by Tim Stead
“Safe now,” he said.
It was true. He had no idea how far they had travelled, but under the shadow of this small cliff he could see no sign of the Dragon’s Back. Its white peaks were elsewhere. He took a moment to orient himself, to see where the sun lay and which way was north.
Jerac came through, and like Cain he landed comfortably at the foot of the cliff, dusting his hands off and looking about.
“Where are we, colonel?” he asked.
“West of the mountains,” Cain said. “Beyond that…” He shrugged.
Jerac looked around at the lie of the land and Cain followed his example. Apart from the cliff this seemed a gently undulating landscape. Mostly trees, but here and there he could see meadows carved from the forest, so they were south of the Gods walk. In the middle distance the meadows clustered more thickly about the line of a river. There might be people there, shepherds, farmers of some kind.
“I wonder if it goes both ways,” Jerac said. The same thing had occurred to Cain. If the door above them could be entered from here it might be a very fast way back to Berash, or even Avilian.
“I’ll give you a boost,” Cain said.
He caught Jerac’s foot in both hands and when the lieutenant was ready lifted him up, or rather threw him, in the direction of the door.
Jerac’s head and shoulders vanished into the cliff face, leaving his legs sticking out for a moment, and then they, too, vanished. A second later he stepped back out again and dropped lightly to the ground beside them.
“Both ways,” he said.
“We should mark it,” Cain said. “It might be hard to find the same place again.”
They built a small cairn, gathering the larger stones that had fallen from the cliff into a ragged mound that was waist high. It was an obvious mark, but any casual traveller passing this way would have no clue to what it might signify. Such markers were scattered throughout the land. They marked anything from graves to meeting places, so it would not catch a disinterested eye.
By the time they had finished the sun had peaked and midday had passed, so they sat down to eat. There was still fresh food that the Berashis had given them at Fal Verdan, so Jerac kindled a small fire while Cain wandered along the base of the cliff until he found a place where he could climb, a fracture in the face that reached to the top. It was only forty feet or so, and took but a moment to climb.
They were not so far from the Dragon’s Back after all, it seemed. Once he reached the top he could see the mountains not more that five miles away. They had been concealed by the cliff and the low hills that it belonged to. That meant that the river, the one he could see even more clearly from here, must be the Heron.
He scrambled back down, drawn more quickly by the smell of cooked meat which was carried to him clearly on the light breeze that blew along the valley side. He was hungry. Sheyani and Jerac were already eating when he got back to the cairn, and Sheyani seemed quite recovered from her ordeal in the mountains.
“Should we head north west?” she asked. “Do you think there will be Seth Yarra about in these parts?”
“I doubt there will be many,” he replied. “This is thin country for living, and not much to scavenge. There will be some, I am sure, but we can avoid them if we keep to the woods. And I would head north for preference, until we get to the forest. Then we can swing west. I have never been to Wolfguard, and we must pick up the path somewhere along the Gods walk.”
“If Narak is in the north, will there be anyone at Wolfguard?” Jerac asked.
“He keeps a household,” Sheyani said. “There will be many people there, I imagine, and we know that Eran Passerina is there.”
“But she is asleep, you said,” Jerac said.
“Asleep she is, but also with Pelion, as we saw.”
Jerac shook his head. “I do not understand magic,” he said. “It is all one thing and another at the same time. I prefer things to be what they are.”
“It would not be magic if it were commonplace,” Sheyani said. She was clearly amused, a sign of much improved spirits. “You are yourself a creature of magic, Farheim Jerac Fane.”
“Well, then, I’m glad I don’t have to understand myself,” he said.
“I think we are all relieved,” she said.
Cain ate the steak that Jerac had cooked and listened to the mild banter. This had turned out to be a good day. If they had not been bound by their obligation to Passerina, Cain would have gone back into the room with many doors and tried them all. It would be useful to know where each and every one of them led. It would be an effective way of moving small numbers of men about the kingdoms.
On the other hand, perhaps it was best kept a secret. It was always good to have a dagger in your boot that nobody knew about.
They packed up and began to walk. Jerac volunteered to walk ahead, as he had done since they left Fal Verdan. He still seemed not quite at ease with Cain and Sheyani, which Cain explained to himself easily enough. After all, the man had been a carpenter, then a private, and suddenly he was a knight and an officer. Cain had felt uneasy at his own elevation, and was only now growing into it. The man seemed happy enough with his own company, at least.
The woods were quiet. At this time of year the birds were less demonstrative this far north. Mating songs were saved for later in the year, though by now it was technically spring, Cain realised, and further south there would be green shoots, farmers would have started planting, and there would be flowers in the gardens in Bas Erinor.
It also meant that armies would be making ready for war.
He was pulled from this brief reverie by the sound of steel being drawn up ahead. He heard voices. Cain drew his own blade and glanced at Sheyani. There was no point asking her to stay behind. Even if she had not been Farheim she would have insisted on staying with him. They ran forwards together.
It took only half a minute before they burst out into a clearing and found Jerac, blade drawn, facing seven men, equally prepared to fight. But the men were not Seth Yarra. They looked Avilian to Cain.
“You’re Avilian,” he said. “Or by your dress you are.”
“Aye,” one of the men affirmed. “But what are you?”
“Your regiment and commander?” Cain demanded. His tone carried some weight. He sounded like an officer.
“Second Seventh Friend,” the man replied. “Colonel Skal Hebberd.” His sword lowered a couple of inches. “You?”
“I am Colonel Cain Arbak,” he announced. “My wife Sheyani, and the man preparing to kill you is Lieutenant Jerac Fane, First Seventh Friend.”
The man didn’t lower his sword. He looked puzzled.
“You’ll forgive me, my lord,” he said. “But I’ve seen Colonel Arbak, and he’s an older man with one hand. You look like him, and the lady bears a striking resemblance to his wife, but…” he shrugged.
Cain grinned. “Favour of the gods,” he said. He drew his blade and reversed it, offering the hilt to the man he’d been speaking to. “Take me to Colonel Hebberd.” To Jerac he said, “Lieutenant, you can put that away.
Jerac was gave up his bade reluctantly, but followed Cain’s example. They were escorted through the woods, following a broad gulley down towards the river until they came to flatter ground and there, still among the trees, they came to the camp.
It was a pretty spot. The leaf litter had been cleared to make fires and there were hundreds of men, tents, horses picketed along the east side. It was like a small town, or a large town, even. The scent of wood smoke was strong, and columns of it rose into the air. It seemed imprudent to Cain.
They were led to a tent at the centre of the camp. It was much the same as all the other tents, except there was a space around it and a couple of men stood by the tent flap, alert to any intrusion. Cain was impressed by the lack of status. The Skal of old, the one he had first met so many months ago would have insisted on the privileges of rank.
The man, Cain assumed he was an officer, but chided himself for no
t asking even his name, addressed the guards.
“Prakis, this one claims to be colonel Arbak,” he said. “To see the colonel.”
Prakis examined them. He had a sergeant’s marks, and was a grizzled pole of a man, thin and hard. But sergeant Prakis was no fool. He bowed.
“My lord,” he said. “I will tell the colonel that you are here.”
It took no time at all for Skal to appear. He swept the tent flap aside and stood, silent for a few beats of his heart, staring at the three before him.
“General,” he said. “It warms my heart to see you. What brings you this side of the Dragon’s Back?”
It was enough for Cain. He knew that Skal, too, had been touched.
“Matters that we should speak of in private,” Cain said.
Skal nodded and they went into the tent. Jerac paused, not certain that he was included in their councils, but Cain nodded him in with a quick twist of his neck, and they ducked under the flap.
The interior of the tent was simple. A bed made on the ground in the corner, a table with maps, a chair. The floor was grass. Skal’s armour was stacked in a corner, a Seth Yarra blade lay among it.
“We won’t be disturbed?” Cain asked.
“Not unless I will it,” Skal said. “What happened to you?”
“The same thing that happened to you, unless I miss my guess,” Cain replied. “Farheim.”
Skal looked at Jerac and Sheyani. “Them, too?”
“And more besides, I’m sure,” Cain said. “It seems anyone who was in the Wolf’s favour was touched by it.”
“Not the Wolf alone,” Skal said. “I was Passerina’s.”
Cain and Sheyani shared a glance. It made perfect sense – more so than their own change.
“Passerina is the god mage,” Cain said. “We are all hers now.”
Skal said nothing, but went to the entrance and called for wine and more chairs. When he came back he looked pensive. “I thought as much,” he said. “The Duranders want to know, but I’ve said nothing.” He looked at Sheyani.
“They have spoken to you?” she asked. “Who?”
“Morianna,” he replied. “She’s loaned me a mage to watch over us, to scout by scrying.”
“Morianna?” she asked. “I knew her. She knew my father. She is clever, but it has been a long time. I cannot say if she is Hammerdan’s or not.”
“She says not,” Skal said. “The mage that travels with us is named Urgonial – he’s no more than a boy, but he scrys well enough.”
“He’s here to watch you more than watch over you,” Sheyani said. “Does she know that you are Farheim?”
“She does.”
Cain didn’t ask how. It didn’t matter. “This Urgonial, the boy, you said he was a mage. What is he?”
“Abbadonist,” Skal said.
“That’s convenient,” Cain said. “We need to get to Wolfguard in a hurry.”
Skal raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure he can reach that far.”
“If he is a mage it should be possible,” Sheyani said. “There are only three of us.”
“Why Wolfguard?” Skal asked. They explained about the ritual Sheyani had performed, how they had seen Passerina and Pelion, what she had asked them. Skal didn’t hesitate. “Then I, too, should go,” he said.
It was hard to argue the point from a Farheim perspective.
“Your men,” Cain said. “Who will command your men?”
Skal grimaced. “You have a point,” he said. “Under normal circumstances I would be happy to leave Lissman in charge, but things are not normal. We have the Wolfen – Seth Yarra who have switched sides. They march with us.”
This was a surprise to Cain. He questioned Skal in some detail, and eventually satisfied himself that theirs was a genuine change of heart. He wanted to meet them, but if they were going to conclude their business at Wolfguard they should try to do it tonight. There was a chance they could get there and be back before dawn, but they would have to take Urgonial with them, and Morianna would have her answer.
“Call Urgonial,” he said. “We will see if we can get this done.”
“I’ll talk to Lissman, first,” Skal said. “If something should come up during the night, of if by some chance we are delayed, then I don’t want them to find us missing.”
It was a wise precaution. A runner was sent for both Lissman and Urgonial. The Avilian arrived first, and Skal quickly explained the situation. Captain Lissman was not surprised to see Cain and Sheyani in Skal’s tent. Like any good officer he had made it his business to know what was going on.
Urgonial, on the other hand, was struck dumb.
The boy mage came into the tent as casually as an equal, but as soon as his eyes fell on Sheyani his eyes widened and he stood for a moment, simply staring, as though he could not believe what he was seeing. He recovered himself and bowed deeply.
“Esh Baradan,” he said.
Sheyani stood and bowed in return. “I am honoured, Areshi,” she said.
“It is I who enjoys the honour, Areshi,” he said. “I did not expect to see the true monarch of Durandar here.”
“You speak boldly, Areshi,” Sheyani replied. “You should know that I have renounced my claim to the occult throne, and have been granted the favour of the gods.”
Urgonial looked confused. He looked from Sheyani to Cain and back, as though trying to measure the truth of what he had been told.
“Renounced? Then who will succeed Hammerdan?”
“It is no longer my concern, Areshi,” she replied. “But I wish the kingdom well, and wisdom in the choice.”
“He has done this,” the boy mage said, his gaze now fixed on Cain. “He has caused you to betray your people.”
“No,” Sheyani shook her head. “If my people had wanted me to rule they would have risen to protect my father. They did not.”
“The law…”
“The law says that Hammerdan is king. It was the people of Durandar, and the mages themselves who allowed Hammerdan his challenge. The law is the law. It does not cease to be so because you do not like the consequences.”
The boy mage seemed to fold up, consumed by misery.
“You can still serve me, and Morianna’s cause,” she said.
“If I can, I will,” the boy said.
“I thank you for it,” Sheyani told him. “And I must tell you that we need to be at Wolfguard, and we must be there today.”
“Wolfguard?” The boy’s eyes were curious. “Why Wolfguard?”
“Will you serve me or question me?” she demanded.
Urgonial bowed his head. “I overstep, Areshi,” he said. He turned to Skal. “May I use the wall of your tent?” he asked.
“As a canvas?” Skal had seen Morianna work. He knew what would come next. “Yes, of course.”
The boy produced a lump of chalk from within his clothing somewhere, and a candle and a cup of water. He lit the candle, touched the water, and began to pace to and fro’ in front of his workspace, al the time mumbling words that Cain could not decipher. After a minute or so of pacing he began to draw an image.
It occurred to Cain that Urgonial had probably never been to Wolfguard, and he wondered how the boy would know what to draw. The image that began to emerge, however, did not look like a habitation of any kind. It was a stone in a forest, a pointed monolith in a clearing. He watched as the detail grew, the small patches of moss on the stone, rendered by quick strokes packed together, the trees beyond revealed by long sweeps of chalk. It was extraordinary to watch. The economy with which Urgonial drew his image was astonishing. But perhaps it was not all done with the hand. When Cain looked back at a line that had been drawn a few moments earlier it seemed to have thickened, taken on colour and substance.
“How does he know this place?” he whispered to Sheyani.
“It is taught,” she said. “Many important places are taught, and learned by rote, and partly it is akin to scrying. He sees as he draws. One thing helps the other.�
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In five short minutes the picture was alive. It ceased to be a picture and became a doorway into Narak’s forest. Cain could feel the cold air blowing into the tent, see last autumn’s leaves, a carpet of gold, shifting in the wind.
“How far is this from Wolfguard itself?” he asked.
Urgonial seemed with them again. His eyes focussed on Cain. “No more than half a mile,” he said. “We will need to walk due north.”