That gut feeling, much maligned-and often for good reason-assured me that I was heading in precisely, exactly, the right direction. Hand to tiny rock knob, boot toe wedged into little crack, shift my weight from hip to hip, slide down and to the left, tapping with one toe for a foothold, making sure I was steady with both hands and the other foot, and then, with both feet steady, moving one hand away from its safe grip, I made progress.
Moving down, and down, and down. And always at my back I felt the void between me and the floor of the ravine. I could feel myself toppling backward through space; I could feel myself hitting the rocks before my body tumbled into the rushing water. I could feel-but I kept going anyway, while the rightness of my present course drew me onward and downward, and grew ever more compelling. I'd had such feelings many times before, but never in my life had I been so certain. . . .
Now I could hear voices bouncing off the ravine walls at me.
"They're not too far ahead of us."
ahead of us
"How do you know?"
do you know
"Here. See? They sat here for a while, resting-"
resting
"And then they moved on. They were less careful about clearing the scree from the path. You can make out the clear edges of footprints here and here."
here and here
"Then we go after them now?"
"Of course. If we rest, they'll gain the lead they lost when they rested."
when they rested
rested
"Why do you suppose they went this way?"
went this way
I listened closely, for I was as interested in the question as the answer, but neither men nor mountains replied, and I was left to wonder what our pursuers meant. Went this way? As opposed to southward, deeper into Terosalle and trouble? Or as opposed to taking another road through the mountains, a better one that would have been safer?
I heard Giraud slip and swear. Gravel skittered past my ear, slapped my right hand, and smacked into the top of my head, and I flattened myself against the rock face, praying that he wouldn't lose his grip and fall, taking both of us down into the ravine. I heard him scrabbling and digging, and then all sounds from above me stopped, except for the heavy rasp of his breathing. He'd found something to hang on to.
The shower of stones finally ended, and I began moving downward again. My arms and back and thighs and calves all burned, and my hands and feet hurt. The place in the back of my mind that didn't believe the feeling in my gut screamed, "You're never going to have the strength to make it back up. Never. You're going to die down here." But the instinct that drew me downward was far stronger than that rational fear. I knew, though I did not know how I knew, I'd find safety.
Then I fell.