Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  Loren led the way, opened the door, and froze on the threshold.

  Before her stood another five red cloaks, all with arrows drawn. She barely had time to fling the door shut before five sharp thuds sounded against it.

  “There are more outside,” she said. “Armed with bow and arrow. We are trapped.”

  “Things are not as dire as all that,” said a voice.

  They looked to the home’s rear window. There stood Albern, the bowyer, his face freshly shaven, a spark of grim humor in his eye.

  “A pretty sight you all make,” said Albern. “Though I imagine I might look worse after a fight such as that.”

  “You were watching?” said Loren.

  “I keep an eye on those who interest me. But you can provide no amusement if you perish. Come, if you wish my help to escape. Otherwise try the front door again, and see if you can persuade your foes to show mercy.”

  Loren met Jordel’s look, but they needed only a moment. They had no choice. Together they lifted Gem through the window, followed by Annis, with Albern lowering them gently on the other side. Then they climbed through themselves, leaving the half-dozen Mystics behind.

  seven

  THE WOODS LOOMED A FEW paces from the house, and Albern led them there in a low running crouch. Without thinking Loren muffled her footsteps, running toe first as she followed. A useless gesture — for Gem still crashed along, loud as ever. Once within the safety of the trees, Albern stopped to duck behind a wide trunk. Loren followed, and together they surveyed the house. The Mystics had only just begun to circle around, approaching it from a dozen paces away, apparently unaware that their quarry had escaped.

  “They will notice our absence soon enough,” said Albern. “Fortunately, will be well quit of this place before then.”

  And he set off again, leading them deeper into the woods.

  They reached a small clearing before two minutes had passed. There, to Loren’s great surprise, stood their horses — along with another pair, a sprightly bay and a swaybacked plow horse.

  “The bay is mine,” said Albern. “The other was for supplies — though I suppose the children may ride it, if they can.”

  “What supplies?” said Loren.

  “He means to take us into the mountains.” Jordel fixed Albern with a keen glare, not entirely happy. “Was this your plan, then, bowyer? To take advantage of us in a moment of peril? I do not care for schemers.”

  Albern shrugged. “I told you yesterday — I rarely see such interesting travelers. When I am curious, I look after my interest. I did not have to look after you long before your pursuers closed in. I hazarded a guess that you might be more in need of a guide than you allowed.”

  The Mystic still looked displeased, but Loren spoke before he could. “Jordel, you know we cannot take the Westerly Road now. They will follow us upon it, and our horses are overburdened already. We must travel the mountain pass.”

  “Very well,” said Jordel. “We will take your services, bowyer. Though you will receive a fair price for your guidance, and not a penny more, no matter how urgent our need.”

  “I would ask for nothing greater. I long for the diversion more than the coin. Though distraction does not fill the coffers, as they say. Two gold weights now, and three more when we reach Northwood at the northern end of the Greatrocks.”

  Jordel raised his eyebrows. “Five gold weights is a great bargain.”

  “I told you I wished to ride again,” said Albern with a grin.

  “I will pay you three now, and five in Northwood,” said Jordel. “But if I wish to take a different path than you say, we shall take it. And you must ask no questions about our journey, or our business.”

  “Done and done. Though remind me never to let you bargain on my behalf, for I fear I might up a pauper. Come. Let us be off.”

  Jordel handed him three gold weights, then mounted while Loren helped Gem and Annis to the back of the plowhorse. Midnight greeted her with a nicker as she swung atop the mare’s back, black cloak billowing behind her.

  Albern made to lead the horses north, but Jordel stopped him.

  “We have … a burden. West of the town, hidden in the forests. We must retrieve it before we go.”

  “It must be a valuable cargo indeed, for you to fetch it while so hotly pursued.”

  “You mean to go back for Xain?” said Annis, half angry, half afraid. “How do you think we can travel the mountain pass while dragging him behind us?”

  Albern’s eyebrows drew together. He looked from the children to Jordel.

  The Mystic fixed him with a grim smile. “Do you still wish so badly to guide us, bowyer? You might have taken more care when looking into your charges.”

  Albern shrugged. “Tis your business, and I have agreed to venture no queries. Let us fetch this man.”

  “But our enemies are almost upon us,” said Annis, clearly afraid. “They may catch us even as we try to reach Xain.”

  “I hear your protests — and the unspoken thoughts behind them, Annis,” said Jordel with a sigh. “If you hate the idea of riding with Xain so badly, I have no hold upon you. You may leave if you wish. But I will not abandon him to die in the woods.”

  “Nor I,” said Loren softly, though it pained her to see the look in Annis’s eyes. “We may as well sink a dagger into his back ourselves as leave him bound without bread or water.”

  Annis did not answer, but turned to hide beneath her hood. Gem put a hand on her shoulder, his other arm still wrapping her waist from behind.

  Jordel turned the horses and led them south, picking their way quickly but carefully through the trees until they were well away from town. They cut west at a brisk trot until they reached the woods beside the road. There they waited, looking hard in every direction to ensure no eyes were upon them, before crossing the road at a gallop to reach the other side.

  “And now we are nearly home free,” said Gem happily. “See, Annis? You worried for nothing.”

  “Hist!” said Loren. “Confidence curses luck, especially when you need it most. Say not we are safe until we are in the mountains and know that no one has followed us.”

  Jordel led them unerringly through the forest toward Xain’s hiding place. Loren wondered at that, for she saw no path for the Mystic to follow. He seemed intimately familiar with these woods. She thought he must have a tale, but as with so many matters concerning Jordel, she had no time to ask.

  Soon they reached the clearing where the great stones were stacked in a pile. The small cave was dark, and for a moment Loren could not see Xain. Fear fluttered in her heart. Then she spotted the shape of his boot, stretching almost into the daylight, and soon saw the rest of him as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  The wizard did not look pleased to see them — nor did he look well. His face seemed even more gaunt and so awfully pale. His hair stuck out, thin and wispy. Blood ran in his eyes.

  Jordel dismounted and brought the wizard forth in a hurry, pulling him to his feet after freeing his hands from the rocks. Then he tied Xain across the back of his horse as he had before.

  If Albern was dismayed, he did not show it. But he surveyed Jordel’s doings with a cool and reserved eye, his mouth set in a stern line. Loren could not imagine he was pleased at this development — if nothing else, it would slow their progress through the mountains.

  “I ask again: have you any regrets, bowyer?” said Jordel. “Now is your last chance to return. After this moment there is no turning back, and I will not risk our lives in the mountains with a guide who wishes he were back in his shop. You may keep the gold I have given, if you wish, for no doubt you saved us from the Mystics.”

  “I will tell you again,” said Albern. “I am not in the business of asking questions. One grows weary of staying in the same place, never leaving home nor spying new sights. I think a man such as yourself might understand.”

  His words were haughty, yet Loren saw Jordel relax. Still, he pressed the question. “You have seen alre
ady that we are fugitives from the Mystics — I am a member of the order myself, recently exiled. You should also know that we flee the King’s justice, though I can promise you we have done no deed too ill. Our crime is keeping this wizard from the constables, for the man’s will is not his own.”

  “It is magestones, then?” said Albern. “I thought as much. He has the look. You do him a great service, though I doubt he is of the mind to thank you.”

  Xain’s angry glare was answer enough.

  Jordel hauled Xain’s head up, pulled forth a water skin, jammed it into the wizard’s mouth around the gag, and poured. Xain drank from it greedily, coughing after a moment as he took too much in. Jordel corked the waterskin, then climbed into his saddle.

  “Very well, Albern of the family Telfer,” said Jordel. “We accept your service. And I thank you for your persistence.”

  “And I thank you for the chance to put my feet upon the road again. Strapa is a fine place to live, yet one who has spent most his life wandering will weary of any place in time.”

  He nudged his horse north, and Jordel followed. Loren shared a look with a still afraid Annis, then trotted close behind.

  eight

  THE WOODS WERE EMPTY AND silent. Soon they passed Strapa heading north. The forest grew ever more spare, and Loren was little more than nerves, imagining the Mystics hunting them through the trees. But they came upon a road in no time, not wide but well-worn, running northwest through the trees toward the Greatrocks.

  “This is the beginning of the mountain pass,” said Albern. “It rises steeply up into the foothills, twisting and turning as it finds its way into the mountains proper, then dips into the wide river valley before climbing once more.”

  “How long is the road?” said Jordel. “We are in need of haste, and already I mourn for the speed of Westerly Road.”

  “Normally less than two months,” said Albern offhandedly. “But there are many branches in the mountain pass, and the safer paths take longer. If you wish for speed, we can ride hard and reach the town of Northwood in a month — but I cannot promise you better. Even that may not be possible.”

  Jordel’s mouth soured. “A month. Far too long, yet I suppose it cannot be helped. Very well. Lead on, and if ever you must choose the faster route or the safer one, choose the faster.”

  Albern had told no lie; the road began to rise almost as soon as they set hooves upon it, and soon the trees gave way to gently climbing hills. They paused atop the first then turned back long enough to look down at the lands rolling south and east. There, far below, they could see gentle wisps of smoke rising from Strapa’s morning fires. But the town was shrouded by forest, and they could see nothing of the buildings or people.

  “Still no sign of our pursuers,” said Jordel. “With luck they chase us up the Westerly Road and have not guessed we might take this route instead.”

  “Even if they hazard such a guess, it will not serve them,” said Albern. “I promise you: no one living knows this path, nor can travel it faster than I.”

  “Yet those who chase us are quite resourceful,” said Jordel. “Do not be overconfident. There are many in my order who can surprise even me, on occasion.”

  “You would know best,” Albern shrugged. “Come, then. Let us get on with it.”

  They rode all that day in silence and haste, for the road was still wide and they could trot or gallop upon much of it. The sun burned brightly while they rode — but by the time it dipped and they stopped to camp for the night, clouds had gathered again to hide it.

  “Such is always the way in the mountains,” said Albern. “Summer takes far longer to reach the Greatrocks than the lowlands.”

  Still, it was not quite cold enough that they regretted their lack of tents. They laid their bedrolls upon the ground and fetched provisions from their packs. Jordel had seen to it that they were well-stocked — yet still he rationed their meals, for now their road would be much longer than he had thought.

  “My lady,” said Albern. “I never learned your name.”

  “I am Loren of the family Nelda.” She smiled. “Well met, and I apologize for our earlier lack of courtesy.”

  “Current circumstances make it easy to forgive,” said Albern. “But now we have more time for pleasantries.”

  “And I am Jordel, of the family Adair. This is Annis of the family Yerrin, and Gem of Cabrus.”

  “Of the family Noctis,” said Gem. “I know at least that much of my parents.”

  Jordel bowed. “As you say.”

  “Well met, all of you. And I heard from your earlier words that this one is Xain.” Albern nodded at the wizard, now lying on the ground near their camp, wrists and ankles bound. Xain looked back in anger, one eye almost pure red with blood.

  “He is,” said Jordel. “And even if I were not still afraid of pursuit, I would say to post a guard for his sake. It is of great importance that the wizard not be allowed to flee.”

  “I would have suggested it in any case,” said Albern. “For there are dangers in the mountains, too, besides those who may chase us. Wolves and bears, and darker things further on.”

  “What cheery news.” Gem stared into the dark with discomfort.

  “Fear not, little master,” said Albern, jostling his shoulder. “We shall keep you safe from crawlers in the night. I will stand first watch, if you allow it.”

  “I would thank you,” said Jordel. “For we rode hard on the road to Strapa, and one night’s rest has not yet cured our fatigue.”

  “Tis settled, then,” said Albern. “A good night to you all, and hopes for a fair morning!”

  Albern left, climbing atop a nearby mound to watch. He laid the across his knees, then pulled out some food and started to eat.

  Loren studied Jordel in surprise, for he had let Albern take watch without question. A great show of trust — and yet she remembered how Jordel had taken her own measure almost from the moment they met in Cabrus. He had trusted her implicitly from then on, though it had taken her far longer to return his faith. He seemed to make up his mind about a person in moments. And though at first he had been wary of Albern in the bowery, he must have seen something to convince him of the man’s honesty since.

  “Though we did not choose this road, I am glad we are upon it,” she said across the fire. “The mountain pass may be uncertain, but I feel more hopeful now than I did at the prospect of riding the Westerly Road.”

  “I, too, feel less need to peer over my shoulder,” said Jordel. “Yet still I fear what such a delay might bring. But our path is set, with no looking back.”

  They supped, then swaddled into their bedrolls for sleep.

  So began their trek through the Greatrocks. For some days the journey was strenuous, even if uneventful. Albern did not wake them the first night to trade watches. In the morning he said, “I have had many years’ good rest in Strapa, and my wits are sharper when not fat with sleep.” But on the next night and every night thereafter, he traded watches with Loren and Jordel.

  Whether riding or walking, the bowyer moved with a vigor that the rest of them found infectious. He spoke with them all in turn and laughed often. His cheer did much to raise their mood, which had been somber on the road to Strapa. He would sometimes sing, most often in the mornings; his voice rang clear on the dawn air, echoing back from the surrounding mountains.

  They left the foothills on the second day and entered the mountains proper. The path grew steeper and narrow, just wide enough for four horses abreast. But they rode single file, for Albern told them that the edges were not to be trusted.

  “This road was built for trade and travel. Not for war. The king never strengthened it so that an army might march — for soldiers moving from north to south would take the Westerly Road.”

  “Which king built it?” said Gem.

  “That I do not know,” said Albern. “It has been here as long as anyone can remember, and I have found no tales of its making.”

  Loren looked at Jordel w
ith interest, but he shook his head. “I never learned either. Indeed, few write of the Greatrocks. They are Selvan’s western border against Dorsea, and not many scholars believe they serve any other purpose.”

  “They are not just a border,” said Albern. “They are a world unto themselves, with laws decreed by no king.”

  Jordel and Albern would trade words when the party rested. Always Jordel would ask how far they had come, and how much farther they had to go. Albern would draw crude maps in the dirt, show him the many coming twists and turns, then advise him of the best route. Jordel listened more than he spoke, and always accepted Albern’s suggestions. At first Loren would sit and listen, but soon abandoned the meetings for their dreadful boredom.

  Xain became little more than luggage in Loren’s mind. Upon the road to Strapa, when his attack was still fresh with its horror, she had thought of little besides. But now there were mountains to catch her eye, Albern’s songs, and the narrow path to study. Xain’s presence grew less fearful, and she watched dispassionately whenever Jordel would move him from mount to ground. Still she often caught Annis eyeing the wizard, her gaze always anxious.

  Yet when Xain did not haunt her, Annis often looked at Albern with interest. After a few days she finally ventured to say, “Tell me, bowyer. Were you ever a soldier?”

  Albern looked at Annis in surprise. “Why, yes. For many years in my youth I marched with the Ruby Crowns.”

  “A mercenary?” Her voice bubbled with hushed enthusiasm, as though Albern had told Annis a great secret that she ought not know. “You must have traveled far.”

  “Far enough, and yet I saw little,” he said with a shrug. “I have fought in battles as far east as Hedgemond and as far south as Idris. A frigid place that is, I tell you.”

  “Some mercenary captains would stay in our manor on the High King’s seat, from time to time,” said Annis. “My sisters would always flutter about to hear stories, but they said I was too young.”