“So you think it is a trick,” Loren pressed.
“It could be,” he nodded. “Or mayhap not. Either way, we cannot risk trusting him yet. Not while we are pursued on land and in the air by dark creatures hungry for our blood.”
Loren nodded and retired to her bedroll. But she thought much about the wizard’s words. And more importantly, the deep well of sadness she had seen in his light, grey-brown eyes.
twenty-one
“WE SHALL REACH THE FORTRESS today, I think,” said Albern.
It was morning, two days after the harpies had attacked them on the valley floor. Though Albern spoke with all the severity of someone commenting upon the rain, his words still sent a wave of unease rippling through the party.
“And what will happen then?” Gem wondered.
“Then?” said Jordel. “Then we will see what we find, and answer however we can. What is it you once told me? Our road is set, and what use in worrying? We can do little about it either way.”
“It sounded cheerier when I said it,” grumbled Gem.
Though Jordel had grown curiously calm, now that their destination seemed inevitable, Gem and Annis did not catch his mood. Loren found them both looking about anxiously, as though they expected to find themselves beset by ghouls at any moment. Even Annis seemed to have forgotten some of her anger in the face of their uncertain future.
They were not much longer upon the road when it began to widen, turning from loose mud to packed dirt that hardly soaked up the rain. Then, abruptly, it turned into well-paved stone, great square blocks of granite laid out with mortar in a perfect path leading due north.
Albern stopped them at once, and from the look on his face Loren could tell he had not expected this. Jordel, too, looked solemn, for all his talk of being unworried.
“You cannot tell me this road was not here last time you came this way,” said Loren.
“I can, for it is true,” said Albern. “See for yourself — the stones are almost newly cut and laid. They cannot be more than a few years old. And certainly they are not older than ten years, and that is the last time I was here.”
“Who would do that?” said Jordel. “Surely not the King of Selvan, for then I would certainly have heard.”
“If I had to guess, I would lay blame at the feet of this ‘Lord’ the satyrs have mentioned,” said Albern grimly. “And that shows the truth of what I have suspected all along: he is not one of them. Satyrs never lay roads like this, nor build structures of stone, or even of wood. They live in caves and in the wild, and have no need to pave since they do not ride horses or pull carts, preferring always to climb mountainsides.”
“Mayhap this Lord will give us food and lodging for the night,” said Gem. “Perhaps he is a benevolent man who will give care to five weary travelers. Six, I mean — please do not take offense.” He gave a great, dramatic bow to where Xain lay on the back of Jordel’s horse.
“A benevolent man who musters armies of satyrs and harpies to do his bidding,” said Albern. “No, I do not think such a creature exists in the nine lands, little master.”
“I think I prefer the title of Lord Urchin, if it please you.”
“It does not,” said Albern with a dark look. “Just now there are too many Lords in the Greatrocks for my taste.”
The day was dark already, but with their horses upon the road their moods soured further. Far too much was unknown, and Loren no longer held any doubt that she did not wish to see what lay at the end of this road. Whatever might be waiting in the stronghold, she could not pretend, as Gem did, to believe it was not dangerous.
Almost from the moment they reached the paved stones, the harpies swooped off and away — not out of sight, but farther back, flying in loops on either side of the road. The satyrs vanished from view. The party was headed upon the intended course; their stalkers no longer needed to watch them so closely.
The ground began to rise again, and the path along with it. Wherever a hillock or mound stood in their way, a great wedge had been cut right out of the earth, as though the road had burrowed straight through it. The grey stone stretched endlessly ahead, straight as an arrow’s shaft.
When the road finally turned, they saw at last where it led.
They had been headed west of a spar in the mountains, a ridge emerging from the eastern peaks and descending to the valley floor. Once they reached it, the road turned east, rising sharply up the ridge to the stronghold.
There it sat, perched among the Greatrocks like some ancient and terrible spider. Tall walls surrounded a large, almost bulbous stone keep, and tall towers jutted up at each of the wall’s four corners, like the joints of spindly legs. It sat on a great stone platform like a plinth, hacked from the ridge’s side as if by a giant’s axe. No fires burned in any windows. No faces could be seen above the parapets, though they were still too far off to be certain.
“I see no signs of life.” Jordel’s voice remained calm, despite the fear gripping Loren’s heart.
“Nor I,” said Albern, sounding hopeful. “And I take that for a good sign.”
“I do not like the look of the place,” said Gem. “It seems as though a great evil rests within it.”
“That may be, but it was not always thus,” said Jordel. “For this fortress was built by my order.”
“The Mystics?” Loren looked at Jordel in surprise. “I thought you said you knew nothing of a mountain stronghold.”
“I do not. And that is all the more strange — for I can see by the stonework and the shape of its keep that this place was built by my kind, and for their use, though many an age passed. We must have abandoned it, and I wonder why.”
“Well by all means, let us find out,” said Gem. “Nothing would please me more.”
“Is there no other way to go?” said Annis, rancor forgotten in the face of her fear. “I am not as frightened as Gem, but nonetheless I do not enjoy the thought of drawing nearer to this place.”
“You see the road,” said Albern, “though it was only a small dirt path last I came here. It leads one way: forward. And I suspect that if we try to leave it, our escorts will guide us back to the path. But it is as I said — no fires burn within. That, at least, is a hopeful sign.”
Loren felt anything but hope.
Jordel led them on, for they no longer needed Albern’s guidance. The bowyer rode in the rear, just behind Loren, and his right hand remained close to his quiver.
“Look,” said Gem, his eyes turned behind them.
Loren looked. Far below, where the road curved around the ridge, the satyrs had reappeared. But they no longer followed the party. They had drawn up in rank and file, spears held at their sides like soldiers on parade.
Or at a funeral procession.
It was a chilling thought, and she turned her eyes. The only consolation was that the harpies had vanished.
They could make no attempt at stealth. The road was wide and open, with nothing for cover. Yet secrecy seemed unwarranted; no matter how close they drew, they saw no signs of life. Soon Loren could even make out the designs worked into the ramparts, yet saw no men moving atop the stone.
“What do you think they—”
“Hist!” said Jordel, speaking in a low murmur. “Be silent. The place may yet be inhabited, and we would do well not to disturb anyone dwelling within.”
At last they reached the walls. Still no one appeared. The eerie silence was almost worse than if they had been challenged. Loren thought she would rather be back in the battle of Wellmont, for then at least the danger had been clear and certain — she needed only keep herself alive by fleeing it. That was better than this unspoken, uncertain dread.
“Here we are at last,” said Albern in a whisper. “And it looks little different from how I remember. What do you make of it, Jordel?”
“Were the gates closed when you came here last?”
“Aye,” said Albern. “We scaled the walls to have a look inside, but found nothing of worth, and saw little pu
rpose in lowering the gates, for you can see how the road curves around the walls and leads travelers to the other side.”
“You were robbing the place, then?” Jordel looked at Albern with a raised eyebrow.
Albern gave an easy smile. “If no one owns a thing, is it a crime to take it for yourself? You said this place must have been abandoned. Who is to care if we found a few spare pieces of—”
His words were cut short at the deafening toll of a bell. They all nearly fell from their saddles. The bong was followed by a great blast of trumpets, many by the sound, both horn and brass.
“We are found!” cried Gem.
“Silence!” Jordel clapped his hand over the boy’s mouth. “Be still, you fool. There is no one there to see us.”
“Still, that might change,” said Albern. “Come with me! Quickly!”
He turned them right, dashing headlong for the ridge from which the fortress emerged. Loren had thought the walls pressed against the stone wall, but as they drew near she saw that was not so. A small lane ran between walls and sheer rock, the space scarcely wider than two horses side by side.
“Inside!” said Albern, when they reached a cave at the end of the passage. They scrambled in and out of sight, then turned to listen as the horns continued to blare.
“How did you know of this place?” said Gem.
“This is where we slept the last time I came. The cave runs far back and connects with others. Some emerge again on this side of the ridge, some on the other — you don’t want to leave through those, though, for they open into empty sky.”
“But what about the castle?” said Loren. “What is all the fuss about?”
“They have not seen us, or we should have heard shouts of alarm,” said Jordel. “That must mean there is something else — on the other side of the fort, by the east gate.”
Albern looked at the Mystic with interest. “How do you know of the east gate?”
“As I have said, this place was built by Mystics. I could tell you how many bricks are set in the scullery floor.”
“We must go and see,” said Loren.
“We will be killed!” hissed Annis, who still looked out of the cave in fear, as though she expected invaders to come pouring in at any moment.
“We won’t let them see us,” said Loren. “I shall go alone, if no one cares to follow.”
“No, you certainly will not,” said Jordel. “Albern, take her. Neither of you are to reveal yourselves. Only try to find out, if you can, how many are within the fortress, and what spurred them to ring the bell.”
“As you say,” said Albern.
Loren ran to Midnight and pulled her bow from the saddle. But Albern laid a hand on her shoulder and bade her to stop. “This is not the time for fighting. We go only to spy that we might. Come quickly girl, for we might miss the show.”
Loren nodded in reluctant agreement, and together they slipped from the cave. She sidled up to the wall behind Albern, walking toe-first to muffle her footsteps as they moved east toward the gate. They had not gone far before Loren heard a voice, then another calling back in answer, ringing out from the wall above.
“Tis the occupants,” Albern whispered. “They must all be at the eastern wall to greet new arrivals. That is why none were there to see our western approach. A marvelous stroke of luck, that.”
“Indeed,” whispered Loren, forcing herself not to wince. She did not like to rely overmuch on fortune. Every time someone praised their luck, misfortune waited around the bend.
They reached the southeast corner at last. Albern stopped abruptly, raising a hand to halt her as well, then poked his head out. He stood there long enough for Loren to grow impatient. She fell to a crouch and stepped carefully up beside him, her head a few inches below his. If Albern minded, he did not say, whispering only, “First sign of trouble, turn and run.”
Loren nodded, then studied the road running east from the fort. It looked like the one they had climbed to get here, identical light grey stone set in the ground the same way. Yet this road was not empty. Ten wagons traveled upon it, pulled by fine horses tall and strong. It seemed to Loren that the wagons had a familiar look.
Then the caravan drew closer, and Loren felt the blood drain from her face. She shivered, then shook hard and nearly cried out.
Loren wanted to turn and run, yet could not will her limbs to move. For leading the caravan was a carriage, much smaller than the wagons that followed. Staring through the window of that carriage, Loren saw a face she had hoped never to see again. Grey eyes, sharp and cruel. Lips often turned in a smile, but never kind. And skin dark as night, like the daughter waiting in the cave behind them.
Damaris, scion of the merchant family Yerrin.
twenty-two
LOREN COULD NOT TELL ALBERN — she feared to so much as whisper, especially now — so they stared in silence as the caravan proceeded. The front gate opened with a crash, letting the carriage and wagons pass beyond the great stone walls. Then Albern tapped Loren’s shoulder and drew her back.
Rain drizzled as they slid back along the fortress wall, and by the time they reached the others it was pouring. Albern told Jordel what they had seen — so far as he knew, a caravan like any other, proceeding into the stronghold. The Mystic listened in silence. But afterward he looked over Albern’s shoulder to see Loren standing silent, arms folded around herself, staring at the floor.
“Loren? What is it?”
She looked up at Jordel, then at Annis. “I … I know the caravan. I know whose it is.”
“Who?” Then the Mystic’s eyes widened, and his lips slightly parted.
“Yes,” said Loren. “It is a Yerrin caravan, and Damaris is with them.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Annis broke it with a scream.
“No! No, you are lying!”
Jordel pounced upon her, wrapping one arm around the girl’s shoulders and placing a hand over her mouth. She fought and kicked, even trying to bite his hand, though he would not allow it. Albern ran to the cave mouth and looked up, peering back and forth, then quickly returned his attention to them.
“No one about, and the rain’s masking much of the sound in any case. But still — no more shouting.”
“I cannot let you go unless you promise silence,” Jordel said softly. “I understand your feelings, but you will have us all captured or killed. Do you promise?”
Annis fell still, slumping in his arms. Tears leaked from her eyes. Slowly, she nodded. Jordel released her, and she fell to her knees on the cave floor. Loren went to Annis at once, lifting her up and finding a more comfortable place to sit against the wall.
“Is this a private matter?” said Albern. “For I do not find myself as alarmed at this news, though it seems that I should.”
Gem stood by Jordel. His face had gone white, and his hands were shaking. “Damaris is a merchant, and a cruel woman. She nearly had us killed in Cabrus — well, Loren and I, at any rate.”
“Did you steal from her?” Albern looked at them curiously. “Merchants are notoriously protective of their wares, and I should think even you two would know that.”
“I took nothing from her,” said Gem, raising his hands.
“I did,” said Loren. “Magestones, the secret trade of their family. Their wealth has not been built only upon furs and spices and blades. They smuggle the rocks across the nine lands. That is how they came by such fortune. Also, to Damaris’ mind, I took something far more valuable — her daughter.”
Albern’s eyes went to Annis, and for a moment he was dumbstruck. “Ah,” he said at last. “Ah, I … oh dear.”
“Indeed,” said Loren. “Twice has she tried to have me killed. Third tries are charmed, they say, though I hope the charm is in my favor.”
Albern shook his head. “Are all your journeys so fraught with peril and enemies, daughter of the forests? If so, and you are ever again in need of a guide through the mountains, mayhap you should warn him first.”
/> “Never do I plan for such,” said Loren, slowly shaking her head. “Yet always misfortune has a way of finding me.”
“I sense more than misfortune at work,” said Jordel. “How could Damaris have come to this place? We did not even know our road would take us here.”
Gem said, “I do not think she is here looking for us.”
Loren turned to Annis. “Was this the caravan’s destination? Did Damaris plan to come to the Greatrocks all along?”
Annis stared at nothing. At first Loren thought she had not heard. But then the girl shook her head. “I do not know. I was not privy to many of Mother’s discussions about our route. I knew only that we would be traveling through Selvan, and mayhap to Dorsea after that.”
“If they came north on the Westerly Road, the stronghold would have been only a small detour,” said Albern. “A few days’ ride at most. But they would have to know it was here, and occupied, or they could have no purpose.”
“They must have known,” said Jordel. “Why else would they have come? There are few places to trade, and no cities save for Northwood at its head. But Northwood is no place so grand as Wellmont, or even Cabrus, and I do not think Damaris would trouble herself to go there.”
Annis swallowed hard and took a moment to breath.
“Then all this time, without knowing it, our steps have led us straight into my mother’s arms, when all I wanted was to avoid her. We should have gone to Dorsea. Or somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”
Jordel said, “It is too late to say what we should have done. Now we must decide what to do.”
“Well, we cannot return the way we came,” said Albern, “for now the guards will be back on patrol, and in any case I think we would still find the satyrs and harpies waiting. Nor can we leave by the eastern road, for that, too, will be watched.”
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 14