Five leaps, six. Ram expected to feel the momentum reverse and know they would plunge down. He willed Fawdref upward, made himself as a feather on Fawdref’s back, weightless . . .
And at last Fawdref stood on the crest of solid rock.
Ram loosed his arms from the shaggy neck, felt his feet strike the ground. He turned to look at Skeelie. She slipped down off Rhymannie’s back and grinned at him.
They were on a thin, long ridge that ran through space to join a mountain and fell away on both sides to the valleys below. Mountain peaks lay below them like a carpet, fading into the far horizons. And beyond the first mountain they faced, rose a second: taller and very thin; symmetrical as a tower. Tala-charen. There was no mistaking it. It thrust above the mountain ranges and into the sky like a castle meant to rule clouds, meant to be approached only on the winds. And those winds bit at them with icy fingers as they began to cross along the crest of the ridge.
But the ground was warm, and ahead of them steam rose through cracks in the stone, and there was a red glow over the cracked ground and tongues of flame licked out. The other wolves had scaled the cliff and now began to slip past Fawdref light-footed, to go on up the ridge toward the first peak as if they wanted to get quickly away from the burning stone.
*
The scows pulled into Farr’s shore, HarThass swearing roundly at the ineptness of apprentice Seers who were no more help to him than a clutch of hens. To let the gantroed go sluggish as a garden worm, unable to climb to the ledge in time to turn the children back. When his horse was brought, he snatched at the reins with such violence that the animal reared and plunged away and had to be caught again, sending soldiers and apprentices alike into a flurry of confusion. He mounted, jerking the creature’s mouth so it nearly unseated him. The apprentices—seething at his anger and at their own failure at such a simple thing and shamed by their master’s failure—smirked at his discomfort and looked the other way.
They rode up through Farr’s southern village scowling at the staring populace until all but the bravest stepped back inside their doors out of sight. HarThass’s angry mood did not abate until they were well on up the river Owdneet and nearly into Aybil. This was low, marshy country. The soldiers killed some ducks for supper and a large water snake. They would eat, rest for two hours, and move on as soon as the moons gave them light.
*
Tayba knew Ram was in danger. She yearned to reach out to him, was frozen with fear for him and could do nothing. She did not know what danger, only that dark powers swung and tilted around him, tried to force her to stand with them against him; to give herself to them. But she had nothing to give, would never stand against Ram, was unable to deal with this. She felt herself torn, knelt weeping and did not know why she wept; felt gentleness touch her, seduce her, felt the darkness soothe and warm her, drug her. . . .
*
Where the ridge joined the first peak, a cave led into the mountain. The children, pressing close to the wolves, entered the cave gladly after so much height and empty space around them, sighed with relief at the closeness of stone walls. Even the dim light seemed pleasant, and the protection very welcome, for it had started to rain again and that high ridge had been terrifying in the sweeping rain.
They drew deeper into the cave, and deeper. The dim light took on a red glow, dull red pulsing along the cave walls. After several turnings they came to a lake of fire, red molten rock bubbling, sending out a heat that at first was lovely, then as they drew closer made them hesitate, was so hot they wanted to turn away from it. A narrow ledge ran beside the burning lake, against the sheer wall. Beyond the lake the cave widened. They saw dark shadows move there, then disappear. “We—we had best go on,” Ram said.
“But the shadows—”
He started across, his jaw clenched. It would be worse if they stayed. “The gantroed is still behind us somewhere,” he said quietly.
*
Tayba felt the dark soothe her, caress and join with her; and gently she gave herself to it. As the children and their companions started along the path beside the burning lake, she knew only the seduction of that unknown warmth and yielded to it, let it wrest a power from her she did not know she gave, felt herself lifted and reaching out with some greater strength than her own.
Jerthon, alarmed, came into her mind quickly and directly, made her see him, stared into her eyes so that they widened. Made her see Ram then, see what she was about: and the power within her exploded outward in a violent wrenching that sent a wolf sprawling toward the burning lake; she screamed, terrified, drew back, pulled back, twisting away from the dark. Saw Jerthon’s mind and heart reach out to catch the burned wolf and lift her to safety.
She knelt breathless and sick. What had happened? She did not want to see, to face it. She pushed Jerthon away in panic; and he turned from her willingly, sick at what she had done, allowed to be done. HarThass had shaped a skill over her that appalled him.
Ram saw, in that instant when he and Skeelie together snatched at the falling wolf and felt Jerthon’s power with them—in that instant he knew Tayba’s confusion and her betrayal. He went sick at the knowledge. Not only his life and the wolves, but so much more—she jeopardized it all. He could not bear to think she would, yet it was so. She had let the dark power in, had welcomed it simply by denying her own power. And now—now, for the rest of the journey up into Tala-charen, she was likely to betray them again. Tayba—Mamen . . . He was faint with the heat of the burning lake that boiled beside their hurrying feet, was dizzy with the hot, steaming air. His anger at Tayba seemed one with the heat, he was light-headed, dizzy and sick. . . .
*
It was growing increasingly difficult for the slaves to hide their plans from HarThass as the Seer drew closer to Burgdeeth—if, indeed, he did not already know of the tunnel and the importance they placed on it. A tunnel to lie like a talisman of freedom beneath Burgdeeth. A hidden place, a place of safety for generations yet unborn. If they failed to take the town, and Venniver’s religion became a reality, it would be there always to harbor those who would escape. And if they took the town, the tunnel would become a bulwark against attack, where women and children could hide from the cruelty and maiming that a later Herebian attack could bring. A tunnel from which the vibrations of the relics of the past and the vibrations of the statue would speak out to young Seers.
HarThass would destroy it if he knew; and HarThass was far too capable of digging deep down into one’s mind, to seek out just such knowledge.
*
“You see!” EnDwyl said. “Even with all that, she botched it. She’s too unpredictable. She—”
“Those cursed apprentices botched it!” HarThass scowled at the five rigid backs riding ahead of them, then looked at EnDwyl piercingly. He did not admit his own failure. “Given a little more time, I’ll have the girl as carefully fettered as this stupid animal I ride. Meantime, they are not past the burning lake yet—wait and see what my”—he raised his voice threateningly—“what my skilled apprentices will do to them before they are past it.” He kicked his mount brutally and sent it up into the bit to bow its neck in useless effort in HarThass’s idea of spirit
EnDwyl gave him a sideways glance, then looked away across the low hills that flanked the plain. The horses were growing tired, they didn’t need HarThass’s stupid treatment. He stared at the plain, the hills, and thought that if they—when they took Burgdeeth, they would take all this land as well. His thoughts were broken suddenly as HarThass jerked his horse to a clumsy halt and sat like a dead weight in the saddle. EnDwyl reined in beside him. The other five Seers had reined up too, turned, looking disconcerted. The soldiers turned in their saddles to eye them with patient annoyance.