Exile's Children (94 page)

As they marched on, the tunnel grew wider and branched in places, and in others revealed openings, large and small, that suggested a labyrinth of passageways. Davyd thought of the vast and widespread heights he had seen from the wilderness forest, and marveled anew that those massy crags and peaks were all crisscrossed with tunnels like an ant's nest. What magic Colun's people must command to have built these secret ways. He wondered how long they had inhabited the hills, and wished he spoke their language that he might learn more about them.

But were the tunnels marvelous, still they did not prepare him for what he saw at the journey's end.

They emerged under a wide and intricately decorated arch onto a broad balcony that seemed suspended in space. Davyd and Flysse gasped in unison, halting as they stared at the wondrous panorama
spread before them. Colun, it would seem, had anticipated this, for he, too, halted, allowing them awhile to gape.

They were in a cavern so vast, it seemed the entire heart of the mountain had been carved out, the stone rendered a hollow shell containing as many, or more, folk as Grostheim. Indeed Davyd's impression was of a city hidden in the hill, all bustling with industry and lit by that same magic as illuminated the tunnels.

To either side of the balcony, wide stairways descended to the cavern floor—save, Davyd thought, “cavern” was too small a word to encompass this place—where silvery springs filled pools and wells around which were constructed pathways, ramps, more balconies, and stairways. About the edges of the cavern stood houses that appeared less built than grown from the stone itself. They climbed the walls like martins' nests, connected by arcing bridges and intricate walkways. Distant along the enormous hollow the glow of fires could be seen, the clangor of beaten metal echoing as if smiths worked there. Then Davyd saw the most wondrous thing of all. Peering down, he saw a gnome standing before an outcrop of jagged rock, his hands raised and his mouth moving. It was as if he worshipped or spoke to the stone. Davyd could not hear what was said, but as the tiny figure performed its strange ritual, the rock began to move like butter set too close to flame. Davyd's jaw fell open as he watched the stone melt and flow, oozing viscous until the outcrop was become smooth, and steps formed in its side. The distant figure stepped back, arms akimbo as it surveyed its handiwork, then turned and called something that brought more gnomes to survey the magical construction.

Davyd started as Colun touched his elbow. The little man was smiling as if amused, and pointed at the Stone Shaper, saying a word that sounded to Davyd like “golan,” then pointed at the houses and back at the reformed stone. Davyd guessed he said the “golan” began work on a new house.

“This is …” Davyd shook his head, lost for words.

“Incredible,” Flysse supplied, her own eyes wide with wonder.

Colun chuckled and beckoned them on, down the stairway.

They were met at the foot by a group of the small folk, the men dressed, like Colun, in sturdy leathers, the women in wide-skirted dresses that gave them the appearance of fabulous animated dolls. One whose hair was a striking yellow stepped forward. Her face was round and friendly, her smile at first for Colun alone but then encompassing the bemused newcomers. Colun touched her cheek and said, “Marjia,” which Davyd assumed must be her name, and then spoke theirs.

Marjia nodded and repeated the names, then her smile faded as she
drew close to Arcole. She bent over the sleeping man, gently touching his brow, then speaking swift words which set Colun to nodding gravely. He beckoned again, and Davyd and Flysse followed their hosts along a pavement of seamless stone to an ascending stair. The litter bearers carried their burden to a walled balcony fronting one of the rock-houses. Marjia led the way inside, clearly bidding the two gnomes wait as she gathered bright cushions and patterned blankets that she spread over the floor of an inner room. Arcole was set down on that bed, the packs and weapons to one side, and Marjia glanced inquiringly at Flysse, leveling a stubby finger at the taller woman and then at Arcole. Flysse nodded, and Marjia waved her closer, then made a shooing motion that hastened the others from the room.

The litter bearers departed and Colun led Davyd to a larger chamber, where glassless windows looked onto the balcony. He indicated that Davyd seat himself on a bench that was, it seemed, grown from the wall. It was too low a seat for Davyd's height, and he found his knees raised uncomfortably close to his chin. Colun chuckled and found cushions that he tossed to the floor. Davyd sat there, watching as Colun went to a niche from which he brought two cups and an earthenware flask. He grinned as he brandished the flask, smacking his lips enthusiastically, and said, “Tiswin.”

Davyd accepted a cup, toasting his host.

It had been more than a year since alcohol had passed his lips, and the tiswin tasted fierce. It was, he thought, akin to gin but sweeter. Surely it warmed his belly and eased away his aches, so that a pleasant languor spread through his body, and before he had emptied a second cup he felt his eyes grow heavy and saw the room blur and dim. He was vaguely aware of Colun setting a cushion behind his head and taking the cup from his hand; he mumbled thanks and then fell sound asleep.

Flysse could make no sense of Marjia's words, but she understood the woman's gestures and obeyed as Marjia indicated she turn Arcole onto his belly. Marjia frowned when she saw the scars striping his back, then motioned that Flysse aid her in removing the bandages. She lifted the compress from the wound and studied Colun's rude surgery. Flysse was much reassured when the gnomic woman nodded and smiled, and patted her hand: she seemed to be telling Flysse that the wound was not poisoned.

Then Flysse must wait as Marjia bustled out, returning in a while with a bowl of steaming water and an assortment of jars, vials, and cloths. Arcole stirred drowsily as they stripped him and Marjia bathed
his wound. When it was clean, she ground up an ointment that she smeared liberally over the red-lipped gash. A fresh compress was set in place, and together they bandaged him. Marjia dribbled a dark liquid into his mouth, then spread a blanket over his body and gestured that Flysse follow her out of the chamber.

Flysse was at first reluctant to leave Arcole, but Marjia pantomimed that he would sleep on, and that Flysse might wash and eat, and she allowed herself to be persuaded.

She followed Marjia to a chamber that was clearly a bathroom, for water flowed out of the wall into a basin, and off to one side was a stone tub. Marjia indicated that she avail herself of the facilities and pointed back the way they had come before leaving Flysse alone.

Flysse was too concerned for Arcole to do more than quickly bathe her face and drag a comb through her tangled hair before she quit the room and went back to where he lay. He did sleep on, and for a moment she feared he sank into coma, but when she checked his breathing and his pulse, both were steady, and when she touched his brow, it was unfevered. She assumed the medicines of their curious hosts took effect, but even so she was loath to leave him, and had Marjia not reappeared, she would have settled by his side to wait impatiently for him to wake.

Instead, she went with the little doll-like woman to the outer chamber. There she found Colun seated at a wooden table with a flask and cup at his elbow. Davyd lay sprawled on the floor, snoring softly, and Colun pointed at the young man and then at the flask in explanation. Marjia shook her head in what was clearly a fond exaggeration and pantomimed her husband—Flysse assumed they were wed—drinking to excess. Colun laughed softly and said something in their strange language, at which Marjia smiled hugely and cuffed him gently on the ear.

It was so domestic a scene, so
normal,
Flysse burst into tears.

Marjia was instantly at her side, a comforting arm encircling Flysse's waist, leading her to a bench, where she slumped with helpless tears coursing her cheeks. Marjia passed her a kerchief and she mopped her eyes and blew her nose; Colun filled a cup, and after a moment's hesitation she took it. Davyd's condition persuaded her to sip cautiously, but the tiswin was comforting and her weeping gradually subsided.

She wiped her face anew and said, “Forgive me. I owe you thanks, we all owe you thanks. You saved our lives and you tend my husband. I …” She gestured helplessly, smiling now as she saw their faces intent on hers, their eyes sympathetic and uncomprehending.

Marjia spoke, but Flysse could understand the woman no better than Marjia understood her, and wondered how it was Davyd believed he almost interpreted their words. Certainly on the journey there it had
seemed he and Colun attained a degree of communication denied her. She wondered if that might be something to do with Davyd's talent for dreaming, and smiled fondly at the soundly slumbering youth. Were they to remain for any time with these little folk, she thought, she must attempt to learn their language.

Marjia grew busy again and, before Flysse had emptied her cup, food was set on the table. The savory odors roused Davyd, who opened somewhat bleary eyes and yawned hugely, then grinned and clambered to his feet.

“How's Arcole?” His grin faded, replaced with an expression of concern. “Where is he?”

“He sleeps,” Flysse told him. “Marjia tended his wound, and now he sleeps. I think that's likely for the best.”

“Yes.” Davyd nodded owlishly and yawned again.

Marjia asked with gestures and words if he'd sooner sleep than eat, and he shook his head, saying, “Eat first, then sleep,” which both she and Colun seemed to understand.

“This is good,” he declared as he wolfed mouthfuls. “Have you tried the tiswin yet, Flysse? That's good too.”

“In measure,” she answered, thinking that his youth lent him recuperative powers greater than her own. She felt almost too weary to eat, and had she not wished to build her strength that she be ready when Arcole woke, she would have forgone the meal to stretch out by his side.

“I drank only a cup or so,” Davyd protested, somewhat crestfallen. “It's that I've not had liquor in so long.”

He seemed at that moment so like a child caught in some naughtiness that Flysse could only laugh. Marjia and Colun—for all they likely had no idea what was said—joined in.

When the meal was finished, their hosts jointly indicated they should sleep, and Flysse returned to Arcole, Davyd following Colun to a separate chamber. Marjia spread the floor with more cushions, and handed Flysse a blanket, then quit the room. As she went through the low doorway, she touched the wall and murmured soft words that dimmed the light, leaving Flysse in a gentle twilight. Flysse arranged the cushions and lay beside Arcole. She'd have held him in her arms but feared disturbing him or aggravating his wound, and so contented herself with taking one outflung hand, which she held against her cheek. It was her intention to remain awake, to watch over Arcole, but food and tiswin and the comforting knowledge they were safe combined with weariness to betray her: she hardly knew her eyes closed before she slept.

•   •   •

Arcole opened his eyes and moved to rise. Then grunted a curse as pain lanced his back and confused memory flooded in. Of course—he'd taken a shaft and then been rescued by … Images of small, muscular men appeared, one named Colun, who had fed them and … He could recall no more. Cautiously, he lifted his head. He lay in a windowless chamber that appeared as much cave as room, lit by a soft, sourceless radiance. He saw Flysse beside him and felt reassured, then gently disengaged her hand that he might examine the bandage around his waist.

His movements woke her and she sat up, her smile bright as the risen sun as she saw him awake.

“Oh, Arcole!” Her arms enfolded him and he winced, so that she held him gentler, asking, “Does it hurt?”

“Somewhat,” he told her honestly. “Where are we?”

Flysse explained all that happened, and when she was done he said, “By God, we're fortunate, no?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But still you took a bad wound.”

He said, “I've taken worse, I'll mend soon enough.”

Flysse nodded, and held him until he fell asleep again.

For long days he lay slowly recovering in the chamber, tended by Marjia and Flysse, who refused to go farther from his side than the balcony. Davyd visited him when he woke, and regaled him with tales of their saviors and the fabulous cavern. A whole people dwelt here, Davyd explained, who called themselves—as best he could tell—the Grannach. Colun was their leader, their creddan in the Grannach tongue, and the cave and the houses and the myriad tunnels were magically fashioned by Stone Shapers who were called golans. They had furnaces and forges in which they made weapons and the metalware they used, and some of the tunnels led to mountain valleys, where they pastured animals and sometimes hunted. They had fled there after a great battle—with other folk of a different race, Davyd gathered, some of whom lived west of the mountains, and some to the east. The latter, Davyd believed, were the demons, whom the Grannach names
Tack-in
. He thought their leader was called Chakthi, and he was despised by the Grannach.

“God, but you've learned much,” Arcole declared after one such report. “How can you understand them? Their speech sounds all barks to me.”

“I don't know.” Davyd shrugged, frowning. “I don't understand all of it, but it's as though …” He shrugged again. “As though the more I speak with them, the better I understand what they say.”

“And do they understand you?” Arcole asked.

“Not much.” Davyd shook his head. “Colun learns a few words, but mostly I learn their tongue.”

“That's as well.” Arcole rested back against a pile of cushions. “One of us had better communicate with them. Now, do you tell me what you know of the western land and its folk? Are they also … What are our saviors called, Grannach?”