by Roger Taylor
'About a dozen or so, I think,’ Tybek said hesitantly, still uncomprehending.
'Get the healer to look to those immediately,’ Loman said to Jenna. ‘Then start casually gathering them into groups. Talk to them as we agreed until they're more settled. Then see if you can get any of them to talk about what's happened—or what they think has happened.'
As Jenna walked off, Loman looked up at the surrounding mountains. Everything was still and silent, and except for a signaller standing high on a prominent ledge, there was no sign of any living creature. The sight of the signaller reminded him of something, but the thought refused to form and with a slight frown he turned back to the camp.
* * * *
Several hours later, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and low evening clouds began to form around the higher peaks, Loman and Jenna led the duty patrol into the central camp. With them were Tybek and the others from camp three.
An anxious crowd headed by a young man wearing a duty officer's sash was waiting for them.
'No one's been seriously injured,’ Loman said, before anyone could speak. ‘There's a couple who'll have to go back to the Castle, but the rest can be tended here.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Leave them to the tender hands of Tirilen's trainees—that'll teach them not to fight amongst themselves.'
But neither the news nor the jest affected the crowd's concern.
'What's the matter?’ Loman said, frowning.
'There's been serious fighting at camp six,’ said the duty officer suddenly, as if anxious to be rid of his burden.
'How serious?’ Loman said.
'We don't know,’ said the man. ‘The last message we got said, “send no more—Athyr", and then they stopped.'
'Stopped?’ Loman said.
The man nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The stations in sight of camp six stopped responding.'
Loman looked at Jenna, his face tense and pale. ‘We never signalled back,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Told them what we'd done.'
Jenna looked down. ‘He mightn't have seen it, on the move,’ she offered after a moment, but the comment held no consolation.
Loman closed his eyes and bowed his head.
'I'll get the injured attended to straight away, Loman.’ The duty officer's voice brought him back to the present. ‘And make arrangements for the quartering of camp three, but what shall I do about Athyr?'
Loman rubbed his finger on his forehead absently, then looked up at the purpling sky. Some of the mountain top clouds were red in the glow of the unseen sun, others were now leaden and cold.
'Have all the signallers been reinforced?’ he asked.
'Yes.'
'Send this,’ Loman said. ‘"Look at the evening light, Orthlundyn. Look at the shadows and the rock. Turn your minds to your carving."'
The man frowned uncertainly. ‘I don't understand,’ he said.
'Just send it,’ Loman said decisively. ‘And tell the signallers to keep repeating it until they get a response from every station.’ Still uncertain, the man looked up at him. ‘Through the night, or until I countermand the order,’ Loman said, anticipating the next question.
The man nodded to a nearby signaller who ran off immediately. ‘But what have I to do about Athyr?’ he asked again, turning back to Loman.
'Nothing,’ Loman said, ‘Jenna and I will go to camp six alone, now. See that the night duty patrol is alert and that everybody else is bedded down early. Tomorrow could prove to be trying. I want everybody fresh.'
'Do you want me to come with you?’ Tybek asked.
Loman shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Stay here. Tell everyone what's happened, and if you haven't had a signal from us by dawn, move out in force.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘But gently, Tybek, gently.'
* * * *
While the light held, Loman and Jenna maintained a steady trot, but as it failed they were obliged to slow down to a walk. For a while they had to strike their torches, but eventually a full moon rose above the peaks and filled the valleys with glistening silver light.
Above them, Loman's message flickered from peak to peak, as torches replaced the daytime flags.
Jenna shivered, and wrapped her cloak about her.
'Cold?’ Loman asked.
'Inside and out,’ she replied. ‘Cold, sick, guilty, everything, Loman. And still frightened.'
He leaned over and laid his hand on her arm. ‘The fear, you'll handle,’ he said. ‘I know you. As for the guilt—leave it for another time.'
Jenna made to speak but Loman shook his head. ‘I know we made a mistake in not signalling back what we'd done, but you were quite right, Athyr mightn't have seen the message while he was on the move. And if he had there's no saying he would have been as lucky as we were. Save the guilt, Jenna, until we know what's happened, and until we're both less tired.'
'I'll try,’ she said flatly. ‘But...’ She abandoned the sentence and for some time the two rode along in silence.
Reaching the end of a long incline, they found themselves on a broad rounded shoulder between two mountains. Halfway up one of them a signal light moved. Loman lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled.
'Any news from camp six?’ his message said.
The sudden piercing noise made Jenna start, and shook her out of her preoccupation.
The lights above faltered and, reacting to her immediate alarm, Jenna smiled. ‘You'll frighten them to death, Loman,’ she said. ‘They probably think you're Alphraan.’ Loman nodded and striking his torch waved it in a wide arc over his head. He whistled the message again.
'No,’ came back the curt reply. Then, after a pause, ‘Good luck. Will keep sending your message.'
Loman acknowledged with another whistle and a wave of his torch then he peered down into the moonlit valley below.
'How far's the camp from here?’ he asked.
'Not far,’ Jenna replied. ‘A couple of hours at this speed.’ She pointed. ‘It's round that spur,’ she said. ‘It's only just out of sight, but you'll not see it until we're almost on top of it.'
Loman nodded. ‘And the signal stations?’ he said.
Jenna indicated three well-spaced peaks. Loman glowered into the shining darkness, remembering his own helplessness in the thrall of the Alphraan. How many of his people were lying thus now? He clicked his horse forward.
A wave of anger washed over him at the thought of the signallers, bound and impotent in their high sanctuaries. But something diverted it into more reflective considerations.
There were inconsistencies in what had happened. The predominant weather in the mountains was cloudy, with mist and rain making visual signalling difficult. Presumably therefore the Alphraan had chosen such a clear day for their attack so that some form of investigating force would be drawn into the fray. Yet if this were so, why would they paralyse the communications from one and not the other?
Perhaps the weight of numbers was indeed presenting them with problems? Perhaps they had a strategy whose subtlety couldn't yet be seen? It occurred to Loman that random and inconsistent behaviour was an admirable tactic for destroying morale. Perhaps again they were random and inconsistent, either through their nature, or because, as Gulda reasoned, they were divided amongst themselves?
'Riders.'
Jenna's whisper cut through Loman's circling speculation. He felt his pulse start to race as he reined to a halt. ‘Where?’ he whispered in reply, as if fearful of what the dark shadows around them might hear.
Jenna pointed.
Loman leaned forward, his eyes intent. Slowly weaving its way along the valley was an unsteady thread of mottled light and shadow that slowly resolved itself into a long line of riders. It was too far away to form any judgement about their condition.
'Halfway from the camp,’ Loman said. He looked again at the peaks which housed the signalling stations. Nothing. Just darkness.
'They were in the shade before,’ Jenna said. ‘That's why we didn't see them sooner.'
Loman stared p
ensively at the distant riders.
'Should we signal them?’ Jenna asked. Loman caught the flicker of the same request from above.
'No,’ he replied to Jenna. Then taking her torch he dismounted and signalled a formal reply to the signaller. ‘No. Continue original message as ordered, but report the sighting and our actions back to central camp.'
'Signals won't tell us anything about them,’ he said, remounting and handing Jenna's torch back to her. ‘If they're hostile in any way, they'll only lie. We'll approach openly, as we did at three.'
'And be ready to run?’ Jenna said.
Loman nodded earnestly, and the two moved forward again.
'This is difficult,’ Jenna said, after a while. ‘I'm trying to be at ease, but I'm too tired and anxious to think about carving, or to look at the moon shadows. Or anything except...’ She nodded ahead.
'Yes,’ Loman agreed reluctantly. ‘Me, too. I think that's the best we can do this time. Be concerned. It'll suffice. At least it's not warlike.'
In the deceptive perspective of the mountains the route towards the approaching riders seemed like a gently undulating slope, but as Loman and Jenna moved gradually down into the valley, they found that the column disappeared for long periods behind large local variations in the terrain.
Eventually Jenna raised her hand. ‘We'd better wait here. We might pass them if we go much further.'
Loman agreed and they positioned themselves on a conspicuous outcrop washed with bright moonlight.
The mountains around them were patched with shining silver and subtle moon-hazed shade. Here and there, tumbling streams caught by the moonlight shone more brightly than they did on a summer's day. The whole scene was hauntingly beautiful.
'I can sympathize with anyone wanting to keep war and violence away from here,’ Jenna said, keeping her voice low, as if it were an intrusion.
Loman nodded. ‘Better here than in the villages,’ he said sadly. ‘At least the mountains are oblivious to our antics. They were here before we were, and they'll be here when we're gone.'
'I know, but...'
Loman turned to her. ‘I understand,’ he said. But in his mind was the thought that just as the mountains were gradually changed by forces they knew nothing of, so might that not also be the case for humanity also? It was a dark, frightening thought, and he did not welcome it.
As if disturbed by its rider's sudden unhappy preoccupation, Loman's horse stirred slightly, its hooves scraping on the rock. Moonlight glinted off its harness, catching Loman's eye like a brilliant evening star. He smiled and patted the animal gently. At the worst, he thought, if he couldn't see his chains, at least he felt free. At the best, he was free.
Slowly the soft night noises of the mountains were joined by the faint clinking and rattling of the approaching column. But no voices could be heard.
Loman's horse whinnied.
Jenna reached out and took Loman's hand. The lead rider came over the rise immediately by them. His head was bowed. Behind him came the rest of the column, silent and ghostly in the white moonlight.
* * *
Chapter 25
The four men stood in silence for some time, staring up at the mountain that barred their way.
Tirke voiced the predominant apprehension. ‘We don't have to go ... over that, do we?’ he asked, pointing hesitantly towards the mountain's cloud-covered peak.
Dacu chewed his bottom lip. ‘Damn near,’ he said, and, without further comment, he mounted his horse and rode forward. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We must get as far as we can before that lot arrives.’ He inclined his head towards the darkness shadowing the clouds to the north.
The others mounted and rode after him.
'There's no way round?’ Isloman asked.
Dacu waved his hand in a sweeping gesture. The mountain rose out of a long series of high peaks and ridges which faded into the grey, rain-swept distance.
'Wouldn't west take us straight through to Orthlund?’ Isloman said.
Dacu nodded. ‘Just about,’ he said. ‘But it's precious little shorter and I've no idea if we can get through that way.'
'What do you know about this way?’ Isloman asked, nodding towards the mountain. ‘Did you ever get this far when you were training?'
Dacu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, slightly surprised. ‘Of course not.’ He patted one of his pockets. ‘But according to the map and what we could glean from the records at Eldric's, there's a way through up there.’ He pointed up at the broad spur swinging down on the right hand side of the mountain.
Isloman looked at it. ‘The map,’ he said uncertainly.
A small spasm of irritation shone in Dacu's eyes. ‘The map's fine, Isloman,’ he said slowly. ‘It's got us this far without any problem. There's a lot missing from it, but what it shows has been correct.'
Isloman frowned. ‘So far,’ he said. ‘If the Goraidin never came this far south, then probably no one has for years. There could be anything around the other side of that spur.'
Dacu's jaw came out. ‘I'm aware of that. But we've got our wits, haven't we?’ He slapped his map pocket again. ‘And no reason to suppose there isn't a way through when we get up there. At least we have some semblance of a route. Who knows what we'll run into if we turn west?'
Isloman turned to Hawklan. ‘Do these mountains mean anything to you, Hawklan?’ he asked.
Hawklan shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing. But we've had no real certainty about a route since we came into the mountains. Why the sudden concern?'
The question was unexpectedly sharp and seemed to startle Isloman. For a moment he did not speak.
'I'm sorry,’ he said eventually, slightly flustered. ‘I've got bad memories of being lost in the snow ... I...'
Hawklan rode alongside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I'd forgotten. But they were different times, Isloman. And you survived those against both the elements and an enemy. Don't let the Morlider destroy you now, twenty years later. Not when you're heading home with friends.'
'I know. I'm sorry,’ Isloman repeated. ‘It was just a shock coming on that mountain so suddenly. It's so big. Just give me a little time.’ Then he urged his horse forward to ride just behind Dacu at the front of the small procession.
For the rest of that day, the quartet rode on in comparative silence. Isloman's unexpected moodiness gradually passed, unable to sustain itself against his natural disposition now its cause had been named, but the blustering showers confined everyone to their cloaks and hoods, and the absence of the Alphraan left them all with an indefinable sense of loss.
Dacu pressed forward steadily but relentlessly and by the end of the day they had crossed the valley and made good progress up the huge rocky spur.
Sitting in the quiet warmth of the shelter their spirits began to return, though concern about the following day's travel and the fate of the Alphraan returning to their mysterious Heartplace, tended to dominate their thoughts.
'I keep expecting them to interrupt at any minute,’ Tirke said, breaking a brief silence in the conversation.
Hawklan smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It's very strange. An entire people living as our neighbours for so long, and no one knowing anything about them.'
Gavor coughed.
'Except the “Sky Prince” here, of course,’ he added with a laugh. ‘Or whatever it is they call you.'
Gavor was haughty. ‘I can quite see why they kept themselves to themselves, dear boy,’ he said. ‘They're obviously people of considerable refinement and good taste. Unlike certain parties around here.'
'Of course, your highness,’ Tirke said, fluttering his elbows and bowing.
Gavor looked at him balefully. ‘Would you like some more help with your journal, dear boy,’ he said loudly. ‘You seem to have forgotten it tonight.’ Dacu raised his eyebrows and Tirke glowered at his betrayer. ‘Oh, and don't forget, there are two Ls in valley,’ Gavor added.
Hawklan called a truce
, and a companionable silence descended on the group as Tirke dutifully worked on his journal.
After a while Hawklan yawned and lay down to stare contentedly at the roof of the shelter as it moved gently to and fro in the still boisterous wind. Occasional flurries of rain rattled against it, and each time Dacu inclined his head slightly, unconsciously listening for the change in tone that would indicate a change from rain to snow.
Catching himself at it, he smiled and shook his head. Then he pulled out the map and began studying it pensively. Isloman leaned across and peered over his shoulder. Dacu eyed him uncertainly, like a schoolteacher expecting an impertinent question.
'We're about here, I presume,’ Isloman said, after a moment's consideration. His large finger tapped the map gently.
'Yes,’ Dacu replied. He made a small cross where Isloman had indicated, and wrote a number by it. Then, with a slow steady stroke of his pen, he joined the cross to another at the end of a line which wound down through the mountains from Fyorlund. It was a small, complete, and relaxed gesture that, to an eye like Isloman's, told of years of discipline and practice.
Isloman smiled. ‘I'd forgotten how precise you all were,’ he said reflectively. ‘Except when it got really ... grim ... Commander Dirfrin kept his journal meticulously, just like you do. And he made the others keep theirs. They were works of art. I even used some of your drawing techniques in my carving plans.'
Dacu glanced at him without lifting his head. ‘Really?’ he said in soft and genuine surprise. ‘You surprise me.’ He waved a hand over the map. ‘This is just routine information recording.'
'You misjudge yourself, Goraidin,’ Isloman said, leaning back. ‘It's far more than that. It's artistry—a kind of perfection.'
Dacu looked at his handiwork and then at Isloman to see if the carver was teasing him. But Isloman was quite serious.
'Others depend on our precision,’ Dacu said, slightly embarrassed. ‘We can always yarn to each other about our exploits and our terrible sufferings.’ He laid his hand on his chest in self-mockery. ‘But these’—he tapped the map and the journal—‘must show only what is relevant to the needs of other people in other times.’ He looked suddenly thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it is like your carving. When it's done well it shows none of the pain of its making.'