by GJ Kelly
“Perhaps now you will respect my ‘bah’, Leeny. I’m sorry if I sound gnarly or discourteous, I don’t mean to be. But we’re sitting in the middle of nowhere flanked by disgusting spike-plants, freezing cold in the dark with nothing but frak in our packs and spring water in our skins. Even if your ‘what ifs’ are the truth, we can do nothing but wait until morning, continue west, and go around the end of the line. Then we’ll go south, and find the last riders of Raheen. We’ll tell them of the threat and they can send word while you wait for Gawain to come. Wait for him to return to you, Leeny, don’t try to be him.”
“I wasn’t,” Elayeen frowned, “At least I don’t believe I was.”
“Bah. Go to sleep. Valin will take first watch.”
Elayeen curled up into a ball, pulled the hood down over her eyes with her fingertips, and closed her eyes. Was she trying to be Gawain? It would be a fool who tried, especially if the attempt were made by one with none of his background and education. Really, all Meeya had done was given her back her own advice, and in truth, there was nothing to support Elayeen’s suppositions regarding the Goth.
Sometimes, she knew, if you listened hard enough to the wind in the trees at night, you could hear voices. Sometimes, even the rain lashing on the windows seemed full of whispering, words just out of reach, sibilant sounds like a distant crowd murmuring. But the voices weren’t really there, they were simply a product of a tired mind trying to make sense of sounds which had no meaning other than the rustling of leaves, the rushing of the wind, or the teeming of the rain.
Something, though, was very wrong, and she knew it on an instinctive level even though she didn’t possess G’wain’s powerful insight. It went far beyond simple serendipity, the accident of the shipwreck, and their discovery of Kistin Fallowmead. Events were taking place around them, nebulous as the wispy clouds drifting overhead, unseen but for the serendipity of the moonlight which illuminated them. Somehow, everything that had happened since Tarn shared a connection, a common thread, which ran beyond the obvious fact of Morloch. Like her doublet of Red and Gold, she knew it was out there, but she couldn’t see it. Yet.
oOo
35. Dead Reckoning
The strip of land seeded by Spikebulbs was longer than they had imagined, but finally began to thin to the point where an elf gifted with the Sight might pick his way safely through on horseback. Elayeen, though, refused to take the risk and insisted they continue towards the hillier ground before them in the west. There were trees there, a small woodland, and as they neared it, they saw the shimmering silver of still water, a small lake. The prospect of wood for a fire and fish for lunch quickened their pace, and even though the ground to the south was now clear of all signs of Spikebulb, they made for the sanctuary of the copse.
They were forest-born, so Trigo, hunter of Fourfields, had called them. Fourfields and Croptop seemed an age ago now, but forest-born they were, and trees around them were a familiar comfort. Fish, however, were considerably more elusive than Silvertree and Ulmus. After a fruitless hour standing almost knee-deep in the freezing waters of the lake and breaking a precious arrow attempting for the umpteenth time to shoot a fish, Valin gave up, stomped off, and shot not one but three rabbits.
Somehow, the very presence of the trees around them lifted their mood, and while rabbit roasted on a makeshift spit and the sun lanced through budding branches overhead, dark imaginings faded, though of course a strong sense of caution and some urgency still remained. The lake, though, reminded Elayeen and Meeya that it had been some considerable time since last they’d bathed, and leaving Valin to the cooking, availed themselves and their clothes of the waters.
“Are we still friends, Leeny?” Meeya asked, sitting on the gravel bed of the lake up to her shoulders in the water, and doing the best she could with a cracked lump of soap to put some life back into her hair.
“Why would you ask such a foolish question?”
“You’ve been very quiet since my ‘bah’ last night.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“You do entirely far too much of that. Sometimes I think Vali is right, we should all be concerned with today far more than yesterday or tomorrow. The one’s gone, the other may never happen.”
“I do not think I will ever have that luxury again, soon. The further south we have travelled, the closer comes the decision I must make, and thereafter, my life is no longer my own. May I borrow the soap?”
“Of course, here. Did you keep the last of the stain lady Merrin gave you?”
“Yes, it’s in my saddle-bag.”
“I’ll put it on for you when your hair’s dry then.”
“Thank you.”
“My nails are broken and horrible to behold,” Meeya sighed.
“At least your legs are not spindly.”
“Will you stop about your legs? Leeny, there is nothing wrong with them. A week of happy feasting with the riders of Raheen and you’ll be back to your normal self. Gawain won’t notice a thing.”
“Except my scarecrow hair.”
“Bah. He’ll be far too busy to notice that.”
“I doubt it. By the time he finds us, I’ll likely be fat as a cow.”
Meeya paused from rinsing her hair. “You’ve made your decision then?”
“I have never really had a choice, Meemee,” Elayeen sighed, hastily splashing water on her face. But the subterfuge didn’t work, Meeya knew her too well not to have noticed the tears welling.
“Oh Leeny! Of course you have a choice! All of us do!”
“No, not I. I am only delaying the inevitable. If I were to choose to deny the Merionell, if I reject the seed I bear, I would never again be able to take G’wain into my arms. The one he calls Eldengaze would forever deny me his touch, for fear of the throth binding us again, and he would not understand. Only by bearing his child shall I be released from the bitch-wizard’s grip… you know the mother’s curse as well as I.”
Meeya nodded “Mothers for the sake of their children cannot become throth, unless they were so before the child is born.”
“And few throth-bound couples take the risk. My own mother and father did so only because it was expected of the crown. Sometimes I think the Toorsencreed would have liked for my mother to have died in childbirth when Gan was born. Then my father would have died athroth soon after, and Gan passed to someone else’s care, perhaps even raised by one of the Toorseneth. I would never have been.”
Meeya let out a long, shuddering sigh. “It isn’t fair. Nor is throth. I am glad Vali and I are not bound thus. You do not know the floods of tears that were wept for you when the first black strands appeared in your hair, and when Gawain left Elvendere, and you.”
“I wept a few myself, Meemee.”
“Nor can you know the joy so many of us felt when he returned for you. Oh, Leeny, the sight of him, dark-eyed with rage, hacking through the Circle of Faranthroth to save you! That is a story which no amount of shrivelled traitors in Toorsen’s Tower will ever be able to suppress. I do not think Thal-Gawain will ever truly understand what he did that day, nor the wheels he set in motion.”
“No,” Elayeen agreed, sadly. “I do not think any of us shall…” and then she hastily changed the subject, holding out her arms and rolling her wrists. “Do I look any cleaner?”
“About as clean as either of us ever will be with a freezing lake for a bath and shared cake of sheep-soap.”
“I hate to put on our grubby clothing again.”
“The spare clothes will dry soon, then the others can be washed too…”
“Arangard! Arangard an suten!” Valin screamed from the woods, pointing and gesticulating furiously.
As one, Elayeen and Meeya turned, and with eldeneyes saw the cause of his alarm. A dot, in the sky, and it was approaching…
They leapt from the shallows, stark naked, splashing through the waters to the shore, snatching up wet clothes as well as dry and sprinting to the cover of the trees.
“Has it
seen us?” Elayeen gasped, “Valin, has it seen us?”
“I do not know, miThalin,” the officer replied, gaze fixed firmly upon the approaching Graken while Meeya and Elayeen hurried to don the dry but dirty clothing, wet laundry dumped unceremoniously on the bracken and leaf litter in the copse. The dot in the sky became a hyphen, wings flapping languorously, powering the creature silently to within half a mile of them before it turned sharply due west, and faded from sight.
“Dwarfspit,” Elayeen sighed. “There is nothing in that direction but the hills of Dun Meven, a good week’s ride away.”
“And if it continues on that line all the way to southern Elvendere, the city of Calhaneth,” Meeya announced. “I noted it on the map yesterday.”
“That would make no sense at all,” Elayeen fidgeted uncomfortably, grimy clothes made damp and clammy by her wet skin and the water still dripping from her hair. “By now, G’wain has surely destroyed the Orb, and is making his way to Threlland with Allazar and the others.”
“What do we do, Leeny? Run south?”
“No. No, we’ll watch for the Graken’s return, and allow our clothes to dry. We’ll remain here and continue south tomorrow. I think I need another bath, too, the stink from this damp undershirt is awful.”
“Vali, is the rabbit ready?”
“The rabbit was ready half an hour ago, miheth. You were in the lake so long you’d think the water was hot and scented with rose petals.”
They ate, dried their clothes, and watched for the Graken’s return. It was hours later when Meeya spotted a dot in the sky well to the north, which flew an arrow-straight course southeast, passing them at the extent of their vision. With hours before sunset, they bathed again, washing their grimy clothing and changing into their clean dry garb, and explored the woodland around them a little. Not that it was remarkable and nor was there anything of note to be found, but it was good to be in the woods, in clean dry clothes, and spring in the air around them.
The Graken’s activity was vexing, though, but with nothing except speculation to steer any discussion about what it was doing, they tacitly agreed not to mention it. They ate well for a change, and though eldeneyes frequently scanned the sky around them, the camp was restful. Even the horses seemed cheerful.
Elayeen could not shake the feeling that this night in the copse by the unnamed lake was but a brief respite, a lull before a storm, and before sleep she checked her weapons, stowed her dry spare clothes neatly in her packs, and ensured everything was in its place should the need arise for a hasty departure. Her friends, noting her quiet and earnest preparations, felt it prudent to ready their own equipment and belongings likewise.
The decision to take the longer, westerly route around the lake before turning south after breakfast was Elayeen’s. It meant a leisurely stroll with the horses along the tree line, the sun rising behind them, and a chance to greet the day in peace. It was chilly, but the sun felt warmer each day, and what dew there had been quickly evaporated, and was gone.
It was only when they rounded the western tip of the lake that they caught their breath, and stood rooted to the spot. Stretching away before them, slightly north of west, another line of Flagellweed, as thick as the one they had encountered four days earlier blocking their return to the east.
“Vakin Dwarfspit!” Meeya spat, “That’s what the bastard was doing! Checking to see if his miserable crop had caught anything!”
“There is so much more to all this than we can see,” Elayeen groaned. “This is not some simple defence to protect a fleeing Goth-lord, it cannot be!”
Valin said nothing.
Elayeen felt the bubble of frustration rising, and gave vent to it, swearing, loudly, the same word over and over again until she ran out of breath.
“Do you feel better now, Leeny?”
“No. Vakin Dwarfspit, I do not. We need to tell the world of this. We can no longer ignore some Dwarfspit vakin wizard flapping about the place laying great swaths of evil and deadly plants at will.”
“South is denied us, it would seem, miThalin.”
“I know, Valin. Northwest then, towards the hills of Dun Meven. When we clear the line of Flagellweed, we’ll turn southwest to that place, Harks Hearth, where Kern of ‘Yorn elected to serve. If it’s as important as Major Tyrane said, there will be forces of Callodon there who can be trusted to carry word to Brock, and we might learn of G’wain and their quest for the Orb.”
“If the place is important to Callodon, miThalin, there may well be spies of the Toorsencreed there.”
“Perhaps.”
“Wouldn’t Dun Meven be much closer? We’re surely a lot closer to them than we are now either to the riders of Raheen or Harks Hearth.”
“True, but Dun Meven was depleted of its stores for the war in the north, and is nothing now but a hillside village. The likelihood of finding officers of Callodon there is remote.”
“Was it not a hill-fort?”
“Yes,” Elayeen agreed, remembering Tyrane’s description of the ‘museum’ where some rather shiny ‘ancient’ arms had been stored against they day they might be needed in a conflict with Juria. “Masquerading as a simple terraced village. But it always was a village, in spite of its secret stores of arms and its commanding heights. But with no military stores now and Brock having no time to replenish them, I doubt we’d find anything but simple villagers there now.”
“The last riders are still much closer than Harks Hearth,” Meeya suggested, delicately.
“And they are but five. To whom would they carry word of the Graken? Sudshear? Any forces that could possibly be raised there will by now be marching north to Fallowmead, unaware that victory was won there.”
“Assuming Sudshear has not fallen to the enemy,” Valin muttered.
“If we alerted the riders to the danger of the Graken, they would doubtless send word to Brock of Callodon, and the nearest of Brock’s outposts to them and to us is Harks Hearth. Here, see for yourselves,” and Elayeen passed the map to Valin.
It was, of course perfectly true. They were now, by dead reckoning, due north of Lake Arrunmere, slightly southeast of Dun Meven, which was closer to them now than the region wherein dwelled the last of Gawain’s people. They could see the hillier country on the western horizon, beyond which the taller slopes of Dun Meven lay. It was, however, a goodly distance to Harks Hearth from where they sat saddle.
“Five or six days from Dun Meven to Harks Hearth, if this map is to scale,” Meeya declared, “Four or five days from us to Dun Meven. If we turn southwest soon, then eight days riding at urgent pace will see us in Harks Hearth.”
“Then the sooner we round the end of this line of Flagellweed, the sooner we can carry word of this threat to Callodon, and Brock can come to Arrun’s aid.”
They set off, and this time with a greater sense of urgency and purpose, the broad stripe of Flagellweed on their left flank running across the undulating grasslands, and into a copse. There, they spent a little time considering forcing a passage through the weeds, but the plants grew strong, seeds easily taking root in rich soil fed by decaying leaf litter, buds on the branches and twigs overhead no barrier to the seeds scattered from the Graken’s back.
Instead, they passed through the copse, and were quickening their pace, the end of the line of Flagellweed in sight, when Meeya called an alarm.
“Behind us! Behind us! The Graken!”
They turned, and tried for the safety of the woodland, but they had been seen, the Graken swooping down, the rider leaning forward, holding a long rod outstretched before him, dark grey balls of smoke dropping into the trees…
Boughs shattered when the smoky spheres struck, sending splinters high and wide, the Graken still advancing rapidly towards them. But the elves were already turning sharply away to the north, and riding hard away from the danger.
The horses, well rested after almost a week of gentle care, galloped hard and with no need for urging by their riders; the concussions of the fireba
lls in the copse and on the soft ground behind them was all the urging they needed.
Elayeen twisted her head for a glance over her shoulder, and finally caught sight of the Graken swinging around and positioning itself to swoop in from behind them. On they charged, white-faced, teeth clenched, hunched forward. As the Graken began its dive, the smoky spheres beginning to form at the end of the rider’s rod, Elayeen screamed a command: “Break now! Break!”
Valin swung hard to the right, Meeya hard to the left, and a couple of heartbeats later, still watching the Graken’s dive over her left shoulder, Elayeen broke to the left too.
Great gouts of earth were flung up by the Graken-rider’s fireballs, leaving a row of twinned craters smoking in the grass as it sped away to the north, rising higher, and slowing. Valin turned towards Elayeen and Meeya the moment the Graken had passed clear toward the north, and the two elfins swung towards the northwest as he did so, shortening the gap between them a little and slowing their horses.
“There’s no cover!” Elayeen shouted to Meeya.
“We have to stand and shoot!” Meeya called back.
“No!”
On they rode, Valin catching them, and eldeneyes watched at the Graken circled slowly around to the east, gliding easily, the rider in no hurry. The nearest woodland now was at least three miles to the west, and it was in that direction Elayeen turned.
“Stand and shoot!” Meeya cried again.
“No!” Elayeen shouted back, watching as the Graken lost a little altitude and began another run from the south. “Make ready!”
Bows were dragged from shoulders, arrows nocked, the horses running, breath snorting, short of a full gallop.
“Slower!” Elayeen cried, and gently eased her horse back a little, Meeya and Valin slowing likewise and edging closer, the three elves riding in a tight wedge, with Elayeen at the point.
The Graken adjusted its course in response to their change in speed, but it was moving quickly, the rider bringing it in low for another strafing run but entirely unused, Elayeen hoped, to attacking fast-moving targets on the ground.