He paused. “They have been following you for days, you know,” he added in a hard voice. “They took the shape of wood mice and watched your every move, listened to you, deciding how they would proceed. In the end, they chose to appeal to your tenderness of heart. Once they had separated you, they would have struck. You would have had no chance.”
Lief, Jasmine, and Barda glanced at one another. All felt ashamed.
“We thank you for aiding us,” Barda said stiffly at last. “We ask you to forgive our suspicion and secrecy. We have learned to be cautious.”
“As have I,” said Dain, still in that hard voice, “though for a moment I forgot myself in the pleasure of seeing familiar faces.”
Lief suddenly realized that the boy was older than he had thought — at least as old as he was himself. The slight body, the fine-boned face, and the silkiness of the dark hair that flopped carelessly over Dain’s forehead had deceived him.
Dain swallowed the last of his tea and stood up awkwardly, protecting his injured arm. “I will leave you in peace. Be on the watch for Ols. Grade Ones, like the two we have just dispatched, always travel in pairs. The others — well, you will probably not recognize them, anyway. It is best to trust no one.”
He shouldered his pack and turned to go.
“Wait!” Lief exclaimed impulsively, jumping to his feet. “You cannot travel alone! Your arm is hurt. You cannot use your bow, or even a dagger.”
“I will be all right,” Dain said. “I do not have very far to go.”
But Barda was shaking his head. “Wait one night, and we will escort you,” he croaked, his hand on his throat. “It is the least we can do.”
Lief saw Jasmine stiffen. Clearly, she did not approve of this plan. She does not want to see Doom again, he thought suddenly. She distrusts him. But Jasmine said nothing, and Dain seemed not to notice her expression.
He was hesitating. It was plain that his pride, which urged him to leave them, was struggling with his common sense, which told him that it was madness to travel unprotected if he had a choice.
At last, he nodded. “Very well,” he said, dropping his pack. “Thank you. I will wait. Then we will go together to the stronghold.” He paused, biting his lip. “It is to the southeast. It is out of your way.”
“How do you know? We have not told you where we are going,” Jasmine snapped.
Dain’s delicate face flushed red. “I thought perhaps that you may be travelling to — to Tora,” he stammered.
Jasmine stared. The name meant nothing to her. But Lief was thinking furiously.
Tora! Del’s great sister city in the west. He had been taught of it. But it was so long since he had heard its name that he had forgotten it existed!
Dain was waiting for an answer, leaning forward anxiously.
“Indeed,” Barda said smoothly. “Well, if we are going to Tora, it will not hurt us to reach it a day or two later than we had planned.”
Jasmine stood up. “I will find a secure place to camp for the night,” she said. She stalked off into the trees, with Kree flying ahead. Dain gazed after her, and Lief saw a flicker of admiration in his eyes.
Lief felt an unsettling twinge of jealousy, bit his lip, and turned away. If only I had not injured him, he thought. Then he could have gone his way, and we could have gone ours.
Immediately he felt ashamed. He told himself that he was just upset because the journey to the Resistance stronghold would waste precious time. Every day of delay was another day his father and mother remained in danger, perhaps in torment, in the dungeons of the Shadow Lord in Del.
But, if he was honest, he also had to admit that he did not want Dain as a companion, even for a short time.
Dain made him uncomfortable. His gentle, polite ways were appealing, his quiet dignity was impressive, and, despite his lack of great strength, he had acted bravely in saving them from the Ols. But though he seemed easygoing on the surface, Lief could sense that there was something deep inside him that was hidden. Some secret he kept to himself.
No doubt he feels the same about us, Lief thought. And, of course, he is right. So we do not trust one another. That is the root of the problem. While we are with Dain we cannot discuss our quest, or the Belt. We cannot discuss my parents, or wonder aloud how they are faring. We cannot be comfortable.
Restless, unwilling to stay by the fire with Dain and Barda any longer, he went to help Jasmine. But as he walked into the trees, a new idea occurred to him.
Fate had played strange tricks on them before — and somehow it had always turned out for the best. Could there be some reason for their being forced to keep Dain’s company? Were they somehow meant to get to know him? Were they meant to go to the Resistance stronghold? To see Doom again?
Only time would tell.
When they were settled under the overhanging tree Jasmine had found, Dain told them more about Ols. Listening to his soft, even voice, Lief began to feel that if they had been intended to spend time with him, this information alone may have been the reason.
“They are everywhere,” Dain said, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. “They can take the shape of any living thing. They do not eat or drink, but Grade Twos can pretend to do so, just as they can create body heat to disguise what they are. In its natural state, every Ol has the mark of the Shadow Lord at its core, and whatever shape it takes, the mark will be somewhere on its body, in some form.
“The twins — the Ols we killed — each had a mark on the left cheekbone,” said Lief. “Was that —?”
Dain nodded. “But do not expect that it will always be so easy,” he warned. “Grade Two Ols are far more expert. They never have the mark in plain view.”
“You are saying, then,” Barda put in, frowning, “that recognizing a Grade Two Ol is just a matter of luck?”
Dain smiled slightly. “There is a way of testing them,” he said. “They cannot hold one shape for longer than three full days. If you observe a Grade Two Ol, and never let it out of your sight, there will come a moment when it loses control and its shape begins to change and waver. We call this moment the Tremor. It does not last long. In seconds the Ol has regained control. But by that time, you know it for what it is.”
He was growing weary, hugging his chest with his good arm as though his pain was troubling him. “There are some in Deltora who do not have to wait for the Tremor,” he said. “They have developed an instinct — a feeling for Ols. Or so Doom says. When he senses an Ol he strikes at once. I have never known him to be wrong.”
“We can hardly follow his example,” Barda muttered. “To kill just on suspicion is a risky business.”
Dain nodded, and this time his smile was broader and more real. “I agree. For such as us, suspicion should be a signal to run, not strike.”
“Run?” Jasmine demanded fiercely.
He flushed at the disdain in her voice, and the smile faded. “The idea displeases you, Jasmine. You and Doom are of one mind. But it is surely better to run than to kill an innocent person.”
“Or,” Barda put in, “if your suspicions are correct, to be spied upon by the Ol at its leisure, or killed when you least expect it. Once those icy fingers are around your throat, you are helpless. You can take my word for it, Jasmine.” He touched his own bruised throat tenderly.
Jasmine lifted her chin stubbornly and turned again to Dain. “You have spoken of Grade One Ols, and Grade Twos. Are there other grades as well?”
Dain hesitated. “Doom says that there is another,” he said reluctantly at last. “He says there are Grade Three Ols. He says they are few, but in them the Shadow Lord has perfected his evil art. They can change their shape to whatever they wish — living or nonliving. They are so perfect, so completely controlled, that no one could tell them for what they are. Even Doom could not.”