by Sean Russell
“How much farther?” Hafydd demanded. He was much recoveredafter a day of utter listlessness, but his mood was black.
They made a camp by the river in small clearing among willows.The dark, threatening sky was breaking up, revealing the last of the day’slight, a sky of fading blue, high up, thin wisps of orange-pink.
Kai shrugged. “A day. Two days. I can’t be sure. It was anage ago that I came this way.”
Hafydd glared down at the legless man in his barrow, whoalone among them appeared to have no fear of Hafydd and his temper. “If I findyou are sending me on a merry chase, Kilydd, I shall cut off your remaininglimbs. I will shatter your eardrums and pluck out your eyes, too. And you maylive that diminished life as long as you desire.” Hafydd turned and walked away.
Kai watched the dark figure go into the gloom, his face an impassivemask. Then he turned and smiled at Lord A’denne. “When you are a cripple, longpast being of interest to the fairer sex, and not inclined toward drink, youmust take your pleasures where you may.”
Twenty-nine
“I wonder how the Prince has been received by his cousin?”Carl said. He and Jamm sat eating apples and raw carrots they’d stolen from thenearby orchards and garden.
“You don’t seem to hold the cousin in high regard,” Jamm saidbetween bites. Carl could hardly see him in the dark, but the sounds of hismunching were loud and clear-unusual for the silent Jamm.
“My father judged him harshly, and he was seldom wrong aboutmen.”
Jamm continued to eat. “Then I say we move our camp. Thereis an old barn foundation in a stand of trees overlooking the road. We can keepthe manor house under our eye there.”
“Why would we move?”
“You can never be too careful,” the thief said, and he begancollecting up the apples and carrots, being sure not to leave any apple coresbehind.
Carl woke to cold steel at his throat, the dark shape of aman looming over him.
“Tell your companion not to move, or I’ll cut your throat,”a voice said softly.
“Jamm …?” Carl said, but he could hear that Jamm was alreadyawake.
“I won’t move,” came a voice out of the darkness.
The man sat down on a stump, his blade still at Carl’sthroat. “You travel with two men I know: Prince Michael of Innes, whose fatheris said to have been murdered, and Samul Renne. Both men have recently beenallies of Hafydd, or Sir Eremon, as some know him.” The man was silent amoment. “Your father I knew by reputation, Lord Carl, but you keep strangecompany. So I wonder what you are doing in these lands. Make your answerconvincing because I will kill both you and your friend without muchhesitation.”
Carl swallowed hard. Was this some ally of Hafydd’s? Hethought of the dead men they’d found in the grass and the stranger who rescuedthem in the dark.
“You haven’t time to contrive an answer, Lord Carl. Speaknow, or you will have no throat to speak from.”
“We are enemies of Hafydd,” Carl said, praying he read theman right. “And have crossed the river in hopes of finding allies for our causeamong the Prince’s friends and family.”
“So you say, but both the Prince and the Renne traveled withHafydd not so long ago.”
“I don’t know that whole story, but certainly the Rennetrusted Prince Michael, and as for Samul, he made some bargain with hiscousins.”
“No doubt. He has made several bargains in recent weeks,”the shadow said, but Carl thought he felt the pressure of the blade lessen alittle.
“That was you who helped us that night when we were trappedin the lane …?”
“Yes. Menwyn Wills allied himself with a sorcerer, makinghim an enemy of mine. His troops were trying to kill you, making you a possiblefriend … but it is difficult to tell friend from foe these days. Samul Rennehas changed allies too often. If I had been Lord Toren, I would have sent himto the gallows, as the rumors said he had-along with Lord Carl A’denne.” Hefell silent a moment, thinking. “But if Lord Toren saw fit to let you live-tofeign your death-then he must have either had good reason or been entirelydesperate.” The man removed the point of his sword from Carl’s neck but heldthe weapon still so that he could use it instantly-and Carl was not going totest this man’s reflexes.
“You’ve not told us your name …” Carl said.
The man considered this a moment. “Pwyll, I am called.”
“Pwyll? — who won the tournament at Westbrook?”
“By Lord Toren’s generosity and sense of fair play-yes.”
“I have been secretly Lord Toren’s ally,” Carl said. “It wasI who warned him of the invasion of the Isle of Battle.”
“Was it, indeed? I was far away when that happened, or Imight have ridden with the Renne myself.”
“Then you are an enemy of Menwyn Wills?”
“I am an enemy of Hafydd’s, and at the moment so is MenwynWills, though for all the wrong reasons, I suspect.”
“May I sit up?” Carl asked.
“Slowly. I can see your hands even in the darkness,” the mansaid. “Keep them away from your sword and dagger. That goes for you, too,master thief.”
Carl sat up, trying to shake off both sleep and fear. Itseemed his throat wasn’t about to be cut. They might even have found an ally-aformidable ally.
Pwyll shifted on the stump. “Tell me, Lord Carl, do youtrust Lord Samul and the Prince?”
“Prince Michael has worked against Hafydd even while his fatherwas in the sorcerer’s thrall. I don’t doubt him in the least. Despite presentalignments, the Renne are still the main enemies of Hafydd, and Prince Michaelis trying to rally allies to their cause. Michael believes that Menwyn will notwin a battle with Hafydd despite the size of his army.”
“The Prince is right. Men-at-arms won’t stand and fight a sorcererfor a captain like Menwyn Wills. He does not have either their respect or theirlove. The first signs of sorcery, and they will break and run. Hafydd willgather them all together again in a few days and command them out of fear.Menwyn will not survive this war. But if we are to defeat Hafydd, he must bedenied that army.”
“And that is the Prince’s purpose.”
“There is a small problem that the Prince did not foresee…”
“And that would be?”
“His kin sent out a rider soon after he arrived, and a troopof men-at-arms wearing Wills livery arrived at the manor house not half an hourago.”
Thirty
The river had narrowed and increased its speed while thecliffs had fallen way to rolling banks, which rose and dipped a little as theypassed. To either side, dense forests of pine and fir mixed with oak and maple,beech and ash. There were trees growing there that Dease Renne had never seenbefore: a tree with bark white as a wave crest and branches that hung down likethe weeping willow, a maple with leaves larger than platters. He watched thehidden lands roll by between his turns at the oars. No one who could manage asweep was exempt. Even Elise, he noticed, took her turn, and the men in herboat were hard-pressed to match her pace. A gift from the river, shecalled this strength, but it was arcane, Dease knew, and it unsettled themen-at-arms, even A’brgail’s Knights.
“Do you smell smoke?” A’brgail asked, sitting up and turninghis head, nostrils flaring as he tested the air delicately.
Toren turned and gazed back the way they’d come. “Wind is inthe north, so it must be coming from behind. Did we pass a camp-fire?” Deasesaw Toren reach over for his sword, which he now kept buckled to a thwart.Hafydd was somewhere on this river before them, or so Elise claimed.
“The winds eddy and twist among these hills, Lord Toren,”Theason said. “The smoke might be coming from anywhere.” He too sniffed theair. “Forest fires can occur in summer. I have seen the places where they’veburned-vast stretches, soon green again with new life, but the skeletons of thegreat trees stand for many years, like gravestones.” Theason was silent amoment, then went on. “Do you know, the name Eremon, which Hafydd uses still,is the name of a shrub that grows up where fire ha
s destroyed the forest? Theseeds of the eremon bush can lie dormant in the ground for two hundred years,but the heat of the fire cracks their shells, and they sprout up only daysafter the fire has passed.”
No one had any response to this, and the boat fell silent.
“Do you smell the smoke?” Elise called a moment later. Shewas standing in the stern of her boat, wrapped in a Fael cloak, her hairwafting in the breeze. She twisted it into a rough tail and tucked it behind anear, and then inside the collar of her cloak-a practiced motion that was allElise. Sianon, Orlem had said, cut her hair short.
“Yes,” A’brgail called, “but where is it coming from?”
Elise shrugged. “The wind comes from all directions.”
And so it did. North for a while, then from the west, thensouth by southwest. It even veered east for a time. The smoke seemed to becarried on any wind, now stronger and more pungent, then weaker or gonealtogether.
They rounded a bend in the river, and Dease’s eyes werestung by smoke, the smell even stronger. Flakes drifted down from the sky, likesnow, but this was a gray snow.
“Ash!” Theason said.
“Bring the boats together!” Elise called out. She had unsheathedher sword and thrust the blade into the river.
“Is it Hafydd?” A’brgail asked, as the boats came alongside,oarsmen swinging high their sweeps and taking hold of the other craft’sgunwale.
Elise did not answer but held her blade in the back of theriver, eyes closed, her head cocked to one side as though she listened intently.Then she shook her head, drawing her sword from the water and drying it in afold of her cloak, all in one motion.
“He is ahead of us yet-and some distance, too. But still,fire is I his greatest weapon, and we must be wary.”
“Theason said he has seen forest fires in the hidden lands before,”A’brgail offered.
Elise nodded. “Then let us hope this is such a fire andnothing more,” she answered, but she stood again in the stern of her boat andsurveyed all that could be seen, her manner stiff and apprehensive.
Ash continued to snow down, dappling the water, where theflakes soon became a leaden scum spread over the surface. Smoke could be seennow, hanging among the low hills that bordered the river.
“Rain would be welcome,” Theason remarked.
“Fire is a way of rejuvenating the forest,” Eber said, “forit sweeps away the ancient trees, cleanses the soil, and allows the long cycleof growth to begin again.” He held his son, asleep in his lap, and Deasethought the old man looked overwhelmed by sadness. “Young trees appear,flourish, and are replaced by others, like generations, until you again havethe mature forest we see here. It is the natural cycle and keeps each breed oftree strong, for the forest is full of scourges, even for the oak and thewillow.”
“If anyone is wearing mail, he should take this opportunityto shed it,” Elise said, but work at the oars was hot, and mail shirts had longsince been rolled into oiled sheepskins and put away out of reach of water.
The smoke was thicker ahead, a cloud of it wafting out overthe river, casting a shadow on the dark waters.
“What is it you fear, Lady Elise?” A’brgail asked. “SomethingI think.”
But she answered with a question of her own. “Who among youcan swim?”
A few voices answered in the affirmative-not enough, Torenthought.
“Those of you who cannot swim find another who can. Do as hesays and do not let fear get the better of you.”
Eber turned in his seat in the bows, fear across his face. “Butwhat of my son?” he said, his voice shaking with anger and apprehension. “Youswore that you would protect him.”
“And I will,” Elise said. “Pass the boy back to me.”
Llya was wakened and passed quickly down the row of oarsmento Elise, who took him up gently, smiling at him and caressing him as though hewere her own.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I am of the river. No matterwhat happens, you will be safe with me.”
The boy made some sign with his hands, and Dease wondered ifhe had understood at all.
They rounded another bend, and there the smoke was thick.Fire climbed a tree in the distance, branches breaking away and tumbling inflames. Despite cloaks stretched over mouths, smoke burned into the lungs allthe same, and everyone coughed. The boats drifted into a gloom, like a dry fog.His eyes stung and watered so that he could see almost nothing. The heat beganto grow, so that Dease’s face ran with sweat, and he could feel it spreadingdown his sides beneath his clothes.
“Douse your cloaks in water!” Elise yelled.
Dease pulled his cloak off and thrust it into the river. Ina moment he had it over his head, crouching within this small tent. He couldfeel his cousin beside him, hear him coughing.
Dease was racked by a fit of coughing himself as the smoketore at his lungs. He opened his cloak a little and tried to pick out anythingin the obscurity. To run ashore would be a disaster.
“Flames!” he yelled. A wave of heat struck him like a blow,knocking him into the bottom of the boat. His cloak was quickly steaming itselfdry.
“Into the water!” he heard Elise yell, and Dease threwhimself blindly over the side. The cool water washed over him, drawing off thescalding heat. He struggled out of his cloak and threw the sodden mass intothe boat. He kept one hand on the gunwale, but the wood was growing almost toohot to hold. Quickly he switched hands, splashing water up onto the wood.
In the water beside him were others, faces blackened and obscuredby smoke. Something burned his wrist, and he drew his hand away from the boat,only to find the burning did not stop in the water, and he scraped away at hisskin for a moment before he was free of the scalding material.
Paint, he realized. The paint was bubbling off.
“Splash water on the boats!” someone yelled, but Deaseturned quickly around, staring into the smoke that burned his eyes. The boatswere gone!
Flame appeared overhead, the heat unbearable. Dease dove beneaththe water and swam. The forest fire, if that’s what it was, leapt the river.The desire to cough was strong, but he fought it down, pressing himself forwardinto the cool water. To surface there would be to die. There was no light inthe water, though he swam with his eyes opened. He didn’t even know for surethat he was swimming downstream.
When he began to see black spots about the edge of hisvision, Dease rose toward the surface, emerging into a smith’s forge, the heatsearing his face, wet though it was. Even the water seemed hot, steaming aroundhim. Flames shot out of the smoke, and the sound of fire was deafening.
He drew in a lungful of smoke and coughed uncontrollably.The heat was more than he could bear, but he could not dive without air, andthere was nothing to breathe but smoke.
Dease rolled on his back, gasping and hacking. Water chokedhim, but he could no longer find the strength to struggle. The world seemed torecede, fading, darkness swirling out of the air.
The river took hold of him, and he was pulled down, downinto the waters. He did not resist, nor could he have, but slipped into adream, a cool dream where he drifted within the river, held gently in its maw,carried off, where he did not know.
Toren felt they were in an oven, close, utterly dark, hot asa bed of coals. He could hear the others breathing, coughs echoing beneath theoverturned hull. For a moment he rested, clinging to the inwale with hisfingers. When he felt he had enough strength he reached an arm out and splashedwater onto the hull, his fingers roasting in the heat of the fire.
In a moment he pulled the hand in again, dousing it in thequickly warming water.
“Call your names …” A’brgail said, almost at Toren’selbow.
Names were croaked in the darkness.
“Dease?” Toren called. “Dease? Are you here?”
There was no answer. One of A’brgail’s Knights was missingas well-their numbers down to eight. Toren cursed between fits of coughing. Hedidn’t think anyone would survive outside the boat, the heat was too great, thesmoke overwhelming. He took
a breath and ducked under, surfacing in a kind ofpurgatory, flame and smoke roiling overhead, hotter than a blazing hearth.
“Dease!” he called. “Dease …” For a moment he listened,then went back into the relative safety of the overturned boat, drawing in alungful of smoky air.
The current seemed to be infinitely slow, and the firespread over a greater area than he had hoped. It even occurred to Toren thatthe boat might be circling in an eddy, not escaping the fire at all. He reacheda hand out into the oven and splashed water up onto the hull, as did theothers, but still it was growing dangerously hot. He reached up and pressedhis palm to the planking-then pulled it quickly away. The wood was almost toohot to touch.
“It can’t be much farther,” someone lamented.
“How big can such a fire be?” a voice asked.
“Very great,” came a small voice in response. “I have seen afire scar the hillside for leagues.”
“We’ll not survive for leagues,” A’brgail said low to Toren.“Another few moments, and this shell will be on fire, and all the turtles willbe forced out into the flames.”
“Let us hope …” Toren said. But A’brgail was right;another few moments, and they would be gone. He dipped his head under, for theair beneath the boat was growing hot. As he surfaced something scalding-hotdropped onto his cheek, and he wiped it away-pitch from the seamsbetween the planks! He heard someone surface into the boat.
“We’re afire!” Theason gasped.
Toren ducked under the gunwale and surfaced into theswirling smoke. He rubbed at his stinging eyes, trying to clear them withwater. Squinting, he could see flames spreading over the turtled hull. Hestripped off his shirt and beat at the flames.
“The paint is aflame!” he called to the sooty face thatsurfaced beside him-Toren could not begin to guess who it was.
Whoever it was followed his example, and after a moment theyhad doused the flames. They ducked back into the boat, gasping, choking, hisscalp feeling as though it had been seared.