Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (16 page)

with stink.

"Come on," I said unhappily, stepping into the cave. "Let's get this over with."

The weight of rock was oppressive. I stopped dead on the threshold.

"What?" Del asked; it fell away into dimness.

I waited, saying nothing. The feeling did not go away.

Del opened her mouth, then shut it.

Behind me yawned the sky. I wanted nothing more than to spin away from the cave

and go out into the sky. To take myself from the dark. To walk on the dragon's

spine in the cold, clear air with the sun on my face. Even the Northern sun.

Still Del waited. Somewhere, so did the hounds.

I sweated. Shoved hair out of my eyes. Sucked a breath and spat, cursing myself

for the weakness.

"Do you need light?" Del asked.

I looked at her sharply, saw comprehension in her eyes. She knew. She remembered, even though she hadn't been there. She recalled the result too well.

"No," I rasped.

"All I'd have to do is sing. My jivatma will give us light."

I glanced at Boreal: thin silver promise in dimness. Light spilled into the mouth of the cavern from the day beyond, but it died too quickly to gloom. It lent the cavern an eerie insubstantiality, a sense of things unseen. The walls

were pocked with shadows.

Light would alter everything. But we couldn't afford it now. "No," I told her curtly. "Let's not offer any more magic to the hounds."

She waited a moment. "Do you really think--"

"I haven't the faintest idea." I was snappish in discomfort. "I just figure it

won't hurt anything not to take any chances."

Breath boomed in the dragon's throat. The sound was deafening as air rushed by

us toward the entrance. The roar sounded almost real, though both of us knew it

wasn't. It was nothing more than wind and smoke being blown or sucked out of the

cave into the vast freedom beyond.

"Will you be all right?" Del asked.

"Leave it alone," I snapped. I took a step toward the darkness, then came to an

abrupt halt. "It's gone."

"Gone?"

"That feeling... it's faded. A moment ago I could almost taste it, and now it's

faded away." I frowned, turning in a slow revolution. "It was here... it was here--" I stabbed a finger downward, "--filling up this place... it was like a

cistern choked with sand, spilling through all the cracks--only what I felt was

magic--" I shook my head, frowning. "Now it's all gone."

Wind whined through the cavern. With it came the stink, and the wail of a distant hound.

I shut my hand on my sword hilt and slid the blade into freedom. "To hoolies with those hounds." And led the way into darkness.

Thirteen

Down the dragon's gullet--or so Halvar might have said. The ceiling dropped, the

walls closed in, the darkness was nearly complete. Except for a sickly red glow

that crept out of the depths of the dragon to illuminate our way.

A lurid carnelian light that reminded me of new blood.

The fear, for the moment, was gone. Movement provided the opportunity to set it

aside, to think about something else. But I couldn't quite forget it. It waited

for me to remember so it could creep out again.

The throat fell away into belly; we left behind the gullet and entered a larger

chamber. Del and I stopped short, then tightened grips on hilts.

"What in hoolies is that?"

Del shook her head.

I scowled blackly. "I thought you knew Northern magic."

"I know about Northern magic... but I don't know what that is."

"That" was a curtain of flame. A lurid carnelian flame that stretched from floor

to ceiling across the width of the cavern. It resembled nothing so much as a curtain hung for privacy, dividing room from room. Opaque, yet oddly vibrant, it

shimmered against the blackness. Sparks burned bright, then died, pulsing against a net.

But it wasn't hot. It was cold.

Suspicion bloomed. "You know," I said lightly, "what that reminds me of--what that reminds me of a lot--is the light from Bor--from your sword." I caught myself in time.

Del flicked me a narrowed glance; I was not forgiven. "I don't think it's the same thing."

"How do you know? You yourself said you don't know what that is. For all you know, it could be exactly the same."

"But not from the same source." Del edged closer. Red light shirred off her blade, altering its color. Salmon-silver was dyed amber-bronze.

I looked at my own sword. It had not, up till now, shown any inclination to take

on a particular color. The phenomenon was familiar--I'd seen numerous jivatmas

keyed, and all displayed a signature color, but mine never had. It was bright and shining silver, but so was every other sword save those born of Northern magic.

Which left me wondering suddenly if perhaps mine wasn't blooded. Wasn't really

quenched.

And yet it had to be. It showed too many symptoms. Displayed too much of its power. Even the hounds knew it.

Del frowned at the curtain. "Maybe some kind of ward? Something to keep people

out?"

"But why? What is there to hide? Why would wards be here?"

Del abruptly smiled. "Chosa Dei," she answered. "It's Chosa Dei's prison."

"Oh, right. Of course; I was forgetting." I squinted against the brilliance of

the curtain, looking around, searching for some clue. "I don't suppose there's

some way around this thing... some tunnel or passageway."

Del shrugged, saying nothing. Like me, she examined the chamber.

I heard the dragon rumble. Swung and stared as the curtain rippled. The glow intensified, and then the curtain parted. Hot smoke belched out.

Del and I, of course, ducked; flame--or whatever--licked toward us both. The curtain wavered in the wind, then shredded on a roar as the smoke was sucked out

of the chamber into the tunnel beyond.

The stench drove me to my knees. I forgot all about flaming curtains or passageways and concentrated on holding my breath so I wouldn't lose my belly.

Del. half-shrouded by smoke, sounded no better off; she hacked and gagged and swore, though only briefly, in her twisty Northern tongue. I helped out with Southron, with a dash of Desert thrown in.

Then wished I hadn't; swearing made me suck air.

"Agh, gods--" I spat. "This is enough to make a man sick."

"Coal," Del said intently. "I know it now: coal... and something else.

Something

more. Something that smells--"

"--like rotting bodies; I told you before." The curtain sealed itself as smoke

died away. For the moment the dragon slept, or else merely held its breath. I stood up, wished for aqivi to wash away the foul aftertaste, yanked my now-filthy tunics back into place. And clutched my sword in one hand. "What's this 'coal' you mentioned?"

Del got up, brushed gritty dark dust from her no-longer-pristine white clothing,

scowled at the curtain. "Coal," she repeated. "It's a fuel. It's sort of like rock, but it burns. We lived in the downlands, where wood is plentiful; I saw coal only once. It comes from high in the mountains, in the uplands above the timberline."

"Well, if it smells this bad, I don't see how anyone uses it."

"I told you, there's something more--"

The curtain flowed briefly aside and emitted another belch. Smoky wind rushed through the chamber in its way to the dragon's throat. I swore, waving madly, and tried to peer through the rent in flame.

In shock, I sucked a breath. "Hoolies, I saw people!"

Del looked at me sharply; no need for her to ask.

"I did," I declared. "Through the curtain--I swear, I saw people. Men, I think,

doing something around a fire. A real fire, bascha--not this magical curtain."

I

strode to the "flame," tried to peer through it again. "When the smoke comes through, it thins. You can see right through it. All we have to do is wait--"

"--then walk right in?" Del's brows arched. "Are you so sure that's wise?"

"Of course I'm not sure. I can't foretell the future, bascha; how in hoolies am

I supposed to know what is and isn't wise? But Halvar said there was no other way into the dragon; here we are with nothing better to do, and two magical swords. So we may as well get this thing finished before the place smells any worse."

"I'm not so sure--"

I thrust up a silencing hand. "Hear it? That's the rumble--any moment the curtain will part...just use your jivatma, Del. Isn't that what it's for?"

"This isn't a circle, Tiger... you don't know--"

"Shut up and use your sword... Del--now--"

I thrust a swordtip into the curtain of cold flame as it thinned and blew apart,

and prodded gently, none too sure what sort of response I might get. The tip sliced through easily enough, as if the curtain was made of air. Colored, cold

air, shaped to look like a flame.

I slid the sword a bit farther, risking myself carefully. Felt a prickling in fingers and hands; then it spread to encompass forearms. I took a single step forward, closed nose and mouth against stench, felt the curtain snap shut against flesh.

The sensation was odd, but not threatening. I moved forward carefully, aware of

a dampening of sound, a dying of the light. Everything was red.

"You coming?" I asked it thickly around the breath I held.

Her tone sounded no better. "Yes, Tiger, I'm coming." She sounded exasperated.

Like maybe she didn't think we were doing the right thing. Like maybe she thought I was being foolish.

As if she were humoring me; never her strong point.

I wanted to retort, but I was much too busy.

Almost through--almost--

Something knew I was there.

"Tiger--wait--"

--oh--hoolies--

"Del!"

The dragon swallowed me whole.

Fourteen

They had been beating me again. I could feel it clear to the bone.

I lay facedown on the stone, legs and arms asprawl. Cold, hard stone, biting into flesh. Bruising cheekbone and brow. Cutting into one hip.

They had been beating me again, just as the Salset had.

I twitched. Sucked air. Gagged. Tried not to throw up. Lay very, very still, to

soothe my unhappy belly. To give it no reason to protest.

Hoolies, but I hurt.

Listened to the silence. Heard nothing in the darkness. Nothing save ragged breathing; I held it: the sound stopped. Began to breathe again and took comfort

in the sound.

Awakening muscles spasmed. A leg jerked, then a hand. Beneath me, metal grated.

The sound of iron fetters.

They had chained me again.

I surged up frantically, smashed my head against the low ceiling, sprawled on hands and knees. Then lunged backward against the wall and slid down it to land

limply in a pile of flesh and bones. Squeezed my eyes tight-shut. Sat there breathing raggedly while I tried to find the Sandtiger and whatever will he had

left.

Some, after all. It allowed me to deal with the fear. To push it back again, if

only for a moment. It allowed me to open my eyes.

Saw the sword against the stone: dim glint in dimmer light.

Sword?

Astonished, I stared. Then scrambled for it, found it, dragged it chiming across

the stone. Sat down awkwardly on uneven rock and held the sword in both hands.

Not Singlestroke.

Not Singlestroke?

And why do I have a sword if I'm in Aladar's mine?

The blade was ice in my hands. Vision blurred; I shook it off, then wished I hadn't tried. The motion jarred my head.

Hoolies, but I hurt.

I leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from my eyes, shoving damp hair aside. Beard stubble caught on wool; on wool, not on flesh. Not on the nakedness

of a slave.

All around me the rock waited with a vast complacency. Dim carnelian light washed the walls with illumination. It bathed the blade with blood.

I shifted, caught my breath, eased myself more carefully into another position.

Even my ears hurt, filled with a stuffy ringing. I smelled something remarkably

foul; also my own aroma, fear and exertion combined. What I needed was a bath.

What I wanted was out of here.

Down the tunnel something whined.

I'm not in Aladar's mine.

Then where am--ah, hoolies.

I know where I am.

Claws scratched stone. Panting crept down the tunnel.

I think I don't want to be here.

Whining echoed in emptiness.

Hoolies--where is Del?

With Aladar, of course--no, no, you're not in Aladar's mine. You're not even in

the South. Where you are is in the dragon with hounds hard on your trail.

Panting crept through the dimness. A snapping growl accompanied it.

Pick a direction and go.

I couldn't stand up straight because of the low tunnel ceiling. All I could do

was scuttle, hunched halfway over, clutching a Northern sword and trying not to

trip on steel too long for use in the confines of the tunnel. The tip scraped from time to time, screeching against stone; pulling it back from the wall usually resulted in a banged elbow, unless I was very careful.

It's hard to be very careful when you're running for your life. Careful can get

you killed.

Oh, Delilah. Where are you?

Don't let her be dead again.

A howl pierced the dimness. I couldn't tell from which direction.

I smacked my head, bit my lip, spat out blood, and cursed. Felt the prickling on

my neck; the pinch of fear in my belly. And lurched to a dead stop, having reached the end of the tunnel.

Hoolies, get me out of here. It's too much like Aladar's mine--

I broke it off abruptly. Smelled the stink of hounds.

--end of the tunnel--

But it wasn't the end of the world. The tunnel swelled into a hollow bulb large

enough to stand up in. Wide enough for my sword. I straightened and struck a stance, cursing the tautness of scar tissue that pulled against my midriff.