Emily Rodda - The Shifting Sands

She turned to go. Suddenly unwilling to be left alone in the unfriendly room, Lief spoke to delay her. “Before you go, Mother Brightly, could you advise us on which events we should try for?” he asked.

The woman’s eyebrows rose as she stared at him. “But surely you know? You do not choose for yourselves who you will fight.”

“Fight?” Lief echoed faintly.

Mother Brightly nodded. “You fight those chosen for you — others who match your height, weight, and special talent,” she said. “At least at first. Of course, if you win your early rounds, you will at last fight competitors of all kinds.”

She clasped her hands. Her eyes were sparkling.

“Those events are always the most exciting of all. Agility against strength. Speed against agility. Wits against weight. Large against small. Sometimes the contests last for many hours. Two years ago there was a final that lasted a day and a night — ah, a bloody battle that was. The loser, poor fellow, lost his leg in the end, for it was smashed to pieces. But of course he had his hundred gold coins as comfort. And it was wonderful entertainment, I assure you!”

She nodded to them happily and trotted off. The door clicked shut behind her.

The companions eyed one another in silence. “So,” said Barda at last. “Now we know why the whole of Deltora does not enter the Rithmere Games. Most people have no wish to be pounded into the ground for sport.”

Lief glanced at the place where the scar-faced man had been sitting, ready to point him out to Jasmine and Barda, but the chair was pushed back and empty. The man had gone.

“I think we should leave here,” he said slowly. “We cannot risk serious injury just to make money. We will have to get supplies another way.”

Jasmine shook her head. “I am not leaving until I eat,” she announced. “I am very hungry, and so is Filli.”

Barda and Lief looked at each other. The idea of food was very tempting. “Mother Brightly has our silver coin,” Lief murmured. “It will surely pay for one meal.”

So it was decided. They helped themselves to food, heaping their plates high. Then they found a place to sit and began to eat gratefully. The food was very good. Jugs of Queen Bee Cider stood on the table, and they drank mug after mug of its bubbling sweetness.

Concentrating on their meal they spoke little to one another at first, and no one spoke to them. But Lief’s neck prickled, and he knew that dozens of pairs of eyes were still trained on him. The other competitors were trying to judge how dangerous an opponent he would be. You do not have to worry, he told them silently. Soon I will be gone.

The dining hall had almost emptied by the time they finished their meal. His hunger satisfied at last, Lief found that he was longing for sleep. Barda and Jasmine were also yawning, but they all knew that they could not stay in the inn. Unwillingly they rose to their feet and went to the door through which they had come, aware that their every step was being watched.

“I will be glad to be out of here, but I do not look forward to telling Mother Brightly that we have changed our minds,” Lief murmured uncomfortably.

Jasmine laughed. “Because she will be angry with us? What does it matter?”

Barda pushed at the door, but it did not budge. It seemed to be locked from the outside.

“Not that way,” a slow, deep voice said behind them. “The sleeping rooms and training areas are through there.” They turned and saw the huge figure of Orwen. He was pointing to another door at the end of the room.

“We do not want the sleeping rooms or the training areas,” Jasmine answered abruptly. “We want to leave the inn.”

Orwen gazed at her blankly for a moment. Then, finally, he shook his head. “You are competitors,” he said. “You cannot leave.”

Lief decided that the big man must be slow-witted. “We have changed our minds, Orwen,” he said gently. “We no longer wish to compete in the Games. We wish to leave Rithmere and go on our way.”

But again Orwen shook his head. “You cannot change your minds,” he said. “Your names are in the book. You have your wristbands. You have eaten and drunk in the dining hall. They will not let you leave.”

“Do you mean we are prisoners ?” Barda demanded.

Orwen shrugged his great shoulders. “The rest of us wish to be here,” he said. “We do not think of ourselves as prisoners. But certainly we are not free to come and go as we please.”

With a nod of farewell, he turned and left them.

Angrily, Jasmine beat on the door with her fists. It shuddered and its frame rattled, but no one came.

“What shall we do now?” demanded Lief.

“We will go quietly to our room,” said Barda evenly. “Our minds are working slowly now, because we are tired. We will sleep, and when we wake we will find a way out, never fear.”

The room was silent and everyone was staring as they strode to the door at the back of the dining hall and went out. Signs directed them up some stairs to the sleeping quarters floor. Once there, they began to walk through a maze of door-lined hallways, looking for Room 77.

Rugs cushioned their feet and the hallways were well lit and silent, but as they walked, Lief began to feel more and more uncomfortable. Sudden draughts kept striking chill on his legs. The back of his neck was tingling. He was sure that doors were stealthily opening behind him and that unfriendly eyes were peering after him. Several times he spun around to try to catch the spies, but there was never anything to be seen.

“Just keep walking,” said Barda loudly. “Let the fools look. What does it matter to us?”

“Someone is following us, also,” Jasmine breathed. “I feel it. That woman should not have said what she did about us. I fear that someone has decided to put us out of the way before the Games even begin.”

Automatically, Lief’s hand moved to his sword, but of course the weapon was missing — locked away in Mother Brightly’s cupboard.

The numbers on the doors beside him were 65 and 66. Ahead there was a turn in the hallway. “Our room cannot be far away now,” he whispered. “Once we reach it we will be safe.”

They quickened their pace. In moments they had reached the turn in the hallway. They hurried around the corner and found themselves in a short, dead-end corridor. Seeing that Room 77 was right at the end, they began moving towards it.

Then the light went out.

Kree screeched a warning. In the blackness, Lief twisted and leaped sideways, flattening himself against the wall. He felt a glancing blow on his shoulder. He heard Barda shout. He heard a thump and a crash and an angry hiss of pain. There was a scrabbling, scuffling noise and the sound of running feet. Then silence.

“Lief! Barda!” It was Jasmine’s voice. “Are you —?”

Lief answered, and to his relief heard Barda mutter also. Then, as suddenly as it had gone out, the light went on again. Shading his eyes against the sudden glare, Lief blinked at Barda who was staggering to his feet, pulling a crumpled paper from his pocket.

Behind him stood Jasmine, her hair wildly tangled. Her left hand was held up protectively to where Filli hid under her jacket. In her right hand she held her second dagger — the one she usually kept hidden. Its tip was stained with red. She was frowning fiercely, looking back along the hallway. Lief followed her gaze and saw that a trail of red drops marked the floor all the way to the corner.

“Good! I thought I had drawn blood, but I was not certain. That will teach them that we are not easy marks,” Jasmine hissed. “Cowards, to attack us from behind, in the dark!”