The Dreamtrails (16 page)

It occurred to me that I must be near Khuria’s cottage and
the concealed wagon. Indeed, I had intended to stop there but had forgotten. By the time I groped my way to the wagon, unlaced the canvas, and slipped inside, the storm was directly overhead, and rain was hammering down. I tied the canvas shut, deciding I might just as well wait out the storm. It was dank and chilly inside, but I lit a lantern and a small fire in the cooking brazier. Teeth chattering, I drew water from a barrel and set it to warm for soup. Then I peeled off my sodden borrowed finery and toweled myself briskly, thinking I would have to replace the skirt when I had the chance. I felt more myself dressed in my own comfortable trousers and shirt as I crumbled herbs and dried mushrooms into the soup. While it cooked, I tried squeezing some of the moisture from my boots, then set them as near to the brazier as I could, for I had no other footwear save a pair of thin sandals.

As the wagon slowly filled with warmth and the wholesome fragrance of the soup, I was glad I had not gone straight up to the homestead bubbling with triumph, for I realized now that I could not simply rely on a missive with a secret warning to stop the invasion. There was too much danger of that plan going awry. And now that I had ceased to fret at it, a different idea for dealing with the invasion had begun to form in my mind. I pondered it, wondering if I dared put it into practice, for it would be very dangerous. I had no doubt that were I to present it at guildmerge, it would be rejected as far too risky. But I was not at Obernewtyn with strong allies about me. I was trapped in a hostile province with dangerous enemies on all sides.

I drank the soup, alternately refining the plan and wishing there was some way to let the others know I was safe, but it was too wet and wild outside. The wagon gradually grew so warm that I began to drift to sleep, but I woke at once when
the rain stopped. I tried farseeking the house, but the tainted patches of earth still blocked my probe. I was about to reach for my boots when it occurred to me to try farseeking Gahltha, since he might be grazing nearby. To my delight, the probe found him at once. He was not far away, but the contact was tenuous. Relief that I was safe filled his mind, but fearing that our connection would be broken, I wasted no time in asking him to go to the house to let Zarak and the others know where I was.

“I/Gahltha will come and carry you there,” he offered, but I refused, saying I was warm and dry and might as well wait where I was until daylight. Reluctantly, Gahltha obeyed, warning me that I had better be prepared to face Maruman’s wrath. The probe began to dissolve. I sent a swift farewell, extinguished the little fire in the brazier, and lay down. Able to relax at last, I fell immediately into a deep sleep.

I dreamed of Matthew standing on a red rocky bluff gazing hungrily out over a dawn-bronzed sea. As on the previous occasion, I was aware that I was simply a disembodied watcher in the vision dream, which again had a remarkable clarity. I did not need to hear Matthew’s thoughts to guess he was thinking of the Land, for there was an unmistakable yearning in his face. Then he turned, and I saw a long puckered scar down one lean brown cheek that I had not noticed before. Matthew smiled as Gilaine came to join him, and once again I was glad they had found one another; the mute empath-farseeker had met him when he and I had been taken captive by her father, the fanatical renegade Herder Henry Druid. I did not know how they had encountered one another in the Red Land, but it was no great surprise, since Misfits were naturally drawn to each other.

For a time, they merely gazed companionably out to sea, until Matthew sighed and said, “Ye ought not to be seen talking to me, just in case there is trouble over this.” He touched the puckered scar.

Gilaine did not speak. Indeed, she could not, for she was mute, but when Matthew sighed and shook his head, I realized that they were farseeking.

“I am careful,” Matthew now said. “ ’Tis just that I nivver expected to be attacked by another slave. I kenned the people here dinna want to fight the slavers, because the Red Queen is supposed to come an’ set the whole thing in motion, accordin’ to their prophecy. But I always thought they refused me because they believed it would be impossible to win without her. I dinna realize they’d think of me as a threat fer trying to make them act before the prophecy had come true. Pity Naro did nowt realize I have abandoned my plan of rousin’ the people against their oppressors.” He shook his head to whatever Gilaine said. “I canna tell them about Dragon, because they will nowt ken that she is truly the daughter of their queen without seein’ her. An’ even if they did believe me, how should I tell them about her bein’ in a coma?”

Another pregnant silence, and Matthew frowned. “I wish I
could
believe she has woken, Gil. But that’s too much like the happy ending in an empath storysong. When I were a lad in th’ Land, I saw life as a grand story full of heroes an’ villains an’ sleepin’ princesses that mun be wakened with a kiss. I nivver guessed it might be a sad story that ends in misunderstandin’ an’ tragedy.” A silence. “I have nivver lost heart. I just ken that mebbe I have been wrong tryin’ to force a battle. Mebbe the prophecy is true, an’ Dragon mun come here before this Land can be free. I mun gan back to th’ Land. I am sure I can convince Elspeth an’ th’ others to let me bring
Dragon here, once they understand that it may be th’ only thing that will wake her.”

Gilaine laid a hand on his arm, and he flushed, then paled. “I dinna expect her to love me. I scorned her affection when she was a lass, so how could she love me now? An’ she will be a queen. It’ll be enow fer me if she can be restored to her people an’ will let me serve her.” There was a caressing quality to his voice that made me think of the blaze of wonder I had seen on his face when Dragon had tried courageously to save two children from a Herder just before she had fallen into her coma. He had been enchanted by her heroism, but something in his voice and face now suggested that boyish infatuation had ripened into something deeper and more real.

They were staring out to sea again, and Matthew said in a different voice, “I dream of them sometimes—Elspeth, Dameon, an’ Rushton. Th’ others. They all seem older.…”

Gilaine looked eagerly at him, and he smiled at her. “Well, of course ye do, for if anything could reach across all that distance, it must be the love between Daffyd an’ you.” His smile faded and again he looked out to sea. “I just wish I kenned what is happening in th’ Land. The slavemasters talk of it but mostly in their own language to one another, as ye ken. The slaves from th’ Land talk, but it’s hard to glean much more than that the rebels have driven out both Council and Faction on one side of the Suggredoon, while the Council and Herders have the west coast, an’ from what you saw of Daffyd …” He broke off as a man whose face was vaguely familiar joined them. It was not until he spoke that I recognized Jow, Daffyd’s elder brother. Both brothers had once served Henry Druid, before realizing they were Misfits.

“You’d do well to keep your mouth shut hereafter, lad,” Jow said. “It’ll be the Entina pit for you if you’re caught
fighting.” Gilaine must have made some protest, for the man touched her cheek gently. “Speaking of it won’t make it happen, child.”

“He is right anyway,” Matthew said grimly. “It is only lucky that no one saw Naro attack me, so I could claim I had fallen. The masters were suspicious, of course, but as an overseer, I get more work out of a crew than any other, so it would be a terrible waste to feed me to th’ Entina.”

Jow laughed. “You conceited young whelp. But it’s true you have a gift for moving men about a job that would be hard for the masters to replace. Still, you’d best lie low for a while.”

I woke with the complete certainty that I had not merely true-dreamed of Matthew; I had seen him and the others
in the present
. The only way to have done so over such distance was on the dreamtrails, which meant I must have drifted onto them in my sleep. I had too little knowledge of the mysterious and dangerous dreamtrails to know how this could have happened, but to feel sure I was right, I had only to think of my previous dream of Matthew, in which he had seemed to hear me call out his name. The thought that I had made contact with Matthew in the Red Land was thrilling and revolutionary, but it went with another thought I had sometimes had: that true dreams were merely dreams experienced while the mind drifted close to the dreamtrails. I decided to endure the discomfort she always made me feel and discuss it with Maryon when we were back at Obernewtyn. If I was right, perhaps I could ask Maruman to guide me to Matthew on the dreamtrails.

But what had woken me? By the darkness, it was still night, though perhaps not far from dawn. I got up, shivering with cold, and peered through a small gap in the laced canvas.
The chink of sky visible through the overhanging branches was the dense starless indigo of predawn, and the air was so damp that it must have rained again while I slept. I decided to walk back at once, rather than waiting for Gahltha to arrive. I would be able to tell the others of the letter I would scribe for Vos and outline my plan over firstmeal. I began marshaling the arguments I would need as I groped for my boots. I was about to pull them on when I heard a branch snap loudly.

I froze and sent out a probe. It would not locate, but when it brushed several areas of buzzing resistance, the hair on my neck prickled, for that could only mean men with demon bands. I was able to distinguish four separate areas of resistance close by and two farther away in the direction of Khuria’s cottage.

Another branch snapped, and then I heard a man hiss softly that the wagon must be close. I felt sick. Their knowledge of the wagon’s whereabouts meant they had been up to Noviny’s homestead to question the others. Worse, the stealthy approach meant that they knew I was inside it, for Zarak would never willingly give me away.

Hearing another footfall very close, I reached down and carefully unfastened the disguised hatch in the wagon floor that was the lid of the compartment where Swallow’s plast suit lay. Lifting it open slowly to prevent the hinges creaking, I climbed carefully into the cavity. Hauling my boots and wet clothes in with me, I lay down flat and lowered the hatch. Once it was in place, I felt for the pin that would allow me to secure it from beneath.

I relaxed my muscles, trying to calm my breathing so that I could hear, for the coffin-like compartment had been built solidly to ensure that it would not give out a telltale hollow
sound if it was knocked. Minutes passed until I heard a hiss of triumph and a furtive rustle as the canvas was thrust aside. The wagon rocked as first one, then a second and a third man climbed in, their boots loud on the wooden boards over my head. I heard one curse, and through a crack to one side of the compartment’s lid, I saw a light flare.

“Empty,” snarled a voice. “The boy lied.”

“I dinna think so,” said a man in a rough highland accent. “She has been here, all right. And from the smell of it, she cooked.”

“Where is she, then?”

“She got away. Vos won’t like it,” said another man.

“Malik will like it even less,” responded the highlander. He bellowed an order for a thorough search of the area surrounding the wagon. There was the sound of a locker opening overhead, then rummaging and banging and our belongings shattering. Finally, someone hammered at the floor. I trembled as the point of a knife showed between the boards, but Grufyyd had done his work well, and the knife would penetrate no deeper because of crisscrossed metal strands laid in a grid under the wood. After a moment, the knife was withdrawn.

As the search continued, I learned from their talk that a troop of armsmen had ridden to Noviny’s homestead during the night, and Khuria had been tortured to make Zarak say where I was. It was horrible to think that this had been happening while I slept. But why had Vos sent his men after me? Or were they Malik’s men, dispatched when he heard about the meeting with Vos? And where were the others now? They might still be in the homestead, but it seemed more likely they would have been taken to Vos’s property where, as chieftain, he would have cells.

But what about Maruman and the horses? Gahltha must have been taken prisoner, or he would have come to warn me, so I tried to beastspeak Maruman. The probe would not locate. I told myself it was inhibited by the tainted ground between us, but at the same time I had a dreadful vision of the armsmen slaughtering all the beasts to ensure that none could help me.

The wagon rocked, and I realized that the armsmen were climbing out of it. I pressed my ear to the wood to listen. The other searchers had returned with news that there were no tracks or any other sign of me. The rain had been too heavy.

One of the armsmen said they must take the wagon back to Vos’s and suggested using their own horses to draw it. Another pointed out that it would be impossible since the wagon had no proper harness.

“Let’s burn it, then,” said another.

Hearing this, I turned onto my belly and closed my fingers around the pin that held the bottom of the hidden compartment in place. Grufyyd had created the second opening in case a person concealed there needed to slip away. But finally the highlander, who appeared to be the group leader, said that the wagon had better be taken back to Vos’s in case Malik wanted to look it over.

There was much groaning as they dragged it out from under the tree and pushed it onto the track, where they tried to hitch two horses to it. By the time the wagon set off at the uncomfortable jerky pace that comes of mismatched horses, my senses told me that dawn had come and gone. I tried to beastspeak the horses, but both wore demon bands whose strength was such that it produced a queer discomforting numbness in my mind.