Inkspell

41. THE CAPTIVES

Night had fallen long ago when Meggie and Farid set out to follow Dustfinger. Go south, keep going south, Cloud-Dancer had told them, but how did you know you were going south when there was no sun to show you the way, no stars shining through the black leaves? The darkness seemed to have devoured everything: the trees, even the ground before their feet. Moths fluttered into their faces, attracted by the fire that Farid was nursing in his fingers like a little animal. The trees seemed to have eyes and hands, and the wind carried voices to their ears, soft voices whispering words to Meggie that she didn't understand. On any other night a point would probably have come when she just stopped or ran back to where Cloud-Dancer and Nettle might still be sitting by the fire; but tonight she knew only that she must find Dustfinger and her parents, for neither night nor the forest could hold any terrors for her greater than the fear that had taken root in her heart when she saw Mo's blood on the straw.

At first, and with the fire to help him, Farid kept finding traces: a print left by one of Dustfinger's boots, a broken twig, amarten's trail… but the time came when he stood there at a loss, not sure which way to go. Tree grew beside tree in the pale moonlight whichever way you looked, so close together that you couldn't make out any path between their trunks, and Meggie saw eyes: eyes above her, behind her, beside her… hungry eyes, angry eyes, so many of them that she wished the moon wouldn't shine so brightly through the leaves.

"Farid!" she whispered. "Let's climb a tree and wait for sunrise. We'll never find Dustfinger's trail again if we just go on like this."

"My own opinion exactly!" Dustfinger appeared among the trees without a sound, as if he had been standing there for some time already. "I've been able to hear you plowing through the forest behind me like a herd of wild boar for the last hour," he said, as Jink pushed past his legs. "This is the Wayless Wood, and not the safest part of it, either. You can think yourselves lucky I managed to convince the elves in the ash trees that you weren't breaking their branches just for fun. And how about the Night-Mares? Do you think they don't pick up your scent? If I hadn't sent them packing you'd probably be lying stiff as dead wood among the trees by now, caught in bad dreams like two flies in a spider's web."

"Night-Mares?" whispered Farid, as the sparks at his fingertips went out. Night-Mares. Meggie came closer to him. She was remembering a story that Resa had told her. What a good thing it hadn't come into her mind earlier…

"Yes, did I never tell you about them?" Jink ran to Dustfinger as he walked toward them and greeted Gwin with a delighted chatter. "They may not eat you alive like those desert ghosts you kept telling me about, but they're not exactly friendly, either."

"I'm not going back," said Meggie, looking at him resolutely. "Whatever you say I'm not going back."

Dustfinger looked at her. "No, I know," he said. "Your mother all over." That was all.

All night they followed the broad track left by the men-at-arms as they had marched through the forest – all night and the following day. Dustfinger let them stop for a brief rest only when he saw that Meggie was staggering with exhaustion. When the sun was once again so low in the sky that it touched the treetops they reached the crest of a hill, and Meggie saw the dark ribbon of a road running through the green of the forest down below. A collection of buildings stood beside it: a long, low house, with stables around a yard.

"The only inn close to the border," Dustfinger whispered to them. "They probably left their horses there. You can move considerably faster on foot in the forest. Everyone who wants to go south and down to the sea stops to rest at this inn: couriers, traders, even a few of the strolling players, though everyone knows that the landlord is one of the Adderhead's spies. If we're lucky we'll be there before the party we're following, because they won't be able to get down the slopes with the handcart and the prisoners. They'll have to go the long way around, but we can take the direct route and wait for them at the inn."

"And then what?" For a moment Meggie thought she saw the same anxiety in his eyes that had driven her into the woods by night. But who was he anxious about? The Black Prince, the other strolling players… her mother? She still clearly remembered that day in Capricorn's crypt when he had begged Resa to escape with him and leave her daughter behind…

Perhaps Dustfinger had remembered it, too. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," she murmured, bending her head. "I'm just worried."

"And for good reason," he said, abruptly turning his back on her.

"But what are we going to do when we've caught up with them?" Farid was hurrying unsteadily after him.

"I don't know," was all Dustfinger said as he began looking for a way down the slope, keeping in the cover of the trees. "I thought one of you might have some idea, since you were so keen to come along."

The route he took led downhill so steeply that Meggie could hardly keep her footing, but then she suddenly saw the road – stony and rutted with channels where water had once flowed down from the hills. On the other side were the stables and the house she had seen from the top of the hill. Dustfinger waved her over to a place by the roadside where the undergrowth would shield her from curious eyes.

"No, they don't seem to be here yet, but they must arrive soon!" he said quietly. "They may even stay the night, fill their bellies, and get drunk to forget the terrors of the forest. I can't show my face over there while it's still light. Given my luck, one of Capricorn's fire-raisers who's working for the Adderhead now will cross my path. But you," he said, placing a hand on Farid's shoulder, "you can go over there safely. If anyone asks where you're from, just say your master's sitting in the inn drinking. Count the soldiers, count the prisoners, and see how many children are among them. Understand? Meanwhile I'll take a look farther along the road. I have a kind of idea."

Farid nodded and lured Gwin over to him.

"I'll go with him!" Meggie expected Dustfinger to forbid her to go with Farid, but he just shrugged his shoulders.

"As you like. I can't keep you here. I just hope your mother doesn't give herself away when she recognizes you. And another thing!" He took hold of Meggie's arm as she was about to follow Farid. "Don't take it into your head that we can do anything for your parents. Perhaps we can free the children, even a few of the adults if they run fast enough. But your father won't be able to run, and your mother will stay with him. She won't leave him on his own, any more than she would leave you behind that other time. We both remember it, don't we?"

Meggie nodded and turned her face away, so that he wouldn't see her tears. But Dustfinger gently turned her around and wiped them from her cheeks. "You really are very like your mother," he said softly. "She never wanted anyone to see her cry, either – however good her reasons for tears." His face looked strained as he scrutinized the two of them again. "Well, you're dirty enough," he commented. "Anyone would take you for a stable boy and a kitchen maid. We'll meet behind the stables as soon as it's dark. Now, off you go."

They didn't have long to wait.

Meggie and Farid had been hanging around the stables for barely an hour when they saw the procession of prisoners come down the road – women, children, old men, hands tied behind their backs and soldiers on both sides of them. These men were not armed, no helmets hid their sullen features, but they all wore their master's snake emblem on their breasts, silver-gray cloaks, and swords at their belts. Meggie recognized their leader at once: It was Firefox. And judging by his face, he didn't seem to like traveling on foot very much.

"Don't stare at them like that!" whispered Farid, as Meggiestood there rooted to the spot. He dragged her behind one of the carts standing around the yard. "Your mother's not hurt. Did you see her?" Meggie nodded. Yes, Resa was walking between two other women, one of them pregnant. But where was Mo?

"Hey!" bellowed Firefox, as his men drove the prisoners into the yard. "Whose are those carts? We need more room."

The soldiers pushed the carts aside, handling one of them so roughly that its load of sacks slipped off. A man hurried out of the inn – probably the cart's owner – a protest already on his lips, but when he saw the soldiers he bit it back and shouted at the grooms, who quickly righted the cart again. Traders, farmers, servants – more and more people came crowding out of the stables and the main building to see the cause of all the noise in the yard. A fat, perspiring man made his way through the turmoil to Firefox, faced him with a hostile expression, and let fly a torrent of angry words.

"All right, all right!" Meggie heard Firefox growl. "But we need space. Can't you see we have prisoners with us? Would you rather we drove them into your stables?"

"Yes, yes, use one of the stables!" cried the fat man in relief beckoning to a couple of his servants who were standing there staring at the prisoners, some of whom had fallen to their knees just where they were, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.

"Come on!" Farid whispered to Meggie, and side by side they pushed their way past the muttering farmers and traders, past the servants still clearing the burst sacks out of the yard, past the soldiers casting hopeful glances at the inn. No one seemed to be taking very much notice of the prisoners, but it was hardly necessary: None of them looked as if they still had the strength to escape. Even the children, whose legs might have been fast enough for them to run, were clinging to their mothers' skirts, empty-eyed, or staring in fear at the armed men who had brought them here. Resa was supporting the pregnant woman. Yes, her mother was uninjured; Meggie could see that much, although she avoided coming too close to her, in case Dustfinger was right to fear that Resa would give herself away if she recognized her. How desperately she was looking around! She took the arm of a soldier, whose beardless face made him look only a boy, and then -

"Farid!" Meggie couldn't believe it. Resa was talking. Not with her hands but with her mouth. Her voice could hardly be heard in all this noise, but it was her voice. How could it be possible? The soldier didn't listen to her but pushed her roughly away, and Resa turned. The Black Prince and his bear were pulling a cart into the yard. They had been harnessed to it like oxen. A chain was wound around the bear's black muzzle, another around his throat and chest. But Resa had eyes for neither the bear nor the Prince – she kept looking at the cart, and Meggie immediately realized what that meant.

Without a word, she took off. "Meggie!" Farid called after her, but she wasn't listening. No one could stop her. The cart was a ramshackle thing. First she saw only the man with the injured leg, one of the strolling players holding a child on his lap. Then she saw Mo.

She thought her heart would never beat again. He was lying there with his eyes closed, under a dirty blanket, but all the same Meggie saw the blood. His shirt was soaked in it, the shirt he liked best to wear, although the sleeves had worn thin. Meggie forgot everything: Farid, the soldiers, Dustfinger's warning, where she was, why she was here. She just stared at her father and his still face. The world was suddenly an empty place, very empty, and her heart was a cold, dead thing.

"Meggie!" Farid reached for her arm. He hauled her away with him, ignoring her resistance, and held her close when she began to sob.

"He's dead, Farid! Did you see him? Mo… he's dead!" She kept stammering that terrible word. Dead. Gone. Forever.

She pushed Farid's arm away. "I must go to him." Bad luck clings to this book, Meggie, nothing but bad luck, even if you don't believe me. Hadn't he told her that in Elinor's library? How much every one of those words hurt now. Death had been waiting in the book. His death.

"Meggie!" Farid was still holding her firmly. He shook her as if he had to wake her up. "Meggie, listen. He's not dead! Do you think they'd be dragging him along with them if he was?"

Would they? She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Come with me. Come on!" Farid pulled her away with him. He pushed his way casually through the crowd, as if none of the hurry and bustle interested him. Finally, with an indifferent expression on his face, he stopped by the stable into which the soldiers were herding the prisoners. Meggie wiped away her tears and tried to look equally indifferent, but how could she when her heart, coming back to life, felt as if someone had cut it in two?

"Do you have enough for us to eat there?" she heard Firefox ask. "We're ravenous after our journey through that accursed forest."

Meggie saw them push Resa into the dark stable with the other women, while two soldiers released the Black Prince and his bear.

"Of course I have enough!" said the fat landlord indignantly "And you won't recognize your horses, their coats are so glossy!"

"So I should hope," replied Firefox. "Otherwise the

Adderhead will make sure you're not landlord of this hovel much longer. We ride at daybreak tomorrow. My men and the prisoners can stay in the stable, but I want a bed – and a bed to myself, too, not one I have to share with a crowd of snoring, farting strangers."

"Of course, of course!" The landlord nodded eagerly. "But what about that monster?" He pointed anxiously at the bear. "He'll scare the horses. Why didn't you kill him and leave him in the forest?"

"Because the Adderhead wants to hang him along with his master," replied Firefox, "and because my men believe all the nonsense they hear about him – folk say he's a Night-Mare who likes to take the shape of a bear, so it's a bad idea to fire an arrow into his coat."

"A Night-Mare?" The landlord chuckled nervously. He obviously seemed to think the story not impossible. "Never mind what he is, he's not going into my stable. Tie him up behind the bakehouse if you like. Then perhaps the horses won't smell him." The bear growled in a low tone as one of the soldiers pulled him along on his chain, but as they were forced away behind the main building the Black Prince spoke to him soothingly, in a quiet voice, as if comforting a child.

The cart with Mo and the injured old man on it was still in the yard. A few servants were standing around, gossiping to one another, presumably trying to work out exactly who had been captured on the Adderhead's orders. Was the rumor already spreading that the man lying as if dead on the cart was the Bluejay? The soldier with the beardless face shooed away the servants, took the child off the cart and pushed him toward the stable, too. "What about the wounded prisoners?" he called to Firefox. "Do we just leave those two on the cart where they are?"

"And find that they're dead in the morning, or gone? What are you thinking of, you fool? One of them's the reason why we went into that damned forest, right?" Firefox turned to the landlord again. "Is there a physician among your guests?" he asked. "I have a prisoner who must be kept alive because the Adderhead plans a magnificent execution for him. It's no real fun with a dead man, if you see what I mean."

Must be kept alive… Farid pressed Meggie’s hand and smiled triumphantly at her.

"Oh yes, of course, of course!" The landlord looked curiously at the cart. "It's a nuisance, for sure, if condemned men die before their execution. I hear that's happened twice this year already. However, I can't offer you a physician. I do have a moss-woman helping out in the kitchen, though. She's set many of my guests to rights in her time."

"Good! Send for her!"

The landlord impatiently beckoned to a snotty-nosed boy leaning by the stable door. Firefox called two of his soldiers to him. "Go on, get the wounded men into the stable, too!" Meggie heard him say. "Double guards outside the door, and four of you keep watch on the Bluejay tonight, understand? No wine, no mead, and anyone who falls asleep will be sorry for it!"

"The Bluejay?" The landlord stared in amazement. "You have the Bluejay on that cart?" When Firefox cast him a warning glance, he quickly put his fat fingers to his mouth. "Not a word!" he uttered. "No one will hear a word of it from me."

"I should hope not," growled Firefox, and looked around as if to make sure that no one else had heard what he said.

When the soldiers lifted Mo off the cart, Meggie instinctively took a step forward, but Farid dragged her back. "Meggie, what's the matter with you?" he hissed. "If you carry on like this they'll shut you up, too. Do you think that will help anyone?"

Meggie shook her head. "He really is still alive, Farid, isn't he?" she whispered. She was almost afraid to believe it.

"Yes, of course. I told you so. Don't look so sad. Everything will turn out all right, you wait and see!" Farid caressed her forehead and kissed the tears from her eyelashes.

"Hey, you two lovebirds, get away from the horses!"

The Piper was standing before them. Meggie bent her head, although she was sure he wouldn't recognize her. She had been just a girl in a dirty dress when he almost rode her down in the Ombra marketplace. Today he was once again more splendidly clothed than any of the strolling players Meggie had yet seen. His silken garments shimmered like a peacock's tail, and the rings on his fingers were genuine silver, like the nose on his face. Obviously, the Adderhead paid well for songs that pleased him.

The Piper looked hard at them again, and then strolled over to Firefox. "Well, so you're back from the forest!" he called from some way off. "And with rich booty, so I've heard. Looks as if one of your spies wasn't lying for a change. Good news for the Adderhead at last."

Firefox replied, but Meggie wasn't listening. The snotty-nosed boy came back with the moss-woman, a short little creature who hardly came up to his shoulder. Her skin was gray as beech bark, her face as wrinkled as a shriveled apple. Moss-women, healers… Before Farid realized what she meant to do, Meggie had slipped away from him. The moss-woman would know how Mo really was. She made her way as close as she could to the little woman, until only the boy stood between them. The moss-woman's smock was stained with meat juices from the spit, and her feet were bare, but she inspected the men standing around her with fearless eyes.

"Sure as I live, a genuine moss-woman," growled Firefox, while his men retreated from the tiny woman as if she were as dangerous as the Black Prince's bear. "I thought they never came out of the forest. But yes, apparently they know something about healing. Don't folk say that old witch Nettle's mother was a moss-woman?"

"Yes, but her father was useless." The little woman scrutinized Firefox as intently as if she were trying to find out what kind of blood flowed in his veins. "You drink too much," she observed. "Just look at your face. Carry on like this and your liver will soon burst like an overripe pumpkin."

A ripple of laughter ran through the onlookers, but a glance from Firefox silenced them. "Listen, you're not here to give me advice, she-gnome!" he snapped at the moss-woman. "I want you to look at one of my prisoners. He has to reach the Adderhead's castle alive."

"Yes, I know all that," replied the moss-woman, still examining his face with disapproval. "So that your master can kill him by all the rules of the executioner's trade. Fetch me water. Hot water and clean towels. And I want someone to help me."

Firefox nodded to the boy. "If you want a helper, pick one for yourself," he growled, and surreptitiously felt his stomach, where he presumably supposed his liver was located.

"One of your men? No, thank you." The moss-woman wrinkled up her little nose scornfully and looked around until her eye fell on Meggie. "That one will do," said the little creature. "She doesn't look too stupid."

And before Meggie knew it, one of the soldiers took her roughly by the shoulder. The last thing she saw before she stumbled into the stable after the moss-woman was the expression of alarm on Farid's face.