In the Caves of Exile Read online

  “I said show yourself!” Ylia bellowed furiously. “If I must come for you, by the Mothers, you'll regret it”

  “Ah!” He laughed. “Well, then! Either way I bleed, that it? Peace for the moment, then, so please you—and here I am.” He strode forward, arms spread wide, hands empty and an impudent, mocking grin on his face.

  He was tall, lean, and dark. Moustache and beard were heavy but cut short; dark heavy brows hooded near-black eyes. By that much alone, he was of Nedao, though his accent had already given that away. His long dark hair had been caught in a plait and wrapped in leather thongs; his breeches were tanned-leather hides, sewn together with thongs. A cloak of serviceably dark Nedaoan wool—a peasant's cloak—hung from one shoulder; his blue shirt had more the look of Nar to it and the boots were Narran beyond doubt.

  An ash long-bow was slung across his left arm at the elbow, and an arrow pouch hung low on his right leg, balancing the sword that lay against his left.

  He was still laughing as he came close. When another step would have overrun her, he stopped. He towered over her. “The Mothers damn me for a fool if I know where you come from, child, but if you play costume games, this is scarcely the place for them. Besides, Leffna wore two swords, you know, not sword and dagger.”

  Ylia tilted her head back and scowled up at him. “If you're finished—”

  “Aye, All right, it was a bad jest, but all I had for the moment, and under such a circumstance. Where did you come from, you and—and that—?”

  “'That’ is Nisana. And you?”

  “Wait.” He'd gone, suddenly, wary and he took a step away from her. “Wait.” He peered at her, cast the cat another doubtful look. Shook his head. “She's the Queen's cat, the witch-cat, isn't she? But, then—You're not the Lady Princess,” he said flatly. “You're a grown girl, and the Princess Royal is—”

  “She's passed her twentieth summer,” Ylia cut in, as flatly, “and she carries sword and dagger she earned honestly and by hard work.”

  “Ah, seven hells,” the man shook his head, laughed ruefully. “The first Nedaoan I encounter in a clutch of years, and it's Brandt's daughter. And I insult her! He'll have my ears for it! But if you're Ylia, what are you doing here? You can't think it's safe!” He squinted, took another step forward. “Look at the child's face gods and Mothers!" She winced. “Dropped your guard, just the once, eh, girl?” His lips twitched; his eyes had gone cool.

  “What matter to you?" Ylia demanded flatly. Why should I care what he thinks, why should I care whether he thinks me comely? But she could feel the blood hot in her face and her hands twitched into hard fists.

  “Indeed.” He smirked. “What matter if the King's heir marks herself and renders her sweet face unpalatable, the fights and honors that go with marrying Brandt's daughter render those unimportant.”

  'I'll kill him!’

  'Hold off, girl, there's no point, is there?’

  'Not much, cat!’

  “First Nedaoan in a clutch of years,” Ylia said finally, her voice nearly quivering with her determination to keep it level. “How many?”

  He shrugged. “Who counts them? Five—maybe seven. Maybe even more than that. Why? And what?”

  “Wait, I'll answer your queries all together. Let your arms down,” she added dryly, “you might need them later.” She sobered. “It's bad, be warned.”

  “I gather that.” He was suddenly apprehensive.

  “Nedao's fallen to the Tehlatt, we've lost the Plain.” Silence. She glanced up, half expecting another jest, but he'd gone white; his eyes were shut hard. “Here, you'll fall, sit down!” She grabbed his arm, shook it. He staggered, clutched at air and dropped. Ylia dropped down beside him.

  “D'ye mean it?” His voice was a ragged whisper.

  “The Tehlatt set upon us. Teshmor fell, Koderra was lost on the twenty-fifth of First Flowers.”

  “Brandt—the—King—?”

  “Dead. He and the southern armed held Koderra to allow the folk to escape by boat down-river. My mother died there, too; only nine of us escaped at the last, and we came north through the mountains.”

  “Tehlatt.” He was following his own thought; whether he'd heard her last words, she couldn't tell. “We knew they would, and yet—” He gazed at his hands. A bird-shadow fell briefly across them. Ylia glanced up in alarm, but it was only a spotted lark. It warbled, vanished into the tangle of berry-bush. “How—how many left?”

  “At Aresada, there are perhaps three thousand of us. Three or four more thousands in Yslar.”

  “By the Black Well. Gods, Inniva's weft! But—but Teshmor, of the City—” He seemed to recall himself then, shook his head hard. “No. No.”

  “Very few escaped from Teshmor's walls, Lord Corry and his Lady were both slain. If—if there was anyone in particular, any name, a person, perhaps I'd know. Perhaps I could tell you.”

  “No.” The sharpness of his reply surprised them both. He looked up; tears stood in his eyes. “There was no one! No one in the North, who would remember me. None I remember.” A lie, it stood out all over him. But she could not push the matter, his sudden grief was too strong and she could not bring herself to intrude upon it. A woman, someone he left and now regrets.

  “But, wait.” He pulled himself together. “The King—you said—” He leaped to his feet as though stung. “You might have said!"

  “Said what?” She stared at him in confusion, let him pull her in that stunned state unresisting to her feet.

  “Here I sit, talking with Nedao's Lady as though she were some peasant girl! Blast you, you might have said!”

  “It wasn't important. It still isn't. Don't do that!” she added furiously as he knelt and bent his head. “I didn't say, because there are things more important than form and protocol at present! One of them is a place for my folk to live. This place, unless you know a reason against it.”

  “Reason? Other than that I like it, and if it's cluttered with stodgy Nedaoan herders and farmers I'll need to find me another? No.”

  “Or,” she went on, ignoring his comment, “unless you know a better, close to hand.”

  “Close, no.” He shrugged, tugged at his beard. “Twenty leagues to the south, there's a good place. It's near the Ylsan border, but not too near.”

  “No, not south.”

  “It's nice,” he said persuasively, “nicer than this, larger, too.”

  “And you don't like it so well, no doubt,” she cut in dryly. “Nevermind. The South is closed to us.”

  “Why? May I see that?” he added, holding out a hand as she made to resheath her blades. She dropped the dagger into his palm. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Have you not been south of late? I came north through the Foessa myself. There are dangers there, such as I would not expose my ‘stodgy farmers and herders’ to. That is all.”

  “Well. Perhaps. There are odd places near the Pass.”

  “More than odd, and not only so far south as that, either.”

  “True enough.” He was turning the dagger over in his hands. “Was this made for you?”

  She took it back, bent to sheath it carefully, and with more care than such an action would normally take. “No, it was a gift. Why?"

  He shrugged. “I thought I recognized the cut of it. Perhaps not. But what is this of the South? You need only avoid the odd places, and there aren't so many as all that!”

  “No? Have you never heard of the Fear-Which-Follows? So I am told you hunters call it.” He gazed at her in wide-eyed astonishment, and broke into loud laughter. “It's no laughing matter,” she overrode him. “I have seen the Fear, I and my companions, among them the Swordmaster Marhan, and he's no man for wild imaginings! Mathkkra, we called them on a time, and so they still call themselves! And have you never felt a shadow cut across you at sunset and thought it a large hunting-bird, save that your spine crawled with a sudden chill?”

  He sobered instantly; she had apparently reminded him of a thing he'd rather not remember
. “I have never seen the Fear, though I felt it once. And as for the other—nevermind. Mathkkra!” He laughed shortly and without humor. “Aye, it would be, wouldn't it? You take much on your shoulders, holding superstitious Nedao within the Foessa, even so far as Aresada! And to bring them here. Well! My mind boggles, I'd make no attempt at it for any coin!”

  “There hasn't been choice. A Tehlatt sword, a fired cottage, or flight into the unknown mountains? But you ill speak Nedao.”

  “Do I?” he returned, mildly enough, and cast a glance at Nisana, now balanced on Ylia's shoulder so she could gaze out to the West. “And how many of them horn her, when her back is turned?” Nisana turned, gave him an unfathomable, look and went back to her study of the valley floor and the mountains beyond it.

  Ylia laughed, Shook her head. “All right, I'll grant you that! But they're a gallant people overall, and brave. Superstition and Chosen religion alike notwithstanding. No one has left us, though they've been given the chance. Perhaps you've never seen them put to the test before—what is it?” He'd gone grim-faced at her last words. What did I say, or was it what I said?

  “Nothing. I simply haven't your faith in them. Stodgy,” he reiterated firmly.

  “Well,” Ylia replied loftilly, “you need not worry about them. I am certain your tracking abilities are such that you can avoid this place after it is populated!”

  “Well answered!” he grinned. “I swear! I take back my first words; if there was a woman who could rule such a folk in such a setting, you've at least the tongue for it. Perhaps someday after you've a new Nedao here, and a City, and a Midsummer Fest, I'll come to see if you've earned those blades honestly! In the meantime,” he added with a mockingly grand Teshmoran bow, “I freely give this valley to my Queen and my folk. Live here and prosper!”

  “The thanks,” she replied dryly, “of your Lady and your folk. Come to Midsummer this year, and test my blade against your own. You owe me that for the scare you gave me.”

  “Hah.” He was still grinning broadly. “If a man used it for anything save to swat at his pack-mules, you'll get no such challenge from me! Good day and good luck to you,” he added, and with another bow, turned and strode away. Ylia stared after him until Nisana butted against her ear.

  'Join, we've been overlong.’

  'Mmmm. So we have. But who thought to encounter a mountain-hunter here?’

  'Why not?’ Nisana demanded reasonably. ‘But one so young and handsome?’

  Ylia laughed outright. ‘Handsome? Handsome? Cat, are you serious? He's all hair and smelly hides, and if he's handsome—Gods and Mothers, Marhan has better looks!’

  'And better manners,’ the cat observed, with one last glance after the retreating hunter. ‘Lisabetha will not be able to cover for you much longer. Join.’

  There were still skeptics, and many still made horns at my back as I passed, thinking me then unable to note it—though if I were half the witch they thought, surely they'd have deemed me capable of behind-sight. But from the day I found what was to become, again, Nedao, there were many also who accorded me a little respect.

  7

  The cabin was small and dark: dark wood, dark hangings. An enormous bed took one entire corner. Rich velvets spilled down the side, hung twisted and rumpled from the corner posts. A brass lantern over an ornately carved table spread with Osneran lace shone ruddy on the plain silver wine jug, and two matching cups. Charts covered most of the surface; wine had dribbled onto them, and been wiped clear, if not clean, with an impatient hand. The lamp swayed, casting long shadows as the ship rocked at anchor. Two large, square glass ports were open, shutters fastened against the inner walls. An occasional warm breeze brought sea-scent with it. Moonlight on the water beyond revealed a new moon-shaped cove between out-thrust stone arms of a calderalike island. The harbor was nearly empty.

  Two men hunched over the table, talking in low, earnest voices. The cups were empty, and though neither man was notably drunk, clearly the containers had been emptied more than once. One was an older man, though most of the weight on his shoulders was not years. Ban Brit Unliss had aged ten years since Nod Bri H'Larn had deposed him a mere six months before.

  The other man was, by contrast, young, and fit. Life burned with a terrible heat that shone from his pale blue eyes, The same man, this, who had looked challenge at the blade—thin and worn Nedaoan on Nod Bri H'Larn's command ship.

  “Well, I flat out told Nod Bri H'Larn he dare not treat with this Northerner or these fool religious, and told him so straightly.” Mal Brit Arren's teeth were bared in a fierce grin that had nothing of humor in it, unless it was at the thought of the discomforture of his chief, the exchange of low remarks and laughter among the other captains and Nod's crew.

  “But—”

  “No, Ban. Nod rules, but he has no right to make such a decision without vote by all the captains, and so I told him, before his entire crew and half-the council.” Brit Arren's hands balled into large, red-freckled fists. “He absolutely will never again dare to put me in such a position! Or dare to promise my support where he does not have it!”

  “Unwise, Mal. Unless you intend to move against him soon.”

  “I do. Sooner than I had originally thought to, but Nod needs stopping, now. And if my plans go right, the Fury will be lead ship before summer is high.”

  Ban Brit Unliss shrugged; his red hair was more than half gray, receded from a high, lined and sun-darkened forehead. His blue, watery eyes were fixed on the map, on the dagger pinning it in place. One hand clutched at his winecup; the other—once his swordhand—lay at the table's edge. He glanced at it as it twitched involuntarily. Twisted, withered, permanently reddened by the fire that had nearly taken his ship, it was and had been useless the past five summers. And so he had lost the ruling, he, Ban Brit Unliss, who had led the Sea-Raiders for nearly twenty years. He had not even been able to take the challenge when Nod spoke it, could not have held sword in that puckered claw. It stills shamed him. “Nod knows you will challenge him, Mal. I knew long before he ever moved against me. He knows.”

  Mal Brit Arren ran square, capable hands through his close-cropped hair. “I planned it that he would. When I am ready, at the time I choose, I will take him.”

  “It matters so much to you, Mal? The ruling?” Ban Brit Unliss drained his cup. Foolish question. It had mattered to him, more than sense or reason, when it was his.

  “Perhaps.” Brit Arren shrugged. “But Nod is not the man for us, not in these times, you know that, man! A Sea-Raider depends on no outsider for aid, no one! And Nod had us pledge support to this Nedaoan bastard for aid against the Tehlatt savages. And why? A pittance of gold, the Narran trade routes we already know ourselves—and for his aid to us, against Yls and Nar, as though we could not deal with both ourselves!” He laughed; the sound echoed across the water and was given back by the high rock of the island peak. “Or, at least those were the reasons he gave us. You know Nod, he's so devious he'll meet himself one day coming onto the Vitra's deck.” The smile faded, but his eyes continued to gleam. “If I do not gut him first. As I fully intend, for what he did to me, shaming me and the Fury crew before—ah, to the black depths with it! Drink up, man. We celebrate tonight, my coming victory. Young Jon will bring more, when this is gone.”

  While I have many traits not shared with Nedaoans, one of the most curious is that I have raised both my own young and human young: young Ylia and before that, her mother, my sweet Scythia—her mother's sister Ysian. And so, while many another might conjecture upon the differences between child and kitten, I can state with knowledge. Into any ways they are similar: demanding, self-centered for much too long, prone to an astonishing amount of trouble when they begin to toddle. Kittens grow, gain independence and leave sooner—a relief, frankly, since they come in greater numbers than human children do. Then again, kittens learn more, and faster, and are seldom—as certain human children I could name—arbitrary, stubborn and mind-set merely for the exercise of the thing.
Nor will a young cat nurse a grudge or wrong for so long as a day. Though now and again it is this holding onto a wrong until it can be righted that is the proving of a young human.

  8

  There was a feast that night, with good, plain meat for everyone and true bread, for though there was still cause to conserve what they had, there was an end to that in plain sight. Only Erken and fifteen of his men did not attend, for they were already well on their way west.

  There was even an attempt at berry tarts, but the pastry had an odd taste and the fruit was over-sour.

  Ylia's council met after—though it was difficult to free her from the cheering people—and did not conclude until well past middle night “Lists,” Marckl moaned, late on. “If I hear that word much more!”

  “Mmm. Agreed.” Levren yawned. He'd led a hunt out as soon as Telean was safely delivered, and he'd had little sleep the past 5-day. “However, we have Telean, and what—? seven other villages near intact. Ifney and Marckl, you'd be the ones to put to them if they'll remain whole. If there's room,” he added doubtfully.

  Ylia shrugged. “Erken will have a better idea of that. Marckl, if you and Ifney would broach the matter with the village elders, just in case. It might spread us too thin, beyond a point where the armed among us can protect the helpless.”

  “Well, those last will be fewer by this winter,” Brelian said. “Though it's not easy work, teaching young farmers to wield sword. Lev, there's work for you. Many of them know bow-use.”

  The Bowmaster nodded. “It's a matter, at present, of materials. And the hunters among us still need me. But there's a man of the Baron's here who has good skills. If you can spare young Olon, sir, he could at least start lessoning for me, until I can spare the time.”

  “I'll send him to you, first light.”

  “Good. I'll do what I can about bows. Rumor has it,” he turned back to Ylia, “that you've more women to train than Brelian has boys.”

  She laughed. “Twice as many, at least! We scared together ten light swords and the smith recast four more from unstable heavier weapons. If I had all the hours of the day to teach, the hilts would stay warm. Lisabetha did too good a job, I fear.” She continued. “I've started twenty, first patterns for now. There's no time for anything else. Now, if Marhan would only relent, and give me some hell—” she added with a wicked grin in his direction.