Part 18 (1/2)

”How can I not?”

”Hurry!” Mierre ordered in exasperation. ”I'll go down to see which way he goes.”

By now Dain had reached the iron spire atop the ridgepole of the stables. He crouched there, s.h.i.+vering in the cold wind, and found himself nearly as high as some of the towers. One of the sentries on the wall saw him, gave a shout, and pointed.

Cursing him, Dain slithered down the other side of the roof, crouching low on his haunches and skidding along on his heels. By the time he reached the edge, he was going much too fast to stop. Dain's heart jumped into his mouth, but if he lost his nerve now he would surely fall.

Yelling, he stood up at the last moment and leaped with all his might across the gap between the stables and the next building. He landed on the other roof, lost his balance, fell flat, and began to slide down.

But this building had a ledge of sorts to channel water along the edge of the roof. Dain's toes struck it, and he stopped sliding. He lay there a moment, his sweating face pressed against the slate, and waited for his heart to stop thudding so violently.

Shouts from below sent him scrambling up and over the ridgepole of this building. On the other side, he found a drainpipe and climbed down it as far as he could, then jumped lightly the rest of the way to the ground. He listened a moment, gauging from which way his pursuers were coming, and ran swiftly in the other direction.

A shout from one of the sentries made him glance over his shoulder. He saw the knight gesturing from his vantage point on the battlements. Dain snarled to himself. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Time to go to ground, and get himself out of their sight.

He dodged around the rear of the storehouse, considered the cellars rowed up behind it, and rejected them as dead ends. The boys were still coming. Dain ran on and stopped worrying about who else might see him. He careened past the simple goosegirl feeding her charges with grain from her ap.r.o.n. Clad in her usual rags, with only a scarlet kerchief tied around her throat for finery, she watched him run by with her mouth open in a large O. A wall rose up before him. It was the base of one of the towers. Behind him, the boys shouted jubilantly. Dain's determination grew. He ran straight toward the wall and bounded up the kegs stacked there as lightly and surefootedly as a young stag.

Teetering on the very top keg as it s.h.i.+fted and swayed beneath his weight, Dain jumped for the windowoverhead. His outstretched fingers grazed the bottom sill and missed. The keg wobbled under his feet, and Dain felt the whole stack going. He jumped again, kicking the keg out from under him, and this time his fingers grabbed the sill.

He held on grimly, his fingers aching from the strain. Clawing desperately with his other hand, he managed to pull himself up.

Belly-first, he slid headlong through the window and tumbled onto the spiraled staircase inside. It was a painful landing, and he lay there a moment, gasping for breath. The stone steps felt cold beneath his cheek. The stairwell was gloomy and filled with shadows, its only light coming in through the window.

From outside, he heard Mierre swearing. Dain grinned to himself and sat up shakily. They would be coming in through the door in moments. Pulling himself to his feet, he went upstairs, winding around and around until he came to a closed door.

Grasping the ring, Dain tugged hard, but the door did not open. It seemed his luck had run out. He was hemmed in, with nowhere to go except down, straight into the arms of his pursuers. Gritting his teeth, Dain tugged again on the ring, using both hands and straining until the gristle in his shoulders popped. The door did not budge. From below, he heard them coming. Dain bared his teeth, breathing hard and trying to think. But he was trapped, with nowhere to go.

He kicked the door in fury and jiggled the ring again, his desperation rising. There came a click, and Dain paused for a second. He stared at the ring in his hand and slowly twisted it.

The catch clicked, and the door swung open.

Dain eeled through the narrow opening and pulled the door shut behind him. The room beyond was poorly lit, but Dain spared it no glance. Instead, he patted the door, seeking some means of barring it.

”Slide that bolt across, and it will hold firm,” said a deep, heavily accented voice behind him.

Dain jumped, his heart nearly bounding from his throat. He whirled around and saw a tall figure in a long, dark robe standing no more than two strides away from him. Dain stared, unsure if this was friend or foe, but then he heard the boys' voices.

Gasping, he slid the bolt into place, locking the door just as their fists thudded against it. They shouted on the other side, but for now Dain was safe from them.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back against the door and ventured a cautious smile at the man watching him.

”Thanks to you,” he said in Mandrian. ”I-”

”So you are the eld of Lord Odfrey's battle, the one Thirst knights have been boasting about these last few days,” the man in the shadows said. His voice had a deep, singsong quality that made Dain s.h.i.+ver. ”I have been hoping to see you for myself, and now the G.o.ds have brought you to my workroom. Thus, it must be that our destinies are entwined.”

Frowning, Dain swallowed. He did not like the voice of this man. He kept hearing something, some timbre or tone that made him think of darkness and smoke. He wished he could see the man's face, which remained hidden by shadows, but at the same time he felt relieved that he couldn't. He wondered what this man was, and feared to learn the answer. ”Yes,” the man said, stepping forward with a gliding motion that did not seem natural at all. ”You are going to be very useful for my experiments.” Instinct warned Dain that Mierre and Kaltienne were less dangerous than this man. As he whirled and tried to slide open the bolt, the man spoke a single word, a word Dain did not understand, a word like a puff of smoke. The smell of fire filled the air, and Dain's arms would not move. He realized he was frozen in place, as helpless as if bound by ropes. Fear rose through him. By some terrible chance, he had fallen into the clutches of a sorcerel, a creature who could crisp him to ashes with a mere thought.

Sweat broke out along Dain's forehead. His heart was pounding again, and his mouth had gone so dry he couldn't swallow. He stood there, struggling inside with all his might to break free, and could not move even the tip of his finger. Someone knocked on the door. ”We would enter, Master Sulein,” Mierre said boldly. ”If you are within, grant us admittance.”

Sulein glided to the door beside Dain. This close, Dain could smell the man's scent-something acrid and arcane on his clothing from the potions he concocted in this dimly lit room, but also something else, which emanated from his very skin, as though he ate odd things unknown to most folk. The knocking came again. ”Master Sulein! I bid you let us enter and take the eld.”

”Begone,” Sulein said. ”You boys are forbidden inside my tower.”

”But, Master Sulein, we have been chasing the eld, at great risk to ourselves.

His highness bade us find him and-”

”This is no toy for the prince to play with,” Sulein said. ”Begone.”

”But-”

”Will you interfere with my work, work which may save the chevard's life?”

Sulein thundered. ”If I must open this door, toads will you become.” From the other side came the sound of running feet, then silence. Dain stood there, still frozen in place, and swallowed hard.

The sorcerel put his hand on Dain's shoulder, and Dain flinched inside as though he'd been branded.

”You are much in demand, little eld,” Sulein said gently, his voice coiling around Dain like a serpent. ”The chevard wants you. The prince wants you. And I want you.” He laughed, a low silky sound. ”But it is I who have you. And all the powers that you command. Come to my fire, and tell me your mysteries.”

The spell binding Dain's feet was released. He wrenched himself away from Sulein's hand, but there was no escape. Sulein stepped between him and the door, and Dain found he still could not move his arms.

Awkwardly he stumbled back from the sorcerel, who herded him across the room. It was filled with a crowded jumble of furniture and objects. Dain was forced toward the end, where a fire burned on the hearth.

”Dain you are called. That is no name of the eldin. I can see that your blood is mixed, but there is little enough of the human in you,” Sulein said as Dain halted next to the fire.

Sulein glided closer into the light, revealing himself to be hook-nosed and swarthy of skin, with a frizzy black beard and eyes as bright and beady as a keeback's. He wore a tall conical hat edged in monkeyfur, and his long brown robe was stained and discolored in places, as though he often spilled his experiments. No gray showed in his dark hair or beard. No wrinkles carved his face, yet his eyes held all of antiquity in their liquid depths. Dain glanced at him, then away, afraid to meet those eyes for too long.

”You were Jorb's apprentice,” Sulein said. ”He was a sword-maker, a dwarf, I am told. How peculiar.

Tell me, did he buy you? How did you come to be in his keeping? Or were you living in the Dark Forest for a different purpose?” Dain said nothing. His face felt hot, as though fevered. His lungs could not draw in enough air. Sulein's questions seemed harmless, and yet he feared to answer them.

”How much did Jorb train you? Did he ever let you work with magicked metal?” Dain felt a growing compulsion inside him to answer. Setting his jaw, he withstood it and said nothing.

After a few moments, the pressure eased and faded. Sulein raised his bushy brows. ”Ah,” he said as though making a discovery. ”Your powers are strong. Good. I will learn all the more from you.”

”There is nothing to learn,” Dain said defiantly. He spoke in the harsh dwarf tongue, and laced his tone with contempt.

Sulein cast him a sharp look. ”But I shall pick you apart,” he said, also speaking dwarf. ”I am a collector of knowledge, and you, little eld, are a very great prize indeed.”

Dain said nothing else. He could not outtrick a sorcerel; he was not going to try. Instead, he concentrated on forcing his frozen arms to move. Sheer strength was not enough. He stopped straining and considered the problem from another direction, ignoring whatever Sulein said to him. After a moment, he began to sing inside his mind. It was hard at first-he was too frightened and angry to concentrate-but after a few moments the song flowed more readily inside his mind. He sang of motion, of the wind, of the swaying branches of a willow by a stream, of the flit and wiggle of fish as they swam, of the strong wings of birds on the air. The spell holding him tight began to loosen. Feeling hopeful, Dain kept the song going in his mind. Sulein spoke again to him, but he paid no heed.

Sulein gripped him by his shoulder. ”What are you doing?” Dain's arms came free. He spun in Sulein's grip, thrusting the man away. As Sulein struggled to regain his balance, Dain dodged around him, slinging a table between them as he went, so that crockery and bottles crashed to the floor. Dain ran for the door.

He reached it, ignoring Sulein's shout behind him, and drew back the bolt. For a moment his body felt heavy and slow, but the remnants of the song still ran through Dain's mind. He concentrated on that, and the heaviness lifted. Pus.h.i.+ng open the door with a mighty shove, Dain jumped over the threshold and bolted for his freedom, smack into a st.u.r.dy barrel chest and a strong pair of hands that seized him by his tunic and shook him so hard his teeth rattled. ”Got you!” said Sir Roye.

Dain kicked him in the s.h.i.+ns and ran.

Down the steps he flew, ignoring the heated argument between the two men behind him. His feet skimmed the steps. He kept his fingertips lightly on the wall for balance as he went faster and faster.

At the bottom of the tower, the door leading outside stood ajar. Dain hit it with his shoulder and careened outside into the suns.h.i.+ne, which made him blink and squint.