Mistaking her reluctance, Calandryll said gently, "No harm shall come to you, of that I'm sure. Only place your hands on the blade."
Had she possessed a beating heart, it would have raced as she fastened her grip carefully about the steel.
Nothing happened and Calandryll said, "You see? Dera's magic vouchsafes her honesty. She's no more than she claims—a luckless refugee."
"No longer luckless, I think," Cennaire murmured as he sheathed the sword.
Bracht grunted his acceptance of her honesty and said, "You're set on bringing her?"
"What else can we do?" came the answer. "Save go back and find the closest camp? That way we grant Rhythamun even more time. And she knows his face—does that not lend her value?"
Bracht nodded reluctantly and looked to Katya.
"How say you?"
"That we've little choice but to take her. And she may well prove valuable."
The Kern sighed and shrugged. "So be it then— she comes with us." He returned his gaze to Cennaire. "We ride hard, and into danger. You may well find a death less pleasant in our company than if you remain here."
"I'd accompany you/' she said with absolute conviction. "Wherever you go, I'd not pass another day alone here."
"Then we're four." He looked up at the sky, where cloud scudded, driven on the strengthening of the ever-present wind, the sun moved closer to the western horizon. "We'll start down come dawn."
"Not now?" asked Calandryll! "Shall we grant Rhythamun another day?"
Bracht ducked his head. "Do we start down now, night shall find us on the Daggan Vhc. That descent will take two days—at least"—this with a glance in Cennaire's direction—"and the Blood Road's ill-equipped with stopping places. Better we have a full day and rested animals."
"As you say," Calandryll allowed, "but I'd sec this fabulous road now."
Bracht grinned then and pointed toward the Kess Imbrun: "There it lies."
Cennaire clung to Calandryll's arm as he walked toward the chasm, risking a brief indulgence in her enhanced senses. Through the mingled odors of musky sweat and horseflesh and leather that emanated from him she caught a welter of scents. She aroused him, she recognized, but also that such feelings confused him, as if they came unexpected, distracting him from the greater purpose of his quest. She smelled determination, as if he struggled to set aside his desire, and wondered if he was a virgin, that thought intriguing. She needed no rev- enant's skills to tell her he was strong and after that swift investigation, she forced her senses dormant, still unsure what powers these three questers commanded.
The air shimmered on the updraft from the Kess Imbrun, the latening of the day shrouding the farther rim in misty blue haze. The grass of Cuan na'For ran to the very edge, ending abruptly where the ground fell away as if cut by some unimaginably gigantic knife, sheer cliffs falling down vast and smooth into depths masked now by shadow, night already descended there. The immensity of the rift was seductive, beckoning observers, tempting them to take one more step and give themselves over to the emptiness, so much space below it seemed impossible a body should ever find the ground, but float, riding the air currents like the black birds that spiraled beneath them. Unthinking, Cennaire pressed closer against Calandryll's side, and felt his arm encircle her shoulders. She leaned against him as Bracht pointed a little way eastward, where the rimrock was split, a gully cut down through the cliff. Lower, it widened and bled out onto a ledge, broad enough for several horses to pass abreast, running across a buttress around the farther edge of which the trail was lost.
"The Daggan Vhe," Bracht said.
"Dera!" Calandryll's voice was awed as he looked from the trail to the immensity of the Kess Imbrun. "It's vast."
"Aye," returned Bracht, "and not the easiest of rides."
"Which way shall Rhythamun take?" asked Katya, less impressed by the chasm for her familiarity with the mountains of her homeland. "Shall he go east, west, or north?"
"If he moves toward the Borrhun-maj as we believe," Bracht answered, "he'll go a little westward and take the closest trail up."
"With three—now four—days' start," Katya murmured, "and into a land we know little of, save that we shall likely be unwelcome there."
"But with one who knows his Jesseryte face," said Calandryll, his arm still comfortingly about Cennaire's shoulders, his next words alarming her: "And surely there are sorcerers among them. Shall they not discern our purpose, as did the ghost- talkers of Cuan na'For?"
"If the warriors don't kill us first," said Bracht.
"That threat's been ever present." Calandryll grinned. "Shall it halt us now?"
The question was rhetorical and neither Bracht nor Katya deigned to answer, only grinned back and turned away from the great dividing rift.
IT was easy for Cennaire to maintain her role as they lounged about the fire. Whatever magic Calandryll's sword possessed, it had not shown her reve- nant, and they all three accepted her as a natural woman cast adrift by misfortune. What questions were directed at her, she could readily answer, they being far more concerned with Rhythamun than her past, and she with excuse enough to question them.
Playing her part—though whether for Anomius or herself now, she was not certain—she acted the innocent, gleaning the bones of their story as she pretended hunger and wolfed down meat.
"In Varent den Tarl's form Rhythamun duped us and snatched the book when we thought it safe,” Calandryll explained, "using his magic to transport himself from Tezin-dar back to Aldarin. There he took the body of Daven Tyras—the man you saw ensorcell the Jesserytes—and we have chased him since. North across Lysse, and then the length of Cuan naTor. We think he travels to the Borrhun- maj; to the lands beyond."
"Does aught lie beyond?" Cennaire wondered.
Bracht answered that with a curt, barking laugh: "That we shall likely discover, do we live long enough."
"Perhaps Tharn's resting place," Calandryll said, softer. "It's Rhythamun's intent to raise the Mad God, to stand at Tharn's elbow and rule the world."
"I'd thought Tharn and Balatur were both sent into limbo by the First Gods," Cennaire whispered, "banished by their parents for the chaos their warring brought."
"Aye, they were," Calandryll agreed solemnly. "But Yl and Kyta did not slay them, only sent them into the limbo of eternal sleep, their resting places hidden. The Arcanum reveals those places, and Rhythamun already holds the gramaryes of raising. Does he reach his goal, then he'll bring all the world down in chaos."
"And you three quest against him," she murmured, impressed despite herself, "and the Younger Gods themselves come to your aid."
"In Kandahar, Burash saved us from the Chaipaku"—Calandryll nodded—"and brought us swift across the Narrow Sea to Lysse. There, Dera appeared to us; she blessed my blade that it might stand against fell magic. In Cuan na'For, Ahrd saved Bracht from crucifixion, and sped us through the Cuan na'Dru."
"Not quite swift enough," Bracht remarked wryly-
"But closer than we've been ere now." Calandryll smiled at Cennaire. "And with one who knows his face. Perhaps you were put here by the gods to aid us."
She answered his gallantry with a smile of her own, that freezing on her fresh-washed face as a new thought filtered into her mind. Suspicions and fragments of knowledge, both those imparted by Anomius and those picked up on her own quest, came together, and she saw the true enormity of what Rhythamun intended. It alarmed her, for she realized that the sorcerer was bent on the destruction of the world, and that did he succeed in his aim, she, too, was likely doomed. With such power as Tharn would grant him, Rhythamun must surely stand supreme among sorcerers, a madman with ultimate power. Anomius was no less insane, and no less likely to confront Rhythamun—and lose, she thought, for with Tharn's aid, Rhythamun must be omnipotent. What should her fate then be? As Anomius's creation, as his agent, she must surely be condemned with him: did Rhythamun succeed in raising Tharn, then likely she was doomed as certainly as these three.
&nb
sp; Her agile mmd assessed the dilemma, reaching only one conclusion: that for her own sake she must lend the questers what support she could, for the defeat of Rhythamun was as much in her own interest as theirs, or the world's. After that. . . after that, she must decide again. To take the Arcanum and bring it to Anomius? What then? Should her usefulness not then be ended and she discarded as Anomius took up the same mad game? Perhaps better to give wholehearted aid, and throw herself on the mercy of the Younger Gods when—if!—the quest was won. Were she to share in that victory, surely the Younger Gods would forgive her many past transgressions. She did not, could not, know: only that for now she was bound to these three, their quest become hers in a manner she dare not reveal to them.
Calandryll misinterpreted her silence. "The gods move mysteriously/' He smiled. "Perhaps they did put you here, but whether or not, it's of no matter—we found you and now we ride together."
She found cause for hope in that and smiled afresh, saying, "I think mischance put me here, but still I'll do all I can to aid you."
"Well said," applauded Calandryll.
Across the fire, Katya smiled and Bracht nodded, taciturn, and suggested they sleep, mounting a watch against the possibility that Cennaire's fictional raiders remained in the vicinity.
Katya took the first shift, waking Calandryll to a night bright with stars, undisturbed by anything save the distant howling of the wild dogs that hunted the grasslands. It was warm, the summer by now well advanced, and he rose, taking up his bow and walking a little way off from the fire to hunker down where flame-glow should not hinder his night vision. In his mind he saw, clear, Cennaire's face.
DAWN came early, heralded by the myriad small birds that inhabited the grasslands, their chorus begun while the sun still lay below the eastern horizon. The sky there brightened, lightening to pale blue as great radiant shafts drove upward from beneath the world's rim. Random billows of cumulus drifted on the breeze, ethereal islands in the vastness of the sky. The loud chorusing of the birds dispersed into individual songs as the avians completed their daily welcome and went about their individual business. Calandryll rose, shaking dew from his blanket, and scooped handfuls from the grass to bathe his face before rummaging through his saddlebags in search of comb and mirror. Bracht was crouched by the fire, their breakfast cooking, grinning as he watched Calandryll perform his careful toilet,
"Handsome as a prince—she'll surely be impressed," he murmured, just loud enough his friend should hear, the comment eliciting an embarrassed grin in response. It had been a while since he took such care of his appearance.
Katya and Cennaire woke, rising and walking a distance off to perform their own ablutions, the one limber, the other feigning a degree of stiffness. Calandryll watched her, his mind no less troubled by her presence for what little sleep he had managed.
She seemed cheerful enough as she came back to the fire, which he put down to her relief at finding herself no longer alone, and he wondered if she truly comprehended the enormity of the journey she was about to start. He pushed the thought aside: without alternatives there was no point to worrying.
For her part, Cennaire pretended a healthy appetite, consuming the portion of the stew Bracht handed her with gusto, returning Calandryll's greeting with a demure smile, nodding obediently as the Kern advised her she should ride with him.
"My black's the strongest horse," he explained, "and likely the surest-footed. The Daggan Vhe runs steep at times, and often narrow. Hold tight to me, and if you fear the heights, close your eyes."
"I shall," she promised.
Calandryll experienced some small prickling of resentment that Bracht so casually assumed to command the raven-haired woman, then silently cursed himself for such foolishness. What Bracht said was right, and only sensible,- there was no more in it than concern for safety and speed. He quelled his momentary jealousy, though he could not help regretting it would be Bracht's waist her arms encircled rather than his.
They finished eating and stamped the fire dead, then saddled the animals and mounted. Gallantly, Calandryll helped Cennaire astride the black horse, excited despite himself by the contact. Her skin was soft and smooth, and when she murmured thanks he bowed as if he were back in the court at Secca. Then blushed as he saw Katya studying him speculatively, amusement in her eyes, and hurried to his own mount.
"Who leads?" he wondered, thinking that Rhythamun might well have left some occult creation behind to ward his back. "What if the way is guarded?"
"In Kandahar, Anomius was weakened by much use of magic," Bracht returned. "Think you Rhythamun is different?"
"Anomius still found the power to create the golem, and Rhythamun is a greater mage." Calandryll walked his horse level with the Kern's, touching the hilt of his sword. "I've this—best I take the van."
Bracht shrugged and said, "So be it," though his expression suggested he thought perhaps Calandryll looked to impress Cennaire with his courage. "But carefully."
Calandryll nodded and turned the chestnut horse into the gully, down through shadow to the sunlit ledge beyond.
From the rimrock the Kess Imbrun had been impressive enough, but now it seemed he stood at the world's edge, infinity yawning below him. To his right, the cliff fell down immense, precipitous wralls and massive spines transforming the landscape into a ragged labyrinth of mazed canyons that tumbled chaotically downward, obscuring the river at the chasm's base. The farther cliffs were hidden behind a curtain of bluish mist and birds hung on the air currents, so that it w'as as though he looked down on the sky itself. His horse fretted, sensing its rider's awed uneasiness, and he urged it leftward, closer to the reassuring inner rockface. Behind him, he heard the clatter of hooves on the stone floor of the gully, and Bracht's shout.
"What is it?"
He swallowed: it seemed the sheer vastness of the descent clogged his throat. "Naught," he called back. "No danger, only this place."
He walked his horse onward, leaving the others room, and heard Cennaire cry out, Katya's gasp.
"This is the wider part." Bracht's voice was casual; Calandryll wondered if such nonchalance was assumed. "The trail will narrow lower down."
Calandryll went on, across the roof of the buttress that formed the shelf, and found the road turned back past the edge, traversing a sheer, smooth rockface. It was unnervingly narrow there, and he concentrated on the way, not wanting to look leftward, to where the trail dropped off, unaware that he rode wdth gritted teeth until the muscles of his jaw began to ache. He saw an eagle soar past, on a level, unblinking yellow eyes fixing him for a moment before the great bird dipped a wing and drifted clear. The sun rose higher, filling the chasm with light, the cliffs shining myriad shades of red and brown and yellow, the light growing steadily to finally reveal the thread of blue, distant below, where the river ran. It seemed impossible they should ever reach that goal: Calandryll chose not to think that after that they must climb the farther side.
Down and down they went, along a zigzagging switchback, across ledges scarcely wider than the horses' girth, where they dismounted and led the animals, across more slabby buttresses, through clefts, where the rock walls offered comfort; along shelves that widened a little while before the trail turned again. None spoke: it was as though the enormity of the Kess Imbrun leeched their breath, leaving only concentration and the desire to reach the foot of the rift.
The light faded, shadow pooling below, the air ahead translucent as the sun closed on the western horizon, and from behind, Bracht called, "Best we halt at the next wide place. I'd not attempt this in darkness."
Calandryll nodded without speaking, peering into the rapidly blueing air for sign of some suitable place.
He saw it as they rounded a spur, the way narrow there, but spreading beyond into a ledge of a size large enough to accommodate them all, with room for the horses. "Here?" he suggested, sighing his relief when Bracht voiced agreement.
The platform was reassuringly broad, marked at its farther perimeter
by a tall jut of stone around which the Daggan Vhe continued its descent, the edge sharp, but the slope there angled and less sheer than the wall behind. It was a cheerless place, bereft of timber or water, but as good a stopping place as any other they might find; and dusk came fast here, the sun already dropping below the western cliffs.
"We make cold camp this night," Bracht remarked, fetching a hobble from his saddlebags. "Cold food and no fire."
Calandryll nodded in reply, hobbling his own mount, and asked, "Shall the horses be safe?"
"All being well," came the answer, and then the Kern walked to the farther side of the shelf, peering into the shadows that now masked the descending trail.
Calandryll joined him, but there was little to see, only rock that darkened to the color of dried blood, blank night falling beyond. They went back, finding Katya busying herself with the spreading of blankets and cloaks, setting them between the horses and the rimrock.
"Is Vanu much like this?" Bracht asked as he joined her.
"A little." Katya brushed hair that in the gathering night was the color of old silver from her face. "There are some trails like this, but the mountains are higher and the ways mostly wider."
"Ahrd, but I've seen enough of mountains to last me a lifetime," Bracht muttered, his grin belying his morose tone.
"You'll likely see more." The warrior woman smiled at him across the blanket they spread, tossing her head in the direction of the chasm's far side.
"Still, on the Jesseryn Plain we'll ride flat land again." Bracht answered her smile with his own. "Ahrd be praised."
Cennaire went to where Calandryll was bringing food from their packs and asked, "What may I do?"
He passed her dried meat. "Take this, if you will," he said, thrilling as her hands touched his, adding, to conceal his excitement, his embarrassment, "It's poor enough fare, but all we'll manage here."
Cennaire nodded, aware without any use of her preternatural senses that her proximity aroused him. Best, she decided, to play the part of demure maiden. Did he come to love her, better it be naturally, in his own time, and without overmuch encouragement from her. She had no doubt she could ensnare him with her wiles, with artful guile—she had employed such artifice enough before—nor any that he would succumb unwitting, but with the others present such tactics would be dangerous. Bracht, she sensed, was not yet entirely convinced of her honesty, and Katya ... of Katya, she was uncertain. The Vanu woman had barely spoken with her, and while no disapproval had been expressed, she felt that Katya, for all she had voted in favor of augmenting the party, as yet reserved a measure of her judgment. So she smiled and took the meat and walked away.
Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 Page 2