The problem, of course, was that there was no sleep to be had under these conditions. His fatigue and pain were not enough to overcome the noise. He lay listening and wondering what he could do to help himself. He thought again about escape. They were traveling slowly with the wagon and mules, but they were only three or four days out of Dechtera and once there he was finished. He had heard of the slave mines, worked principally by Dwarves. Morgan had described the mines after learning of them from Steff. They were used as a dumping ground for Dwarves who antagonized the Federation occupiers and most particularly for those captured in the Resistance. The Dwarves sent to the mines never returned. No one ever returned. Morgan had heard rumors of Southlanders being sent to work the mines, but until now Coll had never believed it could be so.
He stared at the cracked and splintered wallboards. It seemed he was destined to learn a lot of truths the hard way.
He took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly, wearily. Time was running out and luck had long since disappeared. He was in better shape than he had a right to be, his training at Southwatch with Ulfkingroh having seen him through the worst. But that was of little consolation now, trussed up the way he was. He saw no hope of gaining release from his chains without a key. He had tried to pick the locks, but they were heavy and strong. He had tried to persuade his captors to take them off so he could walk around, but they had just laughed. His plan to rescue Par from Rimmer Dall and the Shadowen was a dim memory. He was as far from that as he was from his home in Shady Vale, and he was so far from there that he sensed he was almost beyond the point of return.
One of the men kicked over a chair, stood up, and walked from the room. Coll risked a quick look out from his coverings. The Sword of Shannara lay on the table. They were gambling for it, or for one another’s shares in it. The three still at the table snarled something ugly after the one leaving but did not look away from each other.
Coll turned back to the wall again and closed his eyes. It didn’t help that these men had no idea of the Sword’s real value. It didn’t help that only he could use the magic and that so much might depend on his doing so. At this point, he thought in despair, nothing short of a miracle would help.
He knotted his hands together beneath the blanket and descended into a black place.
What am I going to do?
“Is it him?”
Moonlight reflected off Matty Roh’s smooth face, giving it a ghostly look beneath the short-cropped black hair. Damson drank from the water skin she offered and glanced back the way she had come, half thinking she might have been followed. But the night was still and the land empty and frozen beneath the stars.
“Is it?” Matty repeated, anxious, persistent.
Damson nodded. “It has to be. He was huddled in the back of the room under a blanket and I couldn’t see his face, but it doesn’t matter. The Sword of Shannara was lying on the table, and there’s no mistaking it. It’s him, all right. They’ve got him chained up. They’re slavers, Matty. I looked in the wagon on my way back and it was full of shackles and chains.” She paused, uneasiness darting across her face. “I don’t know how he stumbled onto them or how he let them capture him, but it shouldn’t have happened. The magic of the wishsong should have been more than a match for men like these. I don’t understand it. Something’s wrong.”
Matty said nothing, waiting.
Damson handed back the water skin and sighed. “I wish I could have seen his face. He looked up once, just for a moment, but it was too dark to see clearly.” She shook her head. “Slavers—there won’t be any reasoning with them.”
Matty shifted her feet. “Reasoning isn’t something men like this understand. We’re women. If given half a chance, they’d seize us, use us for their own pleasure, and then cut our throats. Or if we were really unlucky, they’d sell us along with the Valeman.” She looked out at the night. “How many did you count?”
“Five. Four inside, one standing watch. They’re drinking and throwing dice and fighting among themselves.” She paused hopefully. “When they sleep, we might be able to slip past them and free Par.”
Matty gave her a steady look. “That would be chancy in the dark. We wouldn’t be able to tell them from us if it came to a fight. And if the Valeman is chained to the wall, it would take too much time and make too much noise to try to free him. Besides, they might be up all night the way things are going. There isn’t any way to know.”
“We could wait a bit. A day or two if we must. There will be a chance sooner or later.”
Matty shook her head. “We don’t have the time. We don’t know how long it will be until they get to where they’re going. There may be more of them ahead. No. We have to do it now. Tonight.”
Now it was Damson’s turn to stare. “Tonight,” she repeated. “How?”
“How do you think? If they’ve found a way to capture the Valeman in spite of his magic, they’re too dangerous to fool around with.” Matty Roh seemed to be measuring her. “If we’re quick, they’ll be dead before they know what happened. Can you do it?”
Damson took a deep breath. “Can you?”
“Just follow me in and stay behind me. Watch my back. Remember how many there are. Don’t lose count. If I go down, get out of there.” She straightened. “Are you ready?”
“Now?”
“The quicker we start, the quicker we finish.”
Damson nodded without speaking, feeling distanced from what was happening, as if sue were watching it from some other vantage point. “I only have a hunting knife.”
“Use whatever you have. Just remember what I said.”
The tall girl dropped her cloak and reached down into her gear for the slender fighting sword and strapped it over her back, wearing it the same way Morgan Leah wore his. She fastened a brace of throwing knives to her waist and slipped a broad-bladed hunting knife down into her boot. Damson watched and did not speak. Two against five, she was thinking. But the odds were greater than that. These men were seasoned fighters, cutthroats who would kill them without a second thought. What are we to them? she wondered, and decided it was a stupid question.
They moved off into the night, slipping across the grasslands like ghosts, Damson leading Matty back the same way she had gone earlier, watching the light from the oil lamps hung within the cabin grow brighter as they neared. The voices of the men reached out to greet them, coarse and raucous. Damson could no longer see the glow of the pipe on the porch steps, but that didn’t mean the sentry wasn’t still there. They moved north of the cabin into the trees and came up from behind, flattening themselves against the rough board wall. Inside, the sounds of gambling and drinking continued.
They peered around the south side of the cabin toward the front. There was no sign of the sentry. With Matty leading now, her sword drawn and held before her, they eased up to the window and took a quick look inside. The scene was unchanged. The prisoner was still wrapped in his blanket and lying on the floor at the rear of the cabin. Four of the men still sat at the table. Damson and Matty exchanged a quick glance, then started toward the front. They reached the corner and looked onto the sagging porch.