“Don’t know!” Har yelled back. Then he pointed. “There?”
“Maybe,” Maurin answered. There did seem to be a darker area in the general direction of Har’s pointing finger, but the snow was heavier already, and it was difficult to say for certain. Maurin waved Har back to the line of horses and began pulling the reluctant animals along.
They did not find Alethia, but in a few moments they were among the trees of the grove they had been heading for when the birds had attacked. The wind was partially blocked by the trees, and it was easier to move. Soon they found the overhang their guide had mentioned, and they crowded gratefully into its meager shelter.
The wind still howled so that they could barely hear each other speak. Maurin found a spot to secure the horses and was starting to unlash the Shee when he saw Har heading back out into the storm.
He dropped the rope he was holding and grabbed for his friend.
“You can’t go out there again!” Maurin shouted. “You’ll be lost in less than three paces!”
“Alethia’s still out there somewhere!” Har said, pulling against Maurin’s restraining grip. “I have to find her; she’ll die if she stays out there!”
A lump of ice settled in Maurin’s chest, but he said roughly, “Will it help if you die too? Going off like an idiot without even a rope! How did you expect to find us again once you got to her?”
“Maurin, please!” Har begged. “Let go! I have to find her.”
“Then wait long enough to be sensible!” Maurin snapped. His hands were already busy with the saddlebags. “We have enough rope among us to reach a long way. Tie it together and take an end so you can find your way back. It won’t do anyone any good to have two of you lost in that storm!”
Har looked out at the trees. The snow was falling so thickly that he could only discern the closest trunks; beyond was only a wilderness of swirling whiteness. Reluctantly, he agreed that Maurin’s suggestion was necessary, but he fretted and fumed all during the time it took to knot the ropes and secure them to a large boulder. Then he grabbed the free end, tied it around his waist, and ran out into the blizzard.
Tamsin struggled with the ropes holding the Shee; Maurin crossed to the other horse and eased Corrim to the ground. The Karlen Gale man’s head hung limply, and it was almost unnecessary for Maurin to feel at the throat for the non-existent pulse. With a deep feeling of regret, Maurin pulled the man’s cloak to cover his head.
The first task, once the horses were securely tied, was to set up some sort of shelter for themselves and the wounded guide. Once the Shee was more comfortably settled, they turned their attention to their own injuries. From time to time Maurin checked the lifeline to make sure the knots were still holding, but when nearly an hour had passed without any sign of Har he began to worry. Finally he turned to Tamsin.
“I’m going out after Har,” he told the other man. “He may be having trouble. Don’t try to come after me if I don’t make it back; someone must stay with the horses.”
“If you don’t make it back, I might as well come after you,” Tamsin said, but his tone was not reproachful. Maurin nodded reluctantly; two men helping a badly injured companion might have a chance of escaping the mountains once the storm was past, but alone it would be nearly impossible.
“I’m still going,” Maurin said.
Tamsin watched him with a bleak expression, wishing there were some, way he could help. If he had only had time to learn more than the simple beginner’s spells the Shee had been teaching him! A seeking-spell would be particularly useful just now, or one against cold. But there was nothing he could do or say, and after a moment he nodded reluctantly. Maurin turned, grasped the rope, and stepped out into the grove.
At first the trees blocked most of the wind, but when he reached the edge of the grove Maurin was almost swept away from the lifeline. With all his strength he clung to the rope and shouted into the storm, “Alethia! Har! Alethia!” The words were swept away almost before they were uttered.
Maurin gave up shouting and lowered his head against the wind. Hand over hand, inch by painful inch, he continued working his way along the rope. Underneath the concentration, fear sang along the borders of his mind in an endless chant, “Not Alethia, not Har, not both of them. Not Alethia, please, not both of them.”
So intent was he on making progress that when he tripped he continued oh his hands and knees for a moment. Then he realized that he had fallen and lost the rope; almost in panic he groped behind him for the lifeline. Instead of rope his hands found the rough surface of a cloak, half buried in the snow, and under it was Har, the lifeline still tied fast around his waist.
Har was barely conscious. After one or two futile attempts to get him to his feet, Maurin untied the rope and lashed it around his own waist. Then, half dragging, half carrying the smaller man, he started back toward the shelter of the grove. Progress became mechanical; one foot in front, haul in the rope, drag on the other man, next foot forward.
An endless time later, Maurin reached the overhang. By this time he was crawling, stopping frequently to rest. Dimly he saw Tamsin’s face above him, full of relief. “Har,” he croaked. “See to him.”
The minstrel’s face vanished, and Maurin closed his eyes. All that he wanted to do now was rest. He couldn’t rest, though; someone was shaking him. He opened his mouth to protest, and something warm and liquid gushed into it. He almost choked on the first swallow, but Tamsin was insisting that he take more.
A few more gulps of broth restored some of Maurin’s energy, and he realized how cold and hungry he was. He tried to sit up, and Tamsin helped him for a moment. “Finish the cup and I’ll help you over to the fire,” the minstrel said. “You need warmth almost as much as you need food and rest.”
“How did you do it?” Maurin asked hazily.
“Don’t talk,” Tamsin said. “Drink!” Maurin obediently finished the broth and Tamsin helped him to his feet and guided him over to the fire he had somehow built in the Trader’s absence. Har was already there, bundled in all the blankets and cloaks the minstrel could find.
Once Maurin was seated out of the wind, Tamsin returned to Har and tended the ragged slashes made by the birds. Maurin watched him for a few minutes, until the minstrel looked up and noticed his regard.
“It is a good thing these wounds are clean,” Tamsin said. “At least we will not have to worry about fever and poison.”
“It’s as well that we were this close to shelter, too,” Maurin replied. “None of us are in any condition to be wandering around in that storm.” Suddenly memory hit him, and he sat bolt upright with a cry. “Alethia! She’s still out there!”
Tamsin’s eyes were sympathetic. “I know,” the minstrel said. “I feel for her, too, but we can do no more. You are the strongest of us, and you barely made it back. Will you kill yourself trying to find her? She is strong and sensible. Perhaps she has found shelter.”
Maurin collapsed with a groan. “There must be something…” he murmured, but he knew there was not. He was the strongest of them, and he could not simply abandon the others; they would need him if they hoped to get out of the mountains safely. Maurin subsided into his own gloomy ponderings. He did not speak again, and Tamsin did not press him, though the minstrel occasionally cast worried glances in the Trader’s direction.
The storm raged for two days. The enforced idleness enabled both Maurin and Har to begin to recover from their injuries, and to regain some of the strength they had lost fighting the blizzard. The guide, however, was still unconscious. His wounds at first seemed light, and the three humans were greatly puzzled, yet it began to seem unlikely that he would survive unless he reached the healers soon.
This posed a problem. Har wanted to remain where they were, to search for his sister’s body, for it seemed impossible that Alethia could have survived the storm. Maurin, tacitly acknowledged leader of the group now that the Shee was unable to function, agreed to a brief delay while he and Tamsin constructed a litter
for the Shee and erected a cairn for Corrim, but he refused to jeopardize the guide’s life by remaining any longer than necessary.
Finally Har capitulated. It was a subdued and wary group that set out under the leaden skies of the third day after the storm. Har was moodily silent, given to flashes of temper. Maurin rode in silence, absorbing Har’s occasional remarks with the grim indifference of a granite cliff. Tamsin, riding at the rear alongside the litter, found Maurin’s silence more disturbing than Har’s temper, but there was nothing he could do, so he, too, kept silent.
There was no sign of the mysterious white birds, but that did not keep any of the men from casting surreptitious glances at the mountaintops when they thought the others were not looking. The weather was bitterly cold, and the men wore their clothes in layers to keep warm. The few blankets were bundled around the guide in an effort to ease the jolting of the makeshift litter and provide some warmth to the invalid.
Maurin set a slow pace, for the drifts were deep and masked treacherous footing. Several times they had to retrace their steps when snow blocked their passage. At such times Maurin was painstakingly careful not to lose track of their direction, for without a mountain-born guide to be lost was a sure death sentence.
On the second day of travel Maurin began to worry. With all the backtracking they had done he knew that they could not have come far enough to be out of the Kathkari, but he had expected to see signs that they were nearing the edge of the mountain range. When the group stopped for a moment to rest, Maurin scrambled up to a ledge and looked out over the terrain ahead. There was still no sign of an end to the mountains, and Maurin began considering whether to voice his concern to his companions.
Har forestalled him. “Look there!” the young Noble called up to him. “Are those specks travelers or deer? I can’t tell at this distance; you have a better view.” Har pointed through a gap in the trees.
Maurin squinted in the direction of Har’s finger, to where a number of dark shapes were moving against the snow on the valley floor. “This time our luck is better; if deer carry riders, I’ll eat my saddle. Come on!”
They picked their way carefully down the mountain. By the time they reached the valley floor, the riders were almost upon them, and it was obvious that they were Shee. The little group stopped and waited for them.
“Ho, Maurin!” The foremost of the Shee hailed them. “Har! We had scarcely hoped to find you this quickly, though we came in search of you!” The rider was Jordet, and Maurin found himself shaking.
When they did not return his greeting, Jordet’s smile of welcome changed. He looked closely at their faces, and his eyes flew to the litter. “Not Alethia?”
“I wish it were,” Maurin whispered as Jordet rode forward. “I wish it were.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jordet insisted on making camp where they stood. One of the men who accompanied him was a healer’s apprentice, and he insisted that the man examine all of them, beginning with the guide.
Though they would not admit it, the others were glad of the chance to stop and rest, and to catch up on the news of the battle preparations. They were surprised that Jordet had ridden out in search of them.
“We knew that you planned to leave Eveleth five days ago,” he explained. “When the Veldatha felt the blizzard coming they tried to warn you, but they couldn’t reach your guide. Herre and Bracor were worried enough to send us out looking as soon as the storm was over.”
“What do you mean, felt the storm coming?” Har asked. “I didn’t think the Veldatha did weather-working; Rialla almost took my head off the one time I suggested it!”
“They don’t, as a rule,” Jordet said. “But the Lithmern and the Shadow-born do. This was no natural storm; that’s one reason Herre was so worried.”
“Was it as bad at Coldwell as it was up here?” Har asked.
“Worse,” Jordet said with a shudder. “We lost nearly a third of the supplies, and half a dozen people froze to death. Morale isn’t very good, I’m afraid.”
“Then the Lithmern must know we’re planning to meet them at Coldwell Pass,” Maurin said.
“I don’t think so,” Jordet said. “They had to build the storm up where their power is strongest; it just happened that Coldwell and the army was right in its path.”
“Why would they send a storm to block the pass if they are planning to use it?” Har objected. “Unless they know we are there waiting for them.”
“After what happened at Brenn, the Lithmern must know that the Wyrds and the Shee are involved in this,” Jordet said patiently. “The storm didn’t block Coldwell, but it would have made it almost impossible for any of the Shee troops to reach Brenn for weeks. Fortunately, the wizards and most of the cavalry were already at Coldwell when the storm hit.”
“Then you expect the Lithmern to attack soon,” Tamsin put in.
“Less than a week,” Jordet said quietly. “They should reach the pass in three or four days, no more.”
“Are you sure they don’t know about the ambush?” Har asked again.
“Positive; the Wyrds captured a scout yesterday, and the head of the Veldatha himself questioned the man under truthtrance,” Jordet replied. “He wasn’t even looking for signs of people; he was simply making sure the pass was still open. Which it is, so far.”
The Shee’s eyes glinted wickedly, and Har looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, we have a little surprise for them,” was all Jordet would say, and he refused to elaborate. “When we reach the pass you will find out,” he said, and would answer no more of their questions.
They spent the remainder of the day camped on the valley floor. The healer’s apprentice tended the three humans hovering over the unconscious Shee, occasionally applying mysterious ointments or potions. The next morning Jordet asked him if it was safe to transport the injured man, and the healer only shrugged.
“It can do him no more harm, I think; and if we can reach Coldwell in time, perhaps someone there may be able to help him. He is beyond my skill.” Jordet nodded, and they began breaking camp.
It took two more days for them to reach Coldwell Pass. The cold and the drifts slowed their progress despite the expert guidance of the Shee, and they had to stop frequently to tend to the guide. Har was recovering from the initial shock of losing Alethia, though he was far from his old self. Maurin, however, blamed himself for her disappearance, and though he was no longer silent he remained withdrawn.
Jordet’s first action when they reached the army was to summon a healer for the injured Shee. That attended to, he sent word to Bracor and Herre of their arrival. He did not speak of Alethia and Corrim, feeling that such news was better given in person.
Numbers of soldiers, however, had seen them ride in, and all of them could count. Anxious rumors were flying about the camp long before Bracor and Herre arrived. The two leaders were accompanied by Armin, Gahlon, and two men unfamiliar to Maurin. These were presented as the Lords Vander and Marhal, the only other Alkyran nobles who had cared to send help to the group at the pass. Thielen had sent troops as promised, but he himself remained in Wentholm.
Bracor looked toward his son. “Well?”
Har looked pleadingly at Maurin, but the Trader refused to meet his gaze. Haltingly, Har explained what had happened. Bracor’s face went grey, and with the barest possible polite murmur he excused himself from the gathering. Har followed him at once, and for a few moments the others stood looking after them.
“What a pity,” Lord Vander said, breaking the silence. “I hope this will not affect Lord Bracor’s judgement.”
“Yes,” agreed Marhal with a sidelong glance at Herre. “Such a shock, so soon before a battle…” He let his voice trail off.
“Perhaps one of us could assist him,” Vander went on. “I am sure the Lord of Brenn would not object to one of us taking some of the load from his shoulders, and he will certainly want some little time to himself, to be with his family.”
&
nbsp; Armin reddened and started to speak, but Gahlon forestalled him. “Just what did you have in mind, Lord Vander?”
“Why, it occurs to me that a great deal of Lord Bracor’s time is spent making arrangements with the Wyrds and the Shee,” Vander replied. “It may be distressing to him, particularly under the circumstances; I understand the Shee guide is not yet out of danger.”
“What are you implying?” Armin demanded.
“But it is obvious!” Marhal said, shaking his head sadly. “Why, no one could fault Bracor for finding it a little difficult to deal with the Shee after this. Not that it was the young man’s fault that his daughter was lost in the storm, of course; still, he was supposed to be guiding the group to safety.”
“Yes, it almost seems better that one of us should take over that area of Lord Bracor’s duties, at least until the shock has worn off,” Lord Vander said blandly. He turned toward Herre. “Don’t you agree?”
Herre’s eyes glittered, but he responded smoothly. “Why, you seem all consideration, my Lord. I must confess that the difficulties of the situation had not occurred to me in so pressing a light.” Lord Marhal could not repress a smirk of triumph, and the gleam in Herre’s eyes increased.
“Your offer is a generous one,” the Shee Commander went on. “I will be glad to have him appraised of it at once. Jordet!”
“Here, sir,” Jordet replied promptly.
“I wish you to take a message to your uncle,” Herre said. “Inform him of the kind offer these gentlemen have made, and tell him that if there is anything we can do to assist him we stand by our duty to our kindred.”
“At once, Commander,” Jordet said, bowing. “It will be my pleasure.”
The smirk on Lord Marhal’s face vanished instantly, and Lord Vander looked completely taken aback. “No, no,” Vander said hastily. “It would be better to give him time to get over the shock. No need to go at once.”
“But I thought that the shock was what worried you!” Herre said in mock amazement. “Well, we shall let it be for the moment; I am sure you have other duties to attend to.”
[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic Page 18