* * *
A short while later, Aleban moved to the front of the line as the group rounded the northern slope of Illeas Ridge. From behind, he heard the signs of contentment as Elspeth and Gialyn saw the Illeas valley roll out before them. The sun still lay heavy on the eyes as they walked the last few miles to the lake. Turning north on the village road was a relief. All increased their pace a little, as they approached the village gate.
Jern and the other Salrians, the one-time prisoners who had travelled from the gully with them, continued north. They would turn west, eventually, before crossing the border into An’aird Barath. Aleban wondered what they would do once they were home, but then decided he didn’t care, as long as they stayed away from Illeas. Daric might have made his peace with them, but the pain Aleban had been feeling for the last four days was from the point of a Salrian blade. He did not like them, and definitely did not want to be their friend.
Stop worrying about the Salrians. They’re gone, and it’s good to be home, Aleban reminded himself.
Taking those last few steps through the gate had always calmed him, no matter if he’d been hunting, travelling, or out rescuing lost Surabhan. Illeas’den was a homely place, full of the familiar. He would call it a town, but with only three streets and one inn, he knew Elspeth and Gialyn thought of it as a village. Indeed, the only other structure more than one story high was the Great Hall of Wolves. Most of the buildings were small homes and shops made of wood, all built by the Rukin. There was nothing wasted in Illeas, no poor quarter, no rich lord’s manor; there was a place for everyone, and everyone was happy just the way it was.
Villagers, both wolf and human, lined the main road. Some were standing on their verandas, some by their carts. Most humans were in work garb – tailors, smithies, the barmaids from the Haingar Inn – pausing on their way home to watch the procession. A few peered down the lane towards the lake, as if to say, “Is this all of you? Where are the others?” but most just welcomed them with a nod or a smile. A few asked anxiously after Toban. Aleban nodded and told them all was well with the Alpha. They seemed happy enough with his response; most, if not all, Rukin would know he had to report to the council first. Aleban was glad of that much; it would be a long story, he did not want to repeat himself too often.
Thinking of the council, Aleban wasn’t surprised to see Arthben, Gaiden, and Ishban standing patiently on the steps of the Great Hall, their faces calm and expressionless.
Aleban turned to Mott. He whispered, “You’d best let me handle this.”
Mott nodded in agreement. “Better you than me,” he said. “I’ll take Elspeth and Gialyn through to Sarai. She’ll doubtless want to feed them and sort their rooms. If she hasn’t done so already. Good luck!”
* * *
Gialyn watched as Aleban led the council leaders through to the inner chamber. “He's not in trouble, is he? They don’t look very happy.”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘trouble,’” Mott said. “If you mean endlessly explaining the same story for hours on end, then yes, he’s in deep trouble. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. The council members are servants of the Rukin; they are mostly full of hot air. They'll make a big deal about the troubles, then pray to the ancestors someone else has the sense to do something about it.”
Mott led Gialyn and Elspeth down the corridor and into the main hall. Sarai was waiting by the inner door.
“Before you take another step…” Sarai spoke with her hand held up in front of her, palm forward. “Tell me everyone is well.” Fingers laced now, she clasped her hands under her chin, wide eyes staring at Mott, seemingly willing him to deliver good news.
“Yes, everyone is fine, Sarai; a little bruised maybe, but fine, all being said.” Mott shook the dust from his fur and took in a long breath. “Ah, it is good to be back. Seems like a month, yet it's only been nine days.” He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Can you bring something to drink; maybe some food? Just quick, nothing fancy. And make up rooms for Elspeth and Gialyn, if you’re not too busy.”
Sarai dropped her hands from her lips—she had been mouthing something, thanking the gods, most likely. “Yes, of course, you have a sit down for five minutes. I’ve already set Lanay on preparing a snack. Not that I needed to ask her; we both heard the fuss. I’ll go make some tea.”
Sarai scooted off to the kitchen.
Gialyn pulled out the nearest chair for Elspeth to sit on and then sat opposite. Mott stuck his head in the water bowl that was on the floor by one of the thick pillars. He left his face submerged for a long moment. Elspeth folded her arms on the table and cradled her head in the nook of her elbow.
“Are you…? You’re not ill or anything?” Gialyn asked.
“No, I'm fine; just tired. Now we’re here, all I want to do is sleep,” she stretched her neck and rubbed her shoulders. “A couple of hours on a soft bed – that’ll do me for the day.” She smiled as she said it. Then, nestling her head into the nook of her elbow, she closed her eyes.
Gialyn could do nothing but murmur and nod in agreement. He was tired; for two copper, he could have slept where they sat.
A short while later, Sarai came back carrying two plates of bread and cheese, a large pot of tea, and two cups threaded onto her little finger. “Here we are; you have this while I will see to your rooms. Mott, yours will be here in a minute, Lanay is just preparing it.” She smiled widely at everyone.
Gialyn ate mechanically and watched Elspeth do the same. When they finished eating, he helped Elspeth take her things through to her room. They both came back to finish their tea. If he thought it wouldn’t appear rude, he would have left his tea undrunk and gone straight to bed. Elspeth looked like she might agree; she went straight back to her chair and resumed her head-resting position. Another few minutes and someone would have to carry her to her bed. At least this time nobody was asking them questions; at least they could go to bed whenever they wanted. Somehow, that made the thought of sleeping all the more appealing. For a moment, Gialyn revelled in his tiredness and, once again, spared a thought for the others – his father and Ealian – who wouldn’t be spending the night in a comfortable bed.
* * *
Ten minutes… that was quick, Aleban thought. He had expected endless hours of debate and questions. Last time he was at a council meeting, they had taken two hours to decide where to put a chicken coop. Are they that scared? It’s not as if anything like this has happened in their lifetime. Well, scared or not, the Rukin look up to the old folk; they’ll have to rise to the occasion.
And what were they thinking, letting me go to the Darkin without a word of protest? I’ll not get through the day without hearing more about that – not once it has sunk in. Did they hear me say Sarai should come, too?
Aleban shook off the thought. Tasks needed doing. Council or not, time was short. He could have really done with a few days to himself. A week would be better.
In truth, if he thought anyone else could do it…
First things first, though: he had to check on Elspeth and Gialyn.
The two were still in the dining room when Aleban arrived. Mott’s jaw dropped when he saw him. Aleban gave him a grin; he knew what his friend was thinking.
Aleban turned to the table where Elspeth and Gialyn were sitting. “Are you two feeling better after some food?” he asked.
Gialyn put his finger to his lips and shushed him. “She’s asleep,” he whispered.
Aleban turned to Mott. “See if Arlec is in the kitchen. He is big; he should be able to carry her to her room.”
Mott nodded, then turned towards the kitchen.
Aleban walked quietly up to Gialyn. “You should sleep, too,” he said.
“I will when Elspeth is sorted.”
‘When Elspeth is sorted.’ Aleban smiled. If the boy were a wolf, he would be howling at the moon by now. “Very well, but think of yourself, too. If you are still tired when you leave, it will be bad for the both of you.”
&nbs
p; The boy nodded his agreement. At least he’s not that much of a fool.
“I think some of the youngsters are planning a dance for you two at the inn.” Aleban glanced at Elspeth. “Maybe it would be best if I ask them to cancel until tomorrow night.”
Gialyn nodded. “I think you’re probably right. It’s very good of them, but tomorrow would be much better. What did the council say?”
“Very little. I explained what happened, explained about the map and the Cren. They were most interested about Crenach'coi. ‘Having access to the forest is a great achievement,’ apparently. I don't think Gaiden heard much else after that. It took me a while to get back to the point. I told them Toban was travelling with Daric and the others to Cul'taris. Surprisingly enough, they agreed that informing the soldiers at the keep was a good idea. They were doubtful about the invasion, especially about The Kel’madden, but not doubtful enough to question the Cren. As for the dragons, they said nothing. I’m expecting to hear more before day’s end. It might be another story once they have had time to discuss what I have told them. They don't do anything in a hurry. By the looks on their faces when I left, they’ll be burning the candles half the night.”
“Well, it’s a lot to take in, I suppose,” Gialyn said.
“It is at that,” Aleban snorted. “No need for you to worry, though. I doubt anything they decide will affect your plans.”
Gialyn nodded and smiled widely. “Thank you, Aleban. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” He glanced towards the kitchen. “Now, I must talk to Sarai. I have a rather big favour to ask.”
Aleban waited until Arlec took Elspeth off to her room. Gialyn followed, carrying her tea.
He’ll make a fine husband if he keeps this up. The thought made Aleban snort. It was good to think something positive might come out of all their recent troubles. Now, if only Sarai would be as accommodating for him…
* * *
“You want me to do what?” Sarai banged the saucepan on the counter and turned, red-faced, to Aleban. “You can’t think for one minute I would agree to this. The Darkin! You must be out of your mind. And you say this is all Toban's idea?”
“Yes, Sarai, it’s Toban's idea. I didn’t like it when he first mentioned his plan, either. But the more I thought of it, the more it made sense. We will need our Battle Brothers in the coming weeks and months. Even if Daric and the others can convince the Court of Eldred to take up arms, we will not have the Salrians, nor the Eurmacians. Probably not the Kel’mai, either, unless Arfael can reach them and ask for their help, which is doubtful, to say the least. We need the Darkin, Sarai.”
“But why me?” Sarai asked. Drying her hands on her apron, she sat down at the cook’s table and pulled a mug of tea toward her. “I’m just a servant; why not one of the others… a council member?”
Damn. This is no time to go making sense, Aleban thought.
Does anybody else know the old rituals?” Aleban tried to make his question sound as casual as possible. He knew perfectly well the only other person who understood the old Darkin rituals was Elud, her father, and he could barely walk to the lake unaided, never mind the fifty leagues to the Eurmac boarder.
“No, I suppose not,” Sarai moaned under her breath. She poked the sugar bowl with her spoon. The look on her face said she was trying to think of a way out. Or maybe she was just worried. “I hope we are going with a battalion of wolves behind us. If they are anything like the stories…”
Yes, she was worried. He didn’t blame her. Rounding the table, he sat at her side. “Nope, just four of us; taking more would be dangerous. You, me, Arlec, and maybe Kalina.”
“Kalina? She’s a barmaid, why is she going?”
“Arlec says she’s the best with a short bow and can ‘track yesterday’s breeze.’ I don’t want more wolves on this trip. If the Darkin have a problem with anyone, it will be with other wolves.”
“Well, that's comforting. So you admit you are expecting trouble.”
“I don't know what to expect. I have my orders, and the plan is good. At worst, they will rough us up a bit and turn us around. I don't think we will be in any real danger.”
“‘Rough us up?’ Is the best you can hope? Do you think they will drop a century of silence to come help us on your word and my vague knowledge of their rituals? Does this venture stand any chance of success? Really, Aleban, have you thought this through properly?”
“Maybe not, but we have to try. Please, Sarai. It will be a ten-day trip, a fortnight at the most. And if we are successful…” – Aleban took a deep breath – “…if we are successful, this union may very well turn the coming battle in our favour.”
Aleban watched as Sarai bit her lip. He had played poker once – with Arlec holding his cards – and he knew this was no bluff, but he also knew the next person to talk lost the game.
Sure enough…
“Oh, all right,” Sarai said, throwing the spoon down. “I can see how it's for the best. I will come with you, but I want a holiday when we get back – a month’s holiday.”
Aleban smiled. “You can have two weeks.”
Sarai shook her head slowly and folded her arms. “Three weeks, Aleban. And you tell the council about the holiday.”
“Deal.” Aleban raised a paw, which Sarai shook.
“Deal,” she muttered, sounding none too pleased.
CHAPTER 3
The Road to Cul’taris
According to Cal, their eight-foot-tall guide to all things earthen, if they kept walking at their current pace they would arrive at the Great Western Road in two hours, maybe three. Ealian did not know how the man knew where they were. To him, everything looked the same. But Cal was a Cren Woodsman; in matters of geography, it seemed best to take his word for it. It was not as if anyone else had a clue. Not even Daric, and he was supposed to be some kind of famous soldier – although that had been years ago. Si’eth, the one-time Salrian captain, certainly wouldn’t know where they were; he wasn’t even supposed to be in the country, at least not this far south. The wolf, Toban, probably knew the area well enough, but he never stayed still long enough for anyone to ask him anything; he was always off, scouting or hunting. And as for Grady Daleman… well, Daric’s friend, also a one-time palace guard, seemed to follow Daric – that and scowl at the Salrian, who Grady, unsurprisingly, did not like one bit. Ealian took a deep breath of the warm, fragrant air. What did it matter, anyway? They weren’t going home, which was the only place he wanted to go – regardless of what he had told his sister. Yes, best to trust the Cren.
It had been three days since Ealian had awakened from his nightmare; three days since the euphoria of his miraculous recovery; and three days with which to ponder his current predicament. It was all well and good being alive and well – relatively well – but what would happen when Alacin’tien woke up? For now, the ancient Crenach Raic was asleep in the back of his mind. Alacin had told Ealian – and the others in their party – that he needed to “organise.” What did he mean by that? Organise what, exactly? Was the old Cren spirit altering Ealian’s mind in some way?
Ealian could feel Alacin’tien’s presence: a numb warmth, like his foot felt if he sat on it for too long. Did part of his brain belong to Alacin now? Would he be able to put one foot in front of the other without the Cren’s say so? And what about love? Not that he wanted to get married anytime soon, but – Gods, what if he falls in love with some old woman? Ealian shuddered.
“Are you all right?” Daric asked him.
Gialyn’s father – a tall, Kalidhain ex-guardsman, who had made himself the leader of their band of misfits – was weighed down with more than his fair share of luggage. He had insisted on carrying Ealian’s pack, too. Ealian wasn’t going to argue; Daric was certainly big enough to carry both. He was much wider than his son, Gialyn.
Gialyn; why did they let him go home?
Ealian unconsciously touched the wound on his stomach. He winced as he felt the raised scar beneat
h his shirt. It still hurt him, although not as much as it had done three days ago. Daric would just have to continue carrying his pack for a while longer.
“I’m as well as can be expected, Mr. Re’adh.” Ealian nodded at the old man – well, forty is old.
Daric looked over his shoulder at him as they walked. The old man’s eyes widened. “Is that blood on your shirt, boy? Has that wound opened again?”
“No, sir; that’s left over from this morning.”
And no, you’re not going to pull my sides apart and force more of that disgusting… whatever it was, in there.
Ealian tapped the bloodstain with his fingers and raised them. “See? It’s dry blood.”
Daric nodded in agreement. “Very well, but you must tell us if it breaks open again. The last thing we need is you coming down with a blood fever; we’ll have to carry you.”
“Of course, Mr. Re’adh; I understand.”
That was probably the fifteenth time Daric had reminded him. Did the old man think he was stupid?
Daric continued, “You’ll feel better once we reach the Cren Horsemen. Riding will be easier on you; the scar should heal faster. If we can keep the wound clean, it might not need stitching.”
Ealian smiled. “Yes, I am looking forward riding. It will make a welcome change.”
And not before time. Whoever heard of walking three hundred leagues across country? If they had told me before we left…
Ealian cringed. If they had told him before they left – mentioned the whole journey would be on foot, he would have stayed in Albergeddy and not have an ancient Crenach’dair Woodsmen setting up shop in the back of his mind. You should have asked, idiot!
Still, it was too late to complain. But if he ever got the urge to follow his sister again, he hoped someone would break his leg for him.
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