Havenstar (34 page)

‘I’m not
worried.’ And she wasn’t. The blind man had that certain quality of
leadership that made people feel secure in his company. Even
Portron, with all his reservations, seemed to feel it. Charisma.
Such men can be dangerous to humankind. And to Chantry.

For most of
the morning they had to walk in single file through the narrow
confines of passages and linked chambers, and conversation was not
always possible. Only when they stopped for lunch, in a section
where the configurations of the Sponge forced the party to break up
into twos and threes, was she able to talk to Scow again. She ended
up sitting next to the unbound man in a hollowed-out chamber that
was barely large enough for the two of them. Their mounts were
crowded together in a wider passageway; the others were scattered
in other chambers. It was then she asked a question that had been
nagging at her, that shamed her to ask, but that she was unable to
resist. ‘What is Davron’s wife like, Scow?’

She thought he
might dodge answering; instead his eyes softened. ‘Who told you he
was married?’

‘He did.’

‘Ah.’ He
seemed surprised. ‘Alyss. Alyss of Tower-and-Fleury. She was—is—the
most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. No, perhaps beautiful
is not the correct word. Lovely, that’s it. She is lovely.
Moonlight and quicksilver. At least that’s what she was like when I
first met her, before—before Davron’s trouble. Full of life, a
woman who made you feel more vital just by coming within your
range. Gentle, loving… Red hair, green eyes, fair skin and fine
bones. A soft heart that hates to see pain or suffering. She was
there when Davron’s party found me, after my tainting. I’ll never
forget looking up and seeing her bending over me like some sort of
heavenly vision.’

‘Where is she
now?’

‘Back in the
Fifth, I suppose. Davron does not speak of her any more, although
he—he goes to the Fifth whenever he can.’

And they were
going to the Fifth now. Doubtless Davron would go and see her.
Moonlight and quicksilver. She felt sick. No one would ever
describe Keris Kaylen that way; more like pebbles and porridge, or
something else equally commonplace and unattractive.

Even the name
sounded special: Alyss of Tower-and-Fleury.
Damn her.

Then Davron
was there, towering over them both where they sat. ‘Scow, go talk
to Meldor, will you?’ he asked quietly. ‘He’s worried about the
weather.’ He waited until the unbound man had gone then added, ‘My
wife is none of your business.’

He had heard.
He wasn’t angry; it was hurt she saw in his eyes, pain of memories
that were almost too bad to endure, and that made it worse. She
reddened and looked away. ‘Forgive me. Are we going on now?’ She
gathered up the remains of her lunch and began to pack it away to
avoid looking at him.

‘Yes. Meldor
thinks it’s going to rain.’

‘It has been
growing darker.’

‘Clouds,’
Meldor said, joining them with Scow in tow. ‘I’ve been smelling
rain coming for some time. That could make things a lot worse.’

She looked
upwards. The domed roof immediately above her head was holed.
Higher still, she could see more vaults and bridges, layered like
some child’s haphazard effort to build something fabulous. It had
an exotic beauty, a deep rich blue in the shadows, a paler
translucent colour elsewhere, and none of it symmetrical or
smooth.

‘Would rain
come in?’ she asked.

‘The light
does,’ Scow said.

‘The Wild are
also closing in on us,’ Meldor added calmly. ‘I think we are going
to have a rough afternoon.’

Nobody said
anything. There was little point.

~~~~~~~

They heard the
rain some time before they had other evidence of it, but eventually
it filtered down in rivulets, wetting the floor and walls and
making the footing twice as treacherous. The dulling of the light
did not help either.

‘Sometimes I
think this trip is jinxed,’ Scow muttered to Davron as he picked
himself up after a nasty fall. ‘I can’t remember another that’s
gone as badly as this one.’

‘Nonsense.
Graval was the only jinx we had.’

She reflected
on that, and realised its truth. The pack that was lost, the torn
tent, the lamed horse, the trouble they’d had from the Wild, the
numerous other little pinpricks that had occurred to make life
unpleasant—it could all have been the maliciousness of a Minion. He
could even have called in the Wild to attack.

A shudder ran
up her spine. She was cold and scared. A smell in the air drew her
on, something more than the stink of the Wild. She caught a hint of
colour in the air, a pinkish glow that faded when she concentrated
on it, but which she caught sight of out of the corner of her eye
from time to time.

The trickle
became a torrent as the day wore on and more of the rain found its
way into the Sponge. Sometimes they were wading knee deep, worried
about stepping into a hole. Just as often they were drenched by
water that gushed down chutes from above. They were chilled and wet
and tired, and she fretted that her second pair of boots, now her
only pair, would not hold up under the constant soaking. She walked
with the aid of Piers’ staff, prodding at the floor in front of her
when the water was deep, and took comfort from the thought that her
father had probably used it for just that purpose on occasion.
Gradually all thought of the Wild faded into the general misery.
They trudged on, cursing.

When the
attack did come, it arrived with a vicious ferocity that caught
them unawares. One minute they were just tired and irritable, the
next they were besieged on all sides by a scurry of black beasts.
Keris had an appalled glimpse of hairy arms and legs and thin
bodies, of swinging animals and snapping teeth, then she was
knocked aside by the horses. Ygraine and Tousson panicked, tore the
reins free and were gone. She landed hard, cracking her head on a
ridge of the floor, bruising her back on her quiver. There was no
time to clear her ringing head. One of the black creatures leaped
on her prone body from above. Vaguely human-shaped, it was the size
of a thin five-year-old child.

The thick
stench of a Wild overwhelmed her. A wrinkled face with a mouth full
of pointed teeth was inches from her own. Clawed hands pulled at
her shirt. She tried to struggle up, gasping in horror, but unable
to scream. The ink-black face moved away from her own to hover over
her chest. With an oddly human grip, the hands tore her shirt open
and she knew without the slightest doubt it was after her
heart.

She groped for
her knife but couldn’t reach it. With her other hand she poked at
the bright red eye that glared into her own, and won herself a
moment’s respite. Still feeling for her knife, she found the knob
of Pier’s staff instead. She jerked the other end of it into the
animal’s midriff with a force she didn’t know she could muster,
prone as she was. The Wild collapsed, retching, and she rolled out
from underneath. Her staff thudded into the black head and the
creature collapsed at her feet, suddenly small and insignificant.
She dragged in breath, wondering how she had done it.

There was no
time for congratulations. She was leaning back against the wall and
water was cascading over her face and shoulders, blinding her, but
she could see that she was surrounded. A circle of five or six of
the same black creatures closed in on her, snarling. Several of
them were climbing down from above, taking their time. She couldn’t
kill all with a staff, or even a knife. Her bow, unstrung because
of the damp, was strapped to her pack on Tousson and the
crossings-horses were long gone.

Davron
crouched in the doorway. His clothing was ripped and a ragged gash
scored an arm. He had his whip, yet the beasts ignored him. When he
kicked one of them, snapping its back with the power behind his
boot, when he lashed at another, opening up a deep cut on its neck,
the others simply moved away and closed in on Keris instead. She
thought, They know him by the sigil he wears, and felt her old
anger at him well up. He plunged in among the Wild, whipping at
them, the lash shredding their flesh. They dodged away to make
forays at her instead, to slash at her with claws and teeth even as
she tried to ward them off with her staff.

Davron had no
knives and using the whip in such a confined space was difficult.
She caught glimpses of his face as he whirled among the creatures,
and recognised the desperation there.

Then those
above dropped towards her, snarling.

She screamed
then, thinking herself only the rip of a claw away from death. And
the room erupted with sparks and colour and power.
Ley
, she
thought, and was slammed back into the wall.
Power.
It was
like the force of the wind, but the air was still. The breath was
driven from her body, yet nothing touched her. Around her the Wild
folded up into pathetic heaps of skinny limbs and skull-like heads.
They were shrunken, as if life itself possessed dimension and it
had been sucked from them, leaving only a husk behind.

Gasping in
air, she pushed herself away from the wall. Davron was lying prone
in the middle of the chamber. Face down, whip still in his hand.
And all the Wild were dead.

She had no
idea what had happened.

Groping for
her knife, she glanced around. There was no sign of anyone else, no
movement of any other Wild. She could have been the only living
thing left inside the Sponge. The silence was appalling and served
only to etch deeper her memory of what had gone before, sounds that
had barely registered at the time. Corrian shrieking obscenities,
Meldor yelling at someone to run, the scream of horses, the snarl
of beasts, the grunts and thumps and thuds… Now there was only the
sound of running water.

She knelt at
Davron’s side, fearing the worst, not wanting to know if whatever
had killed the Wild had also killed him. Knowing it would be better
for everyone if he was dead. Wanting it so—and knowing that if it
was, it would be more than she could bear.

She went to
roll him over on to his back and then paused. There was a vibration
coming to her through the floor of the Sponge. A thundering of
hoofs. A snorting sound— She whirled to her feet to meet this new
attack, and saw the last thing she had expected. It was Stockwood,
Scow’s enormous tainted mount. The beast was out of control,
gasping and dribbling, swinging its vast head and knife-edged
horns, pounding through the tunnels of the Sponge in an agony of
mindless fear. Several of the black creatures were clinging to its
back, biting into its hide.

And it was
heading straight for her.

There was
nothing she could do for Davron. There was no time for anything, no
space to fling herself where she would be safe from those swinging
horns…

She ran.

And Stockwood
thundered after her. His huge feet trampled Davron, but that did
not slow him. The horns were a bare few inches from her back and
she ran as she had never run before. There was no time to duck into
a side passage—she never even saw one until they were past—she just
ran and ran. Behind her the crazed animal pounded on her heels.
When passages opened up in front of her, when both she and the
animal were presented with a choice, it followed her. One of the
Wild fell off and was crushed beneath the hoofs; the other was
brushed off in a narrow archway, but still Stockwood careened from
one side to the other, scraping the walls.

She was
terrified of slipping, of falling beneath those huge hoofs with
their immense iron shoes… A gap opened up in the floor in front of
her; she took it at a flying leap. Stockwood followed, heaving his
bulk after her. The edge crumbled under him, but he recovered and
was soon on her heels once more. Her breath laboured. She felt the
tip of one of the horns against her buttock and sped up, knowing
she could not last much longer.

What a
stupid way to die
.

And then an
arm came out of nowhere and snatched her sideways, pulling her
through a narrow hole in the wall and into the safety beyond.
Stockwood blundered straight on and the sound of his charge faded
into the distance.

Keris,
paralysed with fear, felt the thud of her heart in her chest and
thought she might die of terror. She looked down at the arm that
still held her. It blended in with the background…

‘Quirk!’

She collapsed
against him, and he clutched at her to prevent her fall even as he
tried not to touch her skin, knowing that would hurt her. ‘It’s all
right,’ he said. ‘It’s all over now.’

‘Oh
Maker—Quirk! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone before in my
whole life.’

His face
turned an even darker blue. ‘Er, well, thanks. Um, Keris, your—’ He
made an embarrassed gesture at her shirt even as his eyes were
fixed on a point above her head and she realised her breasts were
bare. Blushing, she pulled the edges of the cloth together and tied
them. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, pulling at an ear and avoiding
meeting her gaze.

‘No. I mean,
except for a few cuts and bruises. Are you?’

He shook his
head. ‘I stood still, right at the beginning, and those beasts just
didn’t see me. Then, when nothing was looking my way, I took off. I
know that wasn’t very brave, but I’ve never said I was brave.’ He
sounded lost and lonely. ‘I don’t know the first thing about
fighting. Once my father saw I had no ley, he could never be
bothered to teach me.’

She took a
deep breath. ‘You saved my life just then.’

‘Er, well, at
no risk to my own. Where are the others? Meldor was in the lead
ahead of me but I didn’t see what happened to him.’

‘The Master
Guide is hurt. How badly I don’t know. I never saw any of others at
all. Corrian was in front of me, but when we were attacked she had
just turned a corner and was out of sight. Davron Storre and Scow
were behind me at the time. I have to look for Storre.’