The Phoenix Unchained (43 page)

The Caves of Imrathalion

H 
ARRIER WAS AWAKENED early the next morning by a loud argument in the room next door, and by the time he was fully awake, he’d forgotten entirely about his dream.

THE horse-market in Ysterialpoerin was larger than the one in Sentarshadeen, bustling and filled with color and smells. They’d been to the edge of it yesterday, when they’d found long-term stabling for the mule and their horses, but the market itself was enormous and they hadn’t spent much time here. Now they were back to seek out a farrier and a place to sell the mule—and to decide what, if anything, they would want to buy in the way of new saddles and packs.

The horse-market was filled with the smell of horses, of course,
but also with the smell of grain, hay, and other feeds, of liniments and medicines, of leather and leather-dressings. Every possible item that could be used on, with, or around a horse was sold in the Ysterialpoerin horse-market, from saddles to plows to every kind of cart and carriage imaginable. Tiercel told him that farming was centralized here in the Dragon’s Tail and that was why this horse-market was larger than the last one they’d seen; Harrier told Tiercel that he didn’t care.

It seemed to Harrier that the horses came in nearly as many shapes and sizes as the carriages did. He’d seen only a small part of the Sentarshadeen horse-market, since he and Tiercel had only been looking for riding horses there, and besides, they had come too early to see the big farm-horses offered for sale.

Here, though, they were offered year-round, and they didn’t come in just one size. There were as many different size and shapes of draft-horse as there were carriages: some simply looked like giant saddle-horses, while others were as heavy-boned and ponderous as oxen.

But the variety of the draft-horses paled in comparison to that of the ponies. Ponies seemed to come in as many different varieties, bred for as many different purposes, as, well, dogs. The pack and cart and riding ponies were easy enough to recognize. Harrier had to stop and ask, though, about another breed, and was told that they were pump and winch ponies, bred to provide the power for farm machinery. They were smaller than Thunder had been, and so massively muscled they were as wide as they were tall.

“This could all be done by magic,” Tiercel said, looking at the line of stolid, patient little creatures. “Then you wouldn’t have to breed animals to do it.”

“Or by wishing,” Harrier said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “Then
nobody
would have to do it.”

IT took them most of the morning to find out where in the market mules were bought and sold, then to go back to the stabling where their animals were kept and bring their animal into the market. When they located someone who was willing to buy a mule from two students from nowhere in particular, it was already after noon.

The bargaining didn’t go well. Harrier was sure they were cheated on the price they got for the mule, especially since they ended up selling the beast for a lot less than they’d had to pay to get it back in Thunder Grass, but Harrier told himself that if they’d managed to rent a mule they would have been out the same amount of money—or more—and still not had a mule to show for it afterward, and he tried to be content with that.

Tiercel—of course—didn’t care. Harrier suspected he would have been glad to
give
the mule away just to be rid of it. Harrier had almost managed to forget how single-minded Tiercel could be once he’d settled on a course of action. Even if it was a really stupid one.

Of course Tiercel wanted to get through Pelashia’s Veil before winter set in. But a few more days in Ysterialpoerin wouldn’t matter one way or the other. And frankly, Harrier was starting to have doubts about the wisdom of Tiercel’s plan. Large doubts.

Yes, Roneida had told Tiercel to seek out the Elves because they could tell him how to control his High Mage powers (and possibly keep him from, oh,
dying
) and also because they might be able to tell them—in plain language—what Tiercel’s visions meant and what to do about them. And it was pretty clear that nobody else either would or could do that. But they’d come more than a few hundred leagues to get this far, and that had been the soft and easy part of the journey, through settled and civilized lands. Windalorianan was the edge of the world. Beyond its outskirts was nothing but wilderness—
mountain
wilderness at that, and the two of them would be heading into it right at the beginning of winter. With
monsters chasing them. It really didn’t matter if Tiercel said that these monsters didn’t want to kill him; Harrier wasn’t convinced. Tiercel always thought the best of everyone.

And even if Tiercel was right about the monsters (at least the ones like the one in the alleyway last night, and the bear, and the Red Rider), there were still the Creatures of the Dark to worry about. What if they ran into more Goblins? Or something else from before the Flowering? Or for that matter, nothing more unworldly than a starving pack of wolves?

The two of them would be dead.

Yes, going to Windalorianan—and beyond Windalorianan—was going to end up, one way or the other, with both of them dead. Harrier was pretty sure of that. And he had no idea how far past Windalorianan the Elven Lands were. No one did.

The annoying thing was that he was also pretty sure that even if he told Tiercel all of these things, Tiercel would nod, and look thoughtful, and agree that he was right. And say that he ought to turn back for Armethalieh, and Tiercel would go on without him.

And Harrier just couldn’t imagine himself doing that.

AS they were leaving the farrier’s shop—just as Harrier had suspected, the farrier could not fit their horses into his schedule any sooner than three days from now—Tiercel still jittered with nervous energy to the point that Harrier was tempted to simply knock him senseless.

“Look,” he said in desperation, “we’re here in Ysterialpoerin, there must be
something
to do—because I am
not
taking the horses and heading for Windalorianan today—so why don’t we look around and maybe visit some . . . caves?”

Abruptly he remembered his dream of the night before.

Tiercel was looking at him oddly.

“Harrier,” Tiercel said slowly, “did you dream about a cave last night?”

“No,” Harrier said promptly. “Yes,” he admitted, because Tiercel was still looking at him.

“I did too.”

TO Harrier’s great reluctance, they compared notes as they walked back toward their lodgings. Tiercel told him every detail of his dream and badgered Harrier for every detail of his that he could remember, undistracted by Harrier’s constant interruptions to buy food from various street vendors. To Harrier’s surprise and secret dismay, now that Tiercel had reminded him of it, he could remember what he’d dreamed as clearly as if it were something that had actually happened. He didn’t remember the part of his dream about coming to the cave or leaving it, but he remembered being inside it as clearly and as vividly as he could remember standing on the docks at Armethalieh on a warm spring day.

Both dreams were eerily similar.

“What do you think?” Tiercel said.

“I don’t like it,” Harrier said, around a mouthful of meat-roll. Their errands at the horse-market had eaten up so much of the day that he’d missed his midday meal, and he was determined to repair that lack.

“You always say that.”

“Then why did you ask me? It’s weird, and if it’s weird, it has to be something to do with that thing that was chasing us around the alleys last night and keeps trying to kill you.”

“I’m not sure it’s trying to kill me,” Tiercel responded instantly and predictably.

“That makes me feel
so
much better.”

“And I don’t think this has something to do with . . . that.”

“So, what? Now there are
three
weird things following us around?” Harrier demanded.

“I guess so. Because the thing that’s chasing me can’t really see you. When it was the bear and the Red Rider, it only saw me. And I don’t think it was after you in the alley at all, only me. But you had the same dream I did.” Except for the fact—as Harrier now knew—that Tiercel remembered walking up to the mouth of the cave, and walking down inside, and going beyond the cavern that Harrier remembered, to another cavern beside the underground river that Harrier had heard.

Harrier simply grunted, unimpressed at Tiercel’s attempts at logic.

“I think we ought to see if there are any caves around here and see what’s there. I think I remember reading about some. Wasn’t there a big battle in a cave near Ysterialpoerin during the War? We should go there,” Tiercel said earnestly.

“Right.”

“I’m going with you or without you, Har.”

“Well, you’re going without me, because I’m not going,” Harrier said firmly, trying to forget that going to explore caves had been his idea in the first place.

IN the end, of course, Harrier went with him, since the only alternative was staying behind and composing a letter to his family, and while he knew that was a task he’d have to perform before he left Ysterialpoerin—and really, he ought to write to Tiercel’s family as well—he’d really like to put it off for as long as he could manage. There wasn’t really anything he could think of to say. He could tell them he was fine—which was mostly true—and he could
not
tell them a lot of things that he’d seen with his own eyes and barely believed himself.