Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [183]
Of course, that break never came, so the followers of the Salmae milled about and watched intently for hours, as the bandits melted away into the heart of the cane forest.
Dal Arche had been expecting an eerie, almost mystical experience, but a couple of hundred brigands, all blindfolded and tied together and being led through a forest, made enough noise for the entire business to sound more like a particularly raucous troupe of travelling clowns. Not a moment passed without someone falling over, stumbling into the hard, ridged bole of a bamboo cane, or stepping on someone else’s foot. It should have been hilarious. Instead, Dal was on edge the whole time, thinking of what else those noises might be covering.
There would be those amongst his followers who could not bear not knowing, so they would find a moment to lift the blindfold, despite his strict instructions. They would regret it, too; Dal was sure of that. He had a sense that all around them loomed the Stick-kinden: towering, angular and silent, staring with mute antipathy at these clumsy intruders, their hands stayed only by their anonymity. There were occasional screams amidst that chaos of stumbling and complaining. They were brief, cut off even as they started, but they were unmistakable.
How long it took them to cross that forest of cane, he could not say. The enforced darkness seemed to blind him to the passage of time as much as it did to the stars and moon. Eventually, though, he became aware that he was no longer being tugged along, and all around him people were standing still.
‘Eyes open,’ he snapped, hoping he was right, and that this was not some cruel trick of their hosts. When he pulled the cloth from his eyes, though, he saw that the canes gave out only yards ahead, and open ground lay beyond.
He located Mordrec and tugged at his arm. ‘Make a count,’ he suggested, and the Wasp nodded. As he passed through the band, counting heads, Dal spotted Soul and Ygor, and felt a sudden rush of relief when he saw them still alive.
The Scorpion was already moving out into the open, crouching low and with his companion beast ranging ahead of him, its claws and tail raised threateningly. Dal moved towards him but, as he approached, Ygor raised a hand abruptly and dropped to one knee.
Dal crept up beside him, but he had spotted the problem before he could ask about it. There were campfires visible out there, quite a large band of people, perhaps the same size as the group they had left behind.
‘This is impossible. Nobody could be that far ahead of us.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘They must have a seer, a really good one, to be able to see in such detail.’
Ygor snorted, for he was Apt and didn’t believe in any of that. ‘They’ve got us to rights here, anyway,’ he replied. ‘I don’t reckon we’ll get back through the woods again, either.’
Mordrec and Soul Je joined them quietly. ‘We’re down thirty-seven,’ was the Wasp’s grim report.
Dal nodded. We would have lost more, had we turned and fought, though. He could not guarantee that, but it seemed overwhelmingly likely. Thirty-seven? Thirty-seven men and women who could not bear to stay blind in an unfamiliar place – and had that one last glimpse been worth it?
‘Soul, Ygor, scout them out,’ he ordered. ‘See how alert they are, their sentries, their preparations. We outnumber them and, even though they’re here, they might not be expecting an attack. We might get out of this yet.’
The Scorpion and the Grasshopper padded off into the darkness, with Ygor’s pet slinking along between them. Dal sat