“Well! My poor dear girl, you have had a time of it, haven’t you?” Zanna blushed beneath her scrutiny as Remana looked up from the letter with lifted brows. “Don’t worry, child—we’ll take good care of you both, and you can stay as long as you like! Be assured that you are welcome here, my dear—very welcome, indeed!”
And so it began—one of the happiest times in Zanna’s life. She was given a chamber close to Remana—a tiny curtained cubicle that, like many of the living areas, had been chipped painstakingly out of the rock during the many years that the Nightrunners had dwelt in..this labyrinth of caves. The delightfully eccentric furnishings were made of driftwood, and brightly colored rag rugs covered the floor. Thick woven hangings helped take the chill from the walls, for only the kitchens and the main living and work rooms had fireplaces, vented via natural faults in the cliff.
“But aren’t you worried about the smoke being seen?” Zanna had asked Remana.
“Not a bit, my dear. For one thing, by the time it filters up through all that rock, there is very little smoke to be seen. For another”—Remana’s eyes grew large and round as she lowered her voice—“no one ever comes to this desolate part of the coast. You see, the area is haunted!”
“Haunted?” Zanna gasped.
Remana burst out laughing. “Zanna, if you could see your face! It’s naught to worry about. There is a massive standing stone nearby, out on the far headland of the bay—a great, towering black thing that looks very sinister—especially in the moonlight. Leynard’s grandfather, the first of the Nightrunner leaders, discovered that the local fishermen and herders were very superstitious about it, so he arranged some ’hauntings’— you know, mysterious lights around the stone at night, ghostly voices on the wind, the sound of invisible horsemen passing by —all the usual old rubbish. Now, no one will come within miles of it. Mind you . . .” For an instant, her brow creased in a frown. “I must admit that the animals are also afraid of it, but truly, there’s nothing to worry about. In fact we bless the stone, because it keeps us safe. I’m only warning you in case you go riding up there. The vicinity of the stone is best avoided, if you don’t want a spill.”
“I can learn to ride?” Zanna, the stone forgotten, could barely contain her delight.
“You mean that father of yours never taught you?” Remana looked shocked. “I’ve heard Dulsina say that Vannor was over-protective of his daughters, but by the Gods, that’s going too far! Of course you can learn to ride—it’s something every girl should know. Later in the year, when the weather improves, I’ll teach you to sail, too . . .”
And so it proved. Remana, as good as her word, lost no time in recruiting a young smuggler named Tarnal as Zanna’s instructor, and she soon became an insatiable horsewoman, going out with the towheaded lad every day that the uncertain midwinter weather permitted. The Nightrunners kept a troop of swift, sturdy, surefooted ponies that usually ran wild on the grassy headlands, but came happily down a narrow, sloping tunnel whose entrance was concealed in a clump of gorse at the top of the cliff, to be stabled safely below in the caves when the eastern coast was lashed by storms.
Zanna adored her rides with Tarnal. From the clifftop above the smugglers’ cave, the view was glorious. Below and to the right was a pale sweep of crescent beach, embraced by cliffs and cradling the shining sea. Some half league away on the opposite horn of the crescent was a green knoll crowned by the stark and sinister standing stone, and behind were the vast, curving, green-gray swells of the empty moorland. Astride her beloved pony, a shaggy, gaily marked piebald that she had named Piper, Zanna would ride for miles across the moors with the smuggler boy, their hair, dark brown and palest gold, streaming behind them in the winter wind. They would return at dusk, tired but exhilarated, their hands and faces tingling painfully from the cold, to hot soup in the kitchen and an affectionate scolding from Remana for staying out so long. Though she missed her father, it felt as though Zanna were truly coming home.
Zanna had wondered at first why she could see no evidence of actual smuggling, but a chuckling Remana had soon put her right. “Oh, not in winter, dear child! This is our quiet season, you might say. The seas are far too rough to risk our ships at this time of year, and to be honest, there’s little to trade.”
She had explained to Zanna that the chief activity of the smugglers was to ply their trade between the coastal villages, transporting locally grown foodstuffs and crafted wares between the communities on a baiter system, thus cutting out the ruinous tariffs charged by the Merchants’ Guild, and allowing the poor peasants to enjoy a few of the luxuries that would otherwise be denied them. “Of course, your dad, as Head of the Guild, is officially against such criminal behavior.” Remana had remarked. “Fortunately, he holds the private belief that the merchants make profit enough, and the peasants should enjoy the fruits of their labors. Besides”—she winked at Zanna—“there’s also the little matter of our Southern partnership! At least there was . . .” Her face had clouded over, and she had said no more, but Zanna knew that she was thinking about Yanis. She vowed to herself once more that before it was time for him to set out again, she would come up with some kind of plan for him to defeat the Southerners.
As the winter days sped by, Zanna learned many things from her smuggler friends. The old men had taken her to their hearts, and showed her how to fish with a line in the tidal pools outside the cavern. At low tide, they fought for the privilege of teaching her to set crab pots along the rocky reefs, near the mouth of the cave, that protected the hideout from the close approach of other ships. In the spring, Remana had promised her, when it was calm enough to teach her to sail, she herself would show Zanna the secret of navigating the one safe route through the treacherous maze of submerged reefs.
In winter, much of the work for the younger, fitter men involved repair and maintenance of the ships and their gear. While snowstorms raged outside, the women showed Zanna how to mend nets and ropes and sails, and how to make the rugs that protected their feet from the cold stone floors, by hooking shreds of rag through coarse sacking. They also taught her the secrets of their beautiful and intricate weaving, to make the warm wall hangings that brightened up the gloomy darkness of the caves.
These were companionable times, filled with chatter and laughter, gossip and teasing among the younger women. There was a great deal of talk about the handsome, wind-bronzed young men, and who was in love with whom, and who would marry. At these times, Zanna was content to listen, and keep her own counsel. Though Tarnal had become her devoted shadow, she had already decided that she would marry none other than Yanis, for she had loved him from the first day she had set eyes on him. Fortunately, or perhaps- unfortunately, the leader of the Nightrunners had no idea, as yet, of the fate she had mapped out for him—and now he might never know, for Zanna had to leave.
Zanna had paused in the shadowed entrance to the great harbor cavern, paralyzed by the rush of happy memories that had assailed her with such pain. Angrily she shook her head, and brushed her tears away. This was doing no good! For three long months she had been happy—until word had come of the recent catastrophe in Nexis. Word of monsters, hideous beyond imagining, that had caused so many deaths. Word of the Archmage seizing power, and holding the city in a grip of terror. And no word of Vannor, who had been missing without trace since that horrific night when so many had died.
When Remana had told her the news, Zanna’s guilt at leaving Vannor had returned to overwhelm her. She had known at once what she must do. She must return to Nexis to find her dad, or at least find out what had happened to him. Of course, if the Nightrunners discovered her intentions, they would never let her go—so that was why she was sneaking around now, late at night, preparing to make her escape.