Emily Rodda - The Shifting Sands

Lief had no desire to stay any longer than he had to either, and plainly Barda agreed.

“Sadly, we must hurry away, too, Mother Brightly,” the big man said tactfully, as they moved into the inn. “But we need to buy some supplies before we leave. Can you recommend —?”

“Why, I have everything you need!” Mother Brightly interrupted. “I sell all manner of travellers’ supplies.”

And so it proved. As soon as they had fetched Kree and Filli from their room, the companions went with Mother Brightly to a storeroom stacked to the roof with packs, sleeping blankets, water bottles, ropes, fire chips, dried food, and dozens of other useful items.

As Lief, Barda, and Jasmine had suspected, everything was very expensive. But they had plenty of gold to spend and, like other winners before them, they were happy to pay more so as not to have to wander the town. Within half an hour they had everything they needed. Then, at Mother Brightly’s insistence, they ate for the last time in the empty dining hall.

Lief did not enjoy the meal. He was plagued by the uncomfortable feeling that all was not as it should be. His skin kept prickling, as though they were being spied upon. Yet who could be watching them? Neridah and Glock were still asleep. Joanna, Orwen, and Doom had left.

He shrugged the feeling off, telling himself that he was being foolish.

Mother Brightly was in high spirits all the time they were eating, but afterwards, when she had brought their weapons to them and they were preparing to leave, it became clear that something was on her mind.

In the end, she bit her lip and bent towards them. “It is hard for me to say this,” she said in a low voice. “I do not like to spread bad tidings about the Games, or Rithmere. But — you must be told. It has been known for Champions, and even ordinary finalists, to meet with … ill fortune, on their way out of the town.”

“You mean they are attacked and robbed?” asked Barda bluntly.

Mother Brightly nodded uncomfortably. “The gold coins are a great temptation,” she murmured. “Would you be offended if I suggested that you leave the inn by a secret way? There is a back door — reached by a passage that runs from the cellar. The cider barrels are brought in that way, but few people know of it, and the back street is narrow, and always deserted. You could slip out unseen, easy as winking.”

“Thank you, Mother Brightly,” said Lief, clasping her hand warmly. “You are a good friend.”

The passage from the cellar was long, low, and dark and smelled sickeningly of cider. Their boots clattered on the stones as they shuffled along in single file, Barda bent almost double. They had divided their remaining gold between them, to make it easier to carry, but still it weighed heavily on their belts. Already sore from their battles of the day, they were soon very stiff and uncomfortable.

“We should, perhaps, have stayed the night at the inn and set out in the morning,” groaned Lief. “But I could not face the thought of one more hour in Rithmere.”

“Nor I,” muttered Jasmine, breaking her long silence. Kree, hunched on her arm, squawked agreement.

“At least we have what we came for,” said Barda, who was in the lead. “We now have enough gold to fund the rest of our journey — and more besides.” He paused, then added awkwardly: “You did well, Jasmine.”

“Indeed,” Lief agreed eagerly.

“I did not do well,” Jasmine said in a low voice. “I am ashamed. The man Doom jeered about my mother. He made me angry. He meant to do it. He wanted me to forget myself — so I would perform for the crowd.”

“He tricked himself, then,” said Barda. “For in the end he lost and you won. Think of that, and forget the rest.” He paused, and pointed. “I see light ahead. I think we are at last reaching the end of this accursed tunnel.”

They hurried forward, eager to see the sun and to stand upright.

As Mother Brightly had told them, the passage ended in a low door. Light showed dimly through the crack beneath it. But as Barda drew the bolt, and the door swung open, a flood of sunlight poured into the passage.

With streaming eyes, almost blinded by the welcome glare, they crawled through the doorway one by one. And so it was that, one by one, they were cracked over the head and captured. Easy as winking.

When Lief came to his senses he was covered by some rough, foul-smelling cloth — old sacks, perhaps. His head was pounding. He was gagged, and his wrists and ankles were weighed down by heavy chains.

He became aware that he was being painfully jolted and bumped. He could hear voices, a jingling sound, and the plod of hooves. He realized that he was on the back of a cart. Whoever had attacked him was carrying him away from Rithmere. But why?

The Belt!

With a thrill of terror he dragged his chained hands to his waist and groaned with relief as his fingers met the familiar shape of the linked medallions under his clothes. His money bag was gone. His sword, too. But the Belt of Deltora was safe. His captors had not found it. Yet.

His groan was answered by the dull clank of chains and a sigh beside him and a muffled cry from a little farther away. So Barda and Jasmine were in the cart with him. He was absurdly comforted, though of course it would have been better if one of them at least was free. Then there might be some hope of rescue. As it was …

There was a guffawing laugh from the front of the cart. “The ticks are waking, Carn 8,” a harsh voice said. “Will I give them another knock?”

“Better not,” said a second voice. “They have to be in good condition on delivery.”

“I don’t see that this lot’s worth the trouble,” the first man growled. “The big one might be all right, but the other two are rubbish! Especially the scrawny little female. Champion my eye! She won’t last five minutes in the Shadow Arena.”

Lief lay rigid, straining his ears to hear more against the sound of rain, fighting down a feeling of dread.

“It’s not our business to say what’s worth the trouble, Carn 2,” answered the other voice. “It’s the old girl who answers to the Master, not us. The pod was told that from the beginning. The Brightly woman supplies the goods. All we have to do is deliver them undamaged.”

Lief felt the blood rush to his head. Beside him, Barda made a strangled sound.

“The ticks heard us,” sniggered the man the other had called Carn 2.

“What does it matter? They’re not going to be telling anyone, are they?” sneered his companion. “Or d’you think that black bird’s going to spread the word? It’s still there, you know. Right behind us.”

They laughed, and the cart jolted on.

The journey continued hour after hour. Lief slept and woke and slept again. It grew colder and darker, and then it started to rain again. The sacks that covered him became sodden. He began to shiver.

“We’d better stop and get the ticks covered up,” Carn 8 growled at last. “Give them some grub and a drink, as well, or they’ll be dying on us. Then we’ll be in the muck.”

The cart jolted off the road, and finally came to a stop. The next Lief knew he was being hauled out of the cart and dumped roughly onto the ground. Agonizing pain shot through his head and he moaned aloud. Only the cold rain beating on his face kept him conscious.