Where The Ni-Lach

  Where The Ni-Lach

  Ni-lach

  Book I

  Marcia J Bennett

  A Del Rey Book

  Published by Ballantine Books

  Copyright © 1983 by Marcia J. Bennett

  ISBN 0-345-33123-0

  First Edition: July 1983

  Third Printing: March 1986

  Cover art by Carl Lundgren

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Where the Ni-lach, the Green Ones, they of the Draak Watch?

  Are they dead or only hiding?

  Only the mountains know and they are silent.

  THE DAY HAD BEEN QUIET, THE STILLNESS OF THE DEEP BROKEN only by bird and insect noises. Dhal had been out gathering since early light, and his sack overflowed with the wild herb lilsir.

  Resting against the trunk of a mighty aban tree, he glanced up through the heavy foliage to the patches of mint-green sky above. Ra-shun, the larger of the twin suns, was falling to the west. Ra-gar, her sister, was still high overhead. Though the day had been mild, Dhalvad sensed the change in the air and was glad he had worn his overvest. The cold passage would soon be upon them.

  Ver-draak was a green world, a land of growing things, where shifting shadows of viridian, emerald, and lime melded one into the other until sky, land, and water became locked together in an unending circle of green. The twin suns lighted Ver-draak twenty-two out of thirty hours, allowing the living green of tree, bush, and blade to feed and grow with astonishing speed. Only when the axis tilted away from the suns during the cold passage did the green world slow its growth, hemisphere by hemisphere, turn and turn about.

  Deciding it was time to start home, Dhalvad stood and reached for his gathering sack. Suddenly, before he could swing the sack to his shoulder, he heard a hiss off to his right, followed by the crackle of branches. Too long a resident of the Deep not to recognize the warning cry of a draak and be fully aware of the risks in confronting one of the cold-blooded, scaly carnivores, he dropped his sack and jumped for the branch just above his head.

  He was climbing to the next higher branch when a small animal burst out from behind a genna bush just a few strides downtrail. It was an olvaar, one of the small fur children who inhabited the Deep. And right behind him ran a baby draak, its long neck outstretched, its mouth open and reaching. The young draak was closing on the olvaar.

  Dhalvad quickly lowered himself until he sat astride the branch, legs locked around it, then leaned over to peer down through the leaves. Holding tight to his perch, he loosed a whistle greeting and lowered his right arm, inviting the olvaar to join him on his perch.

  The fur child looked up as he dashed beneath the branch, then he was gone, putting on a burst of speed that took him out of sight around the aban tree.

  Pulling himself up, Dhalvad watched as the baby draak followed the olvaar, hissing its excitement. It took but a moment to realize that the olvaar was leading the baby draak in a circle. To Dhalvad that meant that the olvaar had recognized his whistle greeting and was coming back for assistance. He lay down the length of the branch and waited.

  A minute or two later a whistled plea floated upward. “Needing help. Where are you?”

  “Large aban tree. Come up,” Dhal responded. Though most of the olvaar within the Deep spoke some form of trader, only a very few of the wilders had ever taken the time to learn the olvaar’s whistle speech. Dhalvad was one of those few. Olvaar whistle speech came to him easily, as he had known the fur children for a long time.

  The olvaar had resided in the Deep longer than any others, save the draak. Intelligent yet shy, the fur children were few in number and rarely seen by any but the wilders, men such as Dhalvad, who had learned to trust the child-size creatures and to share in their forest wisdom. Because they desired privacy and preferred deep forest homes, the olvaar often moved from a territory when man moved in, delving deeper into the forest and jungle wilderness.

  The olvaar normally walked upright, waddling slightly because of their small round bodies, but in full flight they ran on all fours. Dhalvad grinned as the olvaar appeared below. No stranger this, but a friend of long standing. “Here, Gi!”

  The crackle of bushes uptrail announced the return of the baby draak. Gi backed several paces and made a running leap for Dhalvad’s outstretched hand. Though just under a half-meter tall, Gi had no problem with the height of the jump. As his small furred hands latched onto Dhalvad’s arm, Dhalvad started to pull him up. A moment later Gi and Dhalvad sat together on the limb and watched as the draak broke out of cover and ran downtrail, hissing in anger at the meal that had disappeared. Gi made a thrumming noise in his throat: It was the olvaar laugh.

  Leaning over, Dhalvad brought himself down to Gi’s eye level. Gi’s eyes, black irises in pools of gold, were large and wide-set, the only parts of his body not covered with the short, rust-colored fur of the adult olvaars; even his ears and nose were lost in fur, his mouth visible only when he spoke. His well-rounded waist was a testimony to his skill at foraging.

  Tilting his furred head forward, Gi greeted Dhalvad in man speech. “Avto, friend Dhal.”

  Dhalvad shook his head. “Another minute and there would have been no more avtos for you, my friend. When are you going to learn not to tease baby draak?”

  Big golden eyes regarded Dhalvad calmly, all innocence. “Was not teasing, Dhal, was running from.”

  “Then you had best improve your running, Gi, because one of these days you are going to tease the wrong draak and you’ll find your fun has become a matter of survival.”

  Gi-arobi reached over and laid his small furred hand on Dhal’s, patting it in a show of comfort. “Dhal has warmth for Gi,” the olvaar said softly. ‘Thanking Dhal, but not to worry. Gi promises he will be careful.“

  “Does that mean you’ll stop teasing baby draak?”

  Gi thrummed his amusement. “Gi not say that, friend Dhal. Only say would be careful.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Dhal swung his leg over the branch. He paused a moment just to make sure all was safe below, then lowered himself down and dropped to the ground.

  “Incorrigible,” Gi repeated perfectly. “New word. Good or bad?”

  Looking up, Dhal grinned. “On you it’s good. I would have you no other way.” Lifting his arms, Dhal signaled Gi to jump. The olvaar launched himself into the air, trusting Dhal to catch him.

  Gently Dhal set Gi on his feet, then turned to retrieve his gathering sack, hoping that the baby draak had not trampled it in passing. Lilsir was a tender herb that needed much care in picking and drying. Assured that his work for the day had not been ruined, he turned to find Gi-arobi watching his every move.

  Thinking that the olvaar was hinting for a treat, Dhal reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a soft gumball made of boiled drenberries and mint leaves, a favorite with the olvaar.

  Gi surprised him by ignoring the offering.

  “Not hungry?”

  “Not,” Gi replied.

  Shrugging, Dhal pulled the leaf
wrapping off and popped the gumball into his mouth. Bending over, he reached for his sack, but before he could get it off the ground, Gi patted his leg to get his attention.

  Dhal looked down. “Something wrong, Gi?”

  “Dhal knows there are stranger men in the Deep?”

  “Stranger men? How many?”

  “Lar-aval says four hand counts.” An olvaar’s hand count was four.

  “From which direction do they enter the Deep?”

  Gi pointed one of his stubby fingers south.

  “Annaroth. That would make them Sarissa. I wonder where they’re going.”

  “Not going anywhere,” Gi answered. “They circle now. Lost.”

  “Did Lar-aval say where he saw these strangers last?”

  Gi-arobi nodded. “This morning they near Great Bend where they try to ford river. Water too deep.” There was a slight lisp to Gi’s speech, as if his small black tongue had trouble forming around some of the man words. Dhal listened carefully as Gi continued.

  “Some afraid of black water. Talk together, then go west. Lar-aval says stranger men follow river.”

  “And by now they are in the lower fen. Did they have a guide?”

  “Lar-aval says not.”

  “Stupid! No stranger should ever enter the Deep unguided!” Stupid wasn’t the right word; suicidal would be more accurate, he thought.

  “Do you go to find stranger men, friend Dhal?”

  “They could be no more than an hour away and I doubt there are any closer than I, Gi. Someone must help them.”

  “What if danger?” Gi asked, tilting his furry face upward.

  “In the fen there’s always danger, Gi.”

  “Gi does not speak of mudboles or gensvolf,” the olvaar responded. “Stranger men could be danger.”

  “But if they’re lost and in need of help, surely they would offer me no harm if I came to aid them.” Gi regarded Dhal silently. Something in his silence told Dhal that there was more. “Gi, is there something about these men that makes you think them a danger?”

  Gi nodded, a quick downward bob of the head. “Lar-aval says they follow Haradan—as gensvolf hunting.”

  “Haradan’s back?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Gi has not seen, but Lar-aval says is true. Gi comes to find Dhal to tell him.”

  “How long have you been looking for me? When did Lar-aval see Haradan?”

  “Morning. Dhal going home now?”

  Dhal thought a moment. If there were strangers in the Deep and they were following Haradan, then it seemed wisest to talk to Haradan before launching any rescue parties. The cabin was only a half-hour walk away. “Yes, Gi, I’m going home. Coming along?”

  Gi whistled an affirmative. Shouldering his gathering sack, Dhal turned and followed Gi’s small form downtrail. Running five steps to every one of Dhal’s, the olvaar stayed in the lead, his fat furry legs pumping tirelessly. Dhal smiled to himself as he thought back on the first time he had seen those round, rust-colored legs, sticking out of the yellow and orange coils of an echar vine.

  The echar was a strong, carnivorous creeper with long sticky tendrils; usually its victims were insects, snakes, and rodents but occasionally it caught a small animal such as a young olvaar.

  When he freed Gi-arobi, Dhalvad won himself a friend who would be both companion and teacher as the years passed.

  As Dhal walked along, his thoughts turned to Haradan, five weeks gone, two overdue. Haradan sar Nath was a wilder by profession, a gatherer of herbs and spices. He was a large man with broad shoulders, long arms, and big hands. His hair was black and unruly, his eyes dark brown. He seldom laughed aloud yet did not lack humor. His was a silent laughter that touched the eyes and spread his lips wide in a slow grin.

  For twenty-four of his twenty-six years Dhal had walked the forest trails with Haradan, learning how to spot the danger of mudboles and bogs; memorizing the look, taste, and texture of the plants they gathered; learning how to defend himself against attack by draak and gensvolf; absorbing all the information that would allow him to survive alone in the Deep.

  Though Dhal couldn’t remember anything before Haradan’s cabin or the Deep, he knew that Haradan was not his father. When he was old enough to understand, Haradan had explained how he had come into his care. The story began with a burning cabin on the edge of the Deep and ended with the discovery of a lone survivor, a small child found hiding under a clump of bushes.

  Dhal was elated by Gi’s announcement of Haradan’s return to the Deep. He wondered how well the trading had gone, and what gift Haradan had brought back for him this time. He was in desperate need of a new pair of pants; the ones he wore had been mended so many times that the patches were beginning to wear through. He also needed a new pair of boots. But what he really wanted was a knife; his had a broken point, and though it served for cutting grass and vine it was most inconvenient for gutting fish or peeling fruit.

  Dhal worried about Haradan’s being followed. The Sarissa were said to be an unfriendly, arrogant people who looked down on anyone not of the Escarpment. To them, the field workers of Blazee and the swamp merchants of the Deep were little better than slaves from the other side of the Enzaar Sea. Tolerated because their goods were needed or useful, the field workers and swamp merchants were allowed into the rock city of Annaroth, but inside the main city they were barred from certain places, such as the regent’s quadrant or the people’s warrens.

  Dhal had never visited the Escarpment. As a child, he had been left with Dreena and Xarlan on their farm on the southern edge of the swamp while Haradan saw to trading with the Sarissa. For the last twelve years, Dhal had been left on his own, to continue the work of gathering the herbs that provided their only income. Haradan had repeatedly promised to take him trading, but each time he had found an excuse to go alone. Why? Was Haradan trying to protect him from something, or was he just afraid of losing his foster son?

  Dhalvad loved the Deep. But recently he had begun to feel that something lay beyond it, something that called to him. A restlessness had pushed him to rove farther and farther away from the cabin each day. He tried to relieve this strange uneasiness by exploring new sections of the Deep, but even that did not satisfy. He felt as if he searched for something without knowing its name.

  When he had tried to explain these feelings to Haradan one night at the supper table, Haradan had grinned and told him that he was finally growing up. Dhal had asked him what he meant.

  “That you need what every man needs sooner or later—a woman.”

  Dhal remembered the heat that had warmed his cheeks and the strange look that had swept across Haradan’s face, a haunted look that completely wiped away his smile.

  “Is something wrong, Haradan?”

  “Wrong? No—nothing.”

  Dhal pressed him. “There is something wrong. What is it?”

  “Women,” Haradan growled. “You’ll not be finding any women in the Deep. And those on the fringes have been spoken for long ago. If it’s a woman you want or need, the nearest place to find one is Annaroth.”

  “So I go to Annaroth,” Dhal responded.

  Haradan had looked up from his plate. “You are handsome enough, and have had your manners taught you, but you are not Sarissa nor ever will be! There are some who would couple with a wilder, but few if any who would marry one. You are landless, have no money, no servants, and no future!”

  Haradan started to say something else, but the words caught in his throat and he pushed away from the table, heading for the front door. When he reached the porch he stopped and for long moments just stood there, looking out into the deep green twilight.

  “Haradan, what is it? What’s wrong?” Haradan’s strange behavior had frightened Dhal.

  Dhal never received an answer to his question. Swearing softly under his breath, Haradan left the porch and climbed down out of sight, disappearing into the bushes below their tree home.

  Two
days later he had left for Annaroth.

  Chapter 2

  THE CABIN WAS BUILT TWENTY METERS ABOVE THE GROUND, ON the lowest branches of an aban tree. Dhal lifted Gi to the first of the spiked branches that provided a natural ladder upward. It took but moments to climb to the porch. Swinging his gathering sack from his shoulder, Dhal reached for the door latch. Gi-arobi stood before the door, waiting patiently.

  The main room was dark—the two small windows to the south, one on either side of the door, were so overshadowed with vine that little light managed to penetrate the interwoven wood grills.

  The cabin comprised two rooms covered over with a wood-thatched roof overlaid with sod. There was a small stone-and-clay fireplace at the north end of the main room, a long eating table in the center, and by the west wall there stood a series of three wooden water basins used for the washing and preparing of the wild herbs they gathered. There were woven fiber rugs on the floor and two handmade chairs by the fireplace, and overhead hung a series of drying racks.

  Off the main room, Haradan had built a bedroom which he and Dhal shared. Once or twice Haradan had spoken of building another room to the east, but he had never quite found the time to begin.

  Dhal leaned his sack against the table leg, and reached for the dish of matches that always sat in the center of the table. Next to the dish there was an old oil lamp. Striking a match, he turned the wick up. “Gi, do you think Lar-aval made a mistake? Perhaps it was someone else he saw in the Deep, not Haradan.”

  As light pushed back the darkness, Dhal picked up the sack of lilsir and carried it to the largest side basin. “I’ll put this to soak, then I’ll start us some supper. If Haradan’s on the trail, he’ll be hungry when he gets here. How about you, Gi? Hungry?”

  When there came no answer to his question, he turned, “Gi?” The olvaar was standing five or six paces from the table, his back to Dhal, his eyes on the far end of the room near the fireplace where shadows were still deep.

  “Gi, what’s wrong?” With the light from the lamp shining in his eyes, Dhal couldn’t pierce the shadows.

  Dhal started forward, but he had taken no more than a few steps when he heard something move in the shadows. He stopped, the light behind him. “Who’s there?” he demanded, his hand moving to his knife.