Darkling Fields of Arvon

by James G Anderson

  From here, the path broadened and continued within sight of the Firth for a time. After that, it branched east until it led them to within a stone's throw of Hoël's Dyke and then veered north within steady sight of the ancient trackway. The Woods of Tircoil pressed hard against the mouldering cobblestones, more fractured and decrepit here than they had been near Mousehold and the Black Cape. For all its disrepair, the Dyke managed to keep the thick trees of the forest at bay, fending it away from the open fields and a scattering of ploughland that lay on the other side.

  It was still late morning under a cloudless sky when the path emerged from the Woods into a place of low scrub and bushes. Gelanor stopped and took a deep breath, then faced the two Holdsmen.

  "Well, Brothers, here we are. The badlands. We've reached the badlands, as we call such places that lie outside the Cape and the Woods that serve as our lair—but only when we're of a dark and wolfish humour!" Gelanor laughed gently. "Mind you, the Wood Maid disapproves, for she says it sets up fellow highlanders like yourselves as the enemy somehow. 'Deeds follow words, even when spoken in jest,' she says." Gelanor paused and turned to face up the path. "Now, my lord Myghternos Hordanu, here's a parting of our ways. See, there's Kingshead, that ridge ahead. Beyond that is Kingshead Cove. Your way is clear. Just follow along this side of the Dyke for a couple more miles. You'll come to the Cove, sure enough. You'll see the old stone piers." Gelanor faced the Holdsmen again. "It was a fine place of anchorage in its day, fit for a king, to be sure, fit for a king. Aye, that is, until the nearness of the Black Cape and talk of waldscathes made it fall into disuse." He winked, then turned his face away, looking up the path. "So, you'll manage from here then, eh?" His tone had grown quiet and soft. "Aye, you'll manage from here."

  "Briacoil, then, Gelanor." Kal looked up at the big man.

  "Aye, briacoil, Master Kalaquinn, Lord High Bard." Gelanor pulled back his cowl and inclined his head before the Holdsman.

  Kal raised his right hand and placed it on Gelanor's chest. He lowered his head. "May your song ever grace the Gleacewhinna," Kal said and withdrew his hand. The two men embraced. Then, clasping forearms one by one, Kal and Gwyn expressed their gratitude to Bildvek and the men who had guided them from Mousehold, and, in but a moment, Gelanor and the waldscathes of the Black Cape had melted back into the Woods of Tircoil.

  Kal and Gwyn hurried northward, following Hoël's Dyke. Soon it rose gently higher through an open heath, climbing the steepening shoulder of Kingshead, affording them a view again of the Firth of Tircoil to their back. Kal felt the reassuring weight of the cask that dangled from its leather belt on his shoulder. He picked up his pace, matched by Gwyn striding beside him. The cove and his folk were not far off.

  "Come on, Gwyn. No excuses, now. You're sound and strong." Kal broke into a slow, loping stride. "Come, let's go."

  Now the roadway crested the ridge that thrust itself jaggedly into the Firth. To their left, the rugged headland stood high above the waters. This was Kingshead, pointing out to the shimmering ocean in the distance. Dense woods swept down from the spine of the ridge to a narrow inlet in the sheltered lee of the winds that kept the side which they had just passed grassy and treeless.

  "Look, Gwyn, Kingshead Cove. We're there." Kal stopped and gazed down on the sheltered anchorage, its sides protected by the soaring headland on one side and a line of slightly lower cliffs on the other. From a shingle beach at the foot of the cove far below them, a stone pier jutted into the water. The inlet was empty.

  Kal turned slowly to Gwyn, his own confusion mirrored on the face of his companion.

  "Gwyn," Kal said, "where's the ship?"

  Eighteen

  "They've got to be here," Kal said, squinting at the sparkling water on the horizon. Gwyn elbowed Kal and hooked his thumb back over his shoulder, gesturing down the path to the anchorage. "You're right, you're right. We'll get down for a closer look—Gwyn!" The younger man was already plodding ahead. "Wait for me!" Kal called after him and hastened along the roadway that branched from the Dyke and snaked down steeply towards the Cove in the shadow of Kingshead's high foreland.

  Thick forest pressed in on the path again on either side, obscuring their view of the ocean. The stiffening breeze carried a brackish tang that Kal could almost taste. Overhead the air resounded with the screech of gulls riding the offshore winds, wheeling and falling out of sight down the steep wooded slopes to the water below. Torn tufts of cloud scudded across the deep blue of the sky, and a faint ring of light circled the morning sun, a bright spot on either side to the left and right. Sun dogs, Kal thought to himself. There'd be weather blowing in sooner than later.

  The Cove reappeared ahead of them through a break in the trees, and the path gave onto a stretch of small grey stones and pebbles worn smooth by the sea. Kal and Gwyn trotted to the shoreline across the shingle, making for an old stone pier that extended into the Cove like a giant's gnarled finger pointing out to sea in defiance of the unceasing advance of white-capped waves.

  "Halt! Stay yourselves!" A hard-edged voice stopped the two Holdsmen in their tracks. They spun around, reaching for their weapons.

  "Hold, I say!" A figure emerged from the forest, bow raised and drawn taut. "Your hands where they may be—"

  "Galli, it's me. Ease up. It's us—Kal and Gwyn." Kal had recognized the voice almost immediately, and the sudden surge of tension that had gripped him ebbed. Now, too, the well-muscled build of the figure that had stepped into the open and the twining tattoo that traced along his hairline left no doubt. The figure slowly relaxed his bow and frowned.

  "Re'm ena, but it is you, isn't it?" Galli said, his guard easing. "It's a lucky thing for you that I've the huntsman's good sense not to take my quarry until I'm sure of what it is." He scratched his head and eyed the wolf pelts the two Holdsmen wore. He approached them and circled curiously.

  "All the same, if I didn't know you already, I'd be hard-pressed to name you man or beast. From up there where I stood"—Galli tilted his head back over his shoulder to the heights of the landward end of Kingshead—"I had no idea it was you. The both of you looked strange creatures, not halfwise like men at all. Put me to thinking dire thoughts, let me tell you. And then I saw you making down towards the Cove, so I followed you. Trouble is that even up close you're like to turn a person's mind to dark fireside tales."

  "Goes to show why they've managed to remain hidden for centuries," Kal said, lifting the small cask of healing water off his back and laying it on the shingle.

  "They? What do you mean, Kal?" Galli said.

  "Waldscathes. The waldscathes of the Black Cape. They're men, just men wearing wolf skins same as these." Kal unfastened the pelt from his neck and swung the cloak off his back. The stiffened face and muzzle lolled over Kal's arm, grinning sharp-toothed in a fixed snarl up at Galli. "They made Gwyn and me members of their brotherhood."

  "Brotherhood? What do you mean?"

  "We're waldscathes, sworn and vested." Kal lifted the pelt on his arm, meeting his friend's puzzled stare. "Believe me, we were as surprised at first as you are. It's a story . . . a strange story, indeed. But one that can wait. Come now, how is my father? His wound—is he all right? I've brought the healing water. It's here." Kal rapped his bowstaff against the cask that lay at his feet. "But where are they, the rest of the folk? Where's that ship of Broq's that is supposed to be waiting here?"

  Galli averted his gaze, looking to his feet. "Frysan . . . He . . ." He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead.

  "Go on, Galli, tell me straight."

  The blond Holdsman raised his head. "He took a turn for the worse, Kal, not long after you and Gwyn left for Ruah's Well. The poison took hold. Broq tried . . . There was nothing we could do but watch him fail. Your father . . . he's . . ." Galli sighed heavily. "Kal, he's crossed the Birdless Lake."

  Kal said nothing for a few minutes. Around them were only the sounds of gull's cries, the wind, and the steady plash, wash, and hiss of whitecaps as t
hey broke against the stone wharf or ran up the pebbled beach. At length, Kal combed his fingers through the unruly strands of black hair that had blown across his face and looked up at Gwyn. His mute companion's face betrayed concern, but, beneath that, Kal saw a depth of serenity. Gwyn nodded once, slowly.

  "Yes." Kal shifted his gaze to Galli. "Yes, he's at peace. I know it here." Still clutching his bowstaff, Kal placed a clenched fist over his heart. "I had a dream. It was his time, Galli."

  "Aye, it was his time. There was nothing we could do." Galli laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. Kal was surprised by the peace that he himself felt in the face of the news of his father's passing. "Your mother and Bren were there with him at the end, Kal. The women sewed his shroud the night before last. They prepared his body."

  "Who helped him in his passing? I was not there . . . ." Kal's voice faltered, a lump growing hard in his throat. "Oh, that I could have been. But who served as enefguthyas?"

  "Broq. He was Soul Warden to Frysan. He said the Prayer of Passage, and eased your father's journey."

  Kal turned to face the open water, breaking Galli's gentle grip on his shoulder. He brushed away a brimming tear with his sleeve. "Gil nas sverender," he whispered. "Gil nas sverender, Frysan . . . Father."

  Turning back to Galli, Kal saw his friend's head bent in concern. The young Hordanu stiffened. "So, for the dead." He sniffed and assumed a resolute face. "Now, to the living. What has happened to everyone else? My people, are they safe?"

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know?"

  "I mean the Dancing Master is not here. The ship is gone."

  "Gone?"

  "Aye, Kal, gone, with all on board, including Broq. Your father's body, too." Under his friend's scrutiny, the blond Holdsman paused and gathered himself to offer an explanation.

  "Rhewgell, captain of the Dancing Master, was forced to weigh anchor in haste and leave or his ship would have been hemmed into this harbour. I saw two warships creeping down the far coast of the Firth from the north." Galli pointed again back up the slope behind him. "Artun and I were to watch for you from atop the ridge while everybody else remained aboard the ship, waiting for your coming. When I saw the ships, Artun and I went to warn the captain. It was a danger we had little expected. Rhewgell had encountered no sign of enemy ships in his journey here down the coast, but he wasn't a man to take the safety of his vessel for granted. As a sheltered harbour against ocean storms, this is near perfect. But it's a near-perfect trap, too."

  "Gawmage?"

  "Like as not. Any closer, I wager I'd have seen mastiff's heads painted on their mainsails."

  "Did they escape, do you think?"

  "The warships turned towards them, all right. But the Dancing Master is a trim ship, built for speed, and by all accounts the captain's a fine sailor, even though he struck me as an anxious sort. He surely didn't like the notion of waiting here for you and Gwyn. That man, you could tell he loves his ship and didn't want to stay a single moment longer than he had to. But chances are good they escaped."

  "And Artun—where is he?"

  "Left with the others. They pressed me to leave, too, especially Gammer, but I said I'd stay to watch for you." Galli lifted a hand to his friend's shoulder once again. "You're Hordanu, Kal, if we lose you—well . . ."

  Kal's neck and ears burned as his face reddened at his companion's deference. "So they're gone," he said, regaining his composure. "And where does that leave us now?"

  "Right about where we're standing, I'd say." Galli grinned, gesturing with an open hand to the beach where they stood.

  "With a fair journey ahead of us," Kal said. "We can't stay here. The sack of writings, Galli, did it make it on the ship? The Hordanu's—"

  "Yes, yes. As I said, everyone and everything was on board the ship waiting for you."

  "Yes, of course." Kal drifted into thought for a moment, then said, "We've got to make Aelward's Cot some way."

  "Aelward's Cot . . . That's a long piece away."

  Both men fell silent, staring out to the Cerulean Ocean through the narrowed horizon afforded by the inlet's steep bounds. His back to them, Gwyn knelt on the stone pier, looking over its crumbling edge.

  "Ah, look, he's found it."

  "Found it?"

  "The dory. It's what I used as a launch to get to and from the ship. The ship had to be anchored there in the deeper water." Galli pointed out into the empty inlet. "For a ship that big, the water's much too shallow this far into the Cove, especially at low tide."

  "Let's have a look," said Kal, walking across the shingle to the wharf and stepping towards Gwyn. He paused to regard the small dory that bobbed against the stone side of the pier. "Not much of a boat, is it?"

  "It's surely no seagoing vessel, if that's what you mean," Galli said.

  "But if we could use a boat and hug the coast somehow, making our way north, it would be easier and safer than traveling overland through wildlands and strange clanholdings."

  "Not in this thing, Kal. It's hardly more than a rowboat."

  "No sail?"

  "No, none." Galli paused, biting his lip in thought, then nodded. "Aye, but there are other boats."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Fishermen, I think. I saw them in the Firth from atop Kingshead. When the warships appeared, they scattered like minnows to the far side of the Firth and disappeared. Then, when the warships had left in pursuit of the Dancing Master, they crept out of hiding and spread their sails again."

  "The far side of the Firth, you say?"

  "Aye, Kal, over from the other side of Kingshead."

  "That would be part of the Black Cape, then."

  "I suppose."

  "How far across from Kingshead would you say?"

  "At a guess, I'd reckon a league and a half, two at the most, to the closest point."

  "And it's, what, a league from here to the point of Kingshead?"

  "Aye, Kal, or less . . . . What are you driving at?"

  "Why, that's what we'll do. It's not that far. We'll take the dory out of the Cove, round the headland, and cross over to the Black Cape. There's sure to be dwellings there, a village maybe. They'll help us. I know they will."

  "They who, Kal?"

  "The Tircoilians. We've met them, Gwyn and me. I told you, we're members of their brotherhood."

  "Are you sure, Kal? We can trust these folk?" Galli's eyes glanced at Kal's wolf pelt again with thinly veiled alarm.

  "Sure, I'm sure. Trust me, Galli. I'll tell you more once we're on our way. Come on, we might as well be going." Kal threw his cloak over his shoulders and strode back to the beach to retrieve the cask of healing water. Galli and Gwyn had clambered down a rusted iron ladder into the bobbing boat by the time he had returned.

  "Are we sure we want to lug this thing around with us?" Galli asked as Kal lowered the cask to him on its strap.

  "If you had any idea what I've gone through for this, you wouldn't be asking." Kal swung himself over the edge of the pier and down the ladder.

  When the three of them were settled, Galli untied the painter and swung the oars around on their tholes, wood creaking against wood. He handily maneuvered the dory away from the pier out into the small harbour. The small craft lifted and bobbed over the waves, and Galli grinned. The troubled surface was nothing worse than they had encountered regularly on Deepmere, and he was obviously enjoying it. While Galli rowed, Kal sat facing him in the stern and recounted his adventures at Ruah's Well and the Woods of Tircoil.

  Taking advantage of the receding tide, they made the point of Kingshead in good time. As they rounded the towering headland, the open waters grew choppier and began to swell. Cresting waves lapped hungrily at the grim rocks of the cliffs behind them. They ventured out farther now into the Firth of Tircoil, struggling against the tidal current that ran abeam but urged on by the thin, dark shoreline of the Black Cape as a marker, closing with it gradually, spelling each other at the oars. In the offing here and there, too far to hail, s
mall boats plied the water, their sails a smudge of white above the glistening waves. There was no sign of a warship though, Kal mused to himself gratefully. They'd have stood precious little chance against one in their little dory. There would have been no way to outrun the enemy without benefit of a sail. Yet they were small enough that they might pass unnoticed.

  Before long, the features of the horizon grew more recognizable to Kal. The coast loomed larger. Thick forests came into view, immense trees crowding the ever more distinct contours of the shoreline.

  "Look, there's a small boat," Kal said, pointing behind the oarsman. "It seems to be heading in to shore. Follow it in."

  Galli rested his oars on the gunwale for a moment and looked back over his shoulder to gain his bearings.

  "Here, I'll take over again," Kal said and gingerly traded places with his companion. Grunting with exertion, he laid his back into the rowing and propelled the boat forward towards the shoreline.

  "I can't see it anymore," Galli shouted. "It's turned up inland. There must be a place of moorage there. Either that, or we've scared it into hiding."

  "Because we might swoop down on them in our fearsome rowboat?" Kal said with forced humour between breaths. "No, they're a shy folk. But we'll follow them in. Gwyn, put on your pelt. Pull the visor over your head. With luck they'll recognize us as waldscathes."

  "Waldscathes!" Galli shook his head in grim humour, grumbling to himself. "Lucky to be thought to be waldscathes? Hmm."

  As they drew nearer the shoreline, they discovered a narrow channel that struck its way into the forest. Kal pulled at the oars, pushing the dory along the channel until the waterway elbowed sharply around a rock-faced bend. Cornering the bend, the Holdsmen saw that the dense forest on either side gave way to tilled field and pastureland.

  "There, up ahead," said Galli in a low voice. "A village."

  Resting his oars, Kal let the boat glide as he twisted to look behind him. Several small thatched dwellings lay clustered under a low hill that overlooked a wooden jetty at which some half-dozen fishing boats were tethered, empty masts swaying gently. Drying racks lined the shore. Kal turned around to face the stern again and dipped his oars into the water, pulling hard on the left, swinging the dory to shore. Slowly they slipped towards the boats, wary of the silence. Although smoke rose from two or three chimneys, all seemed deserted. There was not a soul to be seen or heard, except for a great shaggy dog that emerged from among the houses and bounded to the water's edge, barking at them.