In the Caves of Exile Page 3

  And he'd remain silent on the matters Ylia and her original companions felt best kept from the people: there were enough causes for discomfort and panic, without adding others. Lyiadd. Mathkkra. No mention of those unless—until—it became absolutely necessary.

  She stretched, pushed to her feet. Enough smoke for a while, whether it rained or not, it was time to get some air. And, if it was bearable out on the ramparts, she could attempt another search. Somewhere, somewhere in these mountains, there had to be a refuge!

  But if there were such a thing, it didn't reveal itself this time, either. She finally gave it up as the wind howled down across wet rock from the north, bringing a squall of rain that by the feel of it was half ice. She ducked back inside the narrow rock portal and went in search of Lisabetha.

  It wasn't a particularly difficult search, once one of the old men in the Grand Temple pointed her in the proper direction. At the rear of the chamber just behind the Grand Temple was a half-hidden opening, leading back and away into darkness. Near this, she found clear sign of Lisabetha: a length of the thin twine used by herders to make temporary pens was wound around a stalagmite, tied off with several hard knots. The free end vanished into rockbound dark.

  The second level of sight would have guided her easily enough. Ylia took a torch anyway. She didn't like being underground; she couldn't bear it without some kind of light.

  These caves were unlike the Mathkkra caves, where she'd rescued Lisabetha and nearly lost Brelian, younger brother to her beloved Brendan. There she'd gained the full use of the AEldra Powers previously denied her, and won free of those horrid crumbling tunnels. She still never felt truly comfortable in such stony halls and was acutely aware how much rock and dirt weighed over the passageway where she walked.

  Lisabetha apparently remembered little or nothing of her experiences that night, for she showed no discomfort even when nearly a league from the Grand Temple and the outside world. She was extremely careful with her guide rope, even more careful with chalk-markings when the rope ran out and she explored further.

  “Ylia!” The girl straightened, wiped grubby hands on the cloth torn from her underskirt and fastened to the belt of her worn travel-skirt. Unnecessary for her to ask the identity of the one still hidden behind the torch, for few others came after her beyond the length of rope, and none else alone.

  “Myself. You've come far.” Ylia had counted seven joins in the length of rope before it gave out and the arrows on the walls, shoulder high, began.

  “Aye. There's so little in the near chambers and halls, though. I can't imagine why things would be placed this far back, but the alternative isn't pretty.”

  “No. But the caches are here. Must be.”

  “I think so.” Lisabetha eyed her hands dispassionately in the doubled torchlight, sighed and scrubbed them down again. “I did find more planting tools, about two hundred steps back, in a chamber to the right. A few. Not many, though.”

  “Where you put the double crosses?” Lisabetha nodded. “Good. However few they are, we'll need them.” Ylia's voice echoed: The chamber was enormous, its ceiling lost in the gloom. Here and there, she could see tiny points of light that marked holes far above. The air was cool, fresh. “Astonishing, how vast these caverns are. You'd never know it from the entrance”

  “No.” Lisabetha sighed again. “I saw Father's maps, just once and long ago. It must have been not long after Anasela fell, I couldn't have been above six or seven. Too long for me to remember much of them. The size, of course. But seeing's different. And searching then—!”

  Ylia patted her arm. “We'll find what's here. We know it was brought, and there's been no one hereabouts for long, save mountain-hunters. Hunters might have taken the grain, but never farming things.”

  “No. Well. What's the hour?”

  “Two till evening meal. I thought I'd come aid you. You should have someone with you, anyway, remember?”

  “I know. Usually Annes comes, or Janneh, or both. Malaeth set them to grinding dried chickory root for her. They knew which way I went, and when,” Lisabetha added with a smile, “so that if I broke my neck, they could come for the body.”

  “Nice,” Ylia laughed. “All right, I'm fussing. I'm sorry.”

  “Another Malaeth,” Lisabetha replied primly, and laughed herself. “Well, then. Two hours, but we'll need part of that time to return and wash. Which way? Your choice is as good as mine.”

  “Perhaps. All right, then, that way. “She gestured with the torch. Lisabetha draped her hand-rag across a low point of stone, mid-chamber, marked an arrow on the stone itself and two on the floor. They moved on.

  “Drier back there, it's all I can suppose,” Ifney said. The evening meeting was a busy one, the small chamber nearly packed: All the council was present save Levren. “And three more caches, that's good.”

  “Enough to start with?” Marckl wanted to know. Ylia shrugged.

  “I'm no judge of that. I'd say yes, if only because we must start, and that soon.”

  “But not here,” Ifney put in.

  “No.” No need to add to that, they'd all done so, at least once a night, since she'd arrived.

  “If we sent men—” Erken began tentatively.

  “We're already sending men,” Ylia reminded him. “Hunters have eyes, like the rest of us. Otherwise—pointless. We need our full force here, near the Caves, for protection.” She bit her lip. Damn! Marhan scowled at her. But the Lords Holder and Bnorn took her words at face value. After all, they'd lived with fear for over a month, it was reasonable to take sensible precautions even though the Tehlatt showed no sign of coming for them.

  Erken cast her a shrewd glance, but fell back to brooding on his hat: the greyed and muddy feathers were gone and the hat looked much the worse without them.

  “We're looking,” she went on. “I am spending what free time I have in search; Nisana searches also. If there is anything within safe distance for the finding, we'll have it. I know it must be soon, lest we starve this coming winter.”

  “I—” Whatever Erken intended to say, he shrugged off. He looked dubious, though, and Marhan's expression was one of open distaste: for all he'd learned of AEldra Power and its usefulness on their journey north, he still didn't like it.

  “Brelian, how goes the training?” That was Golsat, diplomatically changing the subject.

  Ylia's Champion spread his hands wide. “As well as you might expect, considering our lack of swords. The smithy Bos from Village Eydrass is taking what metal can be scrapped and making points for spears and arrowpoints. It isn't much. There are some good bowmen. Not enough of them. Or enough weapons for them, or enough arrows. Lev could tell you more about that, when he gets back.”

  “I would like to say a thing, if I may.” Golsat rose to his feet; Ylia eyed him in surprise: since the first night, when he'd accepted her appointment, he'd stayed well back in the shadows and seldom spoke, unless it was to take the edge from a heated discussion, or to redirect one headed for trouble, as he'd just done. At first she'd feared trouble, for her new councilers were one and all Northerners, and Golsat's half-Tehlatt blood had caused him considerable difficulties in the North. But there was no sign that even the decidedly narrow-minded Ifney looked down on Golsat for his heritage.

  “Whatever you choose.”

  “There may be those who disagree with what I say, though my companions from our journey may recall I broached the matter before. I do not put this forth without long thought, know that! In Anasela, before the Tehlatt finally overwhelmed us, we lived for many years in fear of that attack. We therefore put aside Nedaoan common use and custom and began to train girl-children with bow. And, for those who wished it thereafter, with light sword and shield.” His eyes glazed briefly and his face darkened with memory of that last attack. “As Duke Erken knows, we began such training over-late and we were too few, the barbarians drove us forth, such as they did not slay outright.

  “Well. We are now a tenth, perhaps, of what w
e were. And while the Tehlatt no longer hover over us, who is to say what threat will descend upon us next? Do we sit, as we did before Anasela, before the end of First Flowers this year, and wait for yet another enemy to fall upon us and wipe us all from the Peopled Lands? How often have we thought ourselves safe from all threat to our sorrow?” He paused. Silence. “I say we must all be prepared to fight—or resign ourselves to eventual death, individually and as Nedao. And I know which I choose!

  “There are perhaps seven hundred males here who can hold a sword at all, and I count among them boys of the age I had when Anasela fell, and men who have earned the right to a comfortable old age before the fire. There are at least as many women and girls who can be taught weaponry, if only for self-defense.” He gazed around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his fellows squarely. “I found on our journey north from Koderra that it is easier to fight knowing those I defend also defend themselves.”

  Erken nodded. “I agree with you, my friend. I agreed ten years ago, My own Lady was among those trained by my armsmaster.”

  “Even the old are not completely helpless,” Golsat went on. “Dame Malaeth is among the oldest here, man or woman. She can use a staff for more than aid to her feet.”

  Marhan shook his head unhappily. “I must think on this,” he said. He twisted his moustaches, resettled himself on the hard stool, “You all know how I feel. I trained Lady Ylia at her father's command, else I had never done so! To me, it is still not right.”

  Erken stirred. “But, Marhan, after all you've seen—”

  The Swordmaster waved a hand, silencing him. “Oh, I see the logic of what you want, you and Golsat. Just let me think on it. I'm old and set in my ways, I admit that. Give me a little time.”

  “Yours, Swordmaster.” Brelian stood and leaned across the table to clasp Golsat's hand. “Golsat, you have my aid. After all, there is precedent for this, even in our, day. Lev has trained not only Ylia but his own daughter. If we arm the women among us, we double the number of our armed. If there is need for armed.” When, he might as well have said; it was clear in his voice.

  “There will be resistance,” Ifney warned. “And not just from the Swordmaster. You know Nedaoan villagers, their lives change slowly if at all, and they are not folk to take to new ideas readily.”

  “Well, but,” Marckl cut in, “all our lives have changed rather sharply of recent, haven't they? And Nedaoan women once fought amongst their men, or so the tales tell us.”

  “I will do what I can also,” Lisabetha spoke up from her place beyond Brelian. “But there will be less resistance than you might think, Ifney. Women who have seen their loved ones slain while they stood by helpless—do you think they will hesitate? I would not. I do not. And—” she smiled across the table—"many of the younger women would leap at a chance to use sword as Ylia does. You can see it in their eyes.”

  “Well!” Ifney pondered what were clearly new ideas to him. “I'm not against it, you know! Only uncertain there's to be many interested. But I'll do what I can among my own women.”

  “Good enough,” Ylia said. “Now. About the boats.”

  “Ready in another two days, at most “Marckl said. So we'd better decide soon who's to be sent.”

  “I'd thought to ask you. We'll need men who've navigated the Torth in spring flood. What we can see of the Anasela isn't gentle.”

  “No more it is. Well, then. I've two men, my guardsmen, from one of my villages. They're older but they know how to read a stream. They can find others. You'll need mostly such men, I'd think, but perhaps one or two to carry messages?”

  “Mmmm. Erken? That's more your knowledges”

  “Depends on what you want,” he returned. “Ambassador quality? We haven't anyone.”

  “Not necessary. We've written messages for Yls and Nar. Letting them know what has chanced among us, warning of Vess. We'll want to start trade with Nar, I'd think, and that right away.”

  “They're closest,” Erken agreed. “Nar has a reputation as tight-fisted, but they're good men to aid folk in difficulty. They'll give no charity, which,” he added mildly, overriding Marckl's intended sharp retort, “we in no case want, do we? But they'll give us credit. Osnera is too far away, and less known to us. Less friendly as well.”

  “So we'll need someone who's dealt with the Narrans, if we've such a man among us. Someone who can talk trading language and not sell us short.”

  “I've a man,” Bnorn spoke up quietly, “who sailed with a Narran cog, three summers ago. He was one of Lord Corry's go-bys before that.”

  “Good. We can decide tomorrow what we might have to offer in exchange for what we need most desperately, and what we do need most desperately. Think on it, will you, and let me know, tomorrow, so we can set things down. Lord Bnorn, bring your man with you then.” The old man inclined his head, faded back into his chair.

  “We'll need someone to deliver the messages to the Sirdar. For that, we need one who can bow prettily and not be left open-mouthed by the Ylsan-great-halls. They're fussy about protocol, the Ylsans, so even though we're few and rough at present, we should present ourselves with what grace and dignity we can muster.”

  “I'll see to that,” Erken said. “Someone who knows proper forms of address or can learn quickly. And a good change of clothing for him. The last,” he added ruefully, “will be difficult, but I daresay we'll manage.”

  “Good, I'll leave that to you, Erken.” She stifled a yawn: the chamber was smokier than ever, and there was an underlying unpleasant odor of damp, warm woolen clothing, and indifferently washed bodies. The scent of wax and whatever flowery oil Malaeth had laced into the candles lay incongruously over all. “Enough for tonight then, we're all tired, and tomorrow will be another long hard day.”

  “Yes.” Erken pushed to his feet, clamped his tattered hat firmly to his head: “The latest hunt—any word?”

  “Only rabbits and thin birds so far. There was sign of deer, though. They may have something tomorrow. Lev will probably send some of the younger boys back with what they got today.” So much she'd seen from the upper ledges while it was still light.

  “Rabbits and thin birds,” Marckl mumbled. “If,” he added as he stood, “we can't find plantable fields and dwelling land soon, we'd better move the herds on and use that ground to plant what seed we have. It's the best bit of dirt anywhere near. At least it would be something.”

  “We'll think on that, Marckl.” Ylia stifled another yawn. “Do so, all of you. Here again tomorrow, same hour. Ifney, let me know about the boats, if there's change r anything you need.”

  “And so I shall.” A few more minutes, they were all gone. Her young door warder snuffed the candles behind her, slipped past her to serve as escort to the Grand Temple and thence to the outer chamber. She dismissed him there, wandered out into the open, sparing a smile and a wave for the guard.

  'Nisana?’

  'Here.’ The cat was perched on a rubble of fallen tree, high above the main entrance.

  'Anything?’

  'No.’ And, with a rub against the girl's arm—'Nothing yet.’

  'Perhaps the Folk could—’ Ylia hesitated. It was difficult for her to speak of the Folk, even to Nisana. ‘Perhaps if we spoke to them, asked for their aid, they could help us.’

  'Perhaps. I will go out South later tonight, perhaps Eya will speak with me.’

  'Good. Near, the River, if possible.’

  'Want a little, don't you?’ the cat grumbled. She eyed the girl critically. ‘Are you eating and sleeping at all?’

  Ylia shrugged. ‘Enough.’

  'See that you do! You are no good to these folk worn to nothing, remember that!’

  'Of course.’

  'Of course,’ the cat mocked. ‘I see I must find this refuge for you soon, to get you the rest you deserve.’

  Ylia laughed, ran a hand across dark ears. ‘As if the labor will stop there, cat! Don't fuss, I daresay I sleep better than most here. I can always use the Power to slee
p, or to set aside worry.’

  'You can,’ Nisana replied tartly. ‘You never do.’ The wind soughed over them; the few visible stars vanished behind a ragged, fast moving cloud. Drops of rain splashed Ylia's upturned face, sending them both hurrying for shelter.

  Odd, that reticence between us when we spoke of Eya and her kind, or of the Nasath we had met, deep within the Foessa. Seldom could either of us speak to the other of them without stammering, as though it was a thing to hold close, a thing incapable of being shared, the experience we had had with Eya's Folk, that wondrous meeting with the Guardians. Certainly Ylia could not speak aloud of the experience, and or course I was not capable of such a thing, had I wanted to. On thought, I doubt I would have.

  But there was no such hesitancy between us regarding the renegade Lyiadd, though Ylia perversely clung to her insistence he must be dead. So human, that: that he must be dead, because she dared not think otherwise. I knew there was still an edge of madness in her that Lyiadd, dead or alive, could trigger, and so I did not fuss at her for her stubbornness. And at least she could speak of him with others, such as her Duke, if need pressed.

  3

  It was an hour she'd have foregone, two months before, an hour she'd still have been deeply asleep: the chill hour of first daylight. The sun was not yet above the eastern ridges and would not rise for many a while. For a mercy there was yet no wind, though it doubtless would come with the sun. She stood, her council about her, the folk, filling the bridge and the narrow pathway from the Caves, lining the cliff walls, huddled on the riverbanks, Before her, in a deep, eddying pool, were the boats: Three narrow, shallow-drafted boats and nine men in the warmest and best lanolined cloaks they had been able to find. Ylia handed the waterproofed packets to Erken's man, who stowed them in the pouch around his neck “We'll return as soon as we can.” He had to shout to be heard above the roar of the water “If there is delay, we will somehow send messages.”

  “Mind you do, Kalann!” Erken shouted back. “Leave Jersary in Nalda in any event, your decision whether to leave Hever with him. Right?”