The Dreamtrails (9 page)

Brydda’s eyes glinted with amusement and admiration. “During the rebellion, I thought that Zarak had the makings of a fine strategist, and now I am sure of it.” He sobered. “If you will take my advice, we should go directly to Sutrium tomorrow and leave Saithwold alone for the time being.”

I shook my head. “I promised Zarak.”

Brydda sighed. “It may not be a bad thing. You can spread the word in Saithwold that Dardelan knows what is happening, so people there won’t do anything rash. If you don’t object to riding back along the main road, I could ride with you as far as the blockade. I doubt that whoever is manning the barrier will refuse you entry, knowing that I will witness it. But you will have to coerce yourself out again if they are really preventing people from leaving.”

“I will do it if we need to, but why must we go to Saithwold by the main road? It would be quicker to go via Kinraide and Berrioc.”

“It would,” Brydda agreed, “but I need to speak with a rebel who lives just after the Sawlney turnoff before I go back to Sutrium. It would not take long, and we can just go on from there to Saithwold.”

I opened my mouth to agree with the change of route when a cold premonition of danger flowed through me. At the same moment, Kella, Katlyn, and Dragon emerged from the house laden with platters of food. Brydda leapt up to help them set the plates on the trestle and to fetch more lanterns. By the time this was done to Katlyn’s satisfaction, the premonition had faded.

Louis and Zarak returned red-cheeked from their walk as we were sitting down to eat, and Zarak explained that there had been little talk in Rangorn about the blockade outside Saithwold. The gossip was all of Zamadi’s men and the
soldierguards stationed on the opposite bank of the Lower Suggredoon.

Listening to his description of the camps, I realized that if both riverbanks were heavily guarded even this high upstream, it would be impossible to enter or emerge from the Suggredoon, even in a plast suit, unless there was a diversion. But it would have to be something very clever, since the Councilmen and soldierguards would expect just such a trick.

As we ate, the moon rose and a chill wind began blowing at our backs. But the fire gave off waves of delicious warmth, and we shifted to sit around it as we finished the meal with slices of plum tart. Only then did I think to ask Brydda about the ship burning. I told him what Garth had said, and he nodded.

“It would be impossible for a ship to come into port, decant enough men to set fire to the ships being built, and then vanish, all without anyone noticing anything; therefore, we know that the raiders did not come by ship.”

I stared at him. “You mean someone from the Land destroyed them?”

He nodded grimly.

“But who would do such a thing? And why?” Kella cried.

Brydda shook his head. “As to why, most of the Council of Chieftains believe the ships were destroyed to prevent us from landing a fighting force on the west coast. But since the shipbuilding began again as soon as the debris was cleared, nothing was accomplished but a delay. Dardelan thinks
that
might have been the reason for the burnings.”

“A delay?” I echoed. “To what end?”

Brydda shrugged. “Maybe to give the Council more time to prepare their defenses, or maybe to allow time for some other plan to unfold. Maryon’s futuretelling about trouble on
the west coast all but confirms it, and there is no doubt that our enemies are plotting to regain this part of the Land.”

“But who burned the ships?” Kella repeated her earlier question. “The Councilmen and all soldierguards who did not die or escape over the Suggredoon are in prison or working on Councilfarms, and all of the Herders left.”

“They are to be called
community farms
now,” Brydda explained. “It may be that some Herders or soldierguards did not leave, either by accident or design, and are now bent on working against us so that their masters can return. Or maybe the saboteurs are people who have lost power or property since the rebellion and want things back the way they were.”

“The sabotage couldn’t have anything to do with Malik, could it?” I asked.

Brydda met my eyes. “It occurred to me, but how would it serve Malik to have the ships burned? More likely he would want them completed sooner, knowing that Dardelan will insist upon taking part in any west coast landing, where he might be killed or injured or simply fail.”

The others began talking more generally of the elections, and I told Zarak what Brydda had said about Saithwold. As expected, he was still determined to go there, but he agreed that it was worth the extra time to go back via the Sawlney turnoff if it meant that Brydda would escort us to the blockade.

“Brocade will likely be reelected chieftain of Sawlney,” Brydda said, answering a question from Zarak a little later. “He has spent a good bit of time currying favor with powerful farm holders in his region. In truth, his election would not necessarily be bad. Brocade openly opposes the Beast Charter, but he dislikes violence and is moderate in other areas.”

“Who do ye predict will be made chieftain of Darthnor?”
Louis asked, no doubt thinking of his friend Enoch, the old coachman who dwelt on a small property in Darthnor with Rushton’s defective half brother, Stephen Seraphim.

“Lydi may win, but the locals are divided between him and one of their own, Webben. He is a mine overseer who wants the road to the west reopened. He is constantly making representations to the Council of Chieftains, demanding that they negotiate with the west coast, despite the fact that we have no means of communicating with them, nor the slightest indication that they desire it. Do you know the man?”

“I do,” Louis grunted. “He dislikes Misfits but mayhap more out of Darthnor tradition than any real conviction.”

“Is there no possibility of Bergold being elected?” I asked.

Brydda shook his head. “He is thought to be too … eccentric. In any case, he has not put his name forward.”

I said nothing, for it suddenly seemed to me that, for the beasts and Misfits, it did not matter who won each town’s election, so long as Dardelan was returned as high chieftain, for his honesty and ideals would influence the rest.

At last, Darius rose slowly with a groan, saying he needed to sleep. Watching him hobble away, I saw that he moved a good deal more stiffly than before. I mentioned it to Kella, who explained that his joints were becoming inflamed from the wagon’s jostling. She rose, saying that she would see if he would allow her to drain off some of his pain. After she had gone, Katlyn told us that the healer had twice on this journey performed the service for the gypsy healer, though he had protested each time.

“Maybe he feels a man ought to bear his own pain,” Brydda said.

“Or he is afraid of becoming dependent on the relief she offers,” I countered.

“It might not be pride or fear of dependency that makes him refuse her help,” Katlyn said, regarding both of us with slight exasperation. Before I could ask what she meant, she rose, kissed her son, and bade us all good night. She held out her hand to Dragon, who went with her, yawning like a cat. She neglected to look back at me with especial dislike, and I felt unexpectedly cheered. Perhaps this trip would at least lessen her dislike of me, even if it did not restore her memory. Maybe I had made a mistake in trying to make her remember our friendship and all along ought to have been trying to form a new one.

Brydda rose to get more wood for the fire, and Louis and Zarak packed up the meal and carried away the dishes to wash them in a bucket of water drawn from the well. I stayed where I was, for Maruman had crept into my lap during the meal and had fallen asleep. I did not want to disturb him, because he had been unusually subdued all day, either sleeping or simply gazing at the passing world from Kella’s lap or my shoulder, offering few of his usual acerbic asides. And he had not even once glared at the moon, now glowing overhead. I looked up at it, as yellow and ripe as a wheel of cheese, and thought again of the premonition I had experienced earlier that night.

“I
HAVE SOME
Sadorian choca,” Brydda said, jolting me from my reverie as he dropped an armful of wood beside the fire. “Would you like a mug before you go to bed?”

“Is the sky wide?” I asked dryly.

Brydda threw back his head and laughed. He knew as well as I that the delicious, sweet brown powder was both scarce and violently expensive now that Sadorian ships no longer docked at Sutrium. The Sadorian tribal leaders had ruled that neither of the two precious remaining greatships would make port at the Land until Salamander ceased preying on ships that sailed into Sutrium. Their policy of nonaggression meant that they would not engage Salamander’s notorious
Black Ship
in battle unless he attacked Sador, and as far as I knew, he had never even landed there. This meant that choca and other Sadorian luxuries had to be transported by the difficult coastal route or carried by smaller vessels daring or greedy enough to brave the hidden shoals close to shore, where Salamander’s larger vessel could not venture.

Brewing the choca carefully, Brydda explained that it had been a gift to him from Bruna, Jakoby’s headstrong daughter.

“Has she returned to the Land on horseback, then?” I asked with some surprise.

Brydda shot me an enigmatic look. “She never left. After the destruction of the
Zephyr
, when Jakoby departed by land,
Bruna stayed. She has been an honored guest in Dardelan’s house ever since. Bruna’s mother sent the choca.”

Brydda handed me the fragrant brown liquid and asked if I had brought the plast suit Dardelan requested. I nodded, explaining that it was laid flat in a special compartment within the wagon’s base and that, although the plast was impervious to taint over a certain period, the fabric was nonetheless very fragile. I asked openly if Dardelan meant to use it to smuggle a spy across the Suggredoon.

Brydda looked at me like Garth had. “Dardelan had thought of asking you or another coercer to swim across the river and spy for us. We had even begun planning the diversion of all diversions, but then we learned that all soldierguards guarding the other bank wear demon bands.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Not long before the rebellion, the Herder priests had created demon bands to prevent Misfits from coercing or farseeking their wearers, but only upper-rank priests and a few Councilmen and soldierguard captains had ever worn them. “You can’t mean that
everyone
guarding the other bank has a demon band?” I asked, thinking I must have misunderstood.

“All,” Brydda repeated flatly. “You can see them when you look with a spyglass, once you know what you are looking for. Obviously, the Herders are producing and supplying them. We only knew it after Reuvan found a Port Oran man washed up on a bit of sandy shore near the mouth of the river. Some drunken soldierguards had thrown him into the sea after he had objected to their manhandling his daughter. He had drunk too much tainted water to be saved, but he told us quite a bit, about the demon bands, for instance, and that the Herders have formed an alliance with the west coast Councilmen. Of course, we guessed as much. He also said that
Salamander is working openly for the Faction, or with it. He runs three smaller ships that patrol our coastline now, as well as the
Black Ship
that regularly sails between Norseland and Herder Isle and across the strait to the west coast. Salamander openly buys any prisoners in the Councilmen’s cells, so he must have made some accommodation with them as well.”

“Did the man say anything about the rebels?”

“Only that there are no rebels left in Port Oran or any other towns close to the Suggredoon. He did say rebels are rumored to be causing havoc higher up the coast, in Aborium and Murmroth. But things are bad over there. Food is scarce in the cities, because most of their grain and vegetables came from this side of the Suggredoon, as well as ore for their smelters. There are small farm holdings all down the coast as well as in the hills about Murmroth, but their produce is limited by the land’s barrenness. The man said most people survive only by fishing, but even that is being affected by the poisons the Council spilled along the remote and unguarded portions of the coastline before our ships were burned.”

“It sounds awful,” I said, aghast.

“The man cursed us for the disaster our victory brought to the west coast, and then he begged us to invade and save his daughter,” Brydda said grimly.

I did not need to ask if the man had already died. It was in his face. “So if even a Misfit cannot slip across the Suggredoon now, why did you ask about the plast suit?”

“Because Dardelan intends it to be worn by a spy who will swim ashore on the west coast just past the river mouth. The area is unguarded, because a rocky shelf extends a long way into the water, just under the surface, making it too shallow even for a ship boat, and no one swims there because the water is tainted.”

“Whoever wears the suit will have to be very careful not to tear it on the rocks—and they will have to be a strong swimmer, because the sea around the river mouth is very wild.”