“Indeed we would not,” said Barda, frowning at Jasmine, warning her to silence.
Doom’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Then let us plan,” he said. “First, secret messages must be sent to Raladin and Dread Mountain.”
“How?” demanded Jasmine.
“You can leave that to me,” said Doom. “The Resistance also has useful friends. I suggest the meeting place be Withick Mire.”
Lief felt a stirring of unease. Why did Doom want them so close to Del, and their greatest danger?
Because Withick Mire is a Resistance stronghold, the voice of suspicion whispered in his head. Because there, Doom’s word is law.
Plainly, Barda was also filled with doubt. “Why Withick Mire?” he asked bluntly.
Doom sighed. “It seems that all this will be in vain if we cannot find the heir,” he said. “So the closer we are to the possible hiding place, the better. Endon and Sharn were travelling from Del to Tora, but they could not have gone far before they received the Torans’ message refusing sanctuary. It was sent at once, I imagine?”
Zeean and Peel nodded, their faces shadowed by this brutal reminder of Tora’s broken vow.
But Doom had no time for sparing feelings. “The Kingdom was filled with danger,” he went on. “The queen was expecting a child. It is quite likely, then, that the pair sought refuge nearby — somewhere between Del and the Valley of the Lost.”
A shiver ran up Lief’s spine. Their quest had taken them in a great circle, bringing them back to the area where the heir was most likely to be. Somewhere to the west of Del. A quiet place, where Endon and Sharn could bring up their child unnoticed.
Something twitched at the corner of his mind. A memory of something he had heard, not very long ago. He could not quite catch hold of it …
“But surely it is better to remain here,” Fardeep was arguing. “If Lief, Barda, and Jasmine move from hiding, they will draw the Shadow Lord’s attention.”
“We can travel hidden in Steven’s caravan,” said Jasmine, who was plainly burning for action. “Besides, despite Doom’s doubts, we are certain the Shadow Lord’s search is being concentrated in the west.”
“Perhaps we can make doubly sure.” Doom swung around to Peel. “You are about Barda’s height and coloring. And among your people there must be two who resemble these young ones,” he said, pointing at Lief and Jasmine.
Peel nodded silently, his eyebrows raised.
“We need decoys,” Doom explained. “To show themselves near the River Tor. A girl, a boy, and a man, a blackbird flying with them. Steven can provide clothes that will —”
“No! It is too dangerous!” exclaimed Jasmine.
“Are you the only ones who must face danger?” Peel asked gently. “The plan is clever. And it is fitting that Torans should carry it out. If we must live in exile, we can at least try to repair the great wrong that caused it.”
“One day you will be able to go back to Tora,” Lief cried, his heart torn. “The heir’s forgiveness will surely undo the curse.”
Zeean raised her head. “Perhaps,” she said gravely. “But first the heir must be found. And we will do our part.” She looked carefully at Lief and Jasmine. “Your friend Steven will not have a cloak like that,” she said to Lief. “The cloth is very rare. Worthy of the looms of Tora. How did you come by it?”
“My mother made it for me.” Lief touched the rough fabric of his cloak.
Zeean’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Lief felt a flicker of pleasure mixed with pain. Pride at his mother’s skill. Fear for her.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. When Lief thought of it afterwards, he remembered only pictures:
Dain hurrying away to fetch Steven. Fardeep packing food. The eager faces of Kris and Lauran, the young Torans chosen as the decoys. Lauran having her silky hair curled and tangled so that it looked like Jasmine’s. Kris’s long black hair being cut to match Lief’s own. The golden arrowhead on the palm of his own hand. Blackbirds waiting silently in the trees.
Then Steven’s cart trundling through the valley. Steven nodding, studying the message Barda had written. Steven sitting alone by Fardeep’s beehives, murmuring, drawing in the dust. The bees swarming up through the mist that shrouded the treetops, and speeding towards Broad River …
Evening. Three people moving into the clearing. A big, roughly bearded man, a boy wearing a long cloak, and a wild-looking girl, a blackbird on her arm. Like looking in a mirror. Doom nodding with satisfaction. Zeean, very proud and upright, her eyes dark with fear. Peel, Kris, and Lauran embracing their families before slipping away to begin their perilous journey …
Night. Air thick and hard to breathe. The slow slipping into sleep, and dreams. Dreams of desperate searching. Of legs that could not run. Of tied hands and blinded eyes. Of veiled faces and smiling masks that slipped aside to reveal writhing horrors. And, brooding over all, a crawling mass of scarlet and grey, the darkness at its center pulsing with malice.
Calling him.
The caravan jolted on the rough road. Inside, it was dim and stuffy. Hour after hour Lief, Barda, and Jasmine sat, listening to the sounds of jingling reins, creaking wheels, and two voices singing.
Do I spy an Ol-io,
Ol-io, Ol-io?
Hello, wobbly Ol-io!
You don’t bother me!
It had been decided that it would attract too much attention if the whole party travelled together. Dain, Doom, Fardeep, and Zeean were moving overland.
“Steven and Nevets are more than capable of defending you, if need be,” Doom had said.
Lief was sure this was true. Still, his skin crept as he thought of the strange brothers singing together on the driver’s seat at the front of the caravan.
Barda, like the trained soldier he was, had taken the chance to sleep. Propped against a pile of rugs, he dozed as comfortably as if he were in a soft bed. But Jasmine was wide awake. Kree hunched beside her, his feathers ruffled indignantly. Filli slept inside her jacket. She frowned as the singing voices were raised once more.
“It is all very well to be jolly,” she muttered. “But must they sing such nonsense?”
Lief sighed agreement. Despite himself, he found he was following the foolish words.
Time to stop and take the air,
Ol-io, Ol-io.
Trees ahead, the sky is clear,
No more Ol-io!
Lief sat bolt upright, his eyes widening. He had suddenly realized that the song was far from nonsense. All along, Steven had been sending them messages!
“Soon we will be able to get out and stretch our legs,” he told Jasmine gleefully. “There are trees ahead, and no sign of Ols or Ak-Baba.”
Jasmine stared at him, her frown deepening. Plainly, she thought he was losing his wits.
Far away, a round old woman, her face as red and crinkled as a wizened apple, bent over clear water. Around her head swarmed a black cloud of bees.
The woman was listening. Large silver fish hung in the water below her. Bubbles streamed from their mouths, making strange patterns on the surface.
At last, the woman straightened and turned, settling her many shawls around her shoulders. The bees swirled before her. The patterns they made in the air mimicked the trails of bubbles that marked the water.
“So,” she said to them. “You have learned your lesson well. Passed on from your sister bees in the south, to the fish, to you. Go, then!”
And the bees were off, a humming black arrow, carrying the message on.