A few folks had been out feeding the goats and chickens housed along the thicket border on the edge of the village. Others collected water, bearing too-heavy yokes as they struggled along the path from the lake, trying not to spill their cargo as they climbed the last steep rise before the gates. Other than that, all was peaceful. Another day in Illeas’den had begun. A day that promised little out of the ordinary save the presence of a few gossip-worthy visitors.
Daric and Grady placed their heavy packs against the low wall at the bottom of the Great Hall’s steps. Balancing a cup of tea and half a bread roll in one hand, Daric loosened the ties on his pack and shoved a pair of socks he had forgotten through the opening. He sat on the wall and continued with his bread roll, pondering on the days – no, weeks – ahead.
The Great Hall had been built on a small hill at the northern end of the village. Grady stretched and yawned as he looked out over the buildings, towards the east and the Illeas Ridge.
The ridge would be the first marker on their journey to the Great Western Road. It stood boldly in the mid-distance, barely four miles away. Beyond that, the rolling grassland spread in swathes of painted meadows until disappearing in what little remained of the morning’s mist. Beyond the village wall, the lake stood proud and prominent, a near perfect circle of glassy blue-green water shining in the early light. So perfect was its shape, that Daric had wondered whether the lake was man-made… maybe a quarry?
“It’s a good morning for a walk, my friend.” Grady took in a deep breath of the dew-sweetened air before sitting on the steps. He, too, had the remnants of a bread roll and half a mug of sweet tea – or more likely watered-down honey, Daric did not know how the man could stand it so syrupy.
“It is at that,” Daric agreed. “I just hope this place hasn’t made the others too soft. Hot baths, comfortable beds, good food – I can hear the complaints already. Not that I won’t be joining them; the Rukin have made a good life for themselves here, and have not been miserly in sharing it with us.”
He joined Grady in admiring the view. Everything was clean and well organised. Even the woodpiles had been stacked in order of size. There were no weeds on the village green, no holes in the thicket border, and none of the houses were in need of paint or a thatcher’s attention. Yes, Surabhan villagers could take lessons from the Rukin.
“Back to business, I suppose,” Daric sighed, then threw the dregs of his tea over the wall and onto the grass. “Have you seen anybody? Are they all up?”
“I heard Olam and Arfael making ready. Ealian will be here shortly. If he ever gets all those brightly coloured shirts of his back in his pack.”
Daric laughed. “Yes, he does like his clothes.”
“Aye, he’s a strange one, that’s for sure,” Grady said. “Stone me if I know what to make of the lad.”
Daric, mindful of what Olam had said about Ealian and the Dead Man’s Vein, asked, “In what way is he… strange?”
“I – it’s probably nothing. Just his age, I expect.” Grady blinked and began toying with his pack.
He was hiding something. The look on his face told Daric that much – but then so was he, and probably a lot more than Grady was. Still, he needed to know what Ealian had done.
“You know as well as I how bull-headed youngsters can be, so that shouldn’t surprise you,” Daric said. “What makes Ealian ‘strange’?”
Grady let out a sigh. “My bloody mouth. Listen, I promised the lad I would not say anything.”
“But…”
“But I think he’s got the shakes. That business with the Salrians has him jumping at shadows, mumbling about imaginary enemies and thinking we’re all out to get him,” Grady said. He gave Daric a knowing look. “You’ve seen it, too, haven’t you?”
“I’ve noticed, yes,” Daric admitted that much. “You’re probably right. I’m worried, too. He did have that bad night in the marsh. And fear can play ugly games on a man’s mind, never mind a boy’s. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him.”
Saying it out loud made him wonder if Grady did not have the right of it; maybe Ealian did have the shakes. Daric felt a flash of hope; the shakes were bad enough, but he would take that over the Black.
“Well,” Grady said, “maybe it’s as I said, just youngsters these days. I don’t know. But stone me if he’s not an odd one. That much was plain enough before we left Albergeddy.”
That was true enough, Daric thought. The shakes… I wonder.
Grady yawned again. “Are they coming? Or are we to spend another day here? Not that I’d mind, if the truth’s known. But if I sit here much longer, I’m going to fall asleep.”
As if Grady’s question had summoned them, Daric heard the echo of clambering feet approaching the door. “I doubt that racket is the wolves,” he told Grady, who had also turned towards the noise. “Lucky we’re not hunting for supper; that lot would clear a forest for a mile around.”
“I don’t know; the girl is no lead-footed oaf. Right impressed with her, I am.” Grady nodded, agreeing with himself.
“Steady, old man,” Daric jibed. “She was a child not two summers ago.”
“Oh, please. I need a woman! You’ve seen my house.”
“Yes! It’s next to the piggery. Oh, wait… no, it is the—”
Daric ducked out of the way as Grady’s hand swiped through the air where his head had been.
“That’ll do,” Grady said, laughing. “We can’t all have beautiful, doting wives. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“Oh, I know,” Daric said. “Believe me, I do.”
The double-arched doors of the Great Hall swung open, and out poured the rest of the travellers, along with Toban, Sarai and Aleban.
Arfael brought up the rear, a sombre expression on his face. He looked like he had not slept a wink.
Daric had heard about the… incident at the inn. But why that would concern a man such as Arfael was a mystery. Daric did not think the big man would be the type to pay attention to gossip. Still, Arfael did not look happy. Maybe he wanted to stay for another day, too. Probably not.
The others waited at the bottom of the steps while Daric and Grady picked up their packs.
“Morning, everybody. Are we all ready?” Daric asked.
His question met with mumbles and groans. Gialyn yawned, Elspeth rubbed sleep from her eyes, and Ealian circled impatiently, kicking up dust where the cobbles met a dry flowerbed.
Arfael nodded and set off towards the gates without another word.
They had barely taken a step onto the road when folk began to spill out of their homes. From the side streets and alleyways, they came, crowding the main thoroughfare two or three deep. It would appear Illeas’den had come to see them off. Three Rukin women handed baskets of food to Grady, Daric, and Olam. A young cub wobbled up to Arfael on unsteady legs – with the encouragement of his mother – holding a single flower in his jaw. The cub bowed and placed the flower on the ground in front of Arfael’s feet, and then said something that Daric could not hear. It made Arfael smile, though. The big man picked up the flower and fixed it to his cloak. The pup skipped back to its mother. She looked proud.
They reached the gate, and the wolves let out a deafening howl. The travellers turned and graciously bowed left and right. How Daric could stand without his face burning with embarrassment was beyond him. The expressions of Grady and the others echoed his feelings. Yet Olam treated the affair with dignity and majesty… the man did enjoy his etiquette. After a final bow, they turned towards the lake, leaving behind a village full of what Daric hoped were new friends.
* * *
Gialyn followed Toban and Aleban as the two wolves led the way down to the lake. Once there, they turned left along a track that Gialyn thought would lead them to the ridge a few miles to the east. After the last few days of rest, it felt good to be moving again. Yet, for all of last night’s troubles, he noted a sense of sadness at having to leave. He could quite easily have spent a week or two in Illeas�
��den. Maybe some other time.
As eager as he was to move on, thoughts of home tugged at Gialyn. He knew if they went home today, he would still have plenty of exciting tales to tell Meric: the kidnapping, the flood, the Black thingy… It was hard to believe they had not yet travelled a quarter of the way to Bailryn.
They reached another bend in the road, and Toban jumped up onto a low wall. His look took in all the travellers. “You are clear on the route?” he asked.
“I think so, my friend,” Daric said. “And we have your map.”
Toban nodded. “You have three, maybe four, easy days’ walk to Crenach, and a straight path north along the tree line once you are there. After that, you will be thirty leagues south of Cul’taris and heading for the Great Western Road.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, my friends,” Olam said. He spoke as though he were leaving loved ones behind – solemnly and regretful.
“Here.” Aleban placed the pouch he had carried with him on the ground by Olam’s feet. “Camcus – wolf whistles,” he said. Then flicked the pouch with his nose, so it rolled open. Inside were half a dozen tubes that Gialyn thought looked like small flutes. “The mothers give them to their children. One blow and any Rukin wolf within five miles will come running. Yet your enemy will not hear the call unless, of course, they are Wildling Wolves.”
Olam picked up the bag, took one of the small flutes, and passed the rest back.
“Again, thank you, sir.” Olam put the Camcus to his lips and blew.
No sound, but the wolves flinched.
Toban raised his head and howled. Then looked apologetically at Olam. “Just in case anyone back in the village thinks we are in trouble.”
“Oh,” Olam said, embarrassed. “Of course, I beg your pardon.”
Toban just smiled and nodded.
Elspeth, her head down, stepped up and hugged both wolves in turn. “Forgive me this once,” she said. “I know this is not your way, but I can’t help it. I’ll never forget you.”
“And nor I you,” Toban said.
“And thank you for the bow. I will treasure it.”
“You are welcome, Elspeth.”
“And please,” Toban said, loud enough for all to hear, “send news from the east. We would know what our cousins have been up to.”
Toban jumped down from the wall. “We will bid you safe journey, and may Galais Gan’ilean see you safe.”
After another round of goodbyes, Gialyn stood and watched as the two wolves disappear under the trees that lined the path back to the lake. None of the others had moved either, he noticed.
“Come on,” Daric said. He sounded sombre.
Gialyn hitched up his pack. He followed his father as they all made their way towards the ridge, and wondered if anybody else felt as disinterested in their journey as he did at that moment. Olam, certainly. The Eurmacian was walking a pace off from the rest, with his head bowed and a look of contemplation on his face. Of them all, Gialyn knew Olam would have agreed to stay with the wolves. Too late to ask now.
Before long, the travellers reached the junction of the north – south road. Ahead lay open meadow, stretching for miles to the woods that made up half the horizon. The North Road led to higher country, where it eventually widened before turning east – the “long way round” of which Toban had spoken. That way led to Cul’taris – eventually – and they would have followed the North Road, had they exited the marsh by the Am’cherc pass as planned. But no, it was south for them: south, towards the Raithby River.
The southern track followed the base of the Illeas Ridge until the very last mile before the flats of the Raithby basin. Occasionally, the toes of the ridge poked into the sandy path. Their route was not straight, but it was firm, easy on the feet, and downhill. The fields to the left weaved up and around a wide rolling landscape of patchwork meadows. Hedgerow, bush and tree stood at the peaks and troughs of the swelling fields, as though carefully placed to make the best picture. The centre of the meadows lay to grassland; cowslip, clover, and goat’s beard grew among the greens and browns, splashing colour in the hues of the spring morning. Indeed, Illeas’coi was a wonder that, all too soon, the travellers would come to miss.
The sun approached its noon high when they came upon the Raithby River. The path led them to a tight pitch where the river meandered sharply around a pale grey-green outcrop. The bank there lay long and shallow. The travellers made good use of the easy access and rested by the water while they ate lunch. There was little in the way of conversation. They chose instead to sit and take in the view. All were content, as all was going well. A simple path lay ahead. “Follow the river for four days.” Toban’s route could not have been clearer. An easy peace lifted their hearts. The sun was warm. The path was clear. All was well. And that was the way things stayed for the next three days.
CHAPTER 26
Arfael’s Bane
By the evening of the fourth day they had come within sight of the waterfall and gully that Toban had described, the “shortcut” to the central plains that would eventually lead them north to Cul’taris. Ahead, in the distance, the trees of the Crenach’coi were visible despite the mist thrown up by the falls. Their dark crowns crossed the river and filled the southern horizon. In the near distance – around one mile – the waterfall cascaded in a single drop of maybe thirty spans. The waters ran fast from its base, feeding into the eastern flow of the Raithby. To the left of the waterfall, a narrow gully had, over the centuries, cut through the rock face. A steep path lay at its centre. It looked a hard climb, but not as hard as the cliffs to the northwest. Toban was right, once past the gully, a short trek to the upper river would see them to the edge of Crenach’coi and on to the central plains of Aleras’moya.
* * *
Daric looked up along the narrow stony path which ran up from the base of the gully. It lay barely a hundred paces ahead now. Four paces wide and maybe fifty long, the path ran between two sheer rock faces that rose maybe two or three spans on either side. There was no going around it – sheer cliffs to the left, the Crenach Forest and the river to the right – it was climb gully, or turn back.
Good place for an ambush, Daric thought. He turned to the others with hand raised. “Rest here for a while. I’m going to reconnoitre the gully before we proceed.”
“‘Recon…? What?” Gialyn asked.
“I’m going to see what is up there, make sure it is safe.” Daric smiled at Gialyn, who still had a puzzled look of his face. “Just have a drink and wait here a moment.”
“I’ll go,” Ealian shouted.
Daric stopped and turned to look at the boy. Ealian was already approaching the front of their line. “That’s not necessary, Ealian,” Daric told him. “It will not take but a minute. You wait here with the others.”
“No, I’ll go. I don’t do much around here. Besides, if there was trouble, best you were free to rescue me.”
“He’s got a point there,” Grady said.
Daric mused over the idea for a moment. Then, “Right you are, Ealian. But run back if you see any sign of trouble.”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
Ealian dropped his pack and made for the gully.
“Looks like he’s not completely useless,” Grady said, quietly, likely so Elspeth would not overhear.
“It would seem so.”
But Daric did not like it; it was a good place for an ambush.
Grady dropped his pack and untied the two waterskins he had lashed to the back. “I’m going to fill these up. I won’t be a minute.”
Daric nodded without taking his eyes off Ealian’s back – the boy was approaching the foot of the gully. “No rush, Grady. We have a few minutes ‘til he gets back.”
Grady left and Olam arrived.
The wizard – I really should stop thinking of him in that way – moved to Daric’s shoulder. “Is all well, my friend?”
“Yes, of course. Just waiting on the boy… five minutes, maybe ten.”
“That is not what I meant, friend. Is everything well with Ealian?” Olam looked over his shoulder as he spoke, and whispered the last part.
“Why, has something happened?” Daric took his eyes off Ealian and looked at Olam.
The wizard – Olam – leaned on his staff, sucking at his top lip.
Daric repeated his question: “Olam, has something happened?”
“I think maybe it has.”
“And what does that mean?”
Daric was getting tired of ifs and maybes. And, if the truth was known, he had almost convinced himself that Grady was right, that the boy had the shakes and was not infected by the Black. So if Olam had something to say…
The Eurmacian moved in closer and whispered in Daric’s ear, “I’m certain the boy has the Black in him, and yet he has been nothing but polite and helpful these past four days. I would wager he is planning something.”
“Planning something? How? When? He is a child. He knows nobody for fifty leagues in any direction. What could he possibly be planning?” Daric sucked in a quick breath. “Maybe we were wrong. Maybe it was a fever, and he is just now coming out of it.”
Olam raised his eyebrows.
Daric knew he was betting the moon would not rise. But, for a while, it had felt good, kidding himself the boy was fine and only had the shakes. Enough wishful thinking, Daric, you have to face the truth.
“As you say, Olam,” Daric said. “It bears watching. Let us just… let’s get onto the plains; at least there we have a chance of finding help.”
Olam bowed. “As you wish, Daric. Eyes open.”
Olam stepped away, just in time for Grady to return with his full waterskins.
“Are we set?” Grady asked. “The boy is waving.”
Grady nodded towards the gully. Ealian was standing ten paces from the top, waving them forward.
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