Deltora Quest #6: The Maze of the Beast (2 page)

G
asping in horror, Jasmine and Lief both lunged forward, stabbing and tearing at the thing, trying to pull it away from Barda. The cold, wavering mass shrank and re-formed. The thing staggered, but its grip held.

“Through the heart!” the injured boy shouted. “Stab it through the heart! Kill it outright or it will finish him!”

“It is stabbed through the heart already,” Jasmine shrieked. “It does not fall.”

Growling, the thing turned on her. With a cry she was swept aside by a rush of white that sent her sprawling.

“Now, Lief! Strike on the right side!” the boy screamed. “The heart is on the right side, not the left!”

Lief plunged his sword home. The thing shuddered, then collapsed, its body a shapeless, writhing
mass bulging horribly here and there with limbs, faces, claws, ears. Choking with disgusted horror, Lief recognized the face of Marie, the pointed snout of a wood mouse, the wing of a bird …

Then there was just a bubbling pool of white, that sank, as he watched, into the sand.

Barda lay shivering and coughing, the breath rasping in his throat. Already the dark red marks of the Ol’s strangling fingers on his neck were darkening to purple. But he was alive.

“He was lucky. Another minute and it would have been too late.”

Lief spun around and saw that the boy he had attacked had managed to crawl to his feet and was standing behind him. He heard Jasmine exclaim and glanced at her. She was staring at the boy in amazement.

“It is you!” she exclaimed. “The boy who served the drinks at the Rithmere Games. You are one of Doom’s band. You are Dain.”

The boy nodded briefly, then limped to where Barda was lying and looked down at him. “Your friend needs warming,” he said. “He is wet, and Ol attacks chill to the bone.”

He turned away and began walking slowly towards the trees.

Lief hastened to make a fire and heat water for tea while Jasmine ran for more blankets. By the time Dain returned, dragging a small backpack, his injured
arm in a rough sling, Barda was well wrapped up and sitting close to a crackling blaze. The terrible shivering had eased and the color had begun to return to his face.

“Thank you,” he said to Dain huskily. “If it had not been for you …” He winced, and lifted a hand to his throat.

“Do not try to speak,” Dain advised. He turned to Lief, holding out a jar he held in his uninjured hand. “A warm drink sweetened with this will help him,” he said. “It strengthens, and eases pain. It is very powerful. One spoonful should be enough.”

The jar bore a small handmade label.

Lief unscrewed the lid and sniffed at the jar’s golden contents, drawing in the sweet scent of apple blossom. “Quality Brand,” he murmured, glancing at Dain. “The initials are interesting, but the name itself is ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that I suspect it is false.”

“As false as the names you gave at the Rithmere
Games, Lief,” the boy answered evenly. “These are hard times. You are not the only ones who must be careful.”

Lief nodded, realizing that he had overheard them calling to one another before the Ols’ attack. There was no help for it, but it was unfortunate.

He took a mug of tea and stirred a small amount of the honey into the steaming brew. Then he gave the mug to Barda, who wrapped both hands around its warmth and sipped gratefully.

“What are these Ols?” Jasmine demanded, as she passed Dain a mug of tea for himself.

“Shape-changers from the Shadowlands,” Dain said, stirring a spoonful of honey into his own cup. “The Shadow Lord uses them to do his evil work. Perhaps I should not be surprised that you have not heard of them before. They are more common here, in the west, than in the east, where you come from.”

He paused, watching them under his brows. Barda, Lief, and Jasmine remained expressionless. Did he think they were going to fall into so simple a trap?

Dain laughed easily and bent to draw in the sand.

The mark of the Resistance. The companions looked at it in silence, then glanced at one another.

Dain leaned forward. “We are both on the same side, are we not?” he asked earnestly, suddenly dropping his easygoing manner. “What does it matter if I know where you live? Doom says —”

“How did you come to be here?” Jasmine asked abruptly. “How did you find us?”

Dain drew back, and his face closed once more. “I was not looking for you. I was returning to our western stronghold when I saw the Ols. I knew them for what they were. Grade One Ols are crude and cannot hold a form for very long. They are easy to recognize when you know what to look for. I followed them, waiting my chance to destroy them. And then, lo and behold, you appeared, and the Ols were plainly interested.”

He paused. “They have been following you for days, you know,” he added in a hard voice. “They took the shape of wood mice and watched your every move, listened to you, deciding how they would proceed. In the end, they chose to appeal to your tenderness of heart. Once they had separated you, they would have struck. You would have had no chance.”

Lief, Jasmine, and Barda glanced at one another. All felt ashamed.

“We thank you for aiding us,” Barda said stiffly at last. “We ask you to forgive our suspicion and secrecy. We have learned to be cautious.”

“As have I,” said Dain, still in that hard voice, “though for a moment I forgot myself in the pleasure of seeing familiar faces.”

Lief suddenly realized that the boy was older than he had thought — at least as old as he was himself. The slight body, the fine-boned face, and the silkiness of the dark hair that flopped carelessly over Dain’s forehead had deceived him.

Dain swallowed the last of his tea and stood up awkwardly, protecting his injured arm. “I will leave you in peace. Be on the watch for Ols. Grade Ones, like the two we have just dispatched, always travel in pairs. The others — well, you will probably not recognize them, anyway. It is best to trust no one.”

He shouldered his pack and turned to go.

“Wait!” Lief exclaimed impulsively, jumping to his feet. “You cannot travel alone! Your arm is hurt. You cannot use your bow, or even a dagger.”

“I will be all right,” Dain said. “I do not have very far to go.”

But Barda was shaking his head. “Wait one night, and we will escort you,” he croaked, his hand on his throat. “It is the least we can do.”

Lief saw Jasmine stiffen. Clearly, she did not approve of this plan. She does not want to see Doom again, he thought suddenly. She distrusts him. But Jasmine said nothing, and Dain seemed not to notice her expression.

He was hesitating. It was plain that his pride, which urged him to leave them, was struggling with his common sense, which told him that it was madness to travel unprotected if he had a choice.

At last, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, dropping his pack. “Thank you. I will wait. Then we will go together to the stronghold.” He paused, biting his lip. “It is to the southeast. It is out of your way.”

“How do you know? We have not told you where we are going,” Jasmine snapped.

Dain’s delicate face flushed red. “I thought perhaps that you may be travelling to — to Tora,” he stammered.

Jasmine stared. The name meant nothing to her. But Lief was thinking furiously.

Tora! Del’s great sister city in the west. He had been taught of it. But it was so long since he had heard its name that he had forgotten it existed!

Dain was waiting for an answer, leaning forward anxiously.

“Indeed,” Barda said smoothly. “Well, if we are going to Tora, it will not hurt us to reach it a day or two later than we had planned.”

Jasmine stood up. “I will find a secure place to camp for the night,” she said. She stalked off into the trees, with Kree flying ahead. Dain gazed after her, and Lief saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

Lief felt an unsettling twinge of jealousy, bit his lip, and turned away. If only I had not injured him, he
thought. Then he could have gone his way, and we could have gone ours.

Immediately he felt ashamed. He told himself that he was just upset because the journey to the Resistance stronghold would waste precious time. Every day of delay was another day his father and mother remained in danger, perhaps in torment, in the dungeons of the Shadow Lord in Del.

But, if he was honest, he also had to admit that he did not want Dain as a companion, even for a short time.

Dain made him uncomfortable. His gentle, polite ways were appealing, his quiet dignity was impressive, and, despite his lack of great strength, he had acted bravely in saving them from the Ols. But though he seemed easygoing on the surface, Lief could sense that there was something deep inside him that was hidden. Some secret he kept to himself.

No doubt he feels the same about us, Lief thought. And, of course, he is right. So we do not trust one another. That is the root of the problem. While we are with Dain we cannot discuss our quest, or the Belt. We cannot discuss my parents, or wonder aloud how they are faring. We cannot be comfortable.

Restless, unwilling to stay by the fire with Dain and Barda any longer, he went to help Jasmine. But as he walked into the trees, a new idea occurred to him.

Fate had played strange tricks on them before — and somehow it had always turned out for the best.
Could there be some reason for their being forced to keep Dain’s company? Were they somehow
meant
to get to know him? Were they
meant
to go to the Resistance stronghold? To see Doom again?

Only time would tell.

W
hen they were settled under the overhanging tree Jasmine had found, Dain told them more about Ols. Listening to his soft, even voice, Lief began to feel that if they
had
been intended to spend time with him, this information alone may have been the reason.

“They are everywhere,” Dain said, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. “They can take the shape of any living thing. They do not eat or drink, but Grade Twos can pretend to do so, just as they can create body heat to disguise what they are. In its natural state, every Ol has the mark of the Shadow Lord at its core, and whatever shape it takes, the mark will be somewhere on its body, in some form.

“The twins — the Ols we killed — each had a mark on the left cheekbone,” said Lief. “Was that —?”

Dain nodded. “But do not expect that it will always be so easy,” he warned. “Grade Two Ols are far more expert. They never have the mark in plain view.”

“You are saying, then,” Barda put in, frowning, “that recognizing a Grade Two Ol is just a matter of luck?”

Dain smiled slightly. “There is a way of testing them,” he said. “They cannot hold one shape for longer than three full days. If you observe a Grade Two Ol, and never let it out of your sight, there will come a moment when it loses control and its shape begins to change and waver. We call this moment the Tremor. It does not last long. In seconds the Ol has regained control. But by that time, you know it for what it is.”

He was growing weary, hugging his chest with his good arm as though his pain was troubling him. “There are some in Deltora who do not have to wait for the Tremor,” he said. “They have developed an instinct — a feeling for Ols. Or so Doom says. When he senses an Ol he strikes at once. I have never known him to be wrong.”

“We can hardly follow his example,” Barda muttered. “To kill just on suspicion is a risky business.”

Dain nodded, and this time his smile was broader and more real. “I agree. For such as us, suspicion should be a signal to run, not strike.”

“Run?” Jasmine demanded fiercely.

He flushed at the disdain in her voice, and the smile faded. “The idea displeases you, Jasmine. You and
Doom are of one mind. But it is surely better to run than to kill an innocent person.”

“Or,” Barda put in, “if your suspicions are correct, to be spied upon by the Ol at its leisure, or killed when you least expect it. Once those icy fingers are around your throat, you are helpless. You can take my word for it, Jasmine.” He touched his own bruised throat tenderly.

Jasmine lifted her chin stubbornly and turned again to Dain. “You have spoken of Grade One Ols, and Grade Twos. Are there other grades as well?”

Dain hesitated. “Doom says that there is another,” he said reluctantly at last. “He says there are Grade Three Ols. He says they are few, but in them the Shadow Lord has perfected his evil art. They can change their shape to whatever they wish — living or nonliving. They are so perfect, so completely controlled, that no one could tell them for what they are. Even Doom could not.”

“Then how does he know they exist at all?” Jasmine demanded.

Lief watched, fascinated, as Dain’s eyelids drooped, and he bit his lip. What was troubling him?

Jasmine saw the hesitation, too, and pounced. “Well?” she insisted.

Dain swallowed. “Doom says — he says he learned of them — in the Shadowlands,” he muttered.

Lief’s stomach turned over. Suddenly it was as though parts of a puzzle were falling into place. Suddenly
he was seeing a tombstone by an overgrown stream. Suddenly he was back in a cave on Dread Mountain, looking at some words scrawled in blood.

“When Doom says he has been in the Shadowlands, you do not believe him, Dain?” he asked.

Dain looked up, his eyes filled with confusion. “How can I?” he burst out. “No one escapes from the Shadowlands. Yet Doom never lies. Never!”

“He lies about his name!” Jasmine snapped.

“What do you mean?” Dain was very pale. He looked exhausted. His delicate face was beaded with sweat and deeply shadowed. He swayed.

Lief caught him before he fell. Barda found the Quality Brand jar and pushed a spoonful of honey between the closed lips. Soon a little color returned to the boy’s face. Lief lowered him gently to the ground and covered him with a blanket.

“Do not worry, Dain,” he said softly. “Whatever Doom’s real name may be, he has not lied to you. He
has
been in the Shadowlands. And, somehow, he escaped. You may not believe it. But I do.”

He saw Dain’s eyelids flutter. The boy’s mouth opened as though he was trying to speak. “We will talk of this again with Doom himself,” Lief whispered. “For now, just rest. Tomorrow, you will need all your strength.”

Two long, hard days followed — days in which Lief’s respect for Dain grew. The fall he had taken had not
only sprained his arm, but had also cracked several ribs. By the second day they were climbing rocky hills. Every step Dain took must have caused him pain, yet he did not complain. Only his eyes revealed what he was suffering.

By now, the river was out of sight. Dread Mountain rose black and forbidding in the distance. Twice, looking back, Lief saw the huge, ungainly shape of an Ak-Baba circling it, searching for signs of travellers below.

In many ways, this was a welcome sign. It meant that the Shadow Lord, for all his power, did not realize that the companions had already taken the Mountain’s gem. But the presence of an Ak-Baba, even at a distance, made the need for travelling under cover even more important. As the country became rougher, with straggling bushes and great boulders taking the place of lush trees, they were forced to crouch, shuffling along in single file.

For many hours Dain had not spoken. He seemed to need all his energy just to keep walking. How would he have fared alone? Lief thought, watching the boy’s bowed back ahead of him, and hearing his shallow, painful breaths as he stumbled along.

“I think Dain needs rest,” Lief called in a low voice.

Barda and Jasmine stopped at once, but Dain turned a little, shaking his head.

“We must get to safety. Then we can rest. It is not far now,” the boy gasped, holding his side with his
uninjured arm. “Just up above … the cleft in the rock. Then — three bushes in a line, and — a cave entrance, sealed with a stone. There is a password …”

His voice trailed off. Then, without any warning, he fell heavily to the ground.

The three companions bent over him, calling his name, but he did not wake. Even the last of the honey did not revive him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the light dimmed.

“We must get him to shelter,” Lief said. “Another night in the cold …”

“He said the stronghold was near,” Barda muttered. “I will carry him the rest of the way.” Gently he picked up the unconscious boy. Then they began clambering upward once more.

Soon they came to a deep crack in a rock — a crack like a narrow passageway. They scrambled through it and there, as Dain had said, were three bushes in a line, pointing to a boulder lying against a sheet of rock. The boulder looked quite natural, as though it had simply fallen where it lay, but they realized it must mask the entrance to the stronghold.

“It is well disguised,” said Barda. “If we had not known where to look, we would have passed it by.” He moved closer to the great rock and peered at it, looking for a means of moving it aside.

“It is strange that they have left no lookout,” Jasmine murmured, looking around with her hand on
her dagger. “They were surely expecting Dain’s return. How was he supposed to get in?”

Lief looked around also, and noticed a strip of paper lying under the last of the bushes. It must have been blown there and become caught on a twig, he thought. He pulled it free and looked at it.

“Someone has been careless,” he said grimly, showing the note to the others.

“They are expecting trouble, it seems,” said Barda.

“It could be
us
they are expecting,” Jasmine hissed. “We have only Dain’s word for it that this is the Resistance stronghold. It could be a trap.”

“We shall see.” Lief snatched up a stout stick and moved to the boulder. He tapped it sharply, at the same time calling out: “Hello! We are friends, and ask entry.”

There was silence behind the rock, but he had the strong feeling that someone was there. He tapped again.

“Doom, hear me! We are the travellers you saved from the Grey Guards near Rithmere. We have Dain with us. He is injured and needs shelter!”

“What is today’s password?” called a deep, muffled voice. Startled, Lief stepped back. It was as though the rock itself had spoken. But soon he realized that the sound had come through a tiny crevice to the right of
the boulder. Like the gnomes of Dread Mountain, the Resistance had peepholes in their walls.

“I wish to speak to Doom!” Lief shouted.

“Doom is not here,” boomed the voice. “What is the password? Answer, or die.”