Kedryn turned to face the kyo, his features pale with drifted snow and a heartfelt fury. “We shall cross it, Tepshen! We shall find the Drott and seek the shade of the warrior who took my sight. And when I have that back we shall return to destroy the Messenger. I swear it in the name of the Lady!”
“We shall try,” agreed the kyo, the grief he felt at the loss of so many true friends not showing on his impassive face. “For the sake of Tamur and the dead.”
“What chance do we have?” asked Wynett, staring at the Tamurin warriors’ rocky tomb.
“We have our horses still,” said Kedryn, fiercely, “and our lives. The tribes can live through the winter—so can we.”
“Aye,” she responded, drawing courage from his determination. “And surely the Lady must protect us, else we should have fallen.”
Tepshen Lahl was less sanguine, but nonetheless practical. “We had best find the egress of this cursed place,” he announced. “And build a fire—night will be on us soon and we’ll likely freeze without timber to bum.”
Kedryn nodded, still staring at the rubble that filled the pass. “You shall not have died in vain,” he promised. Then he turned his mount to follow Tepshen Lahl.
They rode as swiftly as they dared, fearful that the clatter of hoofbeats might dislodge further falls of snow rendered unstable by the disruption, and their mounts winded by the headlong charge. Despite their resolve their spirits were downcast and what remained of the Fedyn Pass grew dark with natural shadow as the day waned. Soon they rode in semidarkness, hunched beneath their furs, anxious to find the ending of that gloomy place and kindle the optimism of a fire. It seemed to Kedryn that he still heard a faint echo of that insane laughter, as though Ashar mocked him, sneering at his determination, and he ground his teeth in rage at the god’s wanton destruction. The cold grew as the light faded and he clung to the candle of his hope in the midst of his darkness, not allowing himself to contemplate failure. So many had died to further Ashar’s purpose, not only here, but also in the battle of the Lozin Gate, and now only Wynett and Tepshen Lahl rode with him. his sole companions on the quest that might now end in the frozen wastes of the mountains. Yet they had escaped the avalanche, and surely that was the Lady’s doing; and with the Lady’s aid he could succeed. Would! he told himself, just as he had told Wynett and Tepshen. Would, no matter what obstacles Ashar might set to block him.
“I will defeat you,” he told the echo. “Do you hear me, you bloody, hate-filled god? I will bring down your Messenger and thwart your plans. And if the Lady grant it, I shall destroy you!”
He heard a faint whisper of laughter that might have been no more than the first stirring of a night-wind and reached beneath his furs to clutch the talisman that hung about his neck. It was warm to the touch and he found reassurance in its feel, a sense of calm pervading him so that he closed the anger from his mind and concentrated on the immediate business of survival.
“Look!” he heard Wynett cry, as if the Lady granted him a sign. “Is that not light ahead?”
“Aye,” said Tepshen, as Kedryn took the hand Wynett offered him.
Sight came with the contact and he saw the trail dip before him, descending toward a cut that showed pale between the darkness of the stone walls.
It grew brighter, more distinct, as they approached, and he saw that it was the egress of the pass outlined by the radiance of a rising moon. The orb was full, hanging low in a clear, cold sky all filled with twinkling stars, its light reflected off snowfields, spilling the long shadows of trees over the moon-sparkled whiteness.
“Timber,” grunted Tepshen. “Fire.”
“Praise the Lady,” murmured Wynett.
“Aye,” Kedryn agreed heartily, “praise the Lady.”
They came out of the pass on to a wide slope dotted with wind-stripped pines. The night was even colder beyond the sheltering walls, and snow was drifted in deep banks, treacherous on the gradient that stretched down to the vast, dark sea of timber that was the heart of the Beltrevan. Tepshen Lahl called a halt, surveying the way ahead before he announced that they had best remain close to the mountainside until the sun rose to light their way. He turned his mount along the flank of the crags, studying the moon-washed rock for some sheltered spot. It was hard going, for snow was piled steeply against the hills and the horses plunged awkwardly through the drifts, but in time they found a place where a solitary spur thrust out, the bare rock at its base offering some small measure of shelter.
They dismounted in the lee of the stone and rubbed down the animals, anxious to avoid the danger of chills that might leave them afoot in the wilderness. Then, leaving the three horses draped with saddle blankets, Tepshen set out to gather wood. Kedryn found fresh reason to curse his blindness then, for he was unable to help and could only wait with Wynett as the kyo waded through the snow. He took the Sister’s hand, thinking that at least he could assess the contents of their saddlebags and have what food they possessed waiting for the easterner’s return. It was little enough: cured meat and journey bread apiece sufficient for one day’s travel, a little fruit, but nothing for the animals. Their only blankets were needed more by the horses than their riders and Kedryn huddled close to Wynett as they listened to the thudding of blade against wood.
“It will be easier when we reach the forest,” he promised. “There will be better shelter there, and game to hunt; forage for the animals.”
Wynett shifted closer, seeking to augment the warmth of their furs with that of their bodies, and Kedryn put an arm about her shoulders, thinking that this was their closest contact since they departed High Fort.
“How long will it take?” she asked, her breath a cloud before her face.
Kedryn took her hand and stared into the night. The moon shone bright on the hoary slopes but it was difficult to judge the distance, snow and darkness robbing the landscape of perspective. No trail was visible and he guessed the descending foothills must conceal ravines and drifts that would inevitably slow them.
“I am not sure,” he told her honestly. “It will not be easy.”
Wynett made a sound like laughter, or a sigh, and said, “I did not think it would be. I have cordials that will warm us—give us strength—but nothing for the horses, and we are lost without them. ”
“Aye,” he acknowledged, “we are.”
“But we still have hope,” she murmured, and he turned to study her face, seeing faith there, and trust, and nodded, hugging her closer to him.
“Aye! We are not defeated yet.”
He came close to adding, Not while I have you, but remembered his promise and bit back the words, content to hold her, relishing that contact.
They were huddled like that when Tepshen returned, staggering beneath a weight of timber that he flung down close against the rock face,
“Start a fire,” he advised. “I will fetch more wood.”
Kedryn nodded and Wynett fetched a tinderbox from her saddlebag, passing him branches that he broke blind, following her instructions until a cone of smaller limbs was raised over a patch of the dried moss each carried. By the time Tepshen returned with a second load the fire was started, and after three more expeditions the kyo announced a sufficiency of fuel, adding larger branches until a fierce blaze glowed against the rock, the stone reflecting the heat so that the lee side of the spur was almost cosy. Tepshen produced a kettle and set snow to melting, adding meat to make a watery stew that Wynett enhanced with restorative herbs. They ate hungrily, replenishing the energy drained by shock and fear as much as by the cold.
“The horses must keep the blankets,” the kyo decided when they had finished, turning an almost diffident face to Wynett, “and our tents are lost.”
“So we had best sleep close,” the Sister finished, “and share our warmth.”
Tepshen nodded, “If we are to live.”
Despite the gravity of their situation Wynett could not resist giggling at the serious expression on the easterner’s face, certain that it s
temmed more from a sense of decorum than concern with their predicament. It seemed incongruous that he should consider such matters in the aftermath of disaster and the face of what lay ahead, but she sensed that both he and Kedryn had set the loss of friends behind them with Tamurin stoicism, leaving their mourning for some more appropriate time as they concentrated on the immediate problems of survival.
“I am sure my honor is safe,” she said solemnly, “and I have no doubt the Paramount Sister would approve in such circumstances.”
Kedryn chuckled and Tepshen smiled briefly, then settled himself close to the fire. Wynett took Kedryn’s hand, guiding him, and stretched between the two men. Their bulky furs negated any real sense of physical contact, though she could feel Kedryn’s breath on her face and could not help wondering, in the short time before she slept, what it would be like to wake next to him in a bed.
In that place it was uncomfortable: she woke cramped, jammed tight between them, a rock gouging her back, what little flesh her furs left exposed stinging with the cold. She opened her eyes and gasped as brilliant sunshine lanced her vision. Tepshen Lahl was already awake and rose as she sat up, brushing snow from his furs as he moved to the horses, who nickered in anticipation of food and whinnied plaintively when none was forthcoming. She nudged Kedryn awake and took his hand that he might see the brightness of the day. Where moonlight had glistened, the sun burned, transforming the snowfields to a sparkling effulgence that dazzled sight, watering their eyes. She remembered the masks Yrla had provided as a safeguard against snowblindness and fastened the devices over both their eyes as Tepshen stoked the fire to fresh life and set the kettle to boiling.
They ate breakfast as the sun rose higher, painting the slopes of the Lozins in rainbow hues, black birds wheeling high above them against a sky of startling blue. It was clear that on this side of the mountains full winter held sway. The air was icy, but devoid of threat of snow, and when they started out they found the snow-crust afforded reassuringly firm footing. Even so they were no more than halfway to the timberline when dusk fell and there was no handy spur of stone to shelter them. Their camp was miserable, the trunk of a fallen pine the only refuge from the wind and their fire scantier than before. They devoured what remained of the meat and fed the journey bread to the horses, who nickered protestingly at such meager fare. They huddled together to sleep, disturbed by the cold and the eerie whistle of the wind, and rose chilled and stiff, weary as they remounted and continued down toward the forest.
They did not reach the trees that day for the lower slopes grew more treacherous, snowbanks forcing them to detour and gullies causing them to retrace their path. Wynett drew upon her stocks of herbs to brew a cordial that was their only sustenance when they halted and their fire was a poor memory of the blaze that had raised their hopes on the first night. They slept even more fitfully, and when they started again the horses were irritable for want of food. Wynett produced leaves that would usually be applied to wounds, to numb pain, and they chewed them, as they rode, the anesthetic effect going some little way to counteract the debilitation of hunger and cold.
Then, some time after noon, they saw the slope drop steeply away and end against a great wall of timber that ran in somber magnificence to the horizon, vast and dark and brooding.
“The Beltrevan,’’ Tepshen announced through chattering teeth.
“Thank the Lady.” Kedryn shivered, surprised that he found the previously hostile forest so welcome a sight.
They floundered down the slope, the horses skidding on their haunches, and crossed the final drifts into the trees.
There the snow was less, held off by the canopy of branches, and they were able to make better time, driving deeper into the forest, aware that the air grew fractionally warmer, more aware that they could again light a decent fire—and hopefully find food.
The fire came first, a great celebratory blaze that lit the surrounding timber and eased the chill from limbs so numbed the return of sensation was at first painful. Then the horses were hobbled and set to foraging while Tepshen Lahl disappeared into the trees to return with two hares startled from their winter hiding places and a partridge brought down with a lucky throw. It was a feast, and that night they slept contented, though Kedryn missed the feel of Wynett’s body close against him.
Chapter Eight
Revivifying though the meal was, it was little enough in that winter-bound wilderness and they awoke to protestations from their stomachs, which craved further sustenance to fuel bodies depleted by cold and hunger. With the sun up and filtering through the canopy of snow-clad branches there was little chance of finding fresh meat, and so they made do with a tisane brewed from Wynett’s herbs, rebuilding the fire so that at least they had the comfort of warmth as they assessed their situation.
The horses were in slightly better shape, having found some measure of forage among the trees, but the overall prospect remained bleak. The euphoria that had followed their narrow escape from the avalanche, and the determination to survive the uplands, had faded, replaced by the stark reality of the fact that they were, effectively, stranded in the Beltrevan with only Tepshen Lahl in good enough condition to hunt or fight. He carried his long eastern sword and Tamurin dirk, and in addition still had a bow and quiver of arrows on his saddle. Kedryn bore a sword and dirk but could hardly use them blind. Wynett wore a small knife on her belt, but that was more for cutting plants than any other purpose. They had the clothes on their backs and the saddle blankets that protected the animals; nothing more.
“We make a sorry party to approach the Ulan of the Drott,” Kedryn remarked.
“If we get that far,” Tepshen grunted in reply.
“Why should we not?” Wynett wondered, “You can hunt, surely? So we need only press on until we encounter the woods- folk.”
“The woodlanders are not known for their hospitality toward we of the Kingdoms,” Kedryn told her mildly.
Ever blunt, Tepshen said, “The tribesmen might well seek to kill us for our horses.”
“But Kedryn is the hef-Alador,” the Sister protested. “And treaties have been signed. Surely they will acknowledge that?”
The kyo’s jet eyes fastened on her face, a small smile that was empty of humor playing upon his narrow lips. “Does he look like the hef-Alador?” he demanded. “We look more like some trio of wanderers—and wanderers are fair game in the Beltrevan, treaties or no.”
He turned his gaze to Kedryn, and the young man saw a warning in the look: a woman as fair as Wynett would command a high price as a slave after her takers had had their way with her. He nodded briefly and asked, “Do we have the white and red?”
Tepshen nodded in reply. “For what difference the peace signs will make.”
“We can announce ourselves,” Wynett said, a trifle nervous now, for she sensed the apprehension in the two men.
“We have no Brannoc to translate,” the kyo answered. “Lethyn and Dum were to be our spokesmen, and they are buried in the Fedyn Pass.”
“And we speak no Drott,” Kedryn amplified. “I have a few words of the forest argot, but scarce enough to explain our presence or our purpose.”
“I speak the byavan,” the Sister declared.
Tepshen Lahl grunted approvingly. The byavan was the lingua franca of the Beltrevan, the common tongue that made communication between the tribes and traders possible; that Wynett might thus speak for them was a considerable advantage.
“So,” he exclaimed, “we have a spokeswoman, a bow, and our animals. We need only continue northward until we encounter the tribes.”
His face was impassive, expressionless as he spoke, and it was impossible to tell whether he voiced cynicism or determination. Kedryn grinned, squeezing Wynett’s hand encouragingly. “So we have little to worry about.”
“Save living,” replied the kyo. But this time he smiled as he said it.
“Then we should delay no longer,” Kedryn said firmly. “Let us find whoever rules the Drott now and state
our business.”
“In the byavan,” Tepshen nodded, bowing formally to Wynett.
They saddled their horses, fastening ribbons of white and red to the bridles, and ploughed snow over the fire, mounting the still-hungry animals and moving out in a northerly direction. There were no maps of the Beltrevan, for it was the domain of the woodsfolk and Kingdomers had never penetrated deep enough to chart the forest ways. They knew they were already in the territory of the Drott, and that the approaching equinox would find the clans joined for the winter Gathering around the mound that marked the burial place of the first great overlord, Drul. That, they knew from Brannoc, lay to the northwest, deep within the forest’s confines. To find it, they must rely on luck.
It was a dismal journeying for Kedryn because the trail they followed was narrow, forcing them to ride in single file and thus denying him the contact with Wynett that granted him sight of their surroundings. As it was, he allowed the Keshi stallion to plod after Tepshen Lahl’s gray while the Sister called warning of low branches and commented on the landscape from behind. Mostly she spoke of trees, for they moved through an arboreal world, mostly pines here, where the slopes of the Lozins still ran down to the heartland of the woods, and what little animal life existed among the looming conifers fled from their approach. He heard occasional snatches of birdsong and once, far off, the howl of a wolf. Deeper into the woodlands he knew they might well encounter the great forest cats, or the fierce bulls with their harems of cows, and the contemplation of such meetings rendered him nervous in his darkness, for he knew he would be helpless to defend his love or himself.
That glum thought transformed to fresh determination as the day wore on. and he resolved anew that he would penetrate the forest kingdom to Drul’s Mound and call upon the sworn allegiance of the Drott chieftains to enter the netherworld and regain his sight.
Then determination became fresh hope as Tepshen called a soft warning and the horses halted.
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