The harpies dove again, and this time Albern shot a pair of them down. Loren managed to loose an arrow before they retreated, but missed her mark. She had never been good at felling birds in flight, and despite the harpies’ great size, they were more cunning, and wove a mad pattern that made it hard to aim.
They attacked again and again. Each time Albern would fell another one or two. Loren managed to bring one down, her arrow embedded firmly between wing and shoulder. But more arrived to strengthen the flock, until they looked like a murder of crows, and Loren knew at once they did not have enough arrows to fell them all. Nor did the harpies come close enough for Jordel to reach them with his sword.
“We must turn back!” Albern cried as the harpies retreated. “They will not let us reach the peaks, and if they do we will be all the more exposed.”
Jordel turned his horse and led them back down, Albern and Loren held wary eyes to the sky as they descended back to the main pass. The moment Midnight’s hooves touched the dirt, the harpies ceased their screaming. They swooped up and away into the sky, circling like vultures awaiting carrion.
“Now we know for certain,” said Jordel in a voice that almost sounded doomed. “We are being herded.”
“Mayhap they only attacked because they saw an opportunity. The fortress has been abandoned longer than anyone in the Greatrocks can remember,” Albern said, though he did not sound as though he believed it.
They spent a miserable day riding in the cold and the wet, their tempers short. When Gem asked for more food at the midday meal, Jordel snapped at him. Annis occupied her saddle in stony silence through the day. Though they could not see the sun, eventually the sky grew darker than it had been, and Albern found them another cave to rest in for the night. They were a solemn party as they laid out their bedrolls and Albern stoked a fire, until Annis crossed her arms and huffed.
“This is a journey for madmen. And you are fools for riding it.”
Gem spoke in anger before Loren could answer. “You ride it with us, and deserve the same name.”
“Not by choice. Not with him.” She gave Xain a sharp look where he lay on the floor in the cave’s rear.
To Loren’s surprise, the wizard did not look back in anger, nor any of the madness that had plagued him of late. A great sadness claimed his face instead. His mouth moved as though he wished to speak, but only a faint mumbling came out around the cloth. He cast his head down, forehead pressed into the dirt, and closed his sunken eyes as if to weep. But no tears came.
Annis turned to Jordel, her eyes angry. “I shall leave the moment these mountains are behind us. I do not care to walk another league by this wizard’s side, nor do I care what he did for the Lord Prince in his youth.”
“Come now, Annis,” said Loren. “We are all tired from the road. Res in the fire’s warmth before you say more you will come to regret.”
“I will never regret them,” said Annis. “You wish to be rid of me? Fine. It cannot happen soon enough.”
Loren opened her mouth, but Jordel spoke, quietly and without rancor. “The choice is yours, Annis of the family Yerrin. If you still wish it when we leave the mountains, I will secure passage wherever you wish.”
“I do not ask you for any more boons,” said Annis, snatching the edge of her bedroll. “I have had quite enough already. And such have left me nearly dead.” She threw the blanket over herself and turned her back to the fire — and the others.
Gem fumed in silent rage. Loren put a hand on his shoulder and murmured, “She is tired, and angry. Do not trouble yourself overmuch. Finish your food, and sleep.”
But after she herself had eaten then stood for two hours of watch, Loren lay awake in thought, before at long last she fell asleep grieving.
twenty
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED WITH little to lift their spirits. The rain had finally ceased, but the sky was still grey with clouds, and they could barely see that the sun had risen. They ate and made ready without speaking, and set forth upon the road in a foul mood. The harpies never ceased their swooping, and Albern stopped once at midday to look behind him. Half-glimpsed in the mist far back along the pass, where it snaked around the mountains and back into view, several shapes skulked among the rocks, poking their heads out every so often to peer at the travelers.
Albern said, “The satyrs have followed us. I thought they might. At least they seem to have no interest in making a fight.”
“Not yet, at any rate,” said Jordel.
“If they were to attack, there would not be a better time than now,” said Albern. “For soon the road will descend to the valley floor again, and there a fight would not be so perilous for us.”
He said it as if it were a hopeful thing, but Loren saw a darkness in Jordel’s eyes that she mayhap understood; the satyrs did not wish to fight them, for they were being herded.
“Is there another way to the peaks that we might take?” asked the Mystic. “Another path leading up?”
Albern looked at Jordel in surprise. “One or two. But the harpies have not abandoned us.”
“Perhaps we can push past them,” suggested Jordel. “Ever less do I wish to see this mountain fortress, for my heart grows heavier the more I wonder what might lie in wait.”
“It would be wiser to turn aside once we reach the valley floor,” said Albern. “For then the harpies will have less of an advantage, and besides we might find trees or rocks in which to take cover.”
“The moment we can, then,” said Jordel. “And I do not care how much longer it will take us.”
That, more than anything else, filled Loren’s heart with fear, and she tried to stop her hands from shaking.
Soon the road dove as Albern had said. Before long hooves were sinking into soft wet dirt rather than scrabbling on the rocky mountain pass. Albern turned them aside at once, and they spurred their horses to a gallop, making for a small copse of trees a hundred paces from the road. Harpies screeched and occasionally dove, but this served to press their horses harder. The Mystic drew then held his sword in case of attack.
They had nearly reached the wood when a great braying bellowed before them, and satyrs swarmed from the trees. The goat-men loosed many arrows that struck the ground around the party, making the horses rear.
“An ambush!” cried Albern. “Turn back!”
“No! They are few.” And with a great cry Jordel spurred his charger. The satyrs saw death on his face and scattered, dropping their bows to flee.
But they had almost forgotten the harpies. The beasts swept from the sky, the wind of their wings buffeting the riders and casting Annis from the saddle with a scream. The plowhorse reared, and for a terrifying moment Loren thought its hooves might come down upon Annis to crush her. But the horse turned at the last second to come crashing down on the grass beside her head. Somehow Gem held his seat, until another harpy screamed by. Its great talons swept across his arm, and he cried out from the pain as he, too, toppled from the saddle. Too late Loren nocked an arrow and fired, but the harpy flew off unharmed.
Loren rode Midnight up to the plowhorse, trying to seize the reins, but the beast was terrified and bolted away, braying. Albern turned his bay and gave chase. He snatched the horse’s reins and led it back to the others.
More satyrs came clattering down from the mountain pass above, storming across the empty ground. Jordel looked back and saw them, coming forth with his charger to lend aid. He rode with a vengeance toward the satyrs, but they formed a wall of spears and drawn arrows, forcing him to turn aside.
“Jordel!” cried Loren. But the beats did not shoot, merely forcing him away. He returned to her side at the same time as Albern, and together the men studied the satyrs as Annis and Gem climbed hastily back atop the plowhorse.
“How many can you fell?” said Jordel.
“Ten, if I do not miss with a single arrow,” said Albern. “Another fifteen, if I take Loren’s. But there are twice that many or more, and though I can see you are a mighty warrior I do not think even you can fi
ght off more than a score.”
Loren said, “We must return to the road. Look at Gem.” The boy cradled his arm to his side, and Loren could see a deep gash stretching from shoulder to elbow. He gritted his teeth in determined courage, but his skin had gone white, and his eyes were wide and fearful.
“We do not know where the road leads,” said Jordel.
“But we know what will happen if we stay.” Loren’s voice became pleading. “Certain death, with no chance for survival. Come, Jordel. The road may be perilous, but it cannot be worse than dying here.”
“You do not know that.” The Mystic turned his charger and led them on a wide circle around the goat-men, bringing them back to the road. Again the harpies retreated, and the satyrs drew back into the rocks and brush, though Loren could feel the weight of many eyes upon their backs.
The moment they were safe again, Jordel called a halt so they could tend to Gem’s arm. Albern had a packet of herbs in his saddlebags, and these he fashioned into a poultice with water from one of their skins. He pressed it into the cut — which was not as deep as Loren had feared, though it was quite long. Gem winced as the pasty white-green mixture sank into his wound, but in a moment he sucked in a deep gust of air and exhaled.
“Mint,” said Albern. “It has little curative property, but the scent clears the mind.”
“It almost makes me forget I am hurt,” said Gem, grinning. “Will the wound scar, do you think? I should greatly enjoy telling the story of how I vanquished harpies in the Greatrock Mountains.”
Albern barked laughter, then turned his head and tried to compose himself. Gem looked at the bowyer suspiciously.
“You have vanquished nothing more than bread and meat since we began this journey,” said Loren, her eyebrows raised.
Gem lifted his chin. “The journey is not over. Mark my words — I will take a harpy’s head before we see civilized lands.”
They rode on once Albern had finished with the wound. Land grew more barren the further north they went, trees and grass giving way to rocks and stones, with no signs of life anywhere — save the harpies, and sometimes half-seen satyrs. Though the road was wide and flat, and they all had an uncomfortable sense of being hunted, Jordel did not press them to move with much haste.
“If we are being driven, I have no desire to move with speed,” he said. “If we move slowly, mayhap we will force the hand of whoever is behind this. The ‘Lord’ that Tiglak referred to.”
“Whoever that is, I do not wish to provoke him,” said Albern. “Yet I, too, have little wish to meet his embrace.”
Had they not been harried so, Loren might have found the mountains beautiful. Though most of the green had faded, there were many formations to steal her breath. Red stone showed on cliff faces, struck through with laces of glittering white quartz. They looked like marble walls, as if they rode through a cathedral, open to the sky.
If only the roof were less grey and dreary.
To further slow their progress, Jordel gave them a long rest at midday to eat. The harpies seemed content to stay their endless loops in the sky, while Gem gave them many dark glances and muttered to himself. Annis seemed determined to ignore everything around her, including her companions. She did not appear to regret a word of what she had said the previous night. Loren wanted to speak with her, but could hardly muster a scrap of attention while they were being hunted so.
The day’s end came at last, and not soon enough for Loren. She longed to throw herself into slumber and forget about the dark creatures in pursuit. But first Jordel called her over.
“I wish to go with Albern and gather wood for the fire, for I think we will all enjoy one made from proper wood rather than dung. Will you see to Xain for me?”
Loren balked. “I do not wish to go near him if I can help it.”
“Do me this favor. I am well weary of this road, and feel as though I might break if he looks at me even once more with his sullen fury.”
“I feel the same. He has done as much harm to me as to you. And mayhap more.” Loren looked down to see Xain laying nearby. Though she did not think he could hear them, still the wizard looked at her with that strange melancholy, as though he knew of what they were speaking.
Jordel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. Mayhap you are right. I will see to him once I return. Or perhaps I will let him go hungry tonight. We have suffered enough trouble upon this trip on his account, and an empty belly might do him some good.”
Loren pressed her lips tightly together. “Oh, all right. I will feed him then, if only so he does not die on us as we sleep. But are you certain he is … safe?”
“I think he is too weak to try anything,” said Jordel. “And besides, you have your dagger. He cannot harm you. If he should attempt to speak, replace his gag. You do not have to remove it far — only enough to shove some bread and salted meat into his mouth. He can chew through the gag. He has earned that much discomfort, at least.”
So saying, Jordel left with Albern into the dimming light of the day. Loren looked after them for a moment, then turned back to observe their trodden road. The satyrs had stayed out of sight, but she could feel them waiting, watching, eyes peering into the fire’s light and the weary travelers gathered around it.
With a sigh she went to Xain. His eyes locked on to hers as she approached, and Loren thought the sadness might overwhelm her. Never had she seen the wizard look thus since the day they had met, and the sight was unnerving. She reached into her cloak to finger her dagger.
I am safe. He cannot harm me. I must only keep watching his eyes, in case they glow.
She tore a chunk of bread from her loaf and held it ready, along with some meat, and prepared to remove the gag. She held herself tense, ready to mute him again if he should speak so much as a word. But the second she removed the cloth from his lips, the wizard croaked, “I am sorry.”
Loren froze, bread held a few inches from his mouth. Of all she had expected Xain to say, those words had not been among them.
“What?” she said, for lack of anything better.
“I am sorry for what I did. For all I have done since we entered the mountains. For everything I did before that. I have done you much harm, and I cannot blame it all upon the magestones.”
He is playing a trick. He is trying to distract you!
Yet the wizard spoke no words of fire or thunder, and there was no glow in his eyes. Loren doubted he could summon much magic in his current state. His eyes were sunken into his head, orbs bulging from sockets emaciated and filled with wrinkles. Only a few desiccated patches of hair still clung to his scalp, and the bones of his wrists showed through the rope used to bind him.
“Those are pretty words,” said Loren. “Yet you will pardon me for wondering at their truth.”
“I cannot blame you for that,” said Xain with a small, sardonic smile. “I have never given you reason to believe in me. Never. Not from the first day, when I abandoned you in the night. You placed your faith in me with a whole heart, something all the more remarkable from one who grew up as you did. I cast your trust aside, and that was a great evil. But I … much of this journey has been shrouded in darkness for me, and I hardly know my dreams from the waking world. I seem to remember that Jordel told you something of my story.”
“Something of it, yes. But not all.”
“Then you know I was hunted by more than just two simple constables,” said the wizard. “I only thought … I thought not to drag you into the darkness my life had become. Yet no matter how earnestly I tried to avoid you, always you reappeared.”
“To your great annoyance.”
“To my salvation,” said Xain. “I had only mad schemes to save my son. Had I tried to carry them out, I would surely be dead.”
“I am not so sure. I have heard some say you are considered a mighty wizard, though you seem scarcely more than fair to me.”
He stared at her for a moment before he understood that she was joking, then he gave Lore
n a croaking chuckle. “I do not know how you can laugh now, but I am glad for it. I feel as though a great weight has passed from my spirit, and my mind is free from the darkness that cloaked it.” The wizard’s face grew solemn again. “I wish I could undo the evil I have done. I … I remember the faces of those I struck down on the road east of Wellmont. I can still see the darkfire consume them, and fear that memory will haunt me forever.”
This could all too easily be a trick. Xain had been dour and furious during this journey. He had tried to escape, and had even cast flames upon them. None of it had worked. Now, mayhap, the wizard sought trickery instead. Even before the magestones, he had not sounded so hopeful as this. It was too great a change, too quickly. If Xain thought she could be fooled, he would find himself mistaken.
“Eat your food. We have a long night ahead.”
A flash of anger returned to his face, the same he had worn each night as he lay by the fire. Though it quickly dampened, her heart stuttered through another beat.
I was right.
But Xain ate his bread and meat obediently, and did not protest when she tied the gag in his mouth again.
His words troubled her long after she had retreated to the other side of the fire to stare into the darkness, long after Jordel and Albern returned and assigned the night’s watches. As the rest readied themselves for sleep, Loren decided to speak with the Mystic. When she told him what had happened, his mouth set in a grim line, and he nodded.
“He said as much to me, last night. In truth, that is why I wanted you to feed him. For one thing, I wished to see if he would say the same to another as he did to me.”
“And do you believe him? Do you think the sickness could have passed?”
Jordel shrugged. “We cannot know for certain — not yet. For some the process is longer, and for others much shorter. But none ever truly shed their desire. Always it will lurk in the back of his mind, goading him, prodding him. If ever magestones return to his grasp, he will have to wage a great war against himself to resist them. If he even wants to. Tis like ale and wine — some people take to them ill, and know it, and so avoid drink altogether. But some lose their wits and enjoy it, and drink and drink until they have cast their lives down around them one stone at a time. Then drink is the only way to dull the pain. Alas, the call of magestones is even sweeter.”
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 13