In the Caves of Exile Read online

  “She won't. But we need an idea, a plan. Something, anything!”

  “Let me think. Perhaps I have the beginnings of an idea or two.” He rubbed his forehead, hard. “Let me think some more. But at the very least, I will need—”

  “We will need,” Ylia corrected him gently; her eyes and her jaw were set. “I will be part of any plan you make, don't dare doubt it.”

  Golsat met her level gaze. “We. I don't doubt. And you'd solve a problem or two I can see already. But if you intend to leap into a Tehlatt warrior's camp, I'd keep it from Marhan!”

  “Done,” Ylia said flatly. “What will we need?”

  “They doubtless abandoned Teshmor once they looted it. They do not like walled cities. And we know they fear the Foessa. If we could reach the City in secret—late at night, a few of us might be able to do that—and if you could then bridge us into that prison-keep. If you could bridge them out.” He shrugged, spread his hands. “I don't know, can you?”

  “It's Nisana that can bridge, not I,” Ylia said finally. “But we'd need her anyway, my strength alone would never suffice, even if I could bridge. And we would not dare bridge directly into the midst of the prisoners. Someone might cry out, or there may be someone in that camp who could sense the use of Power, especially so near.”

  “Well, let me think on it,” Golsat said. “You saw the camp?” She nodded. “Can you draw it for me?”

  “I can try. Well enough that you can tell where things are.”

  “Good.” He pushed himself up, leaned against the table. He was still thinking hard. “We'll need Brelian; he knows how to keep his mouth shut, and he's good. He and I can choose the others; they won't be many since this will be stealth, not fight. Whatever our plan.”

  “I'll leave that to you.”

  “All right. Midsummer's a distance off. The Tehlatt won't harm them between now and then. But we'll free them as soon as we can.”

  “My oath on it,” Ylia replied grimly. They shook hands on that, and Golsat was gone.

  'I like that man,’ Nisana remarked. ‘He has sense, and a good head on his shoulders. I'm gone again. I left ten cow milled on the main road. They had better still be there! Send someone for them at full light. We should be within two leagues by then.’ And, as she jumped down, ‘Go back and sleep. You have need of it, and you'll aid no one by sitting here worrying!’

  'I know.’ Ylia went back to her covers. She settled the cloak around her shoulders as Nisana bridged out, closed her eyes determinedly. She was tired, gods she was tired! But in the end, she had to will herself back to sleep.

  The upper ledges were deserted: it was raining fitfully, the air chill, and fog drifted up from the river, down across the heights, occasionally obscuring everything beyond arms reach. Extra guard was posted with the herds. Not far away, Brelian was teaching basic sword use to a few of the herder children. He'd managed better blades for both Nold and Kereden, though they still weren't proper quality.

  Golsat had had a few of the older women out earlier, but they'd gone in when the weather turned nasty. Marhan's boys were at second and third-level passes, and the irascible old Swordmaster wasn't allowing them to quit for a little foul weather.

  She searched: touched briefly on two boats coming up-river. At the rate they were making, they'd likely arrive, before day's end. An AEldran aboard, too, she sensed Power, personal messages from the Sirdar in response to her own; no doubt. There, not far from the river but much farther west was Erken. She couldn't see him, not at such a distance, but the touch identified him as surely.

  She was fidgeting, realized it and forced herself to be still. But the inaction still ate at her, and there was nothing to be done about it. She didn't dare let it show, either: Malaeth could still read her, now and again. Lisabetha was extremely sensitive to mood.

  Avoid them both, until you can control this. She went down to borrow one of the horses and two of Erken's guardsmen, two of Telean's young herders. She'd go meet Nisana, bring back the cattle. That should keep her busy, and distracted, for at least awhile.

  The day passed: the cattle were tractable, easily driven to join the rest, and though she'd seldom ridden since the previous fall, the mount Erken's boy had chosen for her was small, and smooth-gaited. The rain cleared off, the fog lifted, and the return journey was actually pleasant. Nisana, to the amusement of those with her, elected to ride back draped across her lap, on the horse's shoulder. Fortunately the animal was also placid of temper.

  The Narran boats were already pulled ashore, their captains stripped down to breeches and jerkins like their crewmen to unload. Bags of grain, fruit and rice, blankets, bundled clothing were being handed up the cliff-face. Kre'Darst, who was captain of the sea-going Blue Conch, hailed her. “An Ylsan lady came with us. She went up not long ago. We'll come ourselves, Tre'Bern and I, when we've finished here. The inventory itself though"—he fished into a damp leather pouch at his belt, pulled out a waxed roll of paper—"you'd as well have it now.”

  “Lady? An Ylsan lady?” That wasn't like the Sirdar at all, to risk a noblewoman on a sea-voyage, let alone the one from Nalda to the Caves!

  “Aye.” The Narran grinned. “She asked I not give her away.”

  'Lady.’ She crossed the bridge, slid past the press of onlookers at its far end. ‘Nisana, who'd come here, who would they send?’ But the cat, with a sudden twist, scrambled free of her arms and sprang up the winding path, leaving Ylia to stare after her. ‘Cat?’ Nothing was making sense!

  But it did make sense when she pushed into the council-chamber to find a tall, radiant AEldran woman sitting next to her place at the long table. She was dressed plainly, in a dark, serviceable travel gown, but her golden hair was loose and fell in a heavy wave down her back; Malaeth was brushing it for her. A heavy red cloak, lined in black fur, lay across the table. Nisana was in her arms, dark paws twined around her neck, her hard little head pressed against the woman's chin. Ylia stopped dead. For half a heart-lurching moment, she had nearly cried her mother's name, but this was not Scythia, though the resemblance was strong.

  The woman looked up and smiled cheerfully. “Well, niece, haven't you a greeting for me, after I've come so far?”

  “By all the gods at once, Aunt Ysian, what are you doing here?”

  “Your eyes are good. That's nice to know.” Ysian smiled, ran a hand through Nisana's fur. “I've missed you, precious!” she murmured to the cat and planted a kiss on an adoring, upturned face. “What am I doing here? Ah. Well, you sent such a nice young man with your messages, I thought it impolite we send back only paper.”

  “Messenger,” Ylia echoed blankly as she dropped into her chair. It rustled and prickled against her legs: Malaeth had gleaned a little cloth for cushions, but the dry leaves weren't the most comfortable of stuffing. “The Sirdar sent you? Here? As a messenger?” She shook her head. “I don't believe that!”

  “Of course he didn't.” Ysian laughed.’ “It was my idea, and he wasn't pleased with it. But then, he wasn't best pleased with me, either, by the time your messages were chewn up. I'd have come anyway, sweetest,” she added to Nisana, and kissed her furry brow once again. “I really missed you, cat!”

  “Aunt Ysian—!”

  “If you'll please,” Ysian broke in crisply, “not call me Aunt, I won't call you Little Ylia. Fair trade? Which,” she added, eyeing her niece critically, “you certainly are. Scythia didn't give you much height, did she?”

  “No, Au—no, she didn't, Ysian. You're avoiding my question: why are you here?”

  Ysian shrugged, became suddenly quite businesslike. “I'm postponing unpleasantness. Bear with me. I was on the Sirdar's Council, you know, after Father retired. He'd nominated your uncle Ardyel to replace him, my oldest brother, but Ard's such a fool even the Sirdar wouldn't have him. Father didn't like it, but I went over his head and was approved.

  “So I was there when your man came in on that Narran cog. Your people, by the way,” she added, “are doing all right. Ho
mesick, of course. The crafters have a market going, they're paying their own way.”

  “I'm glad to hear it. We've charity coming from Nar and it's appreciated, but we pay our debts.”

  “Well, you won't have any debts in Yslar. And you should be pleased with that boy of yours. One could see he wasn't Embassy-trained, but his manners were impeccable.”

  “Erken, my Duke, will be glad to know that,” Ylia said. “He made the choice and briefed the boy. You're postponing again. Go on.”

  “Well.” Ysian sighed. “The council accepted your thanks, which I thought large of them. I was getting irritated, by then. It was as though they'd found a monkey playing the viol: you know the old joke, no surprise that it played so well, just that it could play at all.”

  “Oh.” Ylia bit back a grin. She hadn't heard that before, but Ysian might misunderstand if she laughed. “Honestly, I didn't expect much else. I know how they look on Nedao.”

  “I suppose you would, wouldn't you, girl? But it's not as though Nedaoans are savages, is it?” Ysian demanded irritably. “Well, I managed to keep my peace until they got down to—ah, does Malaeth know what we're about here?” Ysian asked. Ylia nodded. “Good. Didn't want to spring any surprises. I gathered from the tone of that personal message that you weren't exactly making Lyiadd general knowledge.”

  “We're not. She already knew.”

  “Ah—of course. Unfortunately, I remember Lyiadd all too well. After all I was there when he was pressuring Scythia. I was only eleven or so, but he left me feeling unclean even then. I had a feeling about him. When I read that paper of yours, I didn't doubt a word of it.”

  “You didn't.”

  “Clever rascal, aren't you? The Sirdar got his back up immediately, and of course all the senior members of the council went right along with him: the Senile Seven, the more sensible of us call them. They're ancient as the docks and stubborn, arrogant, proud—so narrow-minded I swear most of ’em have room for only one eye each!” She scowled as Ylia laughed, but finally grinned and went on in a much lighter mood. “So the old men got all lordy and absolutely refused to believe any of it.”

  “Any?”

  “Any,” Ysian said darkly, “Oh, we've all learned our history, you know. It's expected, and probably most of them can recite The Conferring—Shelagn's death and the Gifts of the Guardians, you know. That doesn't mean they believe what they repeat, though, does it?”

  “It's a common failing,” Ylia said. “My own people are much the same. If you can't touch it, or see it, how real can it be?”

  “That sounds odd, ‘my’ people coming from my sister's daughter and not speaking of Ylsans. I'll adjust, girl. It took every last one of the rest of us united—and that's not a common thing, believe me!—generally shaking the rafters to get the old men to agree to search.”

  Silence. “The Sirdar,” Ysian said finally, “of course has his own reasons for digging in his heels, since Lyiadd's whore is his baby daughter.” She glanced up. “You did a fine job, the way you put it, but—well, there wasn't anything you could have said, about Lyiadd or Marrita, that wouldn't have put him out. He hasn't mentioned either of them in seven years, and it's my belief he'd die that way if they walked into the council-room tomorrow.”

  “That's a very ill thing” to say, Malaeth admonished. “It's not so far wrong as you might think!”

  “You needn't convince me, ma'am.”

  “Ma'am, indeed! Ye make me sound aged, and I was that child's nurse since I was yours!”

  “All right, Malaeth,” Ysian laughed. She straightened around again as Malaeth tugged impatiently at her hair. She murmured something against Nisana's dark ears, Ylia cast her eyes up as Nisana stretched up to rub her cheek against Ysian's. She had forgotten how sickening the two of them were together.

  “So what did you find, did you find any trace of him?” Ysian looked at her oddly. “He is dead. I know it. But Marrita is there. There must be some trace.” Ylia's voice faded to nothing as Ysian shook her head gravely. “There has to be!” Ylia insisted. “He had two full companies of men, a hoard of Mathkkra! Thullen all over the place! The stink of Lyiadd's Power alone will contaminate that valley for years, Ysian!” Silence. “Look, they did search, didn't they?”

  “Told you so, didn't I?” Ysian replied. “We insisted, and there were enough of us to get what we wanted. We found the valley. There was no doubting what the place was. There aren't as many on the council who doubt the truth of the Lammior, not after that search. Nothing else could account for that place.

  “But—for the rest, there's no recent trace of anyone there. No trace of Lyiadd, absolutely. Nothing of the kind.”

  “That can't be!” Ylia shouted. Her door-warder, concerned, stuck his head in; she waved him back. “That simply cannot be,” she reiterated flatly, but more quietly. “He was there. I'm not the only one who saw him, saw Marrita. Malaeth—others who were with me did.” She swallowed. “I didn't imagine this, you know!” She traced the scar with a shaking finger. Ysian shuddered, closed her eyes.

  “Malaeth warned me. I'm—sorry. Maybe I can—never mind. Later. I'll tell you what I think, though. I think Lyiadd—be he alive or dead—must be changed indeed, to be able to remove all trace of himself and his from a place.”

  “What you think,” Ylia caught at the nuance again. “No one else believes me, though. Is that it?”

  “Near enough. A lot of them agree you could have run afoul of him, somewhere in the Foessa. They'll agree that he could be alive, that he could still be living in the mountains. They see no reason why his Powers should be other than AEldra, or greater, to subdue you and your companions. They flatly don't believe he has followers, other than his sweet Lady and the men he took with him. No Mathkkra, no Thullen. They ignored your warnings.”

  “Seven hells.” Ylia ground her teeth, became aware of it, closed her eyes and let her mother's calming charm wash across her mind. It didn't help much.

  “No,” Ysian retorted acidly, “seven ancient fools! Well, I got tired of listening to their insults and finally decided to take no more of it.” Ylia eyed her in sudden alarm. “You are clever, aren't you? Right in one, girl. I told them just what I thought, and why. And what they could do with their precious council and my empty seat.” She considered this with some satisfaction.

  “Ysian—”

  “Of course they didn't like that, and I daresay I can't blame them, I wouldn't have put up with it either. Particularly if I were a damned old fool. And then I let your man escort me out of the Tower, and went home to pack.”

  “You—went—” It was difficult to catch up. Ylia shook her head to clear it. “You haven't—you didn't—”

  “Have, went, and did,” Ysian replied. She still looked exceedingly pleased with herself. “Father was apoplectic, but he's no better than the Sirdar and I told him plainly what I thought of a man who'd disown his daughter and then refuse to back his grandchild against the opinions of doddering old fools. He'll have what he wants, now: me out of his house, and no more need to apologize for an unwed, middle-aged daughter. And a seat for Ardyel on the council. They'll have to give it to him now. Poor stupid Ard, he's the last eligible member of the Second House.”

  “Ysian, you can't!”

  “Can't what?” Ysian looked up in alarm. “Don't say that after I exiled myself like that, you won't have me!”

  Ylia laughed helplessly. “Gods and Mothers, no! But, Ysian, you've never lived outside Yls at all. Where we are is so primitive, you'll be shocked by it, I promise you.”

  Hardly ever been outside the City, Ysian replied cheerfully. “But the journey here was wonderful!”

  “It's truly not easy here, just now, Ysian. We've not much to eat, you'll be stuck with the rest of us on watery stew—Malaeth, for pity sakes, tell her!”

  “Wretched food,” the old woman said.

  “But you're making do, aren't you, Malaeth? And if you can do it, I certainly can!”

  “The bedding: well, th
ere just isn't any,” Ylia went on unhappily. “Rock with a few branches or grass under your hip to keep it from braising, that's the best any of us have. I sleep in breeches and shirt. And I'm still not warm.”

  Malaeth held up a finger for her attention. “I'm reminded, you choose hours tomorrow to be inside. I'm washing those things of yours at first light.”

  “No, you're not, I haven't hours to spare. Ysian, it's not—I don't meant to offend you, but it isn't just adventure. It's hard, it's rough, the smoke gets into everything, you can't bathe properly. Even those who lived rough lives on the Plain are living rougher ones here, and finding it difficult.”

  “I'm staying,” Ysian said firmly before Ylia could go on. “And a little hardship won't hurt me. I can't go back to Yls without apology to a dozen people. I'd choke on the words and die. I won't go back to Nar. I'm tougher than I look, I promise you. Besides, I can be useful, my girl.”

  “Useful,” Ylia echoed blankly.

  “Of course. I have the Power, remember? You can't tell me it'll come amiss to have another with the family abilities among you, not with troubles such as you've got.”

  “Ysian—!”

  “You need me. Malaeth's told me about the seed and grain you can't find because no one has maps of these caves. Malaeth, tell her.”

  “She finds things,” Malaeth spoke over the newly plaited head. “It's her own special ability, like Scythia's to calm.”

  “I find things, lost things, Ysian said. “I don't even need to have ever seen them, and I can find them. I think about them, and I know where they are. You need that,” Ysian said persuasively. “You need me.”