Lhind the Thief (19 page)

Then I looked again at the image the woman had sent.

Faryana was small, wearing a draped cloth over her smooth
dark blue fur. Her hair flowed around her head like water, sweeping down her
back into a long midnight blue tail. Her eyes were a dark blue, same color as
her hair.

She was a Hrethan—but she was different from me.

My breeze faded and I made another. Warmth spread from the
stone swinging against my breastbone, and I glanced down into a fierce blue
light.

Cautiously opening the mental barrier again, Faryana’s
thought flowed in, hurt and confused.
You
do not trust the Hrethan?
she thought sadly.
I promise you I will not harm you.

No, it’s not that.
It’s just that I, ah, feel safer keeping my secrets. How did you get into that
stone?
I asked.

I was trapped by a
young sorcerer named Geric Lendan,
came the answer.
I was newly appointed guardian of a Protection, which he tried to take
from me. When I circumvented him by hiding it he tricked me with lies and
forced me into this shape until such time as I release the Protection into his
control.

That’s nasty,
I
replied.
So you’ve also tangled with that
yellow-haired swamp-fouler! But how did your necklace get into that
pickle-faced Kressanthe’s keeping? Don’t tell me she pinched it?
I smothered a
laugh at the thought of that princess turning thief.

Geric wore these
stones for a time, to gloat and to weaken my resolve. When he tired of that, he
gave me into the keeping of this princess you mentioned, knowing that the
constant barrage of her ill-natured, angry and greedy emotions would also work
against me.

Now I understood Geric’s command to that soldier concerning
me and whatever I carried.

So you’re the guardian
of something important, eh?
I asked.
How
can we get you out?

Geric has the key to
the enchantment binding me.

A real key? Or—

It is a figurative
image only. You can bind together the spells that form an enchantment with
anything: words, or an object, or even a time that is to come.

I plunged my fingers into my sash, and plucked out the
bone-whistle. Holding it up against the stone, I thought:
Is it this thing?

I do not know.
Her
distress was clear.
But I sense great
power and greater danger in whatever object you brought near. It has touched my
prison much in recent time, causing me terrible dreams.

I thought of the necklace and whistle rattling among my
stash since I left Rajanas’s palace, but I didn’t want to tell her—yet— that
she’d been nipped by a thief.

So you dream when you
aren’t worn?
I asked instead, as I slipped the whistle back into my sash.

I do.

“This looks like a good cave,” Kee’s voice broke into my
conversation. “Darkness is falling, so we cannot go farther. I must admit I
mislike the way the rain comes and goes so suddenly. It’s very uncanny.”

I looked around. Our trail had led us downward into a valley
between two rocky hills. All around us scrubby trees and bushes grew, the trees
all too narrow to afford much in the way of shelter.

Kee urged her pony under a rocky overhang carved by an
ancient river. Now only a run-off stream burbled and raced down one side of the
cliff and away. Kee dismounted. I followed.

For a time no one spoke as we cared for the ponies, Kee
demonstrating and me copying whatever she did. When they were as comfortable as
we could make them, drinking thirstily from the stream, we felt our way farther
into the cave.

It wasn’t very deep, just round, with layers of stone carved
over the centuries by rushing water. Here on the dry rocky ground we found the
remains of an old campfire, and some dry brush stacked. Kee had brought a
sparker, so we soon had a small fire going. Kee changed her tunic and spread
her wet one over a boulder to dry, then she crouched over the fire for warmth,
closing her eyes against the acrid smoke rising from the brush.

I knew I’d be dry enough by morning, and the air was not
really cold. It was I who brought out the flatbread and cheese we’d been given,
sharing it out equally. Kee ate hers in silence, then she curled up in the
wrinkled cloak she’d stuffed in her pack, and her breathing deepened into sleep.

Eating did not tire me. Quite the opposite. When I finished
my share of the food, I felt restless. The steady rain discouraged me from
going out and exploring. Finally I decided to examine my stash more closely.

First I took the necklace off. When I laid it aside, the
stones faded to cold, glassy dullness, and the little blue light was gone.

Then I took the bone whistle from my sash, and turned it
over and over in my hands. It was a pale, grayish white, very thin, about as
long as my shortest finger. A bird bone? Or the bone of another creature
carefully hollowed?

The idea disturbed me, even though I knew the creature whose
bone it was no longer felt the lack. What kind of magic required a portion of a
once-living being?

Dark arts.
I
remembered Hlanan using this term several times. Could these arts be any worse
than the “justices” of Thesreve burning people who had done little bits of
magic, whatever the kind?

I looked at the bone, studying the odd marks scratched into
it and trying to make sense of my instinctive revulsion and wariness. I’d
finally left the wolves because of the piles of fresh bones that regularly
appeared outside our cave after the wolves went on a run; it was entirely a
natural thing for them, but it never was for me.

So what was the purpose of this bone whistle?

I put it to my lips and blew lightly through it. The wind it
made was an unmusical whisper, a soft hiss like dead leaves on ice. It was not
a loud sound, but on the other side of the campfire Kee stirred, murmured
fretfully, then sank back into sleep.

Nothing else happened.

So I put it up to my forehead—

And a voice said inside my head,
Lendan? Why have you disturbed me?

I yanked the whistle away. Another prisoner in a magical
object? I looked down at the whistle in surprise. Well, why not pursue this?
Good or bad though they might be, I could hardly be harmed by somebody in a
whistle. So I touched it to my forehead again, and the voice came:
You are not Lendan.

Did Geric stick you in
an enchantment, too?
I responded.

For a moment I heard nothing. The silence was strange, a
blank wall. Then the voice was back.
Who are
you?
Its tone was curious, and amused. Very different from Faryana.

Who are YOU?
I returned.
Besides
a prisoner in a whistle.

A sorcerer,
came
the answer. This time the amusement was more pronounced.
I take it you are one as well.

Maybe
, I thought,
enjoying the sense of challenge this voice caused.
One thing I will tell you, I pinched you away from G—

Before I could finish thinking Geric’s name, a stab of pain
lanced into my head. My inner eyelid shut down hard and I could neither think words
at the voice nor hear it thinking to me.

Once again I yanked the whistle away, rubbing my fingers
against my head. What was
that?
Nothing had changed in our cave. The rain poured steadily, Kee slept on, and
nothing had dropped on me or leaped out in threat.

I put the whistle back to my head.
If that trick was you, it wasn’t funny. I’ll throw you away and not
free you if you try it again.

It was just a small
identity spell,
came the prompt reply, in a respectful tone.
I won’t attempt it again since you are
capable of warding.

The shift in tone warmed me considerably. Before I’d sensed
that—despite being a prisoner—the person in the whistle had been laughing at
me. There was no laughter now.

You wouldn’t tell me
who you are,
it explained.

I’m Lhind
, I
replied.
And that’s all you need to know
right now—except I don’t mean you any harm. I’m not a conceited, cheating
swanker like that Geric. So who are you?

After the slightest pause, the voice replied:
Jardis Dhes-Andis
.

Hoo! I thought.

That is,
if
this
person is telling the truth.

How’d he get you into
a whistle?
I asked.
I thought you
were supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer-king around these days.

Very distinct amusement permeated the answer:
I will tell you when we meet.

So you want me to get
you out?
I asked.

I don’t think you can
reach me,
was the reply.
You don’t
have enough skill.

I was about to slam back a fairly hot reply when the voice
added thoughtfully,
But perhaps I could
teach you. After all, you are handling this method of discourse with admirable
ease, and I understand it is difficult for most people. It certainly was for
young Lendan.

I chortled.
Well, I do
know a few tricks, and nobody taught me those. So maybe I’m not as unskilled as
you think.

Perhaps,
came a
gratifyingly surprised reaction.
What can
you do?

I was just about to launch into a description when a belated
sense of prudence stopped me. I studied the whistle in the reddish light of the
flames. It wasn’t that the voice—Dhes-Andis or not—had scared me. I’d scared
myself. Until recently, I’d exerted my strength and wits toward keeping my
secrets hidden. Then Hlanan exposed them, catching me in a trap that I should
have been on the watch for. I’d relaxed my usual vigilance because I’d come to
trust him.

Now here I was, all ready to give everything away, and this
time there was no trap and certainly no trust, except the sort of trust one
gives to the boundaries when someone, enemy—or not—is caged. I’d been ready to
give all my secrets away just to show off, to wipe out the laughter that seemed
to be aimed not at the situation, but at
me
.

Did I really have the mighty and feared emperor of Sveran
Djur, a land more terrible even than Shinja (which paid him tribute), in this
whistle?

On impulse, I put it back to my head.
How do I know you are really Dhes-Andis?

You don’t,
came
the reply.
When you have need of greater
skill, come to me.

And then I sensed that black wall again. The person—I may as
well use the name Dhes-Andis—had used his own inner eyelid, and had shut
me
out.

I dropped the whistle into my sash and reached for the
necklace. I clasped it around my neck, made a shimmer, and when I saw the faint
blue glow within the big stone, I thought:
Faryana?

I am here, Lhind.
Her ‘voice’ was cool and silvery and seemed tiny compared to the sense of vastness
that had come from the person in the whistle.

What would you say if
I told you that I’ve got Dhes-Andis imprisoned in that other object I showed
you before?

Distress flowed from her mind.
Do not use it! Do not even communicate with it!

It might not even be
him,
I scoffed.
I’ve pretended to be
all kinds of people, and I’ve sure seen plenty of fakes.

Anyone who would even
make such a claim is too dangerous to be treated with, except by a member of
the Council. You MUST surrender that object to a magician, as soon as possible—

Annoyed, I shut my inner eyelid, finding this easier to do
each time I tried it. Then I yanked the necklace off and stuffed it into my
sash. At least whoever was in the whistle had not yelled a lot of unasked-for
commands at me. Faryana was a mite bossy for someone who’d gotten herself
popped into a stone.

Arranging the objects carefully inside my clothing, I made
sure they didn’t touch, nor did they show. I set my sash on a rock for binding
round my hair come morning, and resettled the rest of my take in my clothes.
Even though Kuraf had given me that fine pack, old habit made me more
comfortable hiding the take in my clothes.

Then I settled down to rest.

o0o

“That’s the harbor,” Kee said late the next afternoon.

We’d ridden steadily all day, making our way downhill
through gentler hills. Our westward path took us in and out of great patches of
forest. Kee had her hand on her knife hilt, her eyes scanning continuously,
though no one disturbed us.

We stayed well off the main roads. Kee led us cross-country,
and when we heard the sounds of anyone coming, we concealed ourselves behind
trees or shrubs until they passed.

At length we sat aside our tired ponies atop a small rise,
looking westward at a great bowl carved out of the coast. Fara Harbor was busy
with a forest of masts, dotted here and there with many-colored sails as ships
moved in and out.

“I think we should spend the night up here and ride in
tomorrow,” she said. “We will not sleep undisturbed anywhere near that place.”

I didn’t tell her that I could sleep in peace anywhere, once
I’d found a secure hole. It was not the time to remind her that I was a thief
well accustomed to crowded, sometimes villainous surroundings. I said only, “I
hope Tir will be able to find us.”

I needn’t have worried.

We sheltered for the night under a close-growing shrub, and
when we crawled out early the next morning, the aidlar was sitting on a mossy
boulder nearby, preening itself.

As I looked at the bird I had a fleeting memory of a white
shape drifting, questing, through my dreams. Was that how Tir had found me? The
answer caused a sense of disquiet. Until this adventure I’d always felt
securely locked inside my own head, but for the first time, that was no longer
true. If a bird could locate someone this way, might not a human be able to? A
human who the someone might not want to be located by?
I shall have to practice closing that inner eyelid before I go to sleep
at night, and see if it works.