Chapter Nine

The next day brought Caelan’s chance for escape.

Strangers came to the hold, more Neika tribesmen to fetch the two who were already there. Clad in furs, their long blond hair braided at the temples, ice frozen in their thick mustaches, they carried axes in their belts and freedom in their eyes. The Neika entered warily, forever uneasy within the confines of hold walls. They stood knotted together in the courtyard, fingering their axe heads and mumbling beneath their mustaches until their comrades emerged from the infirmary—one rushing out in greeting, the other limping with a broad grin.

There was much shouting and back-slapping Squalling in a large ring in the courtyard, they began to talk formally, using ritualized sign language to supplement it.

Everyone in the hold except Beva and Gunder found an excuse to venture by and stare at the newcomers.

The Neika spent winter months following the nordeer that migrated across the glacier. They also cut wood and sold it to craftsmen in the lower towns. Sometimes, in lean years when the nordeer were scarce, the Neika cut peat and brought it to holds in exchange for food. In the summer they cut ice, packed it in meadow grass, and brought it down through the Cascades to the towns on large skids drawn by tame nordeer.

Brawny and tall, the tribesmen looked fierce. In reality, however, most were shy. They rarely fought among them selves and were aggressive only in protecting their herds and families.

These men had been to E’raumhold while waiting for their brother’s leg to mend. Now they were hack, having successfully sold their bundles of beaver pelts and nordeer hides. And they had an order for stripped logs for the building of a new barn at E’raumhold. Red-cheeked with prosperity, they talked rapid-fire, hands flying with gestures as quick as their words.

When Anya came forth with a tray of apple cakes, they accepted with hesitant pleasure.

Caelan approached them cautiously and took the piece of cake Anya handed to him.

“Have you heard about any raids?” he asked them.

The oldest man of the group glanced up. “Naw,” he said gruffly. “We been to and fro along the river all this moon. No raiders. None since E’ferhold was burned out.”

Caelan and Anya exchanged a glance. The housekeeper looked relieved. Smiling, she gathered her empty tray and headed back into the house.

“No sightings of Thyzarenes anywhere?” Caelan persisted. “I guess that means the army is gone?”

“Um,” the Neika said around a mouthful of cake. “Talk in E’raumhold full of it. Bad, they say. Bad to let army plunder loyal provinces. Will be more war if army does not go.”

Caelan’s ears perked up. Trying not to act too interested, he said, “So the army is still in Trau?”

“Um. Talk be of it. Army camped near Ornselag. Waiting for transport ships. Too many fighters for waiting. Much trouble.”

The Neika exchanged solemn glances, grumbling beneath their mustaches.

“We stay far from towns. No trouble for Neika. Talk say, raiders eager to go. When thaw comes, they take the fire-breathers home for breeding. Have a big festival after thaw. Got to divide spoils. Got to let fire-breathers breed and the raider folk breed too.”

He glanced around, his eyes as untamed as the woods beyond the hold, and brushed cake crumbs from his mustache.

Beva came out, slender and tall, his white healer robes immaculate, his gray eyes cool.

The tribesmen rose to their feet in nervous respect.

Beva held out a small pouch, which the injured man took warily. “Mix that into a weak tea and drink a cup of it with each meal. The leg is healing well, but this will keep fever away.”

“Um.” The tribesman who had answered Caelan’s questions dug into his money purse for coins.

Beva accepted them without expression. “I have taken away his pain, but the leg will heal straighter if he does not walk on it much for another week.” He held up his left hand, fingers spread wide. “This many days.”

The tribesman nodded, and Beva walked back into the house.

“We go,” the Neika said.

Almost in unison, they headed for the gates, braids swinging around their wide shoulders.

Caelan hurried after them. “Wait!” he said. “I want to barter.”

They laughed above his head, strong teeth flashing in the sunshine.

“No barter,” the tribesman said kindly. “All goods sold. We go back to camp.”

“Wait. Please.” Feeling breathless, Caelan looked up into his blue eyes. “How much for an axe?”

The Neika’s laughter faded abruptly. He set his hand protectively on his axe-head and frowned. “Axe is blessed. No sell, ever.”

Caelan held up his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t understand. What about a dagger?”

The man squinted thoughtfully with his head tilled to one side. “What healer need with fighting dagger?”

“I’m not a healer.” Caelan glanced over his shoulder at the house. “My father has nothing to do with this It’s for me.”

“Little warrior.” The Neika laughed and said something in his own language that made the others laugh too.

It reminded Caelan of how the soldiers had laughed as they circled him. Anger steeled him, and he vowed to himself that he would become a man at whom no one laughed ever again. But for now, he needed a weapon if he was to make his plan work.

“What can I offer you?” he persisted. “Which of my possessions would most please the Neika?”

“You have bargained with our people before. This is good.” Nodding, the man squatted.

Caelan crouched beside him while the others stood patiently. Caelan’s heart quickened with excitement. Carefully, he tried to be polite and wait for the big man to think.

Lea, bright in her scarlet wool cloak, came running up. “Caelan!” she called, elbowing past the tribesmen. “Are you coming? You promised—”

Caelan frowned and shook his head at her, but she settled herself beside him anyway. “You promised,” she said with more urgency.

“Soon,” he told her. “Wait until I’m finished with this.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hush.”

The tribesman beside him drew a long dagger from his belt and laid it carefully on the cobblestones between them. It had a bronze blade decorated with intricate carving worn in places. The hilt was a plain cross, long and tapering, with a round brass knob on the end. Wrapped in fine wire, it looked very old and nothing at all like the weapons the Neika usually carried.

“You trade for this?” the Neika asked.

Caelan nodded.

Beside him, Lea tensed. He squeezed her hand to keep her quiet.

“You give ... medicines for this dagger.”

Caelan looked up in dismay. “But I can’t—” He caught himself, breaking off in mid-sentence, and thought about it. His father’s herbal cabinets were kept locked. No one but Gunder was allowed near them. Caelan thought about what his father had tried to do to him and hardened his heart.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Ah.” Looking satisfied, the Neika rocked back on his heels. He stood up, leaving the dagger on the ground.

“But, Caelan—”

Caelan frowned at Lea. “Don’t say anything. This is my business.”

“But it’s a bad thing—”

“Lea, either keep quiet or I’m not going with you.”

She frowned, looking hurt, and marched away.

He stared after her, sorry to be so harsh, but he didn’t need her pestering him right now.

He picked up the dagger and turned it over in his hands, running his fingertips along the flat of the blade. It didn’t come close to the dagger he’d left behind at Rieschelhold, but it would do.

Holding it out to its owner, he said, “I’ll bring the remedies as soon as I—”

“You keep. We have made bargain. We go outside walls.”

Pleased by the man’s trust, Caelan smiled and quickly tucked the knife out of sight beneath his tunic. “Wait, and I’ll bring them to you as soon as—”

“There is pine tree with fork in trunk,” the Neika said. “Forty strides from gate. You know this tree?”

Caelan had climbed in it throughout his childhood. “Of course.”

“You leave bundle there before nightfall. We get.”

“Agreed.”

The tribesmen gathered themselves and headed for the gates. Raul let them out.

Caelan stood there in the sun-drenched courtyard, glowing with pride. They had treated him like a man. Now all he had to do was figure out how to sneak into the storerooms of the infirmary and get what was needed without Gunder catching him.

A tug on his sleeve interrupted his thoughts. Lea had returned, and she was staring up at him with open disapproval. “Why do you want that horrible old knife?”

“I need it.” Caelan cleared his throat. “Every man needs a dagger.”

“You are hiding yourself from me again. You trust the Neika, but not me. And now you won’t keep your promise.”

He bent down and gripped her by the shoulders. “Of course I’m going to keep my promise. I need—I want to go to the ice caves with you. We’re going this afternoon.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes. You tell Anya that we want to take our lunch with us. We’ll needs lots of food because I’m really hungry.”

“I will. Oh, Caelan, I can’t wait. Why can’t we go now?”

“Because I have to do some things. Run along and get ready.”

He did his best to keep his voice light, but Lea was not easily fooled.

She stopped jumping up and down and gripped his hand with both of hers. “Don’t bring that dagger with you, promise?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to carry it all the time. It’s a part of me now.”

“Don’t say that!” she cried in genuine distress. “It’s bad; I can feel it. Long ago, it killed. The metal is tainted with—”

“Stop it,” he said harshly, pulling free. “You’re making this up.”

“I’m not!” She stamped her foot. “You don’t want to listen because you’re angry at Father. You’ve changed inside. Since the wind spirits hurt you, you’re different.”

He frowned. “I’ve grown up, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “I’m just trying to help you. Throw the knife away.”

“I need it.”

“But it’s bad—”

“Look,” he said impatiently, “whatever it was used for in the past has nothing to do with what I’ll use it for. Remember that pouch Anya made for you to keep your treasure in?”

Reluctantly Lea nodded.

“Remember I told you it needed a leather lacing threaded through the top so you could hang it around your neck?”

Again she nodded.

“So now I can cut one for you. Knives can be used for good purposes.”

Her face cleared for an instant, then clouded again. “But it is going to make you steal, to pay for it. That’s a bad thing, too.”

She could always sting his conscience. Caelan wished she’d never witnessed his trade with the Neika.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I have some money. I’ll put it in Father’s earnings box to pay for what I take. Fair enough?”

She thought this over. “I guess so. But shouldn’t you ask him?”

“No. And make sure you don’t mention this to anyone.

It’s my secret, my business. You have to keep quiet. Now promise.”

Stubbornness entered her eyes, but finally she nodded. “I promise.”

“Good. Now run along. I have things to do before we can go play.”

She scampered off, her bright cloak swinging around her. Caelan snorted to himself and patted the dagger at his side. Bad luck indeed. He was making good luck for himself with the accomplishment of each small step in his plan.

 

Stealing the herbs was surprisingly easy. All he had to do was wait until Beva was outside the house, then saunter into the workroom where Gunder was busily inscribing recipes on parchment. He told Gunder that Beva wanted him to come at once.

Blinking and obedient, Gunder hurried away, leaving his pen still wet with ink and his work scattered on the table.

Most of the cabinets were unlocked. Pulling out a leather rucksack from beneath his tunic, Caelan made his selections quickly, pulling out small flasks from the rear of the rows where they were less likely to be missed.

He selected simple concoctions for common ailments such as fever, tooth pain, wart removal, wound cleanser, and some of the salves. Some of the supplies were low, as though Gunder and Beva had been busy with other matters. Caelan didn’t care. Keeping a wary lookout in case either of the two came back, he worked as quickly as he could. When the rucksack was satisfactorily filled, he laced down the top and slung it over his shoulder.

True to his word, he paused by the earnings box and tried to lift the lid. It was locked. Caelan’s mouth twisted. Trust Gunder to guard it so zealously. As though anyone in the hold would steal.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the tug of temptation. Better to put his trust in money he could clench in his fist than in the hope of receiving a gift from beneath spirits.

Caelan hesitated, his thumb sliding across the heavy, iron-banded lid. He thought he could pry it open with the dagger.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him glance up.

Breathing an oath, he ducked outside and behind the open door just in time to avoid Gunder’s return. Peering through the crack below the hinge, Caelan saw the assistant shaking his head in apparent puzzlement.

Caelan frowned at him. If Gunder had only stayed away five more minutes, Caelan’s pockets would have been full. Yes, and he’d be a true thief as well, whispered an accusing voice in his head.

He hurried away on silent feet. Less than a half-hour later he had filled a second pack with warm layers of clothing, his warmest fur-lined traveling boots, a tinderstrike, a small cooking pot filched from the kitchen earlier, and a bundle of dried jerky taken from the larder stores. Glancing around his small, plain room for the last time, he felt a pang of homesickness already.

Half angrily he shook it off. This was no time to go soft.

From a tiny casket of rosewood that had belonged to his mother, he withdrew a round bronze mirror she had bought from the Choven many years before. It was spell forged to conjure up anyone’s likeness on command.

Mother, Caelan thought and watched the cloudy surface of the mirror slowly clear. Her face so loving and kind smiled at him briefly before fading away. He drew in a deep breath and slipped the mirror into his pocket. He did not want to forget either his mother or little Lea, the two people he loved most. The other item in the casket was an old medallion of the goddess Merit, her round sunny features stamped into the worn metal. As a child he had worn the medallion around his neck on a thong.

He slipped it on now, breathing a small, surreptitious prayer to the goddess to protect him. Feeling half-reassured and half-embarrassed, he kissed the medallion and tucked it beneath his tunic. When she was alive, his mother would never let him outside the walls without wearing it. When he went to Rieschelhold he had left it behind, feeling too grown-up to need it. Now he knew better.

He put on a fur-lined tunic over his regular one, with the dagger belted on in between the layers. For once he didn’t forget his gloves, which he tucked in the pocket of a capacious fur cloak. Settling the garment over his shoulders, he arranged the folds to conceal the packs and ventured outside with a fast beating heart and a mouth dry as dust.

This time, his escape wouldn’t fail.