Chapter Five: Thelos

On the next day the great summer fair began, and the streets of Thelos were crowded with people.

Many of the throng were out-of-towners - farmers and merchants, travellers and adventurers of every description, among them the sailors from foreign lands whose ships were berthed in the harbour. On every corner, seemingly, was a troubadour or mimer, or two or three, to entertain the passers-by. Street urchins ran to and fro, bearing messages for a coin. At busy stalls along the thoroughfares, the bakers and the grocers and the cloth merchants and the hatters showed off their wares to eager customers and did their best trade of the year. Every tavern was jammed to the corners; every grassy place packed with picnickers; every room in every decent inn was taken, and the seedier ones were filling up rapidly.

One of those who approached the gates of Thelos that morning was a very tall, ill-looking woman in a black cloak. Unlike the other travellers she was neither on foot nor on horseback, but was carried upon a simple litter - hardly more than a stretcher - by four strong men. Beside her on the litter sat a small, black-eyed creature with brown fur, in shape rather like a monkey. The woman's face was twisted horribly in pain from a hideous wound in her back, and when the careless jostling of the crowd shook her she cried out shrilly.

Most of the time, though, she bore her pain in silence. Now and then she even found the energy to fling curses into the crowd, or to speak in quiet tones to her strange, small companion. Every few paces one of her bearers - a broad man in the clothing of a fisherman - would cry out, "Stand aside for Lady Swenhild! Make way for a dying woman!" These words had little effect on the crowd, but they did attract the attention of the town sentry, who had been standing idly at the gate watching the people pass through.

The sentry was a young woman with a short sword and a chainmail shirt. Leaving her post she plunged into the mass of people, and in a few minutes had forced a path to the litter. The sight of the wounded woman made her feel instantly faint, but she pressed on with her duty.

"I can see that you need a healer," she said. "If you wish I can send for one at once. But it will take time, as you may guess, with so many people in the town."

Even in her pain the tall woman, Swenhild, managed a sneer.

"A healer! What, will you drag some bumpkin herb-picker, some paltry bone-setting, boil-lancing dimwit from the alehouse to tend a wound such as mine? Sorcery will mend me, perhaps - if the sorcerer is mighty and if I am not too late. But woman, spare me from your town healers!"

The sentry looked grim.

"Thelos boasts healers to match any," she answered coldly. "Yet if you must have a sorcerer there is one of great power who dwells in the Thelian Wood, not far north of the city. His name is Evermorn, and he serves the white garland. A ride of two hours would bring you to his abode."

Swenhild was about to begin another sneering reply, but broke off gasping at another spasm of agony from her back. When she spoke again her voice was old, and as dry as desert sand.

"North you say. How shall I find it? Is there a road?"

"Two," said the guard. "You will come to them if you go to the middle of town and take the north avenue leading from the square, for they begin at a fork just outside the north gate. One is short, but narrow, hilly and rough, for it passes through the dales of the river Eldaran. The other is called Groat's Way. It is broad and smooth, but longer. Whichever you choose, you will come at last to the Thelian Wood, where Evermorn's dwelling place is."

Swenhild stared scowlingly at each of her bearers in turn. Last of all her eyes fastened on Robon, the leader of the four.

"Well?" she demanded. "You have ears, don't you? Get me to Evermorn's place as fast as you can, and don't spare yourselves! But take the flat road. This crowd of yokels has already given me about all the bumping I can stand."

The sentry's relief showed on her face as she watched the litter pass through the gate and into the city. For a moment she considered reporting the incident to her commander, but decided against it. After all, Swenhild had done nothing wrong. But the sentry was still uneasy, for she had glimpsed the wounded woman's eyes. They had been red, like coals in a hot fire, with no whites, and no eyeballs. They had been the eyes of a witch.

The wharves at Thelos harbour were also busy that morning, for yesterday's fog had given way to sunshine and a clear sky. Some vessels had left the harbour as soon as the tide began to run out. Others were at dockside making last-minute preparations before they too departed.

In all the activity along the waterfront the arrival of one smallish craft from upriver, the Swallow, was hardly noticed when it put in at midmorning to take on supplies for a sea passage. But the Swallow's captain was glad enough not to attract attention.

The fresh provisions for the voyage were waiting in a nearby storehouse, and the crew worked quickly at getting them stowed on board. The captain himself, however, was sitting on the bunk in his cabin below, a pipe clenched in his grinning jaws. On the other side of the wide chart table sat Heron and Wist, looking rather uncomfortable as the captain asked them yet again if they would sail with him as cabin hands when the Swallow left port.

"What will you do here in Thelos, after all?" he wanted to know. "Return to your mother's house, no doubt, and your ordinary lives. Is that what you want to do? Your father was a sorcerer, and an adventurer at heart! Surely he passed some of that on to his children!"

But his arguments did not sway the children's resolve to leave the boat.

"Thank you, for the ride and for the offer," Wist repeated. "But I don't want to leave Valinay yet - maybe someday."

She did not say, "I don't want to work on a smugglers' boat and risk being punished as a criminal," but that is what both she and Heron were thinking. The night before, both children had gone early to their makeshift bunks in the Swallow's main cabin, while the captain and crew remained on deck drinking wine and laughing far into the night. It was then that Heron had slipped back into the cargo area to look around. It had not taken him long to confirm what he had already suspected - that their hosts were smugglers.

Neatly stencilled labels on the stored crates showed that some contained flour, some rice; others held nails, sailcloth, or coal for cooking. But Heron had not been trained as a thief for nothing, and when he pried open one crate he found a chest of jewellery buried in the rice; and when he opened another he found that it was packed not with ship's biscuits - as the label stated - but with blue-tipped poison arrows, long illegal in every civilized country. This sort of thing was very far from the honourable trade of thieving that Yinna had taught him, and so it was that neither he nor Wist was tempted to take up the captain's offer the next morning.

Wist's last words had ended in an uncomfortable silence, though the captain continued to grin as broadly as ever behind his beard and his pipe. Then the cabin door opened and one of the crew - the same woman who had first greeted them at Aligoth - came in with the news that loading was finished, and the Swallow was ready to sail.

"Right," the captain said. "Cast off at once, Zali. I'll be on deck in a minute or two."

"Hey, what about us?" demanded Wist angrily as she and Heron both leapt to their feet.

She tried to push past Zali and through the door but the crewwoman thrust her back with an evil laugh.

"We'll let you off at Sharkoon, honey," she snickered. "You and your brother will fit right in there - in the slave market!"

The cabin door slammed shut in Wist's face. At once she grabbed the handle, but quickly let it go again when she felt something sharp pressing against the small of her back. Gingerly she turned around to find the captain waving the curved blade of his cutlass a hand's breadth from her nose.

"A pity that you wouldn't come willingly," he said regretfully. "Not that it would have made any difference in the end, of course. But now you will be trying to make trouble all the way to Sharkoon, and that's a bit of an inconvenience."

Wist drew her head back from the sharp blade, and gave the captain a hateful stare. From above she could hear someone shouting the order to free the docklines. A moment later the cabin tilted gently as the wind caught the small foresail, and a murmuring sound began, the sound of water sliding along the wooden hull as the Swallow started away from the shore.

"I am sincerely sorry," the captain continued, sounding very pleased with himself and not sorry at all. "I admit it's not quite fair. But don't feel too bad. Maybe whoever buys you will let you write to your mother, and maybe she'll buy you back. If she can afford it. A couple of strong, healthy kids like you will bring a good price, I should think. Let's hope you won't get beaten too often - I understand they don't treat slaves very well in Sharkoon."

He motioned the children to sit down again, which they did, then left the cabin, locking the door behind him with a heavy brass key. The children could hear him laughing as he clambered up the companionway ladder onto deck.

As soon as he was out of earshot Wist turned to Heron desperately.

"Can you pick that lock?"

Heron stood up. He studied the lock for a moment then nodded.

"Easy. But it'll take me a minute, Wist, and by that time it'll be too late to do us any good. It's already too late. I don't know about you, but I'm a lousy swimmer."

"Just get the door open," Wist said. "And hurry."

Heron shrugged, and bent down to remove something from the lining of his tunic. It was a piece of stiff wire, with one end straight and the other bent into a hook. He inserted the hooked end into the keyhole and moved it around as he probed the mechanism inside. Then he gave a twist and a pull, and in a lot less than the minute he had predicted the lock clicked and the door came open.

"Quick, up onto deck!" ordered Wist. "Keep them busy in the cockpit while I go forward. Ready? Good! You first!"

Heron bounded up the companionway ladder and onto deck, Wist close at his heels. His heart sank as a quick glance told him just how far they were from shore - in another few minutes they would be out of the harbour and into the main part of the bay; in half an hour they would be at sea. Then he turned his attention to the smugglers, who were gathered in the cockpit. Wist had said to keep them busy, but it didn't seem necessary. The sudden appearance of the children on deck seemed not to alarm the sailors, but to amuse them, for it was plain that at this distance from shore their captives were as powerless as if the Swallow were in mid-ocean.

"Nice going, lad!" the captain called to Heron. "We didn't expect you for half an hour at least!" He pointed at Wist, who had clambered forward onto the foredeck, so that almost the whole length of the boat separated her from the smugglers. "What's your sister up to?" the captain inquired. "She's not going to call for help, is she? Oh, dear me, we're really in trouble now!"

His comrades guffawed as Wist did indeed cup her hands at her lips as though to cry for help.

"If she can make us hear her she's got a good throat for a lass her size!" snorted Zali. "She must be bit simple if she thinks they're going to - Aieee!"

Zali screamed and clapped her hands to her ears as the air suddenly erupted with sound.

"Help! Help! You at the docks, help us!" Wist called, using the Thunder Voice at its full power. "We've been kidnapped! Help us! Hur -"

That was all she had time for. Thinking more quickly than his stunned followers the captain had leapt recklessly from the cockpit and in seven long strides covered the length of the boat to clap his hand over Wist's mouth and silence her.

"Get this sorcerous brat below and see that she stays there!" he yelled at Zali who had followed him forward. "The boy too! And get some sail on! We've got a race on our hands!"

He was right. The wharf was boiling with activity, as every craft that was making ready to depart - and there were still many of them - abandoned its preparations and got under way with all possible speed. In no time, half a dozen vessels under full sail could be seen making for the Swallow, with as many more to follow in their wake. A precious few minutes were lost to the pursuers just because there were so many of them, for they stole each other's wind and blocked each other's way in the confusion of their haste.

Soon, though, two boats pulled ahead of the pack and seemed to be gaining even on the swift-hulled Swallow. One was a small spice-trader with a turbaned crew from some hot land in the south; the other was the blue and yellow sloop of the harbour guard. Both were tacking desperately to capture from the fickle air every ounce of energy that would bring them nearer to overtaking their quarry before it reached the open sea.

But the smugglers had chosen their boat carefully, and now the Swallow's speed repaid their care. They had lowered their working foresail, and this had cost them some time. Now they raised the big genoa sail and the Swallow seemed to take flight under them like the bird it was named for.

The spice-trader and the guard boat began to fall behind again, and it seemed that nothing could now stop the smugglers' craft from reaching the freedom of the sea. The crews of the pursuing boats cursed but they did not give up. The guard boat had two archers on board; these readied their long-bows but did not shoot, for the range was hopeless.

In the cabin below Wist and Heron saw with dismay that their would-be rescuers were losing the race.

"What now?" asked Wist. "We've got to think of something fast!"

"Are you kidding?" Heron replied. "We need a miracle!"

"We need a knife! Let's see if we can find one!"

"A knife?"

"That's right." She pointed at Tormadeus. "Remember, they can't see him. They'll never know what hit them."

Heron nodded.

"There must be a carving knife or something in the galley. Let's look there."

The galley had a sink with three drawers under it. The first drawer had tin plates and mugs, the second had pots, and the third had what they wanted: cutlery and utensils, including a sharp carving knife.

Heron took the knife by the blade and presented it handle-first to Wist. But as she reached to take it an odd expression of doubt crossed his face and he took the knife back.

"Wist," he said hesitantly, "you're - uh, you're not going to kill them, are you?"

Wist made a face.

"I thought of it! But no. I'm going to kill the boat. At least, Tormadeus is."

Now she took hold of the knife and passed it to the demon, who grasped it purposefully as though he fully knew what Wist intended. Wist said, "Okay!" and he vanished, the knife with him. Now Wist climbed the ladder and opened the hatch.

Following the captain's order Zali was watching over the companionway to see that the children stayed where they were put. When Wist pushed the hatch open Zali came over angrily.

"You were told not to come up here!" she roared, and with a thrust of her boot pushed Wist back down the companionway ladder onto the floor of the cabin. Heron looked furious, but Wist grinned. Tormadeus and his knife were now on deck, and any minute now she expected - yes! It was starting already!

From above came a sound like the crack of a whip. The boat lurched, and the smugglers let fly a chorus of oaths.

"That'll be the foresail!" cried Wist, clapping her hands.

There was another crack, and the boat lurched again.

"The mainsail!" cried Wist.

With the ropes to her two sails severed, the Swallow slowed to a stop. The sleek prow turned into the wind; the waves slapped rudely against the lifeless hull and idly rocked it. Flapping unharnessed in the breeze, the mainsail and the big genoa were as useless to the Swallow as lace handkerchiefs.

The captain was a bold enough man, if not a brave one. As soon as he saw that the pursuing boats were certain to catch up with him he drew his cutlass defiantly and held it aloft, and urged his crew to do the same. But they saw the archers with their bows ranged against them, and the turbaned crew of the spice-trader with their gleaming scimitars, and they threw down their weapons.

The captain had no choice in the end but to drop his cutlass also.

Very soon the guardboat had come close enough to grapple onto the Swallow with iron hooks. Several guards came on board to lead the smugglers away. They also studied the frayed ends of the ropes that had so mysteriously parted, and came away scratching their heads, for the ropes were new and in good condition except at the breaks. But they were glad enough at the outcome of the chase that they did not press the matter.

Wist and Heron came on deck as soon as the smugglers were safely bound. They crossed to the guardboat, along with their invisible companion, and were treated very kindly by their rescuers. The story they gave was the same as they had given the smugglers, for it would still not do to admit that they were runaway apprentices. The spice-traders' boat, being bigger than that of the harbour guards, took on the task of towing the Swallow back to shore.

Half an hour after their rescue, Wist and Heron were back on the wharf and considering what to do next.

Wist wanted to get out of Thelos as soon as possible. She guessed that it was the first place that Voltan and Yinna would come looking for them. But Heron's idea was to seek out an inn, and spend a few days enjoying the fair before making any further plans.

"We can afford it," he said with a sly grin. "Look at this." He held out a small leather purse for Wist to see. Half a dozen gold coins nestled inside.

"We'll thank the captain next time we see him," Heron went on. "I found this in his cabin."

But Wist was not swayed.

"It's too risky," she said. "Later on, after they've given up looking for us, it'll be different. Right now, I think we'd be a lot safer out of town."

"Not necessarily," Heron replied. "In a big crowd like this we'll be harder to find than if we were off by ourselves somewhere. Besides, it'll be fun! And it'd only be for a day or two."

Wist still wasn't convinced. "If it was just Voltan and Yinna that would be one thing," she argued. "The person I'm worried about is -"

"Got you!" shouted Blister, and seized their necks from behind in a grip of steel. "Now you'll pay, you little wretches! Now you'll pay!"

"- Blister," Wist finished weakly. "So much for making plans!"

"Plans!" cried Blister. "I'll give you plans! First to the Grey Garland Hall, where tomorrow we will be met by Voltan and Yinna. And then to life as usual, and sorely miserable it will be for you, Wist, if I have anything to do with it. Mind you behave yourselves now! The Hall is a good distance from here, but if you think you can get away from me again you've got another think coming! And you'll regret it if you try, I promise!"

With those words Blister transferred her grip from the children's necks to their wrists, and started off up the hill into the heart of town at a fast clip. There was nothing Heron and Wist could do. Crying out for help would not help them this time, for they were runaways, and Blister was just doing her job.

Before too long they had arrived at the broad avenue in the north part of Thelos where, among other splendid buildings, the Grey Garland Hall was. They had still some distance to go, though, when their way was blocked by a parade moving slowly down the cross-street south to the fairgrounds. At the same time a party of four men carrying a litter was struggling north against the current of the parade. Above the clamour of the crowd the harsh voice of Swenhild the witch rose from time to time in a curse or an agonized shriek, and the voice of Robon the fisherman could also be heard as he still mechanically cried, "Make way for Lady Swenhild! Make way for a dying woman!"

Sometimes the litter could make no headway against the parade, and then Swenhild would lean alarmingly out over into the crowd and seize a bystander by the collar to ask, "Is this the way to the forest where the sorcerer lives? Is this the right road?"

Some of those she asked were strangers to the town, and could not tell her. Others took one look at her, became frightened, and tore free to retreat into the crowd. But one woman answered, "If you mean Evermorn of the White Garland, yes. You have only to continue in the direction you are going."

It happened that Blister and her two victims were standing near enough by at that moment to overhear this conversation. Wist shot a glance at Heron as if to say, "Did you hear that?" Heron pointed with his eyes back into the crowd - now was the time to break free - and Wist nodded in reply. She looked down at Tormadeus. The demon said, in words that Wist alone could hear, "Just give me a signal. I will distract Lady Blister for you!"

Swenhild's litter pushed a little bit further forward just then, until it was right beside them. To her surprise Wist found herself staring right into the eyes of the brown monkey creature she had seen in Aligoth. Immediately the creature's eyes dropped to the chain around Wist's neck, and it began to jabber urgently in Swenhild's ear. Wist felt a tugging at her tunic. It was Tormadeus. "Now!" he cried. "Now!"

Wist nodded. The demon said, "Go, then!" and sank his sharp teeth into the bare flesh of Blister's calf. Blister screamed, and released her hold on the two children to clutch her agonized leg. An instant later Wist and Heron were on their hands and knees crawling through a forest of legs. By the time Blister had shaken Tormadeus free of her - still without knowing what had happened - they were out of sight.

Their size gave them an advantage in this situation, and Blister realized that her chances of recovering them quickly were small. Still, she was about to plunge into the crowd after them, when she was stopped by a bony hand upon her shoulder.

"You know those children, then?"

Blister turned to the speaker impatiently. "What business - ?" she began. Her manner changed when she found herself under Swenhild's red-hot gaze. "I know the girl", she answered, suddenly respectful. "The boy only slightly."

"But you don't like them?"

The burning eyes seemed to grow as the witch spoke, blotting out the rest of her face, blotting out the litter, blotting out the crowd. Blister felt herself drawn like a moth to a flame. The rest of the world didn't matter. For the moment nothing existed for her outside the fire of Swenhild's eyes.

"You don't like them at all, do you?"

"I hate them!" Blister whispered. "I hate Wist! She treats me like - like garbage! I would give anything to destroy her!"

Swenhild's voice dropped low.

"Join me", she answered. "We will destroy her together!"

Blister gazed into the fire for a minute longer, then bowed her head. She could feel Swenhild's power crackle in the air around her. She had thought that Voltan's magic was strong - now she knew what strength was!

"Just tell me what you want", she said. "I'll do whatever you say."