The Hunters were generous with their water and food though. He gulped gratefully at a bladder until he was full, and munched on some honey-flavoured bread thereafter. Gabrielle took a big chunk of bread herself. She kept up a soft conversation with the commander, endearing herself more with every sultry smile and sideways glance, no doubt.
The forest smelled less of the desert wind now, and more of itself, which was a pungent leafy living scent mixed with the darker smells of compost, mushrooms and bark. Now they were far from the edge of the wildfire waste, he saw none of the deadly metallic leaves driven into the soil. The canopy above was green and light, but all was not peaceful in this place. They passed a line of trees that might have been wrenched into whorls by a monstrous wind. Broken limbs littered the path. Fresh sap still oozed from some of the shattered boughs.
“What breaks the trees like this?” Gabrielle asked Tetaris.
“Nephilim,” Tetaris replied. “Here he ran a’quarter moonlish hence. We felled him at Rellowvine.”
“A what?” Bevn asked.
Tetaris just shook his head at Bevn’s ignorance. “Once like you an me, but betaken by the firewyld.”
“How big do these Nephilim get?” Gabrielle asked.
“Twicetalled the tree, but ee die so soon. The worst is ther one smaller, askin akin bubble, they liver year on year an remember therold life.”
Bevn snorted. A creature that big was impossible. The trees were more than forty feet high.
He trudged after the Hunters at the unreasonable ‘half-pace’, and a bitter mood settled upon him. He worried how they were going to find Black Saladon now they weren’t in the land of the Lûk. Saladon had been vague about their journey. They were supposed to travel north, but he’d lost his sense of direction under all the crooked trees. Saladon hadn’t even prepared them for the desert and the windrunners. He’d said it was a test, to prove Bevn was ready for power, but it was an unfair test, Bevn decided.
He was tired of walking, tired of adventuring, tired of being scared and sore. He was tired of being scorned for not really being a king and being too young to command men’s respect and fear. He had believed it would all end soon after his triumphant exit from Eyri, but it seemed his test had only just begun. The Sorcerer Ametheus was still far away in some distant lowland, Bevn didn’t even know where he was himself, and Black Saladon had insisted that they could say nothing to anyone of their quest, so how was he ever going to find his way?
It was all miserably unfair.
He deserved more help than he was getting from the wizard.
As he moped along behind Gabrielle, he wondered idly what was going on beneath her tight, black leather trousers. How many of the Hunter men wondered the same thing? To them she must seem exotic and intriguing.
But she was his. They had no rights to her. They had better not think they had.
They would laugh at him. They wouldn’t fear him—these tough militant men. He wished he was older. He wished he had power. He would show everyone just how tough he could be.
Night fell upon the forest far earlier than Bevn expected, and in a patchy way as well—full dark clutched at the leaves above, yet in other places the light of the setting sun still lingered among the tangled roots at the base of the trees. Bevn was glad to see the Hunters were stopping. They turned aside from the faint path and took them to an enclosed shelter made of rough untreated timbers. It was basic, but then it was only a patrol-house, Tetaris said, and they would soon be at Bradach Hide, the grandest of all the settlements among the many tribes of Huntersland. Bevn only listened with half an ear, for he could see the other men building a fire for supper. A deer carcass was produced, skinned and spitted.
There was a washing hole, which he was going to use until he discovered there was only cold water—and no soap. He soaked his feet in the spring and didn’t bother with the rest. Nobody would notice because they all stank. The men gave Gabrielle her own private time at the hole, and they spoilt the fun by standing guard far out from the spring—too far for Bevn to see. They were a bunch of twits.
At least the Hunters ate better food than the Lûk. He devoured everything they gave him, and fell asleep while he was chewing, where he sat beside the fire.
_____
They reached Bradach Hide late the following day. It was nothing like what Bevn had imagined. He had expected at least a mighty fortified manor, where the people who faced the threat of the Lûk spears might defend their settlement in times of invasion. Instead, there was a settlement which looked so temporary it could have been raised in under a week and dissembled in even less time. It gave him the sense of a community hiding in the forest, rather than occupying it. There seemed to be too few shelters for the number of women, children and elders who flocked through the trees to greet them, let alone for the returning patrol themselves.
The more he looked at the shelters, the more he doubted they were for people to live in. Smoke curled through the slats of the one slanted roof, another low structure had water trickling over it and down the thin fabric walls: a smoking room and a cool-room, for meat and food. If the lean-tos were stores, where did the Hunters stay? He gazed around the glade, from hut to hovel to lean-to, all centred around a green hill with a massive tree on top.
The shape of the real Bradach Hide appeared. It was not a hill at all. The slopes were too steeply canted, and ridged in ways earth would not ridge. He picked out a slit in the structure near ground level, then another—entrances. The hill was made from some kind of fabric hung from the tree to form a massive tent. The scale of it had made it difficult to recognise. The apex of the tent spiralled upward around the mighty centre-tree high above the ground, wrapping around the trunk tightly like a serpent’s tail. Smoke billowed out the top. The fabric was deep green, and its surface glimmered as if jewels were sprinkled upon it. He recognised that glimmer—it was similar to the colour of the boards the Lûk used to cross the wildfire. The marquee’s skirt came down to shoulder height, where the green roof was bound to the sharp tips of trimmed poles, which jutted outward in a prickly rim. The walls, set deeper under the overhanging roof, were made from dark, spaced uprights. He supposed such a wall would allow the Hunters to shoot arrows from within the protection of their hide. The transition from green slope to walls to forest floor was so disguised by leaves and woven vegetation it was difficult to find the openings. Unless he had been brought to this place by the Hunters, and turned to face the hide, he wouldn’t have noticed it, despite the fact that it was greater in size than a great hall.
“May ‘er spirit yonder Bradach fly over our allerways, may he keep us halerhale!” exclaimed Tetaris.
“Longendure, Bradach,” the Hunters rejoined, pushing open palms against the air, as if reaching for the apex of the hide.
“We shall acclaim the homercoming after yon sun fallen under!” announced Tetaris. “For now I know ye bewish to be innin forest an be bind ye bonds wither family. May there be smoke and fire!” This comment drew cheers and chuckles from the Hunter folk all round, and most of the returning patrol dispersed with partners. A few children chased around the adults and swung into the trees.
Bevn’s attention returned to the roof of Bradach Hide. That great sweep of material gleamed in the late afternoon sun, looking harder and more intricately constructed the closer they came to it. It looked almost metallic, the way it shone.
“What is it woven from?” he asked.
“Not a’woven,” Tetaris answered, “it is Bradach. His a’hide.”
“Bradach’s skin?” Bevn said incredulously, staring at the immense stretch of roof above him. “All of it? What kind of creature was Bradach?”
“A dragon, that he was,” answered Tetaris.
Bevn must have looked particularly blank, for the commander laughed. “Do you not have dragons in your parts?” he asked. “Maybe ye ken their kin by another name? They be Draak in ‘er Lûk. Morkenn?”
“Dragon?” repeated Bevn, still not knowing what kin
d of creature it was. “All of the roof comes from one dragon?”
“Older as a mountain was he, an bigger than ther cloud bethundering when he died. It tooken best cut of ‘er year to skinnin, an three season to return ‘er hide from under yon Winterblades.”
“How do you hunt something as big as a dragon?” Gabrielle asked.
“Hunt dragon?” Tetaris repeated, raising a mocking eyebrow. “I see ye have na begun to explain ‘er sheltering yon Ayreeland must have. Ye nay hunt ‘er dragon, ladyfair, there’s na bow with fearsomeness enough and na hander strong enough to pull it gainst such a’mighty beasts as they be dragons. No nano, they be indeed creatures fiercely, and mostly more dangerous forbeside with wit and ’membering. Bradach was a rare one to die on alone ’fore returning to their ever an forever place of passing. Sooth say they be flying upper high white peaks of ’er Winterblades to be dying, where man na can tarry, an they be falling ’ponner summit. Their lifebreath stays to beblow ’er clouds to the fourfar corners of Oldenworld.”
“And Bradach? Why didn’t he make it to the peak?”
“He was old, an given gluttonly. Comes he descend upon ’er Lûk while they be engaging spears against Clanlees metal in ’er battle pon northborderland, near Muriah. Had he na sense for waiting, when dead be stiller an feeding easy. Mayhap was metalry of ’er Clanlees that kill the Bradach, mayhap ’er Lûk spears withinnin meal pierce his belly. We the Hunters hide an waiting, an fought who survived, an saw it too that there great dragon never bewoke.” He looked proudly toward the tent. “The firewyld does na ever penetrate that there hide. But we must move if the strike comes near, for the ground is a ruin, and the forest is alive with firespawner. Good Bradach has formade us a home at many places.”
“A dragon,” Bevn muttered to himself, regarding the sloping roof. “Weren’t the Nephilim a tall enough tale?”
He hadn’t kept his voice low enough. Tetaris scowled at him. Bevn shrugged and lifted his nose. He didn’t really care what they thought of him. They were tent dwellers. In Eyri, people who lived in a tent were less than poor—even swineherds had hovels—no, these Hunters were more like the beggars around Slurryrig, or the outcasts at Rotcotford. They did not deserve the royalty of his presence.
Outcasts nonetheless, most of them had bows, so Bevn followed the commander. Tetaris led them into the hide, through a reinforced archway made from heavily carved pillars, where names had been cut into the wood in rows. More than half of them had been crossed out. They passed into the strangely lit interior, a corridor formed by uneven nets of woven leaves. The woodchips were springy underfoot. The corridor ended and they emerged into a great circular space left clear around the roots of the central tree. A border of leafy curtains defined the outer edge of the communal hall-space. Overhead, rough ropes ran like spokes of a wheel to join against the trunk.
The roof was incredibly high. Pale golden-green light filtered through the translucent fabric. The central hall extended all the way around the base of the tree and was filled with a smoky meaty aroma. A small fire was burning in an open hearth, and the smoke curled upward. A long wooden table dominated the central space, long enough to seat at least fifty people. Seats were ranged around it, simple slices of timber, roughly finished but heavily carved.
Bevn and Gabrielle were seated at the end of the long table, under guard, and told to wait while the elders were assembled. The Hunter patrol had been fairly relaxed on the trail, but now they were in their own home they seemed distrustful and nervous of the newcomers.
“This is where they find out you lied about trading,” Bevn reminded her, in a whisper. “What am I supposed to say?”
Gabrielle gave him a hard look. “Just shut up and let me talk to them.”
“Do you think they’ll let us go?”
“They shouldn’t want to keep you. You’ve been such a rude brat.”
“Hey! That’s only because they wouldn’t carry me. My feet were sore, they still are!”
“You think too highly of yourself, princeling. You are not in Eyri any more.”
He ignored her after that, but what she had said stayed in his mind. She was right about one thing. If he was really, really rude, they’d want to get rid of him.
The elders arrived, some emerging from corridors and curtained-off living quarters within the great tent; some who had been summoned from outside. They were hard-worn folk, both women and men grizzled and scarred by the years, the most ruffian-like being the leader, Roherro, a barrel-chested slab of a man with leather bands on his tanned wrists and a wide-shouldered leather coat. His grey beard was trimmed in the narrow fashion of the Hunters, and his hair was tied back severely with a thong. He was clearly the oldest, and Bevn had learnt that among the Hunters age dictated rank. If it was really true what they’d said, that thirty years was a long life for a Hunter, then their tough old leader looked as if he had lived a life almost twice as long. His face was deeply lined, his eyes hooded yet strong and dangerous.
Roherro drew a wide-bladed hunting knife from his belt and stabbed it into the table before he sat, and all present at the table followed his example, including Gabrielle, although Bevn knew she had two knives upon her body and she’d only stabbed one down. Bevn couldn’t tell whether this was a show of strength, a warning, or a custom intended to show their weapons had been set down. The serrated knives looked terribly close at hand, standing to attention on their tips at various angles, like a formation of drunken Swords in a courtyard. They were old-looking knives, worn on the blade as if they’d been passed down for many generations and sharpened many times. Gabrielle’s blade drew more than a few glances, being sharp and newly forged.
Tetaris presented the tale of the two Eyrians, then Gabrielle told the same lies about their foray with the Lûk, further embellished with details of the items they had been bringing to the Hunters. She knew what they would prize; she had gleaned those details from the Hunters during their march to Bradach. Bevn stayed mostly out of it. She had a better ear for their strange dialect than he did.
But, after an hour, the story was growing stale, and greater holes were being picked in it by the distrustful and sly elders. How did they walk on wildfire? How did they know to come trade with the Hunters if they lived in a sheltered kingdom where the Hunters weren’t known? If the boy was a ruler of some kind, then why was their party so very small? The questions carried on and on, and Gabrielle invented clever answers to them all, but Bevn could see she was growing more frustrated. The elders didn’t believe Eyri existed, and so they returned to the same question, over and over. Where did Bevn and Gabrielle come from?
Then the elders stopped speaking to Gabrielle. They just argued among themselves, and Roherro pounded the table with his fist before adding his own comments to the ruckus. Bevn was tired of their distrust. They were low-born peasants. They should believe him. He was a king.
Bevn shouted to be sure he was heard over their senseless babble. “Eyri is a secret place hidden by magic. You’re never going to know about things like that hiding in the forest. What is wrong with you leaf-heads! Can’t you see we’re not like you?”
Roherro and the other elders turned fierce glares on him.
“We brought gifts for trade. They were stolen by the Lûk. We can always return to Eyri and bring a great deal of those things you need. I am the king. I have command of a great wealth. We came to see what the Hunters could offer Eyri before we return, but it seems all you have is hot words and unfriendliness. Give us a meal and send us on our way, and we’ll bother you no more. I am sure there are other tribes in this forest who would be intelligent enough to understand how important an alliance with us could be.”
No one in the hide spoke. He could almost feel the hair rising on the necks and arms around him. They hadn’t liked what he’d said. Too bad. These people were behaving like idiots and it had needed to be said. Gabrielle was trying too hard to be diplomatic and polite. She appeared just as upset by what he had just said.
�
��Big in ’er words for one so small in ’er years,” Roherro said at last. “Sooth say ye can bejudge man in man by ’er enemies he holds. If ye have so much cleverinnin then answer a’this. Who is your enemy?”
“The Lûk!” he exclaimed at once. Roherro was surely trying to establish if the Eyrians were friend or foe, and the Lûk were an obvious enemy of the Hunters. A big man would have big foes—what other people were the Hunters pitted against? Bevn didn’t think any other adversaries had been mentioned during the walk. Then suddenly he remembered one name which would be a sure-fire winner—everyone feared him.
“And the Sorcerer Ametheus!” Bevn declared.
The men jumped back with startled cries, as if a shock had passed through them. Bows were drawn, instantly taut, the points of too many arrows aimed at Bevn. Some of the men backed out of the hall and ran for the door, the rest tried to scan the sky through the narrow apex hole of the tent as if they expecting something to fall upon them. By Fynn, he’d swear these forest folk were scared of their own shadows! He’d just spoken the name and they reacted as if a whole army had attacked them. They were afraid of Ametheus, mortally afraid.
Bowstrings creaked. Tetaris held up a gloved hand, poised as if about to order the men to loose the arrows. He watched Bevn intently. “Ye holler to he who should na ever be hollered,” Tetaris accused. “Ye harbinge a darkly tong. If ye namer name atwice, ye be killed, or threw upon a firewyld afor ye blame a strike pon our people.”
Bevn swallowed. It would only take one slip on a bowfinger for him to lose his life.
“He seech ’er namerless name!” objected one of the archers. “He be lower lander! With ’er ruins an festid ways! Given word, Tetaris, given word an we loose ’er bolts!”
“Wait!” boomed a voice from the door. A mantled form strode toward them along the leaf-lined corridor, his footfalls so solid they seemed to set a pulse through the floor. He carried a tall weapon, and he was heavy; his presence pushed against Bevn even though the distance between them hadn’t closed yet. “Hidesman Roherro, he has value to me!” That voice—Bevn knew that voice.
Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong Page 27