by Sean Russell
“Your grace?” came the voice of her maid of the bedchamber. “Issomething wrong? Your grace is as pale as a cloud.”
“Call a guard. Quickly!”
Two guards came, at the run, and Llyn’s servant led themdown into the garden.
“It is just here,” Llyn called from a shadow, as the guardsapproached the place where the path had opened. The two guards stumbled intothe bushes, breaking branches and trampling the flowers. Llyn drew nearer andwatched them go, their lantern growing smaller and dimmer, as though theywalked off into a wood. And then it disappeared altogether, though there was awall not three yards away.
It was some hours later when the two guards returned,looking flustered and out of sorts. They had followed the path into the woodfor some distance, but when they tried to retrace their steps they could not.Instead, they found themselves several furlongs away, near the river-and theyhad not walked a tenth that distance they were certain.
In the garden the path could no longer be found.
Llyn shut herself up in her room and bolted the doors,looking around as though the walls might open up, or a man appear out of thinair. That night she did not go to bed but sat up, awake, feeling as though shewere being torn apart, like everyone in Castle Renne could walk unannouncedinto her little kingdom.
For many hours she paced, forth and back, like an animal ina cage. Finally, she stopped before the window where her reflection floated,faint and ghostly, against the night. She turned her face so that only the goodside could be seen, peering out of the corner of her eye.
Half a beauty, she thought.
Very slowly she turned her head, seeing the teeth clench andthe lips turn down, bracing herself. The ruined landscape of her face appeared;the eye with its lid greatly burned away, the bubbled skin across her cheek,red and coarse. Even her lips were reduced to thin red lines, as though someonehad made her mouth with the haphazard slash of a dull knife.
She realized the thing floating in the dark glass lookedlike a creature out of nightmare. “You will have no pity from me,” shewhispered to the creature and a tear rolled down its ruined cheek.
Six
They did not wait for morning but set out by the light ofthe waning moon, which lit the road faintly and made monsters of tree stumpsand spies of every bush. Above them, a small flight of crows swarmed from treeto tree like a wayward breeze. Alaan set a good pace, as though the shatteredmoon was bright as the morning sun, and the night passed with hardly a wordbetween them. Many times they dismounted and led their horses through shadow,and twice Alaan used a flint to light one of the torches he carried. The smellof burning pitch assailed Tam’s nostrils, but a small province of light spreadaround them. Beyond this, the kingdom of night lay hidden.
“The land between the mountains is behind us now,” Alaansaid quietly, “but we mustn’t relax our guard. Once I’ve opened a pathway itremains open for some time. We could be followed.”
Tam had not asked where they were going, assuming it wasinto the hidden lands, and any destination there would mean nothing to him, butas their horses trotted along the dark road the Valeman pressed his mountforward, drawing up beside Alaan.
“Where is it we go, Alaan?” he asked. “What place could bemore perilous than the places we have been?”
Alaan did not answer right away, but kept his gaze fixed onthe dark ribbon of road. “We go into the borderlands of Death’s kingdom, Tam.A place from which only one man has returned.”
“Who? Who returned from Death’s kingdom?”
“No one who passes through the gate returns, but I went onceinto the borderlands. We will try our luck again.” He glanced up at Tam, hisface ashen in the moonlight. “I will tell you honestly, Tam-Death will notsuffer our presence there. He will send his servants to find us.”
Tam let his horse drop back, falling in behind Alaan. He foundhimself wishing that he’d never left the Vale of Lakes, that he was there stillin the late-summer light, walking through the ripening grain or drawing waterfrom the spring that murmured the names of newborn children-or so it was said.Anywhere but following Alaan to this place he had named.
They carried on by torchlight, stumbling over rock and root,until faint light began to devour the shadows, and the stars overhead snuffedout, one by one. By a small lake, Alaan stopped to water the horses and leteveryone rest. Cynddl kindled fire, and they made a meal as the morning spreadwest across the world.
Alaan had produced enough gold that night to buy them horsesand tack, arms and supplies. No one asked where this wealth had come from. Nannhad given them new bows, and Tam decided to try his, stringing it for the firsttime. Light reflected off the polished grain of the yaka wood, as he nocked anarrow and drew back the string. The sound of an arrow hissed over the grass, followedby a sharp thwack as it lodged in the bark of an old butternut.
“You won’t get that one out Tam,” Cynddl said. “The grainwill be too tight and old.”
“I took care not to shoot it that hard. How is your new bow,Cynddl?”
In a moment there was an archery contest under way, with everyonebut Alaan and Crowheart involved. Tam noticed that Alaan watched over themwithout a hint of a smile, his eyes darting often to the tree line, then alongthe shore of the lake.
He is a wary traveler, Tam thought. And we should take a lessonfrom that.
Cynddl was the best archer that day, though only slightlybetter than Tam. Fynnol came third, but did not seem to mind, as thecompetition was very stiff, and he had acquitted himself well.
“Time to go,” Alaan announced, as Fynnol proposed a rematch.
Their horses had been grazing nearby, and were soon saddledand packed again. As Tam tightened the girth strap on his horse, Fynnol andCynddl came near.
“So what did Alaan say last night?” Fynnol asked quietly. “Didyou ask him where we go?” He stroked the nose of his horse, which he hadpositioned to shield their conversation from Rabal and Alaan.
Tam lengthened one of his stirrups, the worn leather warmand supple in the sun. He realized he did not want to be the bearer of thisnews. “We go into the borderlands of Death’s kingdom, Fynnol.”
Fynnol blinked several times. “But no one returns from Death’skingdom.”
“Alaan said we will not pass through the gate-and that hemade a journey there … once.” Tam hesitated. “Dangerous, but not more so thanother places we’ve been.” He tried to smile reassuringly, but neither of hiscompanions appeared to be reassured.
By the time they set off around the lake and up the slopeinto a shady wood, the morning was advancing. Beyond, Tam thought he could makeout hills, all but obscured by haze.
A whole morning’s toil was needed to break out of the trees.The wood began to thin, then turn to scattered pines and firs. Weatherwornrocks broke through the surface, here and there, like the backs of ancientwhales. And then the tree line was behind them.
They were on the side of a low, rounded mountain, the worldspreading out below.
For a moment, they all stopped to let the horses catch theirbreath. They had traversed the slope back and forth, not attacking it directly,but even so, the climb had been difficult. An empty wind blew at thiselevation, and the only sound was the occasional call of a distant crow.
“Well, Tam,” Fynnol said, breaking the silence, “we set outto trade for horses and look! Did you ever expect to own ones as fine as these?And they were free.”
“Oh, I think you’ve paid dearly for your horses,” Alaan observed.
“Let’s hope the price will not be more than we can afford,”Fynnol answered quickly.
On the shoulder of the mountain, crows seemed to be the onlyanimals. A few were always near at hand, but many more could be seen at adistance, perched on the branches of stunted pines or dotting stacks oflichen-yellowed rocks.
Prince Michael had told Tam that his company had been attackedby an army of crows in the Stillwater, and he’d displayed the scars on his faceand hands to prove it. Tam looked over at Crow-heart sitting on
his horse, staringout over the lands below. The horses all seemed to perk up their ears whenCrowheart was near, as though they listened for him to speak. He had a way withanimals, that was certain, speaking to them quietly, calming them with a touchof the hand. Tam only hoped that he had control of his crow army, for theirbills looked fearsome.
A dark bird lit on the branch of a fire bush. Tam caught themovement out of the corner of his eye and thought at first it was another crow.But the nearby crows all took to wing, crying out in alarm. And then Tam heard,whist, whist.
The little bird hissed loudly, but it didn’t seem to bescolding any of them, for it looked pointedly out over the distant lowlands.
Cynddl’s hand shot up. “There!”
Far below, by the small lake where they’d rested, a dozen riderstraversed the open meadow. Fynnol cursed, but Alaan sat impassively on hishorse, his eyes fixed on the riders.
“I feared as much,” he said grimly. “Hafydd has many spies.Some must have been watching the Fael encampment.” He stared for a moment more,then turned his horse but paused before pushing on. “They would catch up withus, now,” he said looking over his shoulder. “There are greater dangersin these lands than Hafydd’s spies. Beyond this mountain is a wide valley thatwe must traverse. There is no way around it. I’d hoped to wait and crossit at first light, but we may be forced to travel by darkness now. Keep yourweapons to hand.” He spurred his horse and set off up the slope.
The whist leapt into the air, circling up, until it became ablack speck in the sky-a fragment of night lodged in the blue.
They hurried on, pressing their tired horses up the mountainsidewhere cliffs, broken and jagged, loomed over them. Tam glanced up from guidinghis horse over the uneven terrain. There was, no doubt, a way among these, orAlaan wouldn’t be leading them on, still he didn’t like their situation. Hetwisted a bit in his saddle, the leather creaking in complaint. The riders werejust disappearing into the trees below, having rounded the lake.
Tam felt a sudden familiar tightening in his stomach. Memoriesof the black guards pursuing them down the Wynnd, of the fight at the ford atWillowwand, of the night Baore was struck by an arrow beneath the north bridge.He pulled a drinking skin from his saddle to put a little moisture back in hismouth, suddenly dry as sand. And what was this Alaan was saying about thevalley beyond?
The base of the cliff was a jumble of broken rock, somepieces larger than barns. Alaan led them among these, never once having todouble back. Tam wondered if he’d been here before, or if this was his arcanesense that found paths where other men couldn’t. Alaan never said that hecreated paths but always that he “found” them. As though they were there allalong but hidden from others.
They were forced to dismount and lead their horses over afield of stone, but only Alaan’s sorrel and the dark bay Crow-heart rode wentalong willingly. Twice Crowheart turned and spoke to Fynnol’s horse when itbalked, and then the gelding followed docilely.
They picked their way among house-sized boulders, crowsgathering now in numbers on the tops and on ledges. The crying of the birds inthe hollow wind added a sense of urgency, andTam hurried on, feeling aprickling on the back of his neck, as though the men behind were gaining-withinarrow range.
Don’t be a fool, he told himself, they will takesome time to climb that hill, even if they don’t spare their horses, as we did,and go straight up.
He wondered who these men were. Certainly it was Alaan theywere following. Did they know he was a sorcerer? Surely they must. Did this notintimidate them at all, or had Hafydd taught them ways to deal with Alaan?
Of course Tam still had no idea of what these children ofWyrr were capable. Hafydd had revealed himself a little in the Stillwater, butAlaan was still a mystery. He could travel paths no one had ever seen intolands unknown. He was a formidable swordsman and far stronger than he appeared,Tam was sure. But could he match Hafydd’s control of fire? Or Elise’s apparentcommand of water? Tam hoped there was more to Alaan than he’d revealed so far.They would have need of all the arcane knowledge they could find to fightHafydd, he was sure of that.
Almost at the base of the cliff, Fynnol called out to Alaan,pointing up. There, silhouetted against a quickly clouding sky, stood a man. Tamblinked once, and when he opened his eyes, the man was gone. Alaan cursed, butwent on, offering no explanation.
Tam felt his anxiety increase dramatically. Who had thatbeen atop the cliff? Alaan did not seem pleased, whoever it was. Tam loosenedhis sword in its scabbard and pressed on, his eye flitting over the landscapeas though the very rocks threatened them.
Their efforts brought them to the foot of a narrow draw thatwound up through a deep cleft in the broken cliff. A game path clawed up the steepdraw, meandering from one side to the other, and Alaan urged his horse up this.
“Tam,” the traveler called, looking back once, his face disturbinglyapprehensive. “Give your horse to someone. Take a bow and follow behind. Weneed a rear guard.”
Tam took a bow and quiver and gave the reins of his horse toCrowheart, who was already leading his own mount and a pack-horse. Rabal made aquick string of his charges and set off after Alaan, Fynnol close behind.Cynddl took his own bow and quiver from his saddle and placed himself justahead of Tam, where he kept looking back warily. Tam could see sweat on thestory finder’s brow, his gray hair plastered tight to his forehead.
“If you see any movement, Tam, I have my bow ready.”
“I’m just as worried about men ahead of us, or overhead,”Tam said, glancing up. “Certainly the riders who follow are two hours behindus.”
“I don’t think so,” the story finder said, puffing as theyclimbed. “Alaan made sure that we traversed back and forth across the face ofthe hill, saving our mounts, but these men saw us and will come straight on.Their horses will be tired, and perhaps they will be too, after they’ve ledmuch of the way on foot, but they are likely not far behind now.”
“Then hurry on, Cynddl,” Tam said, “I’ve seen enough ofHafydd’s guards to last me a lifetime.”
Tam glanced up, wondering, unable to suppress a feeling thatrocks or arrows would come raining down on them at any moment.
Before they reached the crest the first man appeared behind.He was horseless and carrying a bared blade that glittered in the sun. Tamcalled to Cynddl and heard the word pass up the line to Alaan. They pressed onmore quickly, all of them gasping for breath now, unable to speak. Tamstumbled, trying to look back and forward at the same time. He bloodied hisknee, but pulled himself up and hobbled on.
Another man appeared below, a bow in his hand. Above him Tamcould hear the panting horses, hooves clattering over frost-shattered stone.
Another archer appeared and let an arrow fly.
“They’re shooting at us!” Tam called up, watching the higharc of the arrow. It plummeted down toward them but well wide, having beencaught by a breeze above the walls of the draw.
“Shoot back,” Alaan called, hardly able to spare the breath.
Tam stopped and took aim. He was shooting downhill, whichwas never easy. He might waste an arrow to find the range. He drew back thestring, finding the bow stiffer than his last. The arrow flew down the draw,the Fael bow every bit as good as its reputation.
The men at the bottom scattered as Tam’s arrow passed amongthem, but he thought no one was hit. He could see heads rising up above stonesand shrubs. That might slow them a little.
Tam turned and hurried to catch up with his companions.Cynddl had given his horse to Fynnol and came back to join Tam, bow in hand,his young-old face drawn tight with concern, gray hair plastered to hissweating brow.
“Shall we make a stand here for a while and let the othersreach the crest?” Tam wondered. He gazed down the draw, where there wasmovement among the stones.
“Alaan says to keep them back but not to fall behind.”Cynddl pulled back his arrow and let it fly, then quickly nocked another. “Alaan’sattention appears to be drawn up, in the direction we’re going, as though thethreat from
below is not the real concern.”
Tam glanced at the story finder, then back down the draw. “That’snot what I wanted to hear.”
“Well, perhaps I’m wrong,” Cynddl said. “Let us hope so.”
The two scrambled up the draw, their eyes darting back andforth between the path and the men below. Tam tripped again and had to catchhimself with a hand. Nothing was broken but an arrow, and he quickly hadanother from his quiver.
The draw narrowed around them, gray-brown ramparts of stonejutting up to either side. The path was no longer straight, but curved andturned back and forth, as though cut by a meandering river. Horses and menbobbed up the path, the sound of shod hooves echoing off the walls.
Alaan stopped, and called down, “Tam? Cynddl? Can you stopthem at the bottom of the narrows for a time?” He took two deep breaths. “Holdthem back as best you can, but try to keep yourself out of sight, so they don’tknow if you’re there or not. The moment they think you’re gone, they’ll rush upthe slope.”
“Go on,” Tam called. “Leave these men to us.”
Tam and Cynddl hid themselves as best they could at the bottomof the narrow section, stepping out every minute or so to loose an arrow at thefigures below. Tam could see them running between boulders, hiding themselvesfor a moment, then dashing to the next place of safety. There was little chancethat they would be hit at this distance, but Tam and Cynddl were excellentarchers and kept their pursuers fearful, for they never missed by much.
Cynddl leaned out from behind the stone wall, gazing downthe draw. His whole manner was catlike, Tam thought, poised to pounce or run.The story finder dressed as he had when they traveled down the river-in Faelclothing, though the colors were mute-greens and browns.
He stepped out into the opening, sent an arrow hissing downthe draw, then jumped back behind the wall of stone.
“How long do you think we should stay here?” Tam wondered.
Cynddl glanced up the narrow path between towering stonewalls. “I don’t know. How long would it take them to reach the crest?”