Part 28 (1/2)

”Thod's thumbs,” he muttered. ”Lord Renald himself, and you speaking up as bold as bra.s.s. Morde a day, what will become of us now?”

”I gave him little insult,” Dain said, glancing back once more. ”I just asked for his name. What right, lord or no, does he have here, stopping us and making his demands?”

”What right?” Lander said, clearly horrified by such a question. ”What right?

The right of a lord. What do you think?”

”But he is not lord of this land,” Dain said. ”He is not chevard of Thirst. What battle has been done?

And why? How did it all happen so suddenly, in the short time we were gone? Did you know there was trouble brewing out here, Lander? Did you go to meet Baldrush despite it?”

”What trouble?” Lander said, but he would not meet Dain's eyes. ”Had you heard aught? You live closer with the knights than do I. Why would I risk my life dodging Nonkind and all sorts of demons if I did not have to?” Dain was not convinced. ”Because you wanted this magicked metal.” ”Hus.h.!.+” Lander said, glancing back at Sir Metain. He looked at his load, the two special bars wrapped in cloth to hide them from view. ”No one is to know about what I'm doing. No one!”

His thick, calloused hand, powerful from a lifetime of wielding a hammer, gripped Dain's forearm and squeezed almost hard enough to crack bones. ”Keep quiet about it. Morde a day, what eld has ever had a tongue like yours? Supposed to keep yourself to yourself, you are, not challenging chevards and asking questions.”

”But something's amiss,” Dain insisted.

”Is it now?” Lander retorted with exasperation. ”And what would that be? The fact that we've barely returned with our lives? The fact that some village yon is on fire and every other village we've come to has been deserted or looted or both? What could be amiss? You're daft, boy, daft!”

”You don't understand. I mean-” ”What you mean is that you should be quiet,” Lander said. He urged the mule onward.

”Why should we have a guard?” Dain asked, glancing again at Sir Metain. ”What did they mean about me being returned faster?”

”So you can be flogged for going without permission, I expect,” Lander said.

”That's unfair!” Dain said angrily. ”You asked me to go with you.”

”Aye, I needed your help, not that you gave much.”

”How could I bargain well with you looking so keen?” Lander and Dain glared at each other. The smith was the first to drop his gaze and sigh. ”Now, now, no need to quarrel. I gave you your reward, as we agreed. Let's put an end to it. If his lords.h.i.+p's wrathful with you, I can't help. I told you to ask for permission to come with me, Dain. If you didn't get it, then there's naught I can do.”

Dain knotted his fists in his lap and scowled at them. He realized now he'd been foolish to hope that his troubles would go away during his absence. It looked like they'd only grown worse.

They rolled on in silence, while the walls of the hold rose ahead of them. To Dain's worried eye, Thirst looked the same as always, although more sentries manned the battlements. The gates were closed, and Lander had to shout for them to be opened.

A guard peered down at them from the wall. ”Thod's mercy,” he said. ”Look at what's turned up.”

”Open the gate,” Lander said impatiently. ”Open and let us safe inside. We've dealt with enough.

Open!”

Strain made his voice crack. Dain's own weariness sagged clear to his bones. He was tired from little sleep, since they had to take turns keeping watch through the tense nights, and ravenous, for Lander's provisions had not lasted through the extra day it had taken them to return. They'd avoided every settlement they could and were forced periodically to hide, with Lander quaking and praying beneath his breath while Nonkind rode by. They'd had no trouble going into the Dark Forest and reaching the place where Lander was to meet with Baldrush the dwarf, but coming home had been fraught with problems from the moment Dain first sniffed Nonkind and warned Lander to drive them into cover. Trolk-the first Dain had seen in years-had come marauding by, a snarling pack. Although marching at a fast pace, they stopped periodically to dig their claws into the bark of trees, and the clacking sound of claws against wood still haunted Dain. Dripping saliva from their yellowed fangs, their tiny stupid eyes peering out from beneath a jutting ledge of browbone, they had hobbled along on their bowed awkward legs with their back hair standing up in hostility. They pa.s.sed Lander and Dain's hiding place while Dain crouched low, holding the nostrils of the mule and using his mind to control its panic. With its eyes rolled white and its ears laid flat, the mule stood tense and quaking until the band of trolk were long gone. Their rancid stink trailed after them, hanging in the air so thickly Lander gagged on it.

”Never have I seen demons such as them,” the smith said, gasping for air. ”They aren't demons,” Dain said. ”They lived in the Dark Forest before the dwarves claimed it. Long, long ago the dwarf clans joined forces and killed the trolk kings. Now the trolk are few. They roam and dig their lairs, but seldom do they march like this. Not banded together.”

He frowned, worried by how unusual it was. ”I care nothing about these puzzles,” Lander declared. ”I just want to get home to Thirst, with no more trouble.”

But they found trouble at almost every turn. Had they been on foot, they could have abandoned the narrow road that wound through the forest and taken the shortest way back, but the cart, loaded with the metal Dain had bargained for at the price of six-and-thirty gold dreits, hampered them greatly. Lander would not consider abandoning it. Each time Dain sensed someone approaching ahead or from behind, they had to pull the cart off the trail and conceal both it and the mule, hiding until the way was clear again.

Their journey home lengthened by hours, then by an entire day.

Had Dain not led the mule through the dark for half a night, they would still be on their road, far from here.

Now the sentry on the wall shouted at Lander to back up his cart, leave it by the wall out of the way, and unhitch his mule.

”What?” Lander shouted back. ”Are you daft, man? I can't leave this load out here to be stolen.”

”Your cart won't fit through the pet.i.te-porte, and that's all I am allowed to open,” the sentry shouted down.

”Thod's bones,” Lander swore. ”After all I've gone through, I will not leave my load. Open the main gate!”

Sir Metain rode up beside him and interrupted the argument. ”You know these two, sentry?”

”Aye, sir, I do. It's Lander, our smith, and the boy Dain.”

”Compliments of Lord Renald,” Sir Metain said. His voice was gruff and hostile. ”We caught this pair sneaking along the river road north of here. I am to deliver this boy into Lord Odfrey's hands.”

”And Lord Odfrey will thank you sweetly,” the sentry replied. ”We've searched long and hard for him, at least until the trouble started.” ”Open your pet.i.te-porte, and let them through,” Sir Metain said.

The sentry vanished, his voice bawling the order.

Lander knotted his fists and fumed. ”I won't leave my c Morde and d.a.m.ne all besides. I won't leave it!”

”Calm yourself,” Dain said, eying him with concern. ”We'll carry the metal inside. It will be safe.”

Lander blinked, and relief brightened his face. ”Aye,” said, nodding. ”Aye! Of course, of course. That can be done.” He jumped off the cart and ran to the head of his mule. The poor, lathered beast, weary to his very bones, refused to turn aside. His head was pointed toward the gate, and no amount coaxing, swearing, or use of the whip would induce him to pull the cart away. An ear-splitting screech came from the winch inside gates. Slowly the narrow gate inside the main one creaked way open. Dain ran to the back of the cart and pulled out the board gate. He climbed atop the metal bars, s.h.i.+fting the kicked ones first.

Wrapped in cloth, they emitted an inaudible hum that resonated deep inside Dain's mind. He almost dropped them, there was something repellent about this raw metal, something dark and tainted within thespell that had cast it from ore.

Juggling the bars about so that he could hand them down to Lander, Dain recalled that he had not trusted Baldrush, the dwarf they'd purchased this metal from-no, not at all. There was a strangeness about him that bothered Dain immediately. Baldrush was tall for his kind; his head came nearly to Dain's shoulder. His face was narrow and gaunt. His eyes burned with yellow fire. He had a way of muttering to himself within his beard. He paced about, his fingers clutching and unclutching the air. He was never still.

Always he kept moving and twitching, muttering and pacing, his eyes darting this way and that. Even the s.h.i.+ft of Lander's shadow on the ground made Baldrush jump. It was the ore madness, Dain knew. Jorb had warned him the perils of working too much with magicked metal. Glancing at Lander's red, intense expression now, Dain hoped the smith did not catch the affliction.

”Give it to me!” Lander commanded, grunting with the effort to grasp the ends of the bars. ”Careful!

Don't let them slip.”

Dain was glad to release the bars. He crouched atop the load of ordinary metal, his hands still tingling unpleasantly from contact with the magic, and watched Lander hurry through the pet.i.te-porte with his treasure. Annoyance filled Dain as he realized he'd been left out here to cope with the rest of the load.

He saw Sir Metain watching him, and Dain's anger grew. Defiantly he jumped down. He'd worked for Lander like a serf for four days, all for the two pieces of gold now jingling in his pocket. But he wasn't going to carry all this metal inside, especially not by himself.

Overhead, the sun abruptly vanished behind a cloud, and the sky turned black and violent. Wind gusted up, buffeting Dain, who went to unharness the mule. Lightning flashed, with a deafening clap of thunder that made the mule rear, and rain fell in a torrent.

Soaked to the skin in seconds, Dain pulled off the harness, wincing at the sight of the galled sores on the mule's withers, and tossed the harness into the cart. Great forks of lightning jabbed the sky. One struck the ground out in the marsh. Dain heard the crack and sizzle, saw a tree burst into flames that were extinguished by the pounding rain. The noise of the downpour was deafening. Wind buffeted Dain from all sides. The ground at his feet streamed with water. Already his shoes were sinking into the mud. Sir Metain was shouting at him, gesturing for him to get inside. Squinting and gasping, his hair plastered to his skull, Dain led the mule forward and coaxed him through the narrow gate. Sir Terent stood there, his ruddy face scrunched and squinting inside its mail coif. ”Dain, hurry!” he shouted.

He gripped Dain by the shoulder of his tunic and dragged him inside. Someone else took the reins and led the mule away.

The sudden contrast of shelter after the raging torrent outside left Dain stunned and breathless. He huddled there in the dry, with water dripping from his clothes, while the pet.i.te-porte was winched closed again. The cable that controlled it groaned and creaked. Its hinges shrieked from disuse, but at last it slammed closed, and a stout bar was thrown across it. ”What about Lander's metal?” Dain asked.

”It's not going anywhere!” Sir Terent replied. He gripped Dain by both shoulders and shook him roughly. ”So you're alive, young rascal. I never thought we'd see you again.”