The Spacetime Pool (8 page)

Halfway over, one of
the boards snapped.

Janelle flailed,
dropping the lamp, and it plummeted into the well. As she fell to her knees on
the remaining board, darkness closed around her. A splash took away the last
hint of light.

“Lady Janelle?” Her
guard’s voice was rough with concern.

“Here.” In a louder
voice, she said, “I’m here.”

“Blessed Almighty!
Are you all right?”

“Almost.” She inched
forward on her hands and knees. “I’m not to the other side yet.”

“You can make it.” He
sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

From your lips to
God’s ear.
She moved another inch and
her knuckles hit the jagged, broken edge of the path. Even as relief surged
over her, the remaining board creaked. In the same instant that she threw
herself forward, the board snapped and dropped out from under her. Her torso
landed flat on the path, but her legs hung into the fissure. She scrabbled at
the ground, frantic as rocks fragmented under her and clattered away.

With a heave, Janelle
hauled herself onto the path and sprawled on her stomach. She groaned as the
girdle jabbed her skin.

“Lady!” the guard
called.

“I’m here.” The pound
of her heart felt like storm waves. “The boards fell. You’ll have to stay
there.”

“Ah.” He sounded
subdued. “You must go on alone, then.”

She stood up slowly and
swayed, dizzy. When her head cleared, she said, “Will you tell me your name?”
She didn’t want to leave without even knowing his identity.

“I am Kadar.” He
paused. “If I do not see you again—I would like to say—” He stopped.

“Yes?” Janelle asked.

“We have heard how
you were pulled into our land,” he said. “Given all that has happened, you
could have hated us and denied our prince. Instead, you treat us with grace. I
am just a soldier. I have no great knowledge of other places. But it seems to
me that you are a gift to His Highness.”

Good Lord. Janelle
had thought she mostly stepped on people’s toes. She could have done better if
she hadn’t been so bewildered. But she hadn’t thought in terms of hostility.
She valued the chance to learn other cultures. Her parents had left her with
the treasured memory of how they honored the depth and range of the world’s
peoples. It didn’t make her willing to tolerate mistreatment; she had a temper
and had always reacted strongly against cruelty or injustice. But according to
their ways, Dominick and his people had treated her well.

She spoke quietly. “Thank
you, Kadar.”

He became all
business then, describing the tunnels ahead. Then he said, “The prince has a
hunting lodge in the forest. The last passage will let you out near there. I’ll
meet you at the lodge.”

She rubbed the goose
bumps on her arms. “Don’t you get killed.”

His voice lightened. “I
shall endeavor not to. Farewell for now.”

“Good-bye.” Janelle
set off, keeping her right palm on the wall for guidance. No light softened the
darkness; she couldn’t even see her other hand in front of her face. She went
with care, probing each step with her foot before she put down her weight, lest
she stumble into another chasm. But she didn’t dare take too long; she had no
idea who else knew about these tunnels or would discover them.

Her palm hit stone. A
dead end. Alarm surged through her, but she pushed it down and searched the
surface. She did indeed find tiles, as Kadar had described, and she pushed them
in the sequence he had given her. When she leaned into the wall, it slid inward
with a creaking protest and swung aside. She ventured into the suffocating
darkness.

It felt as if she
walked for hours. Then she noticed a change; the air had warmed. A scent of
pine wafted around her, a welcome change from the stench of musty stone. Even
more encouraging, she could see her hand. Up ahead, light sifted through a
crevice shaded by fir trees. She was free!

Voices drifted to her
from outside.

Janelle stopped and
swore silently. The speakers were in front of the opening. She could decipher
enough to determine they were sentries for the raiders. Demoralized, she
quietly retreated back along the tunnel.

Boots clanked at the
exit.

Damn! That had to be
the sentries. It was all she could do to keep from running and start her
wretched clothes jangling.

After an eon, she
reached the place where she had opened the secret door. The sentries were
closer. A man swore and another laughed. She slipped past the door, then
grabbed its edges and pulled hard. It swung closed with a screech of stone on
stone. She barely managed to snatch away her hands before it crashed into
place.

A shout came from the
other side, muffled by the stone. Then a heavy object slammed the door.

Janelle stumbled
forward, raising her hands in the dark. If she retraced her steps, she would
end up trapped at the fissure. Kadar had said another path led off from this
junction; a true dead end would make the secret entrance too obvious. And
indeed, she found a passage that slanted sharply to the right. She followed it,
wanting to run but afraid to take the risk. Darkness weighed on her, smothering
and dank. She imagined specters at every step, terrors crouched low or clinging
to the walls, waiting for her to dislodge them.

Wings brushed her
face, and furry bodies. Janelle pressed her fist against her mouth to stop her
scream. Then she sagged against the wall and folded her arms across her body
while she shook.

Bats. It’s only
bats.
She stretched out her arms and
forced herself to go on. Distant crashes rumbled as the sentries beat at the
door. No way back existed, only forward into the dark.

Suddenly her palms
hit wood: another dead end. She searched the wall, sliding her hands
frantically over the rough, splintered surface. Nothing.
Nothing.

Then she found it, a
latch up high. She had to stand on her toes to reach it. As her fingertips
scraped several gears, a tiny window creaked open. She peered out—and gratitude
flooded over her. The Fourier Hall lay beyond the door.

With light filtering
in the window, she managed a better search and found the aged gears that locked
the door. They crumbled under her touch, as did the lock. She inched the door
open and slipped out into the hall of arches. Walking softly through the forest
of pillars, she headed for the palace entry. The great double doors were open,
revealing an overcast day outside. Freedom.

Hooves clattered
behind her.

Janelle whirled
around—and barely ducked in time to evade a bareheaded rider leaning down in
his saddle to grab her. His biaquine pounded past her under the tall arches.

Janelle sprinted for
the entrance, and the rider came around in front of her. As he reined in his
mount, it sidestepped toward her. She fled the other way, back through the
arches, and tiles shattered behind her as the man pursued. When she swerved
into another row of arches, a splintering crack sounded, followed by an oath.
Glancing back, she saw an arch collapsing around the rider as his biaquine
tried to turn in too confined an area. She kept running.

More shouts rang
through the air, and hooves pounded the floor. Riders were pouring into the
hall from deeper within the palace and thundering down the columned aisles.

“No!” Janelle skidded
to a stop as they came toward her. She reversed direction, but the outlaw
chasing her blocked her escape. Desperate, she swung around—to face a second
biaquine. It snorted in the confined area, looming above her, its breath hot
against her face. Stumbling back, she looked up—and up. She couldn’t see the
eyes and nose of the man who sat astride the animal; a cougar helmet hid his
upper face. But she saw his mouth. The bastard was
laughing.
He urged
his mount closer, backing Janelle up against the biaquine of the bareheaded
raider behind her.

Chaos filled the
hall. Someone screamed, a cry of terror that abruptly broke off. An outlaw
goaded his biaquine to rear and its forelegs pawed the air, smashing a pillar
and raining broken tiles over the floor. Farther down the hall, another pillar
fell in a cloud of dust, and the battle boiled over its remains. The raiders
were deliberately ruining the hall, and Janelle could have wept for the
destruction of such beauty.

The two outlaws caged
her between their mounts. Laughing, the bareheaded man planted his boot between
her shoulder blades and shoved her hard into the helmeted man’s animal.

“Asshole!” she
yelled. The helmeted man grabbed for her, and she socked his arm. Behind her,
the other outlaw grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled back her head until
she was looking up at him. Exhilaration flushed his face. His yell rang through
the clamor, and she thought either he was mad with battle lust or just plain
crazy.

Janelle twisted free,
but the effort sent her lurching into the other biaquine. It danced to the side
and reared, rising far, far too high. Its hooves smashed a column, showering
debris. Gasping, shielding her head, she staggered back, too terrified by the
enraged animal even to cry out. As it came down, it knocked her over, and she
fell to the floor, landing hard on her hands and knees. When it reared again, a
scream wrenched out of Janelle.

Scrambling to her
feet, she dodged the frenzied animal. The bareheaded outlaw grabbed her, and
this time she didn’t fight when he hefted her upward. Better to be caught up
there than trampled down here. His saddle was narrow enough that he could throw
her stomach-down in front of it, her legs hanging down one side of his biaquine
and her torso on the other, with the edge of the saddle jutting into her side.
He pulled up her skirt and slapped her behind, and she cussed loudly at him. He
didn’t try to hold her down, though, and she managed to struggle up until she
was astride the animal. She nearly fell in the process, but she kept her seat
by clinging to the biaquine.

Calls rang through the
mayhem, and dust clogged Janelle’s nose. The raider kept one arm around her,
clenching his reins while he snapped a whip against his mount’s flank. She
recognized Dominick’s men among the warriors. The outlaws far outnumbered them,
and most were no longer fighting, they were trashing the incomparable Fourier
Hall.

Then she saw
Dominick.

Towering in leather
armor, he rode a massive dark animal. He held his sword high, his face harsh
with rage. When he shouted, the marauders surged away from him, toward the
palace entrance. The first wave reached the entry and flooded out, and Janelle’s
captor galloped after them.

In the courtyard
outside, the clamor lessened, muted by the open space. Almost no one remained
to oppose the invaders. Ahead of them, two men on biaquines were forcing along
a limping warrior. With a jolt, Janelle recognized the injured man as one of
her guards from this morning. His sword arm hung useless at his side, and blood
pumped from a wound in his shoulder.

One of the outlaws
raised his sword above the bleeding man. In horrified disbelief, Janelle saw
the blade descend, flashing in the chill sunlight. She jerked around so she
couldn’t see, but nothing could shut out the thud of impact or the hideous
gurgle that followed.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.
She prayed it had happened fast enough to spare him pain. She thought of Kadar
and her skin felt clammy. Nausea surged over her.

Her captor galloped
with the other men across earthen courtyards toward the huge wall that should
have protected the palace. Yells broke out behind them. Looking around, Janelle
saw a party of ten men on biaquines racing toward their group.

The outlaws reined in
their mounts with sprays of dirt and wheeled to face the palace. The sight
chilled her; several hundred raiders confronted the small party of defenders.
They would massacre ten adversaries.