People of the River(147)

Orenda lifted her chin to listen.

Racing feet pounded in one of the adjacent hallways, accompanied by panicked voices.

Nightshade rose and went to the tripod to pick up the Tortoise Bundle. It felt light and smooth in her fingers as she tied it to her belt.

"Come with me, Orenda." The girl jumped up and tucked her fingers in Nightshade's.

Together they ducked beneath the door-hanging and into the hall. Two firebowls gleamed, one outside of Nightshade's door and the other at the end of the dim corridor. They walked cautiously, their steps as soundless and calculated as Cougar's.

At the intersection of hallways, Nightshade held Orenda back and peered around the comer. Kettle's pudgy form dashed through the semidarkness toward Tharon's chamber. Two dark shapes stood near Tharon's doorway.

Nightshade led Orenda into the hall. Every firebowl along the way had been snuffed. Tharon's way of hiding his trail. The thin, tarnished glow that clung to the walls came from the firebowls in other corridors.

When they were within thirty paces of Tharon's door, Orenda let out a garbled animal sound, tore her hand from Nightshade's grip, and fell back against the wall. "I-I c-can't go down there! That's where h-he—"

"I won't let him hurt you." Nightshade knelt and put a hand on Orenda's flushed cheek. "Would you rather wait here for me? I'll be able to see you the whole time."

Orenda sank to the floor in relief and nodded.

Nightshade rose and proceeded down the hall. The guards posted on either side of Tharon's doorway straightened when they saw her coming and gave each other terrified glances.

Nightshade strode up beside Kettle and pinned the nervous men with her gaze. They kept their eyes averted, as though fearing she might capture their souls if they looked at her directly.

Nightshade turned to Kettle, whose hands were pressed over her mouth. "What's happening? Is that Tharon making those sounds?"

Kettle shook her head. "I don't know. I heard the screams, just as you did."

"Well, don't you think we ought to find out whether the Sun Chief is all right?"

Kettle's mouth worked without producing any sound.

Nightshade stepped around her, calling "Tharon?" as she reached for the door-hanging, but the guard on the right thrust out a muscular arm to block her.

Sweat had broken out across his nose. He swallowed hard. "The Sun Chief is well. Priestess. He gave us orders that he didn't want to be disturbed—by anyone."

Nightshade's gaze hardened, and the guard's arm wavered. He murmured, "Please, Priestess, I beg you. You know what the Sun Chief will do to me if I allow anyone to disturb—"

At that instant, Tharon's door-hanging flew back and the ruler stepped unsteadily into the hall. His golden robe looked disheveled, as if he had picked it up off the floor and hastily thrown it on. Slovenly coils of hair cascaded over his face, but Nightshade could pick out the speckles of blood on his cheeks and chin. His eyes had a crazed gleam.

Like he has done something that surprised even himself.

Tharon glared at them, then waved his arms wildly. "What's everyone doing here? Get away from my door! You Starbom are all alike. When I need you, you're nowhere to be found, and when I don't need you, you're staring over my shoulder like fatted geese. Go on, get away from here!"

Tharon grabbed a war club from one of the guards and charged forward. When Nightshade refused to give ground, Tharon swerved around her and slammed the club into Kettle's upraised arm. Kettle yelled "No, my Chief!" and rushed down the hall.

Tharon followed, howling like a wild beast, but when he caught sight of Orenda, the howl turned into hysterical laughter. He let Kettle go . . .

Orenda gave a high-pitched shriek and stumbled to her feet, trying to flee, but Tharon caught her arm.

Nightshade charged after him. "Tharon! Let her go!"

He whirled and peered at Nightshade. As though in indecision, his lips pressed into a pout. Then he yanked Orenda's arm and threw her against the wall before dashing headlong back toward his chamber, flying past Nightshade with ghostly speed. As he ducked beneath his door-hanging, the guards adopted their former position.

Orenda crawled frantically to Nightshade. She hugged her around the legs so hard that Nightshade almost toppled. "You're safe, Orenda. Get up. We're going back to our chamber."

She grasped Orenda's hand and turned for a final time to peer at Tharon's door.

No sounds came from that chamber now. Not even the patter of footsteps.





Thirty-five


Sunrise shone with a subdued yellow glow on the western bluff. Vole pulled Wanderer's red shirt up to cover her shoulders. It had slipped off in the night. During her bouts of fevered dreams, Wanderer had curled his lanky body around her to protect her from the chill night. He lay next to her now, his back pressed warmly against hers, his even breathing deep and rhythmic.