Ifael, and the kings, reign the ancient war bond,
As the children spill blood on the sand.
“The day will come, the Black Dragon cries.
His son will he give, for the coward they call.
Let the witches tremble in his bloody rage,
As the Oracle’s tears do fall.
“In Arlyn, brave Arlyn, our honour be sworn,
To fight evil ‘til the end of our day.
And not rest when we hear triumph’s horn,
Arlyn Gan’ifael… the blessed… we pray.”
A silence filled the room, filled it so thick it was deafening. A tall woman in a grey dress took a step forward. She curtsied deeply to Arfael, touched her fingers to her heart and then to her lips. “Gods bless you, Arlyn Gan’ifael.”
A large man with grey hair took a step forward and did the same. Then another and another. Soon, every man and woman stood with hand on heart, staring.
Arlyn closed his eyes and whispered, “My name is Arfael.”
CHAPTER 19
Tear in the River
The morning came. A pale-blue spring sky lay over the Illeas. Sharp shadows fell from the buildings and lay strong across the streets and alleys of Illeas’den. It was early; birds had barely finished their chorus. Folk were busy with their breakfast. The smell of cooked fish and bacon and eggs wafted from the open windows, mixing with a welcome morning breeze. Scents of sweet blossoms mingled with the earthen aroma of dewy grass. The barest wisp of cloud hung breaking in the sky, as the white of the eastern mist gathered to blue.
Few were about on the street, save those with responsibility for the livestock and chickens housed in coups and pens neatly arranged along the thicket border. Some had collected water, bearing too-heavy yokes as they walked along the path from the lake, trying not to spill any as they climbed the last short rise through the village gates. All was quiet and 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 swung their heavy packs to rest against the short wall at the base of the great hall 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 to pack through the opening. He sat on the wall and continued with his bread roll, pondering on the days—no, weeks—ahead.
Grady stretched as he looked out over the buildings—the hall was on a shallow hill at the northern edge of the village—towards the east and the Illeas Ridge. The ridge would be their first marking post on their journey back to the Great Western Road. It stood bold 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. Down the path, out of the village, the lake stood proud and prominent, beautiful in its simplicity, a near perfect circle of glassy blue-green, embarrassed by the light stone of the old quarry that held it.
“It is a good morning for a walk, my friend,” Grady said. He took in another long, deep breath of the dew-sweetened air before sitting on one of the hall’s steps. He, too, had the remnants of a bread roll and half a mug of sweet tea, more like watered-down honey. Daric didn’t know how the man could stand it so sweet.
“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 the one complaining, too. This certainly is a fine village.” He joined Grady in admiring the effortless charm, the beauty of what lay before them. “Back to business, I suppose. Have you seen sight of anyone?”
“I heard Olam and Arfael making ready. Ealian will be here shortly. He’s a strange one, that child, that’s for sure,” Grady said. “Don’t 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?”
Grady blinked and began toying with his pack. “I—it is probably nothing. Just his age, I expect.”
Daric knew that face; Grady was hiding something, but then, so was he. Well, he could hardly ask him about something he himself was keeping secret. However, Grady’s admission, small as it was, added to his tally of concerns over the boy.
“Aye, you’re probably right. I’m worried, too. He did have that bad night in the marsh. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him.” Daric didn’t like lying to his closest friend and liked it even less that he had just tricked him into keeping an eye on the boy without telling him the whole truth. But he had a greater bargain struck with Olam: not to mention their suspicion until certain of it or a cure was found. There was nothing for it but hope. Still, lying, even by omission, bit hard at his stomach.
“Maybe it’s just youngsters these days, Daric. I do not know. One thing is for sure; he is an odd character. That was plain enough even before we started out.” Grady yawned and stretched again. “Are they coming, or are we to spend another day here? Not that I would mind, if the truth was known.”
“I hear someone coming. It will be them, I would guess. Wolves aren’t that noisy.” Daric chuckled. “Lucky for us we aren’t tracking a wild beast for supper. We would surely go hungry.”
“I do not know. The girl is no lead-footed oaf. Right impressed with her, I am.” Grady nodded, agreeing with himself.
“Steady, old man, she was a child barely two summers ago,” Daric jibed.
“Oh, please. I need a woman! You’ve seen my house.” Grady sighed.
“Yes!” Daric said. “It’s next to the piggery. Oh, wait… no, it is the—”
Grady clipped Daric round the head with his fingers. “All right now, we can’t all have beautiful doting wives, my friend. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“Oh, yes, I do!” 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. The group skittered to the bottom of the steps, bread rolls in mouths, jackets half fastened, still half asleep, by the looks of it, except for Olam, of course.
Arfael brought up the rear. A very sober expression on his face, he looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Daric had heard about the… incident. How that could concern such a man was a mystery, but then, he wasn’t there, and just because the man wasn’t much for talk didn’t mean he couldn’t hold a thought in his head.
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 was met with mumbled groans and sighing. Gialyn yawned, Elspeth dry-washed her face, Ealian circled impatiently, and even Olam looked reluctant. Arfael nodded and began to walk towards the gates leading to the main street.
They had barely taken a step onto the outer path before the doors and windows of the village dwellings opened. From the side streets and alleyways they walked, jamming up the junctions, two or three deep in places. It would appear the whole population of Illeas’den had come to see them off. Twenty paces on, three Rukin women stood in the road with baskets of food to present to the travellers. Grady, Olam, and Elspeth accepted their gifts, bowing deeply as they did so. A young cub wobbled his little legs up to Arfael—with the encouragement of his mother—holding a single flower in his jaw. The tiny youngster bowed and placed the flower on the ground in front of Arfael’s feet. The big man picked it up and was about to pat the youngster on the head when he remembered what Olam had told him of their custom. Instead, he bowed and thanked the young cub for his kindness.
Upon reaching the gate, all the wolves present let out a deafening howl. The travellers turned and graciously bowed left and right to their hosts. How Daric could stand without his face burning with embarrassment was beyond him. The level of awkwardness echoed in the expressions of his friends. Yet Olam treated the whole affair with dignity and majesty. The man di
d enjoy his etiquette, no doubt there. After a final bow, they turned feet towards the lake, leaving a village full of—what Daric hoped were—new friends.
* * *
Gialyn followed Toban and Aleban as they walked to the east, turning by the lake. He could still hear the howls of the Rukin ringing in the distance. For all of last night’s troubles, he, too, was sad to leave. As nice a day as it was, thoughts of the comforts of home tugged particularly strongly after the hospitality of the past few days. Still, a rest was good. The next few weeks would be all the better, the easier, for it. The wolves rounded up against the bend to say their good-byes.
“You are clear on the route?” Toban asked.
“I think so, my friend, and we have your map at any rate,” Daric said.
“You have three, maybe four, easy days’ walk to Crenach and a straight path north along the tree line. You will be south of Cul’taris and heading for the Great Western Road in no time.
“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: solemn and regretful.
“Here.” Aleban placed the pouch he was carrying on the ground by Olam’s feet. These are Camcus, wolf whistles. 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 them, lest they be wildling wolves.
Olam picked up the small bag, took one, and passed the rest back. “Again, thank you, sir. It is a sad day for us all. I know I speak for everyone when I say thank you.” The rest of the group nodded and mumbled in agreement.
Elspeth, head bowed, stepped up to Toban and Aleban, knelt, and hugged each in turn. “Forgive me this once. I know that isn’t your way. I’m so proud to have met you all. I will never forget you.” She whispered the last.
“My dear Elspeth, of course. And please, all of you, remember to stay in touch, send any news of the east. We will bid you safe journey. May Galais Gan’ilean mind your way.”
With that, they were off, heading eastward along the thin bramble-hedged track to the Illeas Ridge, minds full of the events of the last few days. Their trials seemed nothing but the pale glimmer of old memories next to the kindness of the Rukin. Despite the few, they were kind and generous of spirit.
Olam seemed particularly lost for a time. He walked a pace off from the rest, his head bowed low in silent contemplation. True, the virtues of the Rukin were many. The union of man and wolf left Gialyn feeling woeful at the thought of the petty selfishness he witnessed every day. He was ashamed to admit he was probably as big a culprit as anyone else, not much better than Ealian at times. He, too, had his prideful ambition, his selfish ambition. How could he throw scorn in the face of people who cared? Maybe his parents were not always right, but they certainly cared, even if it was sometimes nigh on impossible to see it, especially in his father. He had a lot of thinking to do.
Before long, they reached the junction of the north/south road. Ahead lay open meadow, stretching miles to woods at the base of a distance scarp. The north road led to higher country. The road widened there, until eventually cutting east—the “long way round” of which Toban spoke. Its route eventually led to Cul’taris, and they would have followed it, too, had they exited the marsh by the northern pass as planned. No, it was south for them, onward towards the Raithby River.
The southern track followed the base of the Illeas Ridge down to the very last mile before the flats of the Raithby basin. Occasionally, the toes of the ridge poked into the sandy path; the route wasn’t straight, but it was firm, easy, and downhill. The fields to the left weaved up and round a wide rolling landscape of patchwork meadows. Hedgerow, bush, and tree stood at the peaks and troughs of the swelling fields, as if carefully placed to make the best of the picture. The centre of the meadows lay to grassland; cowslip, clover, and goat’s beard lay among the greens and browns, splashing colour against the hue of the spring’s bright morning. Dots of whites, blues, yellows, and reds peppered the scene, as though they were an artist’s final delicate touch. Indeed, a place that, all too soon, the travellers would sorely miss.
Noon had barely passed when they came upon the Raithby. The path led 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 to the water and rested there for lunch. There was little in the way of conversation between the travellers. 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 couldn’t be clearer. An easy peace lifted their hearts. All were aware of their good fortune; they need speak nothing of it. The sun was warm. The path was clear. All was well. And that was the way things stayed for the next three days.
By the evening of the fourth, they had come within sight of the waterfall and gully that Toban had described, the “shortcut” to the central plains that led north to Cul’taris. Ahead, in the distance, the tops of the trees of Crenach woods were visible, their dark crowns crossing the river and filling 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 climbed the rock face. A steep path lay in its centre. It looked a hard rise; it wasn’t going to be an easy trek, but no need for climbing boots. Toban was correct in his direction. Once past the gully, a short trek across the upper river would see them to the edge of Crenach’coi. And the central plains of Aleras’moya.
* * *
Daric looked up along the narrow stony path leading from the base of the gully. It lay barely a hundred paces ahead now. Four paces wide and maybe fifty long, it ran between two sheer rock faces, maybe two or three spans high on either side. There was no going round it—sheer cliffs to the left, with the Crenach forest and river to the right. It was this or turn back. Good place for an ambush, he 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, check it is safe.” Daric smiled at Gialyn, who still had a puzzled look. “Just have a drink and wait here a moment.”
“I will go!” Ealian shouted.
Daric stopped and turned. Ealian was already striding fast from the back. “That isn’t necessary, Ealian. It will not take but a minute or two. You wait here with the others.”
“No really, I don’t mind. I do not do much. Besides, if there were trouble, best you were here to rescue me, rather than sit captured,” he said.
“He’s got a point there!” Grady said.
Daric mused over the thought for a moment. “Right you are, then, 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 as if he isn’t useless after all,” Grady said quiet so as not to allow Elspeth to overhear.
“It would seem so.” Daric didn’t like it, not with his suspicions concerning Ealian. It was a good place for an ambush.
Grady dropped his pack and untied the two waterskins that were lashed to the back. “I’m going over there to fill these up. I won’t be a minute.”
Daric nodded without taking his eyes off Ealian, who was just approaching the foot of the gully. “No rush, Grady. We have a few minutes ‘til he gets back.”
Grady left and Olam arrived. He moved to Daric’s shoulder. “Is all well, Daric?”
“Yes, of course, just waiting on Ealian, five minutes, maybe ten.”
Olam leaned to the left and appeared to take in Daric’s expression. “That isn’t what I meant, friend. Is everything well with Ealian?” He looked over his shoulder as he spoke and whispered at the last.
“Why, has something happened?” For the first time, Daric broke his f
ixed stare on Ealian and looked at Olam directly. The old man—he still didn’t know how “old” he was, and he certainly didn’t look any older than he did; however, if what he said was true, he was at least one hundred—leaned on his staff, sucking at his top lip. “Olam, has something happened?”
“I think maybe it has,” he said.
“And what does that mean?” Daric stood, hands on hips, his brow creased.
“Daric, I’m certain the boy has the Black in him. Yet he has done nothing but be 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 huffed. “Maybe we’re 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 wouldn’t rise, but he had hoped the boy would be safe, somehow. Hoped even that he wouldn’t have to be the one to deal with the consequences if he wasn’t. That thought pushed guilt deep into his belly like a pile of river rocks. How could he think such a thing when a child’s life lay in the balance?
“As you say, Olam. It bears watching. Let us just… get onto the plains. At least there is a chance of finding help there.”
Olam bowed. “As you wish, Daric. Eyes open.”
The “old man” turned and stepped back towards Arfael, just in time for Grady to return with his full waterskins.
“Are we set? The boy is waving,” Grady said. He nodded his head towards the gully where Ealian was stood, ten paces from the top, waving them forward.
Daric turned back to the others. “Are we all rested?” Picking up his pack, he waited for the others to load up.
“I’ll carry his,” Arfael said, taking hold of Ealian’s pack.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” laughed Daric.
* * *
Climbing the slope proved harder than Elspeth and the others had expected. Arfael reached back and took her elbow, steadying her. Olam and Grady stayed to the back, Olam using his staff to hold firm against the slope. Daric and Gialyn walked together at the front, occasionally lending one another a hand.
The Call of the Crown (Book 1) Page 25