The Coming Of Wisdom (10 page)

“How did you overtake them, then?”

“The ferry, my lord.”

“There is a bend in the River,” Quili said. “A shortcut.” It was a shock to hear a new voice break in, but comforting to know that she was vouching for this so-convenient newcomer.

Garadooi nodded. “But it could not carry twelve horsemen and three packhorses.”

What baggage did sorcerers need?

“They cannot be more than an hour behind me, my lord, although I ruined a good horse.” He was young enough to brag.

“There were no other horsemen on this ferry?” Wallie asked. He would have sent a scout ahead.

The boy shook his head and bent to pick up the towel. “It docked just as I arrived, after they had gone by. Very fortunate! I paid gold to have it leave at once.” Again he glared juvenile defiance at his grandmother.

“And this back door?”

Garadooi’s eyes went to the windows and the streaming rain.

“I hope the gods have not already closed it, my lord. There is a trail across the mountains. Two days to Aus.”

“Aus?”

“A city . . . not as large as Ov, I think. I’ve never been there. I only know this end of the road. But traders use it.”

Land travel was very rare in the World, Wallie knew. A trader road was almost a miracle, and miracles would not be granted. The gods wanted great deeds done by mortals, not their own easy answers. It made sense, but it was suspiciously convenient.

A low growling noise intruded on Wallie’s racing thoughts, coming from a red-haired, white-lipped swordsman. “Flight?” Nnanji exclaimed.

“Certainly.”

“My lord brother!” He was horrified, outraged. Honor forbade flight and honor could even move Nnanji now to argue with his hero, his mentor and oath brother. “You asked me only this morning to tell you when I thought you were making a mistake . . . ”

“It is the third clue, Nnanji. I haven’t time to explain, but avoiding battle is no shame in a case like this. Trust me!”

Nnanji fell silent, paler than ever, doubting. He probably still thought that the posse idea would work. He probably would not care very much if it did not—death was preferable to dishonor. Nnanji was certainly no actor, and Wallie was beginning to suspect that he did not perceive fear at all. His was not true courage, the conquest of fear, he seemed to lack the emotion in the first place.

Wallie studied Garadooi. The boy tried to hold his gaze and failed. “You realize that if you betray me to the sorcerers, I shall kill you?”

He nodded. “I shall not betray you, my lord—but time is very short. We must leave soon!”

It could all be a trick to make Wallie spare the family home. Thondi was capable of any deception, but he found it hard to believe that this boy was.

“You are very young to be a Third, builder.”

Garadooi flushed under his mud smears. “Money, my lord! I am a flunky for my father; that is all.”

Thondi banged her cane on the floor. “And less than that when he hears of this madness!”

Her grandson turned on her. “I don’t care!” he shouted in sudden rage. “You know I never wanted to be a builder!”

“What did you want to be?” Wallie asked.

Garadooi was turning very red. “A priest, my lord. And this is one way in which I may serve Her, by helping Her swordsmen against the assassins. And I don’t care if they do disown me!”

Poor little rich boy, rebelling against his own guilt . . . if this was acting, it was magnificent. Wallie looked to his companions. “We have no time for discussion, but I want your votes. Can I trust him, yes or no? Old man?”

Honakura had long since settled into a huge, down-filled chair, being almost swallowed whole by it. “Are there fords on this trail, builder? Or bridges?”

“Both.” The boy stared in astonishment at the Nameless One. Perhaps he had not noticed him before.

“Then of course we must trust him,” Honakura said. “The rain does seem to be getting heavier, does it not?”

Superstition!

“Nnanji?”

“No! We—”

“Quili?”

The priestess studied Garadooi for a moment and then dropped her eyes. “I think so, my lord.”

“But you had never heard of this trail?”

“No, my lord.”

“The old mine road?” Garadooi said.

“Oh! Yes, I have heard of that, my lord. I did not know it went anywhere, except up into the mountains.”

“Sorcerer country?” Nnanji’s scowl faded a little.

Wallie looked back toward the fireplace. “Jja? Should I trust him?”

Jja was horrified that a slave should be asked for an opinion and be required to judge the free. Then she saw that Wallie would insist on an answer. She thought for a moment and then nodded, but it had been Quili she studied, not Garadooi. Wallie wondered why . . . 

“Very well, builder. We shall trust you. But my threat holds.”

“Thank you, my lord. How many horses?”

“Six, and a wagon.”

The lad said, “Wagon?” as Honakura snapped, “Eight!”

“You are not coming,” Wallie said. “We must number seven, remember?”

“Don’t be absurd!” Spraying spit, Honakura began to struggle out of the chair. “I am part of the mission. Seven may be increased by temporary guides—or else we do not count babies and Nameless Ones. I am coming! So is Apprentice Quili.”

“Lord Shonsu!” Garadooi said. “I would not presume to argue with you, my lord, but horses alone will be much faster than a wagon. The track may not be passable even for them. A wagon . . . ”

“If traders use the road, then it must be capable of taking wagons. We need supplies—food, bedding, axes, ropes, chains—and loading a wagon is much faster than loading horses. Anyway, there will be no pursuit. Lady Thondi will advise the sorcerers that we nave left by boat. Is that not so, my lady?”

She bared her yellow fangs again. “I wonder why I should lift a hand to save such a fool. He was right—his father will disown him.”

“But you will divert the sorcerers, just in case he does not.”

Bowing her head over the jewel-encrusted hands on the cane, Thondi whispered, “If you will spare my home.” It was a touching note. She must have been a most dramatic performer in her dancing career, even if some of her rank had been acquired by bribery, like her grandson’s.

“I shall accompany you also, my lord.” That was Quili, sounding quiet but determined.

“That will not be necessary. You have already been more than helpful.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I must not be here.”

The sorcerers would question her. If she refused to answer they would know that the story they had been given was false—Honakura had seen that already. And if the wagon could not get through, then she could bring it back with Cowie and the old man, while the others proceeded on horseback.

“Very well. We’ll try it with eight. Are there that many horses available?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then we must go.” He looked to the defeated Lady Thondi. “And you will now send a messenger to meet the sorcerers, to say that we have departed the way we came.” That would not likely stop them coming to the manor, but it might make them slow down to spare their mounts. “You will divert any pursuit, or I swear that I shall kill your grandson.” Wallie could never be ruthless enough to kill a hostage, but formal oaths required drawing his sword and using a ritual formula, so he was not quite committing perjury.

She nodded morosely. “I shall do all I can.”

Just for an instant . . . Damn!

Wallie had missed a bet. He had been concentrating on the old woman, ignoring the two companions who still stood behind her. They were not so skilled at dissimulation, and he had caught a vanishing trace of . . . something . . . on the face of the pretty Second. Now it was gone, leaving him with a nagging certainty that he had overlooked . . . something.

†††††††

The stable was a long building, barrel-vaulted and gloomy like a tunnel, both musty and acrid with horse smell. For the first time since stepping off the ferry, Wallie found himself in a crowd—forty or fifty male slaves of various ages. Whatever the manor’s free servants were doing, wherever they had taken refuge, they were obviously not uprooting gorse bushes—not when the slaves were sitting idle in the warm shelter of the stable, enjoying a holiday. They clustered eagerly around to greet Quili and Garadooi, largely ignoring the swordsmen.

In the interests of haste and mobility, Quili’s two-wheel cart would suffice instead of a wagon, and all that was needed was to load it and acquire additional horses. Wallie Smith’s equestrian experience had been limited to a few childhood riding lessons, and either Shonsu had avoided horses completely, or his knowledge had not been passed along. Nor had Wallie ever organized a pack trip, although his work with fatherless boys on a certain other planet had given him a fair knowledge of camping.

But young Garadooi seemed to know what was needed and was eager to display his competence. He began shouting orders as soon as the cart rattled in through the big doorway and came to a shuddering halt on the cobbled floor. Wallie stepped back into the shadows and let him take charge, insisting only that axes and chains and ropes be included. He knew what Honakura had in mind; more and more the old man’s priestly superstitions seemed to be working out as effective predictions of the ways of gods.

“Hunting, my lord,” Garadooi explained proudly at a momentary pause in the confusion. “That’s how I know about the trail, too—the men used to take me with them in the fall, when they went hunting.”

Those would be free men, of course, yet obviously young Garadooi was friendly with the slaves, also. The younger men, especially, greeted him as a too-long-absent buddy, and he responded in the same fashion—inquiring after this one’s health, kidding about that one’s love life, promising to investigate complaints. In return they swarmed to help. They ran to fetch the things he wanted and worked with a haste and efficiency quite foreign to slave labor. Wallie’s estimation of the poor little rich boy rose by several notches.

Nnanji, also, was now caught up in the excitement of action, yet still not convinced that flight was permissible behavior. “Explain this third clue, my lord brother?”

“I told you—I tried to enlist a half-dozen or so swordsmen. Most Sevenths would have at least that many, wouldn’t they?”

“More!”

“And therefore they would stay and fight. I was blocked, Nnanji. I have no army, although my sword needs guarding. It means that I am not supposed to fight. We were brought here to learn, that’s all.”

“But . . . ” Nnanji wrinkled his snub nose. “But when do we fight, then?”

“After we get to Aus. Then we enlist an army. Then we come back!” Maybe.

“Ah!”

“And we are going through the mountains, so we may see some sorcerers yet.”

Better still. Reassured, Nnanji grinned and unconsciously tested that his sword moved easily in its scabbard.

The previous day the adventurers had escaped from the temple on mules—but the mules had been strung nose to tail. “How are you on a horse?”

The grin melted away. Nnanji confessed that he’d only been on a horse twice. As a First he’d been taken to see the guard post at the jetty, riding there and back. When a mount was produced for him and he clambered aboard, his inexperience was obvious. His long legs hung down like bell ropes, and the horse flattened its ears in contempt. The slaves turned away to hide smirks.

Katanji, displaying his usual ability to astonish, scrambled into the saddle with much greater confidence and ability. The animal was frisky, but he soothed it and brought it under control. Then he smiled down in fake modesty at Wallie and explained that he had helped out muleskinners a time or two.

Wallie wished that he could do as well. The furry, big-nosed steeds were long bodied but low slung. He was assigned the largest available, an ancient and docile cart horse, but he knew he must look as absurd as Nnanji. The saddle was not big enough for him, the stirrup had not yet been invented in the World, and his feet almost touched the ground. Wet kilts were poor riding garb. Moreover, he was still sore from the previous day’s mule trip—the coming journey would not be a pleasant experience.

Then they were off, and the rain was certainly growing heavier. Quili drove the cart, loaded with supplies and passengers. Spare horses trailed behind it on tethers, while the swordsmen and Garadooi brought up the rear. At first their way wandered across fields and through orchards, heading inland and uphill. The traders’ trail joined the Ov road near Pol, Garadooi explained, but he knew a shortcut to it. Hooves splattered mud and five minutes sufficed to make everyone filthy. Every tiny hollow had become a lake. Then the ascent grew steeper, and the cart slowed the party’s progress.

They should be well hidden from any observers—by the hedges, by the many little woods, and by the curtains of mist drifting across the landscape—but they were leaving an obvious trail. Wallie could only hope that the inevitable pursuit would be delayed for a while yet. Even had he trusted Thondi—and he did not—it was inconceivable that the sorcerers would not investigate further. The swordsmen’s barbaric ritual of retribution was working against him. Every free man on the estate must be in mortal fear of that, so the sorcerers would have willing allies if they cared to ask. Sooner or later they would give chase.

Again he felt the strange disorientation of jet lag. He was unsure what the time of day was, and the cloud-painted sky provided no clue. He stifled yawns, knowing that he would be much more weary before he could rest.

They had been following the main trail for some distance before he realized that they had reached it, for it was primitive and indistinct, wandering vaguely across open pasture on the hills. In such a downpour he found it hard to remember that this was an arid land, but the prickly trees stood far apart, and scattered pens of piled stones showed that the wild, unfenced moorland was good for little but raising sheep. Lonely shepherd cottages crouched in hollows, seemingly deserted as all sensible men took refuge from the weather.

Axle creaked, hooves plodded, rain fell. Signs of human life dwindled away. Gradually the country grew more hilly, rising and falling on a greater scale. Then the ridges were capped by cindery black rubble, the valleys held running water, and the going had become difficult. The rain increased, moved now by a cold, blustery wind.