Broq sighed, turned away, then turned back again and stooped by the fire. "Very well, then. I see that your mind is set," he said. "Allow me, if I may, to suggest some small changes to your plan. It may afford you a slightly better chance at success, as unlikely as I think that may be. Let me and Galli bear Frysan by stretcher to the camp of your folk and from there make haste with them to Kingshead Cove. I'll need Galli's brawn for this. Meanwhile, you and Gwyn can proceed, as you proposed, to Ruah's Well. After you've fetched a skin or two of healing water, you can meet us at Kingshead Cove. Here"—Broq pointed to the place on the map—"in three days' time."
Kal folded the map along its worn pleats carefully and, reaching for his codynnos, stood. "If Gwyn and I are not at Kingshead Cove three evenings from now, leave without us. Take the people, board the ship, and leave."
Gwyn now stood beside Kal, his bow in hand and his quiver on his back.
Broq's shoulders rounded in resignation, and he shook his head. "Be it as you wish." He untied the flaccid half-filled waterskin from his belt and handed it to Kal. "You will need this."
Galli threw off his cloak and scrambled out of his tunic. He folded the tunic, stuffed it in his codynnos, and threw the codynnos to Gwyn. "And you'll need that. More than I will, anyway."
The boy smiled and slung the satchel over his shoulder, so it hung beside his quiver.
Kal stepped to where his father lay, knelt, and placed a hand on the man's fevered brow. He muttered something with a bowed head, something inaudible to the others, then rose again.
"We will leave now."
Kal turned to Galli and clasped his forearm. "Take care of my father, Galli. Take care of him."
"I will, Kal."
"Briacoil, Broq the Bard," Kal said, turning to face the Telessarian. "Watch for us before the setting of the third day's sun."
"One last word of counsel I would speak, Kalaquinn," Broq said. "Be mindful that the pios remains a potent image of the Talamadh. And though it be lost, you are still its keeper. But reveal this to no one, for by good fortune our enemy must be unaware that the office of Hordanu has survived, and this may, indeed, work in our favour. Guard the secret of your office with utmost care. Play the part of bard, but let the part of Hordanu remain hidden until we consult Aelward."
Broq placed his fingers to his browmark, then extended his hand to Kal. "Briacoil, my lord Myghternos Hordanu. May you walk this path kept ever in Wuldor's eye."
With that, Kal and Gwyn turned away and stepped through the barricade of branches and out of the sheltered hollow into the spectral darkness of night to follow the pale westering moon.
Eleven
Kal stopped to consider the two branching paths in the pale moonlight. Each of them appeared to lead down the mountainside. The air was heavy with the earthy reek of dew-sodden moss and lichens. It was dark, too dark to be tramping this high and unfamiliar terrain, perilous enough in full daylight—but at night? Even with Gwyn by his side, he felt a pang of loneliness and fear, wishing Galli could have come with them to lead the way. Already he and Gwyn had encountered natural obstacles that had lost them precious time. They had been met first by a sheer bluff that rose towering over them, blocking their path, and then by a swamp, impassable and seemingly endless, that filled a rift in the mountains and forced them to retrace their steps. Still, Kal knew that if they kept on the downslope they would eventually reach the Old High Road and from there Ruah's Well. Kal peered again down one path, then the other.
"Re'm ena, it's like these mountains have a mind of their own, always herding us north. At this rate we'll end up in the heart of South Wold before we ever reach the Old High Road." Kal stepped onto the trail descending to their left. "Well then, Gwyn, we'll go this way. Veer to the south."
Before Kal could venture more than a few steps down the path, Gwyn pressed forward and laid a hand on his arm, shaking his head and pointing the other way.
"What?" Kal said. "The other path? That makes no sense."
Gwyn remained undeterred. Keeping a firm grip on Kal's sleeve, he tugged him, stumbling, to the other path, until they met an outcrop that narrowed the way, eventually forcing the trail over a stone lip, where it fell away amid a tumble of rocks down the steep slope.
"All right, Gwyn, leave off!" Kal pulled back, shaking his arm free. The young Holdsman released his companion and jumped down to the solid ground below. There he paused and beckoned Kal to join him. A light gleamed in Gwyn's eyes, a glint of vitality and alertness that Kal nearly mistook for amusement.
"I must confess, Gwyn, you do try my patience at times." Kal clambered down to where Gwyn stood grinning. "Go ahead—you lead, then. You seem to know where we're going better than I do."
Gwyn turned, and Kal fell in behind him as the boy shambled along the path. Their course meandered gently across a grass-covered flank of the mountain, steadily angling its way northwards, but descending all the while. By slow degrees, the shapes of stock and stone seemed to materialize from the veiling darkness. A murky light began to seep onto the sloping hillside. Kal looked back up into the Radolans. At his back, a grey glow cast Thyus and its companion peaks into soft relief. Dawn stood close at hand and would soon creep, flesh-coloured and streaked ruby, across the eastern sky.
Somewhere behind him, high on the mountain slopes, the vestiges of the population of Lammermorn would even now be readying themselves for their own flight down the mountain. He plodded on in silence, following the ungainly form of Gwyn. Perhaps this very trail, this ambling footpath that they now trod, would be the path that carried the Holdsfolk to safety, the path that felt the heaviness of their footfalls. He thought of them, their faces drifting before his mind's eye—Galli, Devved, Marina, his mother, and his brother, Bren, Gammer Clout and Diggory . . . Gara, Manaton, and their children . . . Narasin and his boys . . . Marya, sad, lovely Marya . . . his father lying wounded and unconscious . . . and Broq . . . .
Broq! There was something that unsettled him about the man, although he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Yet in all, Broq was a bard, had won Galli's confidence, and had been sent by Aelward, or so he claimed. And what choice did he have but to trust the fellow? But still, something nagged him about the man.
Kal was roused from his musings by a sudden turn in the path. No obstacle checked the gently winding progress of their way, and yet the faint trail broke sharply to the left and fell, cutting straight over the rise and fold of the foothills. Below them, the path disappeared into a burgeoning stand of birch and scattered pine. The two Holdsmen followed the path until it met the edge of the birch wood. Here they stopped, each unshouldering his codynnos, seeking out what dry place they could find to rest.
The silence Kal found oppressive, and the dawn's dampness pervasive. He shivered as the sweat cooled on his neck and back. He hunched over, elbows on knees, and looked across the trail at Gwyn. The boy nibbled contentedly on the soft end of a stalk of grass and gazed back up into the mountains. Despite the gangly awkwardness of his limbs, Gwyn had proven, over and over, his stalwart hardiness. Kal admired the boy. He was in possession of a strength belied by his mute cumbrousness, a strength that was beyond physical.
"So much for marbles, eh, Gwyn?"
Gwyn smiled at Kal, grabbed the hilt of the highland shortsword at his hip, and drew it up several inches in its scabbard then slammed it back into place.
Kal chuckled, but it was a quick laugh devoid of mirth.
"Aye, no more games and play for you, lad. It's all sword and bow now. What strange bend in life's road has brought us here? Re'm ena, but it's cold." Kal pulled his cloak close, clutching at it around his neck "I just hope this path gets us—"
A chord burst into the cool dawn air like a trill of morning birdsong but more vivid and less expected, its tone light and delicate. Kal jumped to his feet, his right hand clutching the small golden harp that pinned his cloak. Gwyn stared into the empty air around them, his face alive with amazed delight.
"The pios! I touched its
strings and . . . and this—" Kal ran his finger across the four slight wires on the harp-shaped brooch. Again, sound, ethereal and sublime, sprang from the pios and hung suspended and sustained in the air around them. Kal could feel it enveloping him. It was a warmth. He could sense it as a vibrant colour, or rather, as a wash of all colours, like a pulsing light augmenting the brilliance and intensity of the leaves, the trees, and rocks, of the sky and grass, unveiling each hue and tint as an undimmed essence. And in the pure tones, all other sounds were caught up in mellifluous accord, resounding, a harmony of birdsong, insect drone, and the rustle of the birch leaves above. Time seemed to stand still. And then, like a wave, the sensation passed.
For a long moment, Kal said nothing. Then, with his thumb and fingers, Kal plucked the delicate strings one at a time in a slow, ascending arpeggio. Unbidden, a flow of words spilled from his mouth. He sang. Words framed lines, and lines verses, as a song sprang spontaneously to his lips, tripping from his tongue.
"From fastness falls a winding way that wends
And, skirting stony face and flank, descends.
Through foothill, forest, field, and fen, it weaves,
Until, at length, to truer course it cleaves.
A song-spun way, of Ardiel, a trace,
A grace-fraught stain of victory, a chase
Unyielding in its gain, its strain, its might.
Though hidden in the dusky dawn's wan light
Upon its very verge, we take our rest
And by its winsome melodies are blessed.
Despite the chill of morning mist's grey veil,
And shadows that begrudge the dawn its hale
Arrival, hailing dark's demise, the heights
Will flash in thousand thousands spectral lights,
Will sound in thousand thousands golden tone,
Will feel the thousand thousands strength of stone,
Will scent as thousand thousands springborn flower,
Will spark the mind and heart with ancient power . . ."
Gwyn stood enrapt by the soft melody, his eyes fixed, still staring into the middle distance as Kal withdrew his hand from the pios and the music re-echoed and dissolved into the dawn.
"I know the tune!" Kal cried, breaking the stillness that had fallen over them "It's a turusoran, a journey song. It's Carric-thona. I know the tune well enough from the Lay, even though these words are strangely unfamiliar. We're on a songline, Gwyn. It's as Wilum said. We're on Carric-thona! Here, listen again." Once more he began to pluck the strings. Once more a clarity suffused the air, limning the trees and rocks with a bracing sharpness of detail. It stemmed from a source that was fresher and clearer than the rising tide of morning light. Again he began to sing the journey song, letting the melody unfold through one verse, then another and another.
"Let ancient power amend our thoughts and wills,
And mend our bodeful hearts, and heal our ills.
And bend our feet upon the straighter track,
The song-graced way before, all woe to back.
But for the nonce, shall we our leisure take
Amid the slender forms of this birch brake.
Then hie we hence, our journey to renew
Upon the woodland walk, through woodland-rue,
Amid the paling birch that line the way,
Until birch brake doth break onto a grey
And mist-enshrouded lea, ablaze in bloom,
O'erlooking forest tracts awash in brume.
Our course declines to bend by lake and bluff . . ."
Kal ceased singing. "Did you listen closely to the words, Gwyn?" he asked even before the reverberating strains had entirely faded from hearing. "A journey song." He shook his head. "If we follow Carric-thona, we'll get to the Old High Road, all right. But you knew that already, didn't you, lad? You knew which turn we needed to take."
Wide-eyed, Gwyn pulled a face and shrugged.
"Aye, you. Come now, Gwyn, don't play as if you didn't know." Kal lowered his brow and shook his head in feigned disapproval, then turned, picked up and shouldered his codynnos, and clapped his companion on the back.
"Well then, let's be on our way . . . . How was it? 'Amid the paling birch that line the way, until birch brake doth break onto a grey and mist-enshrouded lea, ablaze in bloom . . . ' "
Gwyn nodded, grinning broadly.
"Good. Then we're off," Kal said as he and Gwyn took to the path once more, heading into the airy wood.
The sun rose higher, heralding what promised to be a clear and bright day despite the ruddy streaks that blushed the sky's eastern face. Much of the terrain, however, still lay in the grip of mountain shadows, awaiting the sun's waxing strength. From the trees, they stepped onto an upland meadow awash in dewy wildflower. From the top of the grade, they could see formless garlands of mist drifting up from fog-bound hollows to wreathe the crowning tops of the forests spreading out below them. A tree swallow glided trimly above their heads, its cheerful song overlaid by the harsh caw of a crow.
Their path traversed the meadow, following the songline as it dropped to thread a narrow defile between a sedge-lined tarn and a high apron of rock. Because the turusoran of Carric-thona described it as a point of vantage, they clambered up its shelving side to the crest. The western horizon unfolded and lay open before them.
"There . . ." Kal pointed to a grey-brown ribbon running away to the north. "There's the Old High Road. And the ocean . . . on the far horizon there, that band of deep blue—that's the Cerulean Ocean. And there's another roadway beyond the Old High Road, but more overgrown. You can only see it here and there. Hoël's Dyke, I'd wager."
Kal continued peering squint-eyed into the distance. His voice grew more serious.
"Human traffic. There are people on the Old High Road, and in ranks. Do you see them, Gwyn? Moving too fast to be on foot. Mounted troops. On their way north towards South Wold. Foe, not friend, don't you think?"
Gwyn frowned his agreement.
"We'll have to be careful, then, when we reach the roadway."
Gwyn's frown grew deeper, and he pointed to a vast expanse of woodland, thick with impenetrable purple shadows, the canopy of an immense and ancient forest that lay beyond the long, thin strands of roadway.
"The Woods of Tircoil. Aye, Gwyn, I feel it, too. But there lies our way. Somewhere down there is Ruah's Well." Kal's eyes swept over the southern margins of the strange old forest. "But the way to the road from here looks easy and clear. In fact, if we follow Carric-thona for the first bit, straight along there . . ." Kal pointed, waiting for Gwyn to look where he indicated. "Then, you see, the high ridge the trail must climb? We could leave the songline, go straight along the base of the ridge instead, due west, easy going straight out to the Old High Road. And right where trees press closest to the road. Good cover. We'll cross there, then head south in the cover of the trees to the southern reaches of the Woods of Tircoil. Ruah's Well is in there, along a songline, Melderenys, if I remember aright. And we know how to find a songline now, don't we, Gwyn? Come, let us be off again."
They descended again to the path and hurried along. The morning wore on, and, before midmorning they had travelled without difficulty a good league's distance. They had left the arrow-straight path of the songline halfway along, striking out directly towards the Old High Road, beating a trail at the foot of a humpbacked ridge thickly set with stout oak and beech that swept down to the roadway itself.
They continued beneath the high-spreading limbs of the wood, following game trails where possible, until, gradually, the ridge to their right began to lose something of its aspect. Eventually, the ridge fell into a sloping hollow, from which an embankment rose, shaded by trees from the sun that blazed now overhead.
"Very quiet now, Gwyn. We must be careful. The road's right up there," Kal said. They stole their way towards the rise, keeping to cover. Kal paused at its base. "We'll want to cross it now, if we can, and head south."
Up the shoulder of the bank they crept, to
the very edge of the Old High Road. Trees and underbrush crowded the uncobbled shoulder of the Road on either side. The air was still and drowsy with the hum of cicadas. Dust motes hung suspended over the roadway, caught in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the foliage overhead. To their left the Road swept towards them from a thinner scattering of trees in a dogleg turn from the south, while to the right it continued straight, as far as the eye could see, through an open stretch of ground that pushed the surrounding trees away from the Road's embankments.
For a long moment, they listened and watched. Then Kal motioned to Gwyn, and they dashed across the cobblestones to the other side. They ran south through the cover that hugged the margin of the Old High Road. On the southern edge of the greenwood, which gave way to slight stands of slender birch and aspen, they paused again, taking stock of the situation from behind a large oak footed by undergrowth that afforded a clear line of sight both up and down the roadway.
"We'll try to follow the Road now, but not so close. It'll be a fair hike to reach the way to the Well. I hope it's still there," Kal said. He shifted uneasily. "Strange to think that the Woods of Tircoil are so close, and soon we'll be—"
Gwyn cocked his head and put a finger to his lips. He cupped his ear to listen. Kal stiffened and made certain he was hidden from sight.
The sounds came nearer, became more distinct—the uneven clop of many hooves and the jangling clatter of tackle and weapons heading their way from the bend in the road to the south. A column of mounted soldiery hove into view. The two Holdsmen dropped to the ground. The line of horsemen rode past and into the shade of the trees overhanging the Old High Road. From where he lay, not half a dozen paces from the edge of the road, Kal could see the horses' hooves beating the cobbles, and men's boots in stirrups, dust-covered from miles of travel, and the occasional hem of a grey cloak. All else was blocked from view by the leafage beneath which he and Gwyn cowered. The column had all but passed by them.
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