The Gathering of the Lost

by Helen Lowe

  “Seven dead, a couple of miles downstream,” Darin was saying. “They must have run into the attackers head on—but they took some with them. Outlaws,” he added, before Raven could ask the question. “And Linnet Ar-Ormond, riding the Countess’s horse and wearing her cloak.”

  “They must have swapped,” Audin said. His fists were clenched hard, his mouth a grim line. “To confuse the pursuit. So if Linnet went downriver—”

  Raven nodded. “Then the Countess went up. Herun?”

  “The larger party fled that way,” the tracker agreed, “and they’re being pursued. I trailed them to where a northern tributary joins the Rindle, and both groups were still keeping to the riverbed at that point. The banks are high, farther up,” he explained, “and the country to either side steep and very rough, so the shingle wash between the river braids makes for easier going.”

  “But they followed the main stem of the Rindle west?” Raven asked, and Herun nodded.

  “We have to try this hill path,” Audin said. His face twisted suddenly. “I’m the Duke’s nephew, but my life is as nothing against the Ormondian peace.”

  No one spoke, but Carick saw the same bitterness and frustration in every face. Jarna shifted a little closer to Hamar, so their shoulders were almost—but not quite—touching. Carick looked away, narrowing his eyes at the sky. The sun was already low and he was not sure how far they could get before night fell. But if they waited until the morning . . . He began to understand the bitterness in the squires’ faces.

  Raven, too, had been studying the sky, but now he nodded. “Getting ahead of them is the only way.” Following his lead, the party began to mount up, but stopped as Arn, on lookout, signaled that someone was coming. A moment later the squire held up two fingers.

  “Aymil and Girvase,” Raher muttered, but every hand stayed on a weapon until the two emerged from the trees, looking hot, sweaty, and tired.

  “There’s nothing behind us, ser,” Aymil reported to Raven. “Not unless you count flies and clouds of midges at every little seep that passes as a stream.” A few squires grinned at that, but everyone was remarkably quiet. They were all watching Girvase, Carick realized—and saw the squire notice Sable. A dangerous light flared in the young man’s eyes and his mouth tightened, but he said nothing, just walked his own black horse forward until he could lean down and touch the blood matted into Sable’s shoulder. “Who found him?” Girvase straightened. “Where? What sign was there of Alianor?” Even as he spoke, he was turning his horse toward the river.

  Carick had not seen Raven move, but the knight’s mount was between the squire and the river all the same, forcing the black horse to stop. Raven’s stare crossed Girvase’s as the young man tried to go around him.

  “Get out of my way!” Danger blazed out of Girvase’s face. “Alianor’s hurt out there. She may die if I don’t find her.”

  Raven’s horse blocked Girvase again, and this time the shiver that crept along Carick’s spine had nothing to do with lengthening shadows. “She may already be dead,” the knight said. His voice was even, his eyes pitiless as stone. “She may be alone and hurt—or she may be safe with those who went upriver. But what we are going to do now is stay together and find the Countess of Ormond, not scatter across country looking for individual damosels. Do you understand me, Girvase Ar-Allerion?”

  Girvase’s hand slid to his sword hilt. Beside Carick, Hamar’s breath hissed. Only Raven seemed relaxed, almost lounging in the saddle, although his eyes did not leave Girvase’s face. “Even now, enemies are pressing upriver,” he said, “eager to catch and kill those damosels who still live. So you will obey orders or I will kill you myself.”

  He means it, thought Carick, and could see that everyone else there knew it, too—but that none of them would take Girvase’s part, despite their bleak expressions. His own fingers clenched on Mallow’s reins as Girvase’s sword hand tightened. Then the squire gave a queer little jerk of his head, and his hand fell away from the sword hilt. “I will follow your orders,” he said sullenly.

  Raven’s cold gaze continued to measure him, then he nodded. “See that you do.”

  They had to push through chest-high scrub past the beginning of Carick’s track and then ride single file in a slow steady climb that traversed the first ridge above the Rindle. Herun went ahead and always managed to find the path, even when it seemed to peter out in patches of yellow gorse or the aromatic, white-starred brush of Emer. At the first clearing, Carick was surprised to see the river already far below them.

  “We’re making good time,” said Audin, who was riding immediately ahead of him. “At this rate, we’ll reach the main ridge before full dark.”

  “There’ll be no moon,” Raher said abruptly, from behind Carick.

  Audin turned in the saddle as a ripple of disquiet ran along the line. “Well, you wanted adventure,” he said, and several of the squires chuckled.

  The track was very steep from that point and often became more of a scramble than a climb, forcing them to dismount and lead the horses. They reached the ridgetop just as the sun was slipping redly beneath the horizon and rested in the woods below the crest, chewing on food from their saddlebags.

  “It’s another hour, no more, before full dark,” said Herun. “Do we carry on?”

  “Those pursuing your damosels will not halt by night,” Raven said. “We must reach The Leas before tomorrow or risk losing any advantage this route may give us.”

  “Yet this,” Ado muttered, “is the night when the power of the Dancer, the drinker of blood, is at its height.”

  Raven’s expression did not change. “He has already had his offerings of blood and death today. We ride on.”

  “We have torches,” Solaan said, her tattooed face a shadowed mask in the dusk. “We can use them as soon as this ridge lies between us and the pursuers’ route along the Rindle.”

  Ado and those around him looked far from convinced, but said nothing. Hill people were renowned for their superstition, so if Solaan was prepared to go on, anyone who held back would look unduly fearful. Yet Carick felt the tension as their line fell in behind Raven’s signal, and saw the uneasy glances to either side as they rode. He suspected that every noise, however natural, was going to sound doubly strange once night fell.

  The first owl called, mournful through the gloom, and Solaan moved ahead of Herun. She must have keen eyes, Carick thought, as the Hillwoman led them unerringly on into full dark.

  The night grew cold as the stars changed position above them and the track alternately climbed and plunged down. Carick stumbled more than once when he had to lead Mallow, and tried not to think of Malisande and Alianor, or the other damosels, lost somewhere in the moonless hills—or already lying dead in the deep channels or shingle wash of the Rindle. He stumbled again and wished he was a cat, or one of the Patrol, since River legend claimed they could see in the dark. Yet despite his poor night vision, he was still not sure how he and Mallow came to be at the end of the line after their next stop, the path behind them lost in darkness.

  A short distance further on the path began to drop so steeply that Carick, leading Mallow again, had to concentrate on every footstep. The mare slithered and eased her way down behind him and it was some time before he realized that he had lost sight of the horse in front. The last glow from the torches had also disappeared, and he slid a few more yards before halting, unable to see the path ahead.

  Carick listened intently, but heard no chink of metal or creak of leather, no huff of breath from a horse. He wondered if he could have taken a wrong turn—and became intensely aware of the night, pressing in, and the immensity of wild country all around. Mallow whickered and threw up her head against his restraining grip, the whites of her eyes showing. Tales whispered on the River flooded into his mind: about pockets of ancient darkness that lingered amongst Emer’s empty hills, feeding on fear and the blood of travelers gone astray. Kan, those whispers suggested, might not be the only power that stalked Emer dur
ing the dark of the moon.

  Fear seized Carick, high and cold in his throat, and his heart pounded out the pattern of Raven’s words about the dark god: blood and death, death and blood. Compulsion followed the spiral of fear: a wild desire to run, crashing down the hillside until he plummeted from some rocky height or fell, breaking his neck—or his leg, so that he died slowly, starved, thirsty, and alone.

  Breathe, you fool, Carick told himself. He gritted his teeth and made himself count the sharp, painful thuds of his heart until it steadied. Horror stories, he thought, taking a deep breath into his stomach and relaxing his shoulders: that’s all those tales are. I need to keep going and find the others, not give in to irrational fears. But another part of his mind, detached and cool as water, held him motionless, staring into the blackness ahead.

  A horse snorted on the hillside above him and Mallow whinnied a reply. Carick remained frozen in place, unable to turn—then stifled a yell as someone brushed past his shoulder. Girvase, he realized a split second later. The squire stopped a pace in front of Carick, his head turning to search the night as Hamar, leading both their horses, slid the last few feet to join them.

  “Here you are!” He clapped a hand on Carick’s shoulder, then shifted it to rest on Mallow’s neck, stroking the mare gently. “Look at you, girl. You’re covered in sweat.”

  Carick shuddered and found that he could move again, although he felt dazed, blinking from Hamar beside him to the dark silhouette that was Girvase. “I’m not sure what happened.” He took another deep breath in, then released it. “I must have dozed, I suppose. And then—” He paused, unwilling to mention the panic that had seized him. “I couldn’t see the torches or which way the path went.”

  “Something was here,” Girvase said. His voice held an odd note that Carick could not quite place. “I felt a sense of darkness pressing in as I stepped past Maister Carro. But I didn’t see anything.” He paused as Hamar stepped forward to join him. “And it’s gone now.”

  Yes, said that cool, detached voice inside Carick. He shivered, feeling how cold the night had grown.

  Hamar, by comparison, was brisk, almost cheerful. “We need to go, too, if we don’t want to lose the others completely. You lead, Gir, and I’ll take the rear, just in case whatever-it-was comes after us.” He sounded untroubled by this prospect, and Carick felt his spirits lift—until a fresh realization struck him. He hesitated, frowning from one dark silhouette to the other.

  “You’re not carrying torches. Either of you.”

  “Your eyes adjust soon enough.” Girvase turned back to pick up his horse’s reins and Carick almost felt his shrug. “And we’ve both got good night sight.”

  “That’s why we were the ones sent back,” Hamar explained. “But you’ll definitely travel faster with a torch, so we’ll use one now we’ve found you.”

  Girvase nodded. “But keep close, all the same,” he told Carick. “And stay awake.”

  Chapter 20

  The Leas

  Even with the torch their descent was slow and weary. The path dropped steeply for a long time, only to rise into a second, brief climb before dropping down again. Despite Girvase’s admonition, Carick was nodding on Mallow’s back when they finally reached more level ground and the path widened. He jumped awake as two shadows rose from the fern on either side, arrows on the string, then relaxed as he recognized Raher and Aymil. A few seconds later and he was dropping from Mallow’s back into the middle of a fireless camp, with sleeping bodies curled amongst the tree roots.

  Carick leaned against the mare’s shoulder while his companions sought out Raven to make their report. “Is this The Leas?” he whispered to Audin, when the Duke’s nephew appeared at his side.

  “Herun thinks we’ve come out just above it,” Audin murmured back. “We’ll go on at first light.” He glanced up through the canopy. “Which can’t be far off now.”

  Not what I needed to hear, thought Carick, but he forced himself to look after Mallow and shake out his blanket before rolling into sleep. He felt as though he had barely closed his eyes when Hamar was saying his name again, shaking him awake. “It’s still dark,” Carick protested.

  “Not for long,” Hamar said. “We’ll hear the first birds any moment now and then it’ll be dawn. Ser Raven wants us moving before that.”

  Carick groaned, wondering if there was a bone or muscle in his body that didn’t ache. All around him a quiet bustle through the half-dark confirmed that the company was checking gear and preparing to ride. Jarna handed him a hunk of bread with cold meat, which he devoured, and then they were all up and in the saddle.

  By the time they reached the thinning trees on the forest edge it was light and a cacophony of birds masked their passage. Everyone seemed calm, but a tautness was there all the same, discernible as the current of cooler air from the meadow. Only Raven was bareheaded still, mist droplets beading his hair. He looked alert and not at all like someone who had just completed a grueling night march, snatching a few brief hours sleep on hard ground.

  The company halted just inside the treeline, studying the open land. Banks of mist rolled out from either side of the Rindle, which had dwindled to a small stream here as it purled from wooded hills. More ranges rose behind them, blue and wild, until they reached the jagged heights of the Western Mountains. The peaks were tipped with dawn as Carick turned to look back the way they had come. The ridge they had crossed swept up and away, still drowned in shadow that was broken only by jagged outcrops and sheer cliffs of pale stone. He found it hard to believe that they had made their way down in darkness and remained unscathed.

  Raher followed his gaze. “It’ll make a fine tale when we get back,” he said cheerfully, “the night march of Ser Raven and the squires of Normarch—even if you were just about to walk over one of those cliffs when Hamar and Girvase found you.”

  “Shut up, Raher,” said Hamar, but without heat. Girvase said nothing, simply turned and looked at Raher, who became absorbed in adjusting his shield strap.

  Carick wondered if his expression looked as hollow as his stomach felt. He was remembering how Girvase had stared into the darkness ahead of him when they first met—and how the squires made sure there was always one of them ahead and one behind him, for the rest of the descent. “Don’t worry about it, Carro,” Hamar said now. “The main thing is that it didn’t happen.”

  Out in the meadow a skylark rose from the mist and arrowed heavenward, its song pouring into the new day. Slowly at first, then with startling speed, the line of foothills turned from gray, to gold, to burning copper along their tops. Beneath the forest eave the company sat like statues, waiting.

  “They’re coming,” Solaan said. Her eyes were fixed on the skylark and she spoke so quietly that only those immediately around her heard. “Pursued and pursuers, both,” she added, “following the far bank of the Rindle.”

  How does she know? Carick wondered. He tried not to stare at the Hill woman, but he was remembering how she had taken the lead last night, as soon as it became dark. And she had known before he told her, when he found the beginning of the path across the ridge. Yet neither Raven nor Herun questioned Solaan’s statement, and those within earshot remained intent on the riverbed and wooded slopes beyond.

  “Do we ride out to meet them?” Audin asked.

  “No,” said Raven. “We wait and keep the advantage of surprise.”

  “But what,” Girvase demanded, his hand tight on his sword hilt, “if they all die before reaching The Leas?”

  “They won’t,” said Raven.

  Hamar’s horse moved, shaking out its mane. “Not all of them.” The squire’s eyes were fixed on Raven, his voice level. “But some may. You are relying on the rest being willing to sacrifice themselves to let Ghiselaine escape.”

  The knight’s stare raked them all. “Should I throw away your lives because the damosels of Normarch went willfully into danger? For now, they must take their chance.”

  Audin grimaced at Hamar,
briefly, once Raven turned back to the meadow, but no one spoke. Carick shifted in the saddle and wondered how long they would have to wait.

  “The gap is closing fast.” Solaan’s eyes remained fixed on the skylark, a tiny speck against the growing blue. “Soon the hunters will snap at their heels.”

  Girvase’s hand clenched and unclenched on his sword. Raven turned to Herun and the guards. “Take your longbows and the five best archers from amongst the squires and get as close to the stream as you can without breaking cover. As soon as the damosels cross, shoot at will into any pursuit.” He paused, his eyes quartering the meadow again. “Once we show ourselves, remount but stay in the woods as reserve. A single wind of the horn from the main melee and you charge. Hit them as hard as you can in the flank. Two horn blasts will mean retreat. Then you must cover us while we get ourselves and as many damosels as we can clear.”

  The skylark plummeted earthward, its song done. Herun and the guards disappeared along the curve of the wood with five of the squires, Gille and Ado amongst them. Carick could feel the grimness in the air as the remaining squires checked and rechecked their weapons, holding to the reassurance of habit. Raven broke in on his thoughts. “You, Maister Carick, will remain here with Solaan. In the last resort, the two of you must try and get the Countess away.”

  The color washed up into Carick’s face, then ebbed as quickly. “I can shoot a bow,” he said.

  He thought Raven might turn away without replying, but the knight shook his head. “So can Solaan—and use other weapons well. But her first responsibility is Ghiselaine and the damosels. Yours, now that you’ve gotten us here, is to help her at need. And stay alive if you can, Duke’s cartographer.” This time he did move away, leaving no opening for further protest.

  “Well, you are no fighter, Carro, we all know that,” Raher pointed out, bringing his horse up on Audin’s left side. “In a melee, you’d just be in the way.”

  “Shut up, Raher,” said Audin and Hamar in unison.