Kal let his gaze wander over the cart and the dead men on the road. "Well, here's trouble," he said. "They'll be keen to pay us for this, once they discover their patrol has been slaughtered."
The charcoal burner chuckled. "Aye, I'd think so. But this won't be the first of their patrols to go missing. They've already got their hackles up anyway for the trouble we've been giving them. There's not a highlander in these parts that doesn't have his heart set against them, if not his steel, especially those of us that live here in the forest."
"Still, there is no point in baiting Gawmage's mastiffs," said Aelward. "It would be better if these bodies were hidden away beyond discovery, or at least taken off this roadway. That way, the disappearance of one of their patrols might remain a mystery."
"A missing patrol? They're learning fast that there's little mystery in that," Latryk said with a crooked smirk.
"Still . . . ," said Aelward.
"Aye, well enough, then. Me and my fellows, we'll take care of it." Latryk nodded, then glanced up sharply at Aelward as a thought struck him. "Aye, we can fix it right, we can. Not but half a mile from here is a fresh-laid heap about ready for burning."
"Good," said Aelward, his gaze cast to the ground, "that would work."
"Aye, it would, it would. Let them fuel the fires that will fuel their forges. Aye, I like that." The carter's wife raised a disapproving brow and shooed her children back up into the wagon.
"Now, ourselves," Kal said, "we're bound for Glastanen over the mountains by way of the Westland Road. If we avoid Melgrun, is it possible? Are we likely to meet with problems?"
Latryk cocked an eyebrow. "Problems aplenty, I can tell you. Aye, you'd be courting real danger that way, you would."
"Even outside Melgrun?"
"Aye, even outside Melgrun. No, you'd best keep right clear of Melgrun. But the Westland Road isn't much better. It's crawling with dog's-head troops—all of them pouring into the highlands. Once they pass the mountains, they make for the barracks at Melgrun. From there, some march west to the other keverangs, but most turn south along the Old High Road into the clanholdings."
"So these roads are heavily travelled?" Kal asked.
"Most times, aye, clogged with soldiers. Mind, too, these soldiers are well aware of the fight that remains in the highlands. We cause them some sore trouble. They're bound to be wary—"
"And not gentle, either, I should think, as we have seen," Broq said.
"Aye, and it'll not help," Latryk continued, "if they see you all armed to the teeth with sword and bow." With the hem of his tunic, he cleaned the dust and grime from the arrow he held.
"But if we wait for nightfall and travel in stealth?" Kal suggested.
"Nay, not possible." The man shook his head and handed the arrow to Gwyn. "There's always movement. Night marches, besides. And the pass through the Bowstaff is narrow, scarce more than a bottleneck in places. If you was stopped, aye, you'd be caught for sure, trapped like flies . . . Well, like flies in a bottle."
"Re'm ena, but you're just the fellow we needed to lift our hopes high for this journey ahead!" exclaimed Devved, clapping a thickly muscled arm on Latryk's slender shoulder. He turned to the woman seated in the cart. "Is he always this encouraging?"
She smiled demurely and said, "My husband's a good man. He'll not leave you to the dangers of the road, not after what you've done for us."
"Now, how are you going to manage that, Master Burner?" Smiling, Devved planted himself, his arms akimbo, before Latryk.
"The Traders' Trail," the woman said, looking at her husband. The charcoal burner smiled at his wife and winked at Devved.
"The Traders' Trail?" The blacksmith knitted his brows.
"Aye. There's another road over the Bowstaff Mountains, fallen out of use for many years now. In the old days, our folk used it to carry charcoal into the marchlands. It was a way to sidestep the levies imposed by the Mindal. Then, when the king died, those men on the royal council grew more cruel. They harassed and often killed any of the traders they caught on the leeward side of the mountains—"
"The Mindal called it the Traitors' Trail," the woman interjected. "His own father was slain in one of the raids made by their soldiers."
"Aye, and that's why I've not stepped foot on it since I was a lad. No one's used it for many a year. But it's a sure enough way to cross over into the lowlands, and secretly. I can take you to the highside post. It's the way station this side of the mountains. Once you're there, you follow the track to the lowside post. It's not too far from Woodglence."
"Is it not watched?" Kal asked.
"Nay. There is no need for them to watch it. Folks learned to fear using it. Aye, and to fear the path itself. It's thought to be haunted by them that were killed for using it. It's got a black name now. Has for years. I'll take you there, but I'll not set foot on it. Never again."
"We'd be much obliged to you for your help."
Latryk made a dismissive gesture. "Nay, Master Aelward. It's me who's obliged."
"So long as you can direct us to this Traders' Trail of yours without delay," Kal said.
Latryk bowed his head. "As you wish. But I'll first see my wife and our children home safely. It's not far from our way."
The highland men removed the bodies of the slain troops from the road, concealing them in the underbrush that footed the nearby trees as the carter salvaged what he could of his pillaged load from the roadway. At Kal's bidding, Galli and Gwyn ran up the slope to gather the marsh ponies, then rejoined the company on the path. Following Latryk and his family in the cart, the companions went back up the road the way they had come, returning to the fork in the road that they had passed earlier. They turned to continue following Hoël's Dyke and, little more than a bowshot's distance farther along, left the path. A faint cart track veered off into the trees, its opening well disguised by foliage. A man hid there, who stepped out to challenge the group of strangers, but, recognizing Latryk, he let the company pass. A short while later, they crossed a rickety wooden bridge and reached a small settlement of scattered cottages nestled in the forest by a stream. Latryk led them to his home, where he left the care of the cart to his son as he unhitched the carthorse, replacing its harness for a badly worn saddle and bridle and bit. All the while, he explained what had happened to a pair of village men who had come to investigate the situation.
"Don't worry, Latryk," said one of them, a hardy fellow with a firm-set jaw and an open face. "We'll make sure the bodies are never found."
"Aye, that's good, but the sooner the better. I should be back by nightfall." Latryk turned to kiss his wife and children and then mounted the horse, an animal that dwarfed the marsh ponies.
Led by the charcoal burner, the company headed back to Hoël's Dyke. In short order, they left the road and entered the trees again, following a series of narrow trails, pressed and scratched on either side by the dense undergrowth. Eventually, the forest thinned and surrendered to a tamer countryside, one of open fields checkered by tended woodlots. These they skirted, clinging to the shadows until, at length, they reached the Westland Road, which they discovered to be in excellent repair, laid evenly with paving stones. They crossed it, alert for the least sign of traffic, and continued through open country marked by pastureland and here and there a copse. Slowly the gentle dip and swell of the land gave way to rising hills and thicker forest. Before them, the Bowstaff Mountains rose, dominating the eastern horizon. As the afternoon wore on, they climbed steeper terrain, following the spine of a series of ridges, the roots of the mountains thrusting up the slopes ahead of them.
The company came upon a narrow green valley, its verdure bounded on one side by the crag upon which they stood and on the other by a mountain's sheer side. The air above the rift in the mountainside resounded with the thunder of falling water. Above them, a cataract slipped down the rock face. On the valley floor, the waters formed a raging stream that boiled and pooled, then rushed through a tight gap in the walls that penned it
in before tumbling recklessly down the flank of the mountain.
Latryk reined his horse down a trail that wound back and forth across the precipitous wall of the valley. Reaching the valley floor, he led the men along the purling stream towards the base of the waterfall. Kal and the others hung back for a moment, remaining a few paces behind. It was a dead end, or so it appeared, until, suddenly, Latryk was swallowed by the uneven wall of rock.
"Skell Force . . . ," Kal muttered, then turned to Galli and yelled above the deafening roar of the waterfall, "It's like Skell Force at Tarn Cromar!" Galli nodded, and Kal urged his pony forward, drawing near the wall, at the verge of the shining cloud of mist and fine spray that footed the waterfall. He edged towards the spot where he had last seen Latryk, running his eyes over the rough face of rock, puzzled that he could discern no break in the stone. For an instant, fear seized his gut, as the thought of a trap about to be sprung leapt to his mind—here they were, caught in a narrow valley with no chance of escape. The pony shifted, as if sensing its rider's anxiety, and shuffled nervously to the side. It was then that Kal saw it, a subtle cleft in the wall where the stone split in two and doubled on itself, overlapping to create a gap. He swung down from his saddle and caught his pony by the bridle, then led the shy creature into a passage that opened wide enough to admit a packhorse. It was some five or six paces long and closed overhead like an arcade; the sight of sunlit grass ahead, however, prompted both man and beast forward.
When Kal emerged into the light, there lay spread out before him yet another small valley, as lush as the one he had just left. Here, however, the valley floor was scattered with a clutch of decrepit stone huts engulfed by weeds and thickets of scrub brush, their slate roofs crumbling and exposed in places to the rafters. Latryk sat atop his horse, staring at the scene before him, a distant, pensive look spread across his features.
"It's been a long time . . . Aye, a long time. I was a lad of fourteen when I was last here. Came with my father." The charcoal burner turned to face Kal, who was now joined by the others. One by one the men dismounted from their ponies and stood stretching their limbs. Latryk made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "The highside post, or what's left of it. Burners used to lay up here for the night, their pack animals laden with charcoal for the marchland smithies and forges. Often my father'd bring me and my younger brother with him. We'd water the horses and rub them down, and next day we'd stay here to do other jobs and keep the post while the men went over the pass to trade.
"Only once, before the death of Colurian, when times were less dangerous, did Father take us with him to the lowside post. Normally, though, we'd stay here. One day, he and the four others who had gone down with him never returned . . . ." Latryk slipped into thought, staring at the hovels. Kal stroked the neck of his pony as he watched the charcoal burner.
"My brother and I waited five full days," the man continued. "When food ran low, we two made our way back home to the forest. It was a dark journey. Though we neither of us spoke it, we knew it in our hearts. And our mother knew of it before we'd even got home, for the Mindal made a habit of posting lists in Melgrun, lists of the men arrested by their tollmen for illegal trade. My father's name was on that list, posted four days after he'd crossed the mountains, and his companions' as well. They'd been taken in ambush just outside of Woodglence. Aye, we all knew well that to be arrested was as good as death. He never returned. Nor have I to this place, since that day. This is the highside post, and I'll go no farther, not a step."
Though his eyes had not left the man, Kal's hand paused on the neck of his marsh pony. "No farther?"
"It haunts me here, this place does. I feel my father's spirit here. Aye, and he's restless . . . . Taken in violence with none to sing him peace." Latryk lifted his eyes and scanned the air around him, distracted by somber thoughts laden with the pain of reawakened memories.
"What was his name?"
"Eh?"
"Your father, what was his name?"
"Ammath. His name was Ammath."
Kal nodded and dropped his hand from the pony to his codynnos and drew forth the small harp-shaped brooch. Beside him, Aelward took a step and leaned close, saying, "Kalaquinn . . ." in a hushed tone that bespoke caution.
Kal pinned the pios to his tunic and, as Latryk watched wide-eyed, drew a finger across the delicate wires and slowly intoned the syllables of the dead man's name. Though the pios made little more than a tinkling sound, Kal's voice rose resonant amid the cliff faces encircling the highside post. Three times he plucked the strings slowly, and three times he called the name, before he fell into measured lines in the ancient tongue. The mournful syllables hovered over the men as the bard sang the prayers of remembrance. In a few moments, Kal fell silent, and his song faded, leaving only the dull echo of the waterfall behind them.
Tears welled in the charcoal burner's eyes, and, while he made no attempt to speak, he cleared his throat and bowed his head. Aelward withdrew to where he had stood before.
"Come, now, Latryk. You must tell us where we are to go from here," Kal said, breaking the silence.
The charcoal burner looked at him, his eyes still damp, and said, "My thanks to you, bard."
Kal smiled and nodded. "Come, tell us where we must go now."
"Aye, aye, that I will," Latryk said, collecting himself. He turned to point across the valley. "The pass over the mountains to the lowside post runs through that gully, straight ahead there, beyond the last hut." He turned back to face Kal. "That's the Trader's Trail. Keep on the path. You'll find it impossible to stray from."
"Even now after many years of disuse?" said Kal.
"Aye, even now. Don't worry. It was well worn into the stone of the Bowstaffs. It'll take you to a cave that overlooks the Westland Road, not but three or four miles from Woodglence. That's the lowside post. It's half a day's journey from here. I suggest you lay out your beds and leave at first light."
"What about you, Master Burner?" said Broq.
"Well, if I leave now, I should reach the forest by nightfall. And that with a heart ever grateful to you that my children are not without a father, like me. And I think my own father's found some peace today." A crooked smile spread across Latryk's face, and he bowed to them. "Briacoil."
"Indeed, he has," Kal said. "Briacoil, Latryk, friend. May Wuldor guide your steps safely homeward."
The man bowed once more, then turned and walked his horse to the oblique opening in the cliff face and disappeared, swallowed again by the circling rock.
"Do you think that was wise?" Aelward said to Kal as the other men went about scouting the stone buildings of the highside post.
"What?"
"To have given away your identity as—"
"As simply a bard and no more," Kal said, fixing Aelward in a calm stare.
Aelward sighed and slowly shook his head, his lips drawn in a tight line across his grizzled face. "As simply a bard . . . That may be all a person needs to know these days to condemn you. Then all is lost."
"In these days, yes," Kal said. "But is not a man to be afforded some peace? Some consolation? Especially in these days? I mean, look at the man, Aelward. He is no danger to us."
"I hope not—"
"It was my duty. I am not worried by it."
Aelward ran a hand over the short hairs of his head and shrugged, arching an eyebrow. "That may be so," he said, "but still I would counsel you to be more cautious in the future. Far more cautious. But perhaps you have a better sense of these things than do I." The grey man laid a hand on Kal's shoulder. "Just be careful, Kalaquinn. You are the Hordanu, and, as Galli said, we cannot afford to lose you, especially through simple foolishness." Aelward nodded and turned away to join the others in their exploration of the structures.
They found two of the four stone huts in passably good repair, their floors and walls solid, still well-sealed against the elements. The remaining two structures, it seemed, had been stables, more roughly constructed and so more prone to the ravages
of time. Once they had unsaddled the marsh ponies and watered them, they let the animals graze while they ate a cold supper from their supplies, too tired to bother lighting a fire. After that, although it was only dusk, and dark had not yet descended on the upland meadow, they settled the ponies in the old stables and spread their bedrolls in the two good huts. Braced by the cool, clear air of the mountains, they were quickly overcome with the sleep of exhaustion.
It was still dark, when Kal half woke and sensed with alarm that he was alone in the stone shelter. Aelward and Broq were gone. He sprang to his feet and rushed outside. Dawn was just beginning to uncover the long, deep shadows of night, slowly seeping its grey light into the mountain heights. Aelward and Broq were lifting saddles onto their marsh ponies.
"Ah, briacoil, Kal," Aelward said, looking over his shoulder. "I was just about to wake you. It's time for us to part ways and so go our separate journeys"
Kal rubbed his eyes and gaped dumbly. "W-What?" he stammered.
"You know that Broq and I must be off."
"So soon?" blurted Kal. "But I thought—"
"Indeed, so soon. Daybreak, I said last night, now that the charcoal burner has left us to return home—"
"With a tale about the six men he led over the mountain on marsh ponies," Broq said wryly. "An honest tale from an honest man, but not a true accounting of our numbers, once we part company. The misdirection makes both your journey and ours all the safer."
"Come, Broq, we must go. It's a long way to shipboard on the coast, and it's a way rendered that much longer by every step the two of us have trodden farther along this mountain trail."
"And from there across the sea to the wilds of Kevnÿek?" Kal asked.
"Aye, yes. And you to your own wildlands far to the east, my lord Hordanu," Aelward said, pulling hard on the saddle to test the tightness of the cinch.
"Until we meet next spring in Seabank."
"Until—" Aelward paused, his chiselled face strained, as he pulled his cinch tighter. "Until, if fate be kind, and Wuldor smiles on us, we meet next spring in Seabank." The tall man swung his leg over the marsh pony, looking slightly ridiculous astride the small animal. He looked at Kal and smiled, bowing his head. "And so, my lord Myghternos Hordanu, briacoil. Watch yourself with care. I pray Wuldor hold you ever in his eye."
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