In the fresh day, the country side shone as if it were oblivious to the looming threat of blood. Ripe wheat rippled like sheets of gold in some of the fields; and in others cut hay was stacked into high fragrant mowes. Over them, the air blew its autumn nip: the breeze carried the smells of the crops like a counterpoint to the morning enthusiasm of the birds. The farmland seemed to defy the spectre which hunted it. Korik knew better: he had seen land as fair as this helpless to withstand fire and trampling and the thick unhealthy drench of blood. But he did not forget, could never forget, the heart-wrench of beauty which had in part brought the Haruchai to their Vow. It baffled expression, surpassed any language but its own. He understood the overflowing mood which caused Lord Hyrim to throw back his head and sing as if he were crowing.
Hail! Weal!
Land and Life!
Pulse of power in tree and stone!
Earth-heart-blood
vital, vivid surge
in pith and rock!
Sun-warmth
balm-bliss bless
all air and sea and lung and life!
Land’s soul’s beauty!
Skyweir
Earthroot
weal!
Hail!’
The song had a strange power to catch its hearers, as if it actively desired them to join it; and Lord Hyrim relished it. But Shetra did not smile or sing or even look toward Hyrim. She rode on grimly, as if the war were already upon her. This also Korik understood. He sat between them comprehending and mute.
Thus they rode through the morning until the swift roaming gait of the Ranyhyn had placed most of the fields and villages behind them and the terrain began to give hints of its coming roughness. Lord Hyrim alternately sang and talked as if all the countryside were his enchanted audience; but Lord Shetra and the Bloodguard moved in their private silences.
Then towards noon they stopped beside a stream to give the Lords rest and the Ranyhyn chance to graze; Hyrim’s awkward dismount confirmed an impression which had been growing on Korik: although the Lord had been freely chosen by the Ranyhyn, he was an unusually poor rider. Even an inexperienced person could sit safely on a Ranyhyn if he left himself in the horse’s care. And Lord Hyrim was not inexperienced. Yet he rode with erratic jerks, as if repeatedly he lost his balance and nearly fell. His dismount was only half a matter of choice. Korik thought of the hard riding ahead and winced inwardly.
— He has always ridden thus, Sill answered. His balance is faulty. Almost the tests of the Sword in the Loresraat defeated him, prevented him from Lordship.
—Yet the Ranyhyn selected him, Korik mused.
—Their judgement is sure.
—Yes, Korik replied after a moment. And his Ranyhyn knows the danger.
Nevertheless he felt anxiety. He wondered if the High Lord had known of Hyrim’s deficiency as a rider. If she had, why had she chosen him? However, such questions were not within Korik’s responsibility, and he recited his Vow to Silence them. The mission would give him the measure of Lord Hyrim’s fitness.
Hyrim himself was obviously aware of the problem. He limped ruefully away from the Ranyhyn and dropped fiat on his stomach to drink from the stream. After a long draught, he pushed himself onto his back, spat a last mouthful of water over the grass, and groaned, ‘By the Seven! Is it only noon? Half of one day? Friend Korik, how long will we require to gain Seareach?’
Korik shrugged. ‘Perhaps less than a score of days — if we are not delayed.’
‘A score —? Melenkurion! Then let us pray that we are not delayed. A score of days’ — he sat up with a huge show of difficulty ‘will leave me eighteen in my grave.’
‘Then,’ said Shetra sourly, ‘we will be the first folk in life to hear a dead man complain for eighteen days.’
At this, Lord Hyrim fell back to the grass, laughing gleefully.
When his mirth had subsided, he rolled his eyes at Shetra and attempted to stand up smoothly, as if he were not sore and tired.
But he could not do it: a spasm of strain broke across his face, and he started to laugh again, as if his own pretensions were the most innocent entertainment imaginable. Still chuckling, he limped a way to a nearby aliantha and fed himself on the viridian berries of the gnarled bush, savouring their crisp tangy flavour and the rush of nourishment they gave him. Scrupulously, he observed the custom of the Land by scattering the seeds around him, so that new bushes might grow. Then with a flourish he indicated his readiness to ride on. In moments, the company was mounted again and cantering eastward.
As they travelled, they moved into sterner countryside, land which was only hospitable to people who knew how to husband it. And they met with fewer villages. By evening, they were beyond the range of Revelstone’s immediate influence; and before the gloaming had thickened into darkness they had passed the last human habitation between that region and Grimmerdhore Forest. Yet they did not stop, though Lord Hyrim suggested the possibility with a genuine yearning in his voice. Korik kept the company riding in spite of Hyrim’s groans. So they continued into the night, trusting the Ranyhyn to find their way. Moonrise was near when Lord Shetra said in a low, measured tone, ‘Now we must rest. We must have strength for the morrow and Grimmerdhore.’ Korik agreed: he did not miss the point of her glance toward Hyrim.
When his mount finally came to a halt, Lord Hyrim fell off as if he were already unconscious, moaning in his sleep.
— Is his pain severe? Korik asked Sill.
— No, Sill responded. He is unaccustomed. He will recover. But he will have difficulty in Grimmerdhore.
Korik nodded. He said farewell to Brabha for the night and began unwrapping the bundle on his back. The other Bloodguard followed his example: soon all the Ranyhyn had galloped away to feed and rest, and to keep a distant watch over the camp. When the lillianrill rods were unpacked, Lord Shetra used one to start a small campfire. With some of the supplies Korik had brought, she cooked a sparse meal. While she ate, she watched Lord Hyrim as if she expected the smell of the food to rouse him. But he remained face down on the grass, whimpering softly from time to time. Finally, she went to him and nudged him with her foot.
He shoved himself up sharply, clutched his staff as if he had been snatched out of sleep to face an attack. For a dazed instant, his lips. trembled, and his eyes rolled widely. But when he gained his feet, he awoke enough to see where he was. The fear faded from his face, leaving it grey and weak. Heavily, he shambled to the fire, sat down, and ate what Shetra had left for him.
However, the food seemed to meet his needs. Soon he recovered enough cheerfulness to groan, ‘Sister Shetra, you are not a good cook.’
When she made no reply, he stretched himself on his back by the fire, sighing plaintively, ‘Ah, agony!’ For a time, he stared at the way the flames danced without consuming along the special wood of the lillianrill. Then he turned his face to the sky and said gruffly, Friends, I had bethought me of fit revenge against those who gave to me this unendurable ride. Since noon, I have been full of dire promises — in place of food, I think. But now I am contrite. The fault is mine alone. I have been a fat thistle-brained fool from the moment the thought of the Loresraat and Lordship entered my head. Ah, what business had I to dream of Lords and Giants, of lore and bold undertakings? Better had I been punished severely and sent to tend sheep for the rest of my days, rather than permitted to follow mad fancies. But Hoole Gren-mate my father was a kind man, slow to chastise. Alas, his memory is poorly honoured in my thick self. Were he to see me now, thus reduced to raw quivering flesh and strengthless bones by one single day astride the honour of a Ranyhyn, he would have shed great fat tears as a reproach to my overfed resourcelessness.
‘Then let us rejoice in his absence,’ said Shetra distantly. ‘I do not like tears.’
Hyrim took this up as if it were an argument. ‘That is well for you. You are brave of blood and limb — in every way enviably courageous. But I — do you hear the talk of the refectories in Revelstone? It is said there
that my staff is warped — that when this staff was Made for me by High Lord Osondrea, it felt the touch of my hand and bent itself in chagrin. By the Seven! I would be offended if only the talk were untrue, I weep at every opportunity.’
He looked over at Shetra to see if he had produced any effect. But she appeared to be listening to some other voice, and she spoke as if to herself ‘Am I?’
‘Are you?’ Hyrim inquired gently. But when she did not reply, he returned to his badinage. ‘Are you courageous? — is that your question? Sister Shetra, I assure you! I have proof positive. Who but a woman with bravery in her very marrow would consent to share such a mission with me?’
At this, Lord Shetra turned her bird-of-prey eyes toward Hyrim. ‘You mock me.’
‘Ah, no!’ he protested at once. Do not think it. You must learn to hear me in my own spirit. I seek only to warm the air between us.
‘Better that you do not speak,’ she snapped.’ I do not hear your desires. The wind of your words blows cold.’
Instead of replying, Lord Hyrim gazed at her with the look of intent repose which came over the Lords when they melded their thoughts. She shook her head, refused him, climbed to her feet. But the next moment, she answered him barrenly, as if she were too full of dust to resist his question. ‘I have left behind a husband who believes I cannot love him. He believes he is inferior to me.’
She cut off any response Hyrim might have made by stepping quickly to the fire. ‘We must not keep the wood alight more than necessary. Without a Hirebrand to tend them, the rods will decay slowly — and we will have greater need of them.’ As if she were in a hurry for darkness, she pulled the wood out of the fire and hummed a lillianrill command to extinguish it. Then she wrapped herself in a blanket and lay down on the grass a short distance from Lord Hyrim.
After a while, Korik asked Cerrin:
— Will her concern for Lord Verement weaken her?
— No, Cerrin replied flatly. She will fight for both.
Korik understood this assertion and accepted it. But he did not like it. It carried echoes of other losses and griefs — deprivations and hollow places which the Haruchai had not taken into account during their sole night of extravagance. Dourly, he posted his comrades in a wide circle around the camp. Then he stood with his arms folded on his chest, gazed warily out over the grasslands and the star-path of the moon, recited his Vow through the long watch. He could not forget any details of the last night he had spent with his wife, whose bones were already ancient in the frozen fastness of her grave. The Vow sustained him, but it was not warm.
Still it gave a rhythm to the sleepless night, and the time passed as a myriad other darknesses had passed — in ceaseless vigilance. When the moon completed its worn traversal of the sky and fell into the west like a weary exhalation, Korik decided that soon he would awaken the Lords. However, a short time later Lord Hyrim struggled out of his blankets of his own accord. Even in the bare starlight, Korik saw that Hyrim was stiff and aching from the past day’s ride. But the Lord suppressed the groans which twisted his face, and began to prepare breakfast.
The aroma he created revealed his talent for the work. Korik smelled strength and refreshment and delicacy in the steam of the broth Hyrim made — a savour Korik had not scented since the curious healing meal which High Lord Prothall had cooked after the battle of Soaring Woodhelven, when all the warriors and urLord Covenant were sickened by the reek of blood and burned flesh. The food’s subtle potency awakened Lord Shetra. She came close to the fire looking dull and pale, as if she had not slept well for many nights; but as she ate, Hyrim’s work spread its beneficence through her, and she brightened. When she was done, she nodded to him, approving the food as if she were apologising. He answered with a broad grin and an apothegm which he claimed he learned from the Giants:
‘Food is concentrated beauty — the sustaining power of the Land made savourable and ready for strength. A life without food is like life without tales — deprived of splendour.’
When he mounted to ride again; he managed to limit himself to one tight gasp of pain.
The Ranyhyn ran as if they were hurrying to rejoin the sun; and at daybreak the riders found that they were crossing short irregular hills covered with stiff grey grass. There was no sign of human life. The ground was arable, if not inviting; but no people had ever lived here, It was too close to Grimmerdhore. Though dark, Grimmerdhore was among the least potent, the most slumberous, of the Forests, the surviving remnants of the One Forest which had formerly covered the whole Upper Land — and though since before the time of Lord Kevin there had been no Forestal in Grimmerdhore to sing the ancient trees to wakefulness and movement and vengeance. — still people kept away from the severe woods. Many things lived in Grimmerdhore, and few of them were friendly. It was said — though Korik did not know the truth of it — that the kresh, the yellow wolves, had been born in Grimmerdhore.
Yet the Bloodguard did not waver in his determination to pass directly through the Forest. It would lengthen the journey by days to go around, either north or south. Still, he exercised added caution. As the company cantered into the new day, Korik sent one of his comrades wide of the company on each side, to increase the range of their wariness.
By midmorning, his caution was rewarded. Korik received a call from one of the ranging Bloodguard, who was out of sight behind a hill. He stopped the company and waited. When the caller came over the hill, he was accompanied by a woman mounted on a Revelstone mustang.
She was a brisk young Warhaft, and her Eoman was riding patrol along the western borders of Grimmerdhore. She asked for news of Revelstone, and when she heard of Lord Mhoram’s vision, she requested permission to accompany the mission. But Lord Shetra ordered the Warhaft to remain at her scouting duty, then inquired about the condition of Grimmerdhore.
‘Wolves,’ the Warhaft reported. ‘Not the yellow kresh. Grey and black wolves — nothing else. And little of them. Small packs raid outward, find nothing and return. We have avoided them so that they would not be wary of our scouting.’
‘No sign of the Grey Slayer?’ Shetra pursued. ‘No scent of evil?’
‘The Forest conceals much. But we have seen nothing — heard nothing.’
The Warhaft and Shetra exchanged a few more details, and the Lord refused an offer of help for the crossing of Grimmerdhore, Then the mission started eastward again. As they left the Warhaft behind, Hyrim waved back at her and said as if he were lonely, ‘It may be that we will see no other people until we gain Seareach.
‘I would have been glad for the company of her Eoman.’
‘They would slow us,’ Shetra returned without looking at him.
Korik sent two Bloodguard wide again. In this formation, he was confident of the company’s readiness except on one point: Lord Hyrim’s horsemanship. Since the previous day, Hyrim’s scant control over his riding had deteriorated — the combined effect of rougher terrain and extreme soreness. Now at every jolt he clutched like a drowning man at the mane of the Ranyhyn; and between grasps he used his staff like a pole to steady himself.
—If he falls, I will catch him, Sill promised.
But Korik was not reassured.
—At full gallop in Grimmerdhore, he will be at hazard.
Sill stiffened, but could not deny Korik’s point. He proposed constructing a harness for the Lord, then discarded the idea. The Bloodguard had no wish to affront the Ranyhyn that had chosen Hyrim: they preferred to carry the additional risk themselves. Korik drew calmness from his Vow and observed to his comrades that the question of Hyrim’s riding would soon be answered.
Just before noon, the company swept over a ridge and came within sight of the Forest. The hills had hidden it until it was almost upon them. It loomed around them on the east and south as if they had surprised it in the act of trying to encircle them. But now that they had seen it, Grimmerdhore Forest stood up out of the grasslands like a fortress: its black trunks grew thickly together as if to form a wall; its g
narled limbs bristled like weapons; its shrouding dark green seemed to shelter lurking defenders. And over all the ground before and between the trees were brambles with barbed thorns as strong as iron. They interwove with each other tightly, to resist any penetration, and at their lowest they were taller than Korik.
The Ranyhyn stopped, unbidden: they were sensitive to the denying will of the Forest, though the trees had never held any enmity for them. The riders dismounted. Lord Hyrim stared at Grimmerdhore as if its mood confounded him; and Lord Shetra dropped to the grass, felt it with her hands, staring all the while at the trees — trying to read the Forest through the sensations in the ground. When Hyrim said, ‘Never have I seen Grimmerdhore so angry, she nodded slowly and replied, ‘Something has been done to it — something it does not like.’
Korik was forced to agree. In the past, the ancient ire of the Forest, the hatred for people who cut and burned, had always been drowsier than this, more deeply submerged in the failing consciousness of the trees. Still, what he could see of Grimmerdhore did not look sentient enough to be active.
—Then the peril lies in what has been done to the Forest, said Tull, completing Korik’s thought.
— Unless a Forestal has found his way here, Runnik suggested.
— No, Korik judged. Even a Forestal would require much time to awaken Grimmerdhore. There is another danger within.
Gradually, the Lords began to resist the mood of the Forest. Hyrim started to prepare meal — a large one, since he would not have the use of a cooking fire again until the company was past Grimmerdhore —and Shetra walked to the brambles to touch them with her fingertips and listen to the murmurings of the wind. When she returned, she had reached Korik’s conclusion: there was not enough wakefulness in the timbre of the wood to account for Grimmerdhore’s mood. Something else caused it.
Daughter of Regals Page 12