Текст книги "Inherited Danger"

Автор книги: Brian Rathbone

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Chapter 7

We appreciate most that which we have lived without.

– -The Pauper King

***

Shivering as the wind chilled her wet clothes, Catrin walked along the rocky beach in miserable silence, still stewing over the way the mercenaries had dumped them in the water-and not even at their desired destination. They'd given no explanation and had afforded them no indication of where they actually were.

"I believe we're in northern Endland. Perhaps a day or two walk from the Wastes," Benjin said. "We've little choice now but to brave the snows and make for Ohmahold. The lands to the south are too heavily populated for us to cross safely."

Ohmahold was by far the closest Cathuran stronghold if he were correct about their current location, and no one could argue his logic. They trudged along the coastline, covering as much distance as they could before sunrise, knowing they needed to be away from inhabited lands before the sun rose or they would almost certainly be discovered. Catrin had known the comforts of the Trader's Wind would soon be behind them, but she hadn't expected such an abrupt return to the world of cold and wet.

The sun rose on the weary group, and the mountains of the Northern Wastes loomed in the distance. The land became progressively steeper as the rolling hills grew in size.

"We'll need to turn inland eventually, but I think we should go as far north as we can first," Benjin said, but then he stopped as if just remembering something. He patted his belt and jacket then began to curse. "Boil me. What a fool I am. Now I understand what all the fuss was about when we were thrown overboard. It was a distraction. The coin Captain Trell gave us is gone-thieving sons of jackals. Now we have only the small amount I kept in a separate purse."

Catrin's opinion of the mercenaries sank even lower, and she vowed to inform Captain Trell of their treacherous actions.

In the midafternoon Chase spotted sails on the horizon. Fearing they had been seen, Benjin urged them into the hills, but the ship continued along its course. They skirted the hills for the rest of the day, walking until it grew dark, and they were exhausted by the time they finally struck camp. They ate some salted fish, decided who would take each watch, and those not on watch fell quickly to sleep.

Late in the night, Benjin walked to where Chase and Catrin slept. He woke them gently for their watch, but as he stood, he froze. "Be alert," he whispered. "I see a fire through the trees. I'm going to check it out. You two stay here. If anything goes wrong, wake the others."

"Take Chase with you," Catrin said.

"It'll be better if I go alone. I won't be long. Stay here," Benjin said, and he disappeared into the night. Catrin and Chase took up posts at either end of their camp, and Vertook stood watch with them, apparently awakened by his instincts.

"I sleep when Benjin returns," he said.

Catrin jumped when she heard a sharp snap in the woods, but nothing emerged from the darkness, and other noises followed, leaving the sentries on edge. When Benjin did return, he did so silently, which startled Catrin as much as the noises had. It wasn't that she was surprised by his stealth; it was just that seeing a figure suddenly materialize from the darkness could give one quite a start.

"There're two monks camped a few hills over, but they're in a drunken stupor, and I didn't want to frighten them. Better to approach them in the morning. Perhaps they can help us on our journey to Ohmahold," he said in a whisper then retired to his bedroll.

Vertook seemed satisfied and went to his bedding as well, leaving Catrin and Chase to keep watch. The rest of the night was uneventful, but they were vigilant nonetheless. Benjin rose before the false dawn and woke those who slept.

"During the night we discovered two monks camped nearby, and I'm going to go speak with them. Chase, come with me; the rest of you, stay here. Remember that we're in hostile territory; remain alert. I don't know if anyone else frequents this area, but we can't be too careful."

"Hurry back," Catrin said, the suspense gnawing at her. She had spent her entire watch wondering if the monks would be friendly. Her recent luck caused her to fear the worst possible outcomes, and she envisioned a thousand different ways things could go wrong. Strom and Vertook paced with her, expressing their own helplessness with muttered curses.

As the sun rose, its warmth raised a heavy mist from the ground, which concealed the irregularities of the land and made the act of pacing difficult. Catrin nearly lost her footing a number of times, but she couldn't seem to stand still. The mist had dissipated by the time Benjin and Chase returned; they looked relieved but not ecstatic.

"They're friendly," Benjin said. "Their names are Gustad and Milo. I'd never met either of them before, but we have a common acquaintance. Many years ago, while searching for Kenward, I met a Cathuran monk named Gwendolin. She was gathering and researching some rare herbs that grow only in remote parts of the Southland, and I shared her interest in herb lore. She helped me a great deal, and I shared some of my knowledge with her. Gustad said Gwendolin is at Ohmahold, which should help our cause. He was reluctant to discuss her, which I suppose is natural; the Cathurans are a secretive lot.

"There's one other thing, though. The monks came here to gather materials for something they are working on. They've got far more than they can carry, and they seem to have lost their mule. They were going to make several trips, but they dallied too long, and the first winter storm could strike at any time. Since we just happened to be destined for Ohmahold as well, I, um, volunteered us to help carry the materials." He looked as if he were prepared for a negative reaction, but everyone agreed it would be worth the effort to have the aid of the monks. Catrin was just glad someone was willing show them the shortest way to Ohmahold.

After breaking camp, they hiked to the where the monks waited. The distance passed quickly in the daylight, and the camp soon came into sight. Catrin was shocked to see two of the dirtiest men she had ever encountered, surrounded by more than a dozen large, leather bags. Each man was completely covered in soot and ash, and their eyes stood out in stark contrast. The bags themselves were filthy with accumulated ash, and every step stirred small clouds. A bowl of land cradled the remains of an enormous fire, much of which still smoldered.

"We must put out the fire before we can leave," one said to the other as they approached.

"Yes, I suppose we must. Tiresome work, I say. Tiresome indeed. I'm grateful fate has afforded us some helpers."

"Brother Gustad, Brother Milo, allow me to introduce my companions," Benjin said, and he introduced each of them in turn. The monks placed both hands around the hand of each person they met. It was a show of honor, but the black stains left behind lessened the effect. It didn't take long, though, until those minor stains were of little consequence. Almost immediately, Gustad began issuing orders.

"Empty the bags of dried sand into a pile, refill the bags with sand or dirt and dump it on the fire. Repeat, until we can walk over this area. Don't empty the bags filled with ash, only those filled with sand," he barked, and Catrin was taken aback by his manner, but the monks were not lazy. They worked alongside the rest, dumping the dry sand in a tidy, cone-shaped pile. Armed with empty bags, they sought more sand, but the soil around the camp was covered with grass, and the beach was on the other side of a steep hill.

Dry sand was lighter than wet, but it was hard to find on the saturated coast, and damp was the best Catrin could find by her second trip. Gustad attempted to carry water back to the fire, but his bag leaked and he had only about a third of what he'd started with by the time he reached the fire. Steam rose into the air as the coals hissed and snapped, but his efforts covered only a small area, and he went back for more sand.

"Maybe next time you could build your fire pit a little closer to the water," Strom said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but he could not have known the debate it would spark.

"Would take longer to get the fire started out in the wind," Gustad said.

"Less cover in case of a storm," Milo said before Gustad even finished.

"We wouldn't have to sleep by the fire."

"The tide could put out the fire for us."

"Before we're done. What good is wet ash?"

"Might be better if we made ash bricks while it's wet."

"Sand would contaminate the ash."

The argument continued and transcended human understanding. The monks loudly and simultaneously expressed strong opinions on the merits and flaws of moving the fire pit. It wasn't that they ignored one another while they spoke; it was a barrage of verbal communication that only they appeared to fully understand. Feeding off one another, they spoke ever more rapidly. Each statement made by one influenced the next statement made by the other, and somehow they seemed to keep track of everything said. To Catrin, it was like someone beating her with a flower to show her how it smelled. Strom walked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

It took four trips each before Gustad could be convinced the fire was completely out. Even then he threw fistfuls of dirt to cover a few remaining coals. Satisfied, he instructed them to refill the bags with the dry sand. Catrin and the others did the best they could to reclaim it all, but it was an impossible task. Milo looked critically at the bags that held close to a third less than they had before, but he said it would suffice.

Gustad, Chase, and Benjin went off to find saplings, and they returned after a short time with a fresh-cut shaft for each of them. Catrin placed the sapling over her shoulders; then she asked Chase and Strom to place bags on each end. The bags were heavy, but balancing them made the load easier to carry. Still, her shoulders began to ache almost immediately, but she used her staff for extra support, and it lent her strength.

On a northwesterly course, they marched through the hills. No path or trail guided them, and this did not appear to be a trip the monks made with any frequency. Hiking with the bags balanced across her shoulders proved treacherous, and Catrin concentrated on the ground ahead of her. They stopped often to rest, but their urgency increased as banks of dark clouds crowded the horizon. A frigid wind descended upon them, and they feared they would be stuck in a snowstorm. Breaks grew shorter and less frequent as the air continually grew colder and the storm clouds nearer.

"We've a long walk ahead of us still," Gustad said during one break, his breath visible as he spoke.

Catrin thought she saw a snowflake fall from the sky. She had no desire to be stuck in the Northern Wastes in the middle of a blizzard, and she expressed her desire to keep marching. Gustad, Benjin, and Milo all agreed that waiting could be deadly, and they pressed on as fast as they could manage. Catrin counted the number of steps she took between seeing snowflakes. At first, it was ten or twelve, but then the snow began to fall in earnest. Bearing a biting chill, the wind picked up, and soft snow turned to stinging sleet and hail, only occasionally changing back to snow.

With darkness upon them and the storm raging, Catrin wondered if they were going to make it. Gustad and Milo suggested abandoning the bags of ash and sand, but Benjin and the others did not put them down, they just kept plodding along, not wanting to give up after having come so far. Sleet and snow clung to Catrin's face and hair, and she felt as if her head were encased in ice. She and the others were near exhaustion, and as they struggled up a steep incline, she considered just lying down and letting the snow cover her. But at the crest of the hill, she raised her head as she heard the others exclaim.

A massive sprawl of sporadic lights stood before them. The brightest and closest were torches that burned on either side of the natural crevice that led to Ohmahold and warmth. The ancients had chosen the location well. The crevice and surrounding mountains made for excellent defenses.

"Mighty Ohmahold has stood for over three thousand years, but there is speculation that it was inhabited long before then," Gustad said. "The natural defenses have been reinforced over the eons, but one of Ohmahold's best defenses is currently falling around us. It won't be long before the lands surrounding us will be completely impassable."

Cold and tired, they struggled to cover the last bit of distance between them and safety. The sight of their destination gave them heart and quickened their steps despite their exhaustion. The storm worsened steadily. Snow became so thick at times that it completely blocked the torches from view, and the footing was deadly slick in places. When they finally reached the winding crevice, they gained meager shelter from the wind and ice. As soon as they entered the crevice, Gustad motioned them to rest. He walked to where a large metal sheet hung and retrieved a mallet from a hook. The metal sheet rang a discordant note as the mallet struck it, and the echoes distorted its call even further. Three times he struck it; then he waited.

"Let me do the talking," Benjin said to Catrin and the others, and they nodded their agreement. "May I use your staff, li'l miss?"

Catrin wasn't sure what he wanted it for, but she didn't bother to ask. Instead she just handed it to him. As they waited, less than patiently, in the cold, they concentrated on keeping warm. Soon, though, a man appeared around the corner and nodded to Gustad and Milo. He regarded Catrin and the others with mild interest, but, after he spoke with Gustad for a moment, he ran back toward the fortress.

"It's safe now. We can enter the main gate," Gustad said, retrieving his load. He and Milo began another of their arguments, and Benjin led the others on.

The number of manned armaments they encountered higher along the narrow defiles alarmed Catrin, but she supposed these were dangerous times. The natural defenses combined with the man-made additions were seemingly insurmountable, and Catrin could not imagine a force mighty enough to conquer such a place.

As a small horse cart approached, Catrin and the others squeezed themselves against the crevice walls to let it pass. The cart was not moving at high speed, but the angry look on the driver's face inspired them to move, and they heard him shout as he approached Gustad and Milo.

"What happened to Penelope? You best not have lost my mule!"

"… must have wandered off," was all of Milo's response they heard before the other man launched into a tirade.

Benjin took the lead as they rounded a corner, and another impressive sight waited. A single, massive gate, made of entire tree trunks, towered above them. A natural formation of stone jutted out on one side, and stonework fortifications secured an enormous hinge. The opposite side of the crevice was blocked by the largest man-made structure Catrin had ever seen. Huge stone blocks were stacked on top of one another to form an impenetrable wall that encased the locking structures. Standing at attention before the gates were three armed men, and the man in the center stepped forward as they approached.

"State your business."

"We are travelers from afar, and we seek refuge. I'd also like to renew my acquaintance with Sister Gwendolin, if she is indeed here," Benjin said, and Catrin noted how little information he revealed to the guard. She and Benjin were both surprised when the guard gave him a disapproving look.

" Mother Gwendolin is quite busy and does not have leisure to greet wayward travelers," he said, looking down his nose.

"A thousand apologies, sir. It has been a long time, and I was unaware of her appointment."

"What's your name, then?"

"Benjin Hawk."

"I'll alert Mother Gwendolin to your presence. Perhaps she'll send some correspondence, but I wouldn't hold out my hopes. I presume you'll be lodging at the First Inn?" he asked archly, and Benjin simply nodded in response. "You must leave all weapons here. You may not enter with swords, knives, bows, arrows, maces, pole arms, spears, or any other deadly implement. We'll return your belongings when you depart Ohmahold."

Catrin and the others created an alarmingly large pile of deadly implements in the crate he provided, and he looked at them with suspicion. He ran his hands lightly over each of them, checking for concealed weapons, but he found none. Benjin leaned on Catrin's staff and made no move to turn it over.

"Your staff, sir."

"You'd deprive a man of his walking stick?" Benjin asked. The guard was taken aback by the question and stood in confusion for a moment, but then he gave the command to open the gates, and Catrin wondered if Benjin's mention of Mother Gwendolin was what swayed him. He scowled at them as they passed through the gate, as if he knew Benjin's limp was contrived.

Hoofbeats echoed from behind, and Catrin stepped aside to let the horse cart pass. The man driving looked like a storm cloud, and he slapped the leather lines on the horse's rump to get more speed. The wagon bounced and shook as the driver seemingly aimed for every bump.

Gustad and Milo rode in the back of the wagon and were thrown several hand widths in the air with each jolt. The bags of ash and sand spewed their contents with every landing, and the two men calmly bounced along in a cloud of ash, all the while arguing over who had been responsible for watching the mule.

As soon as Catrin and the others were inside the gates, men used horses to pull on massive ropes that attached to the gate on the other side of equally large pulleys. The horses strained against their harnesses as they strove to move the tremendous weight, and the gate slowly began to swing closed. Catrin paused to look when she heard the command to hold the gate, and she watched in disbelief as a very angry and icy mule charged through the gate, braying the entire way. Catrin smiled, assuming Penelope had found her way home.

A small city huddled within stout walls, and beyond the walls lay the inner city and temples. Even in the distance and relative darkness, the architecture was spectacular. Wondering where the First Inn would be found, Catrin turned a questioning gaze to Benjin, who looked slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not really sure where the First Inn is. I just couldn't give that horse's rear the satisfaction of asking directions. My apologies," he said. Catrin laughed and patted him on the back.

Small buildings and shops crowded against one another in the limited space. The streets were little more than narrow strips of cobblestone, most not wide enough to walk three abreast. Almost all the buildings were dark and closed up tight. Finding the inn turned out to be as simple as looking for lit windows, and in truth, it was difficult to miss. Constructed entirely of whole tree trunks, it was one of the largest buildings in the outer city, and a rosy glow emanated from cracks around the doors and shutters. The massive size of the trunks indicated they had come from ancient, and most likely virgin, forest. Double doors, hewn from a single tree, made for an imposing entrance. A large sign hung above the doors, depicting a tree with doors in the base of the trunk, and black metal lettering read, The First Inn.

Benjin pulled one of the doors open against the force of the wind, and a blast of warm air rushed out. After ducking inside, Catrin basked in the warmth, and the others wasted little time joining her. Tables crowded the large common room, and a cavernous fireplace took up most of one wall. Evidence of a large fire remained in the form of glowing coals.

At a corner table, three men sat conversing in hushed tones, paying Catrin and the others little mind. A man sitting near the fire slept in his chair, his head lolled to one side and his hand still holding a mug of ale. In a darkened corner, another man sat silently, and Catrin thought his gaze a bit too direct. She noted his presence but refused to look directly at him again, and whenever she cast him a sidelong glance, he seemed to be appraising her.

A rotund woman emerged from the kitchens and made her own appraisal of Catrin and her companions. She wrinkled her nose at their filthy appearance, making Catrin self-conscious. The woman, who was obviously the keeper of the First Inn, simply shrugged. "The baths are out back. You'll have to clean up before you can eat or lodge, agreed?"

"Yes, baths will be most welcome. We found ourselves helping a couple of monks with some rather dirty business," Benjin replied, and the innkeeper seemed to warm to him a bit. She warmed even more when he paid her for the baths along with advance payment for a hot meal.

"I am Miss Chambril. Welcome to the First Inn. I'll send Wonk to the bathhouse with water and towels in a moment. You can leave your bags here if you wish," she said as she walked into the kitchen. Catrin sifted through her pack in search of the soft clothes she had packed from the Trader's Wind, looking forward to being warm, dry, and in comfortable clothes. She sighed, realizing the time aboard the Wind had completely ruined her. In days gone by, she would have judged clothes by how tough or water resistant they were; now comfort was a definite consideration.

Wanting to get clean and dry as quickly as possible, she and the others hurried to the baths. Wonk turned out to be a man in his middle years, and he seemed like a pleasant sort of fellow. He brought a stack of towels on his first trip and asked if any of them needed a robe. Catrin and the others declined the offer but appreciated it nonetheless, and they were grateful when he returned with a basin of lukewarm water. He said he would be back with more, but they descended on the washbasin with intent purpose.

Catrin filled her cupped hands and splashed her face repeatedly. Each time, gray water seeped into the corners of her eyes, stinging and burning. When Wonk returned with another basin, Catrin stuck her entire face in the warmer water even before he had settled it on the stone bench. Using one of the towels, she dried her face and frowned when she saw how dirty the cloth came away. It seemed she might never get clean, but Wonk tirelessly brought fresh basins of water.

Eventually, the cold drove Catrin and the others from the baths, and they sought that warm meal. Miss Chambril did not disappoint. Bowls of steaming stew emerged from the kitchen even as they seated themselves. Catrin noted that only the sleeping man remained in the common room; the rest had apparently gone to their beds. The stew smelled fantastic, and Catrin blew on a hot spoonful, waiting less than patiently for her first taste. It was worth the wait. She tasted salty beef and tomato with onion, garlic, and celery. Large pieces of carrot were a treat, and she ate the carrots from Osbourne's stew as well.

Miss Chambril brought soft bread still warm from the oven, and they used no restraint when spreading it thick with apple butter. Catrin thought it might be the most delightful thing she had ever tasted, and she told Miss Chambril so. The innkeeper took the compliment in stride and brought them more bread and apple butter.

"What is that aroma? It smells wonderful," Benjin asked, sniffing the air. "Is that a brisket?"

"You've a discerning nose for such a dirty little man."

"Could I beg a shaving or two? It'd be an honor to sample your work in progress," he said with sincerity.

Miss Chambril visibly reappraised him. "I suppose that would be acceptable," she said. "Wonk will show the rest of you to your rooms when you've finished your meal," she continued, motioning Benjin to follow her into the kitchen. "I don't normally let strange men into my kitchen."

"Not to fear. I try not to make a habit of being strange in the kitchens of beautiful women," Benjin replied.

Catrin shook her head and asked Wonk to show her to her room. He led her to a small but private room. Despite being the first one in her bed, she was awake long after the others found slumber, and somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she thought she heard the sound of birds taking flight.

***

Sitting before the dwindling fire, as the shifting glow cast wandering shadows over the faces around him, Strom tried to drive the chill from his bones, but still he shivered. "I don't know if I'll ever be warm again," he said.

"At least we made it here," Chase said, rubbing his hands together. "We could still be out in the Wastes. I'm just glad to have a full belly and a dry place to sleep tonight."

"I know I should be grateful we're here," Osbourne said, his eyes downcast, "but this place gives me the crawls. I feel like an outsider. You saw how that guard looked at us. I'm not sure we're welcome here."

Benjin had been quiet for some time, seemingly content to let the others express their concerns, and he had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were reliving the past. "It'll be all right," he said. "The Cathurans are a suspicious lot, and they tend to be aloof, but rarely are they cruel. Get some sleep, and things will look brighter by the light of day."

"I hope so," Strom said, but as he looked around, the anxiety of his companions was palpable.

"I'm going to bed," Chase said with a wide yawn. Despite his exhaustion, Strom knew he could not sleep-not yet. Too many fears dominated his thoughts, and he stayed in front of the fire until the coals no longer provided their welcoming warmth. With little to light his way, he stumbled to his room. As he crept along the dark upper hall, he wondered at the candlelight that washed from under one of the closed doors. A chill ran down his spine as he passed the room, and he tried desperately to convince himself that his fears were unwarranted.