“Don’t say it like that,” said Nigel. “You make it sound like we’re all going to our doom.”
Lawrence smiled, then drained his cup. “I didn’t mean it like that. But right now I guess we’re all a little jumpy, a little frightened.”
“Then have another drink,” said Nigel, beginning to pour.
Lawrence waved his hand and said: “No, I’d better not. And I don’t think you should, either. We’ll need clear heads tomorrow.”
Nigel sighed. “Have you said your goodbyes to your family and friends?”
The soldier slumped heavily into the easy chair. “Goodbyes are never easy for me,” he admitted. “I kept them short and brief. Besides, who’s sounding like a prophet of doom now? I told them farewell for now. I expect to be back.”
“And so do I!”
Both men glanced to the door. Des had opened it and come in without either one of them realizing it. “You’re late,” muttered Nigel.
Des pushed back wet unruly hair from his face. “I was called to see the Elder,” he said. “It seems someone took it on his own initiative to invite a wolf to our party.”
Lawrence looked about, puzzled.
“I see Nigel didn’t tell you, either.”
Lawrence shook his head. “No, no, he didn’t.”
“Well, I was going to tell both of you about it tonight. But I can see the cat’s out of the bag.” Then, turning to Lawrence, he said: “I asked Hector to guide us through the forest. And he agreed.”
“Well the Elder wasn’t very pleased, I can tell you that. He asked me if we should consider abandoning the expedition.”
Nigel’s heart leaped to his throat. He glanced a worried look at Des. “And what did you tell him?”
Des poured himself some wine, letting Nigel’s tension mount purposely. “I told him I was willing to take the risk.”
Nigel drew an easy breath, then: “But what risk? Hector has given his word. We can trust him.”
“Look,” said Des, showing a trace of anger, “we’re not boys playing games. This is serious, deadly business. You had no right to do what you did, even if it does prove to be a good idea. Hector’s no mangy hunting hound cringing at his master’s feet. He’s a wolf, wild, straight out of the forest, with fangs as deadly as any dog’s.”
“And probably our only hope,” replied Nigel. “Things would be ten times harder without him, you know that.”
“As I told Elon, as long as this wolf does as we ask, doesn’t try to pull any fast tricks on us, I’d bow to your judgment. But don’t expect me to show any great love for him.”
“You’ll change your mind after you get to know him,” said Nigel. “But look,” he pointed to the map. “Lawrence brought us this.”
Des walked beside the desk and stared. “Ciru’s map,” he whispered. “How in the heavens did you get it?”
Lawrence crossed his legs and grinned. “I borrowed it from HQ.”
“You mean you stole it from the Officers’ Library? By the Fates, man! You could be drawn and quartered for this.”
“They won’t miss if for a few hours,” replied Lawrence, “and I thought it was a good idea to let Nigel have a look at it before we go.”
Suddenly Des’s face grew long, his eyes focused on Lawrence. “Did you say anything about —”
“I told him about Ciru only,” answered Lawrence.
“What’s been done or is done by soldiers doesn’t concern me one way or the other,” said Nigel “The only thing I’m interested in is a successful mission.”
Des grimaced. “That’s what we’re all concerned with. But before we can think about success we have to think about our safety.”
“Speaking of safety,” said Lawrence, “Have there been any late reports?”
“Vandor’s Searchers came back tonight,” said Des. “And I suppose we can be grateful for small things. They scoured Near-Forest and didn’t find any trace of enemy Packs. They did sight some dogs trekking from the west, but they evidently are keeping themselves far from the Valley. Circumventing us completely.”
“Good news for us, perhaps,” said Nigel grimly. “But not so good for the Haven. I just hope we can complete our task before the Master’s army begins to march.”
“What’s Sean’s defense plan?” asked Lawrence, nervously.
“Nothing’s been decided yet. Apart from mustering the Regulars and making preparation for conscription, he seems to be waiting to hear King Dinjar’s plan. The Elder wants us to make no decisions until he and his Hunters arrive.” Des finished his drink. “But why dwell on that? We’ve enough to worry about ourselves.”
Nigel looked at the faces of his companions; he saw the concern and anxiety. “You’d both like to be staying, wouldn’t you?” he said.
Des sighed. “A soldier never has his likes or dislikes taken into account, you know that. We do a job. Mine and Lawrence’s is to take you through the forest. And that we’ll do.”
Nigel walked over to the window and pushed the shutters open. A few drops of rain splashed against his face. He stood for a moment staring.
“What are you doing?” said Lawrence. “Shut the window —”
“Take a look at this,” said Nigel.
Des and Lawrence strode over and peered over his shoulders. The street was deserted except for a couple of hooded men walking slowly in the rain. “Doomsayers,” muttered Nigel.
Desmond’s face turned sour. “I hope they catch pneumonia.”
Lawrence walked away. “They’re probably on their way to sing the praises of the Master,” he said.
“That’s not funny,” snapped Des. “The way things are going they’ll have everyone up in a panic. We’ll have to put them in cells for their own protection.”
Lawrence took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, I’m not going to concern myself with them. They’ve given me enough trouble. I’ll be glad to let someone else save their necks from the mob.” He yawned and rubbed his hands again by the fire. “Now if that’s all we have left to discuss, I’ll take my leave. I’m tired and we’ve got one hell of a day tomorrow.”
“Everything’s in order as far as I’m concerned,” said Des. He looked at the others. “Any problems on your end?”
Nigel and Lawrence shook their heads.
“Well, then I’ll be leaving, too. Lawrence, don’t forget to take back Ciru’s map, otherwise you’ll probably be in a cell yourself by tomorrow.”
The Commander laughed, rolled up the map and tucked it back in his tunic. Then he picked up his parka and made ready to leave. “All right, gentlemen,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep.”
“You, too,” said Nigel as the soldier opened the door and walked down the stairs. Des glanced at Nigel. “I think you’d better leave your worrying until tomorrow,” he said. “Why don’t you get some sleep, too?”
Nigel sighed, then smiled at his friend. “I will, I guess. But not just yet. I want to stay up a while longer.”
Des looked into his eyes. “If you’re waiting for Gwenn, don’t. She’s not coming.”
Nigel winced and turned away from him; he slumped in his chair. Was it that obvious? Could his mind — and heart — be read so easily? “How — how do you know?”
Des shrugged. “I just know. Forget all this, Nigel Believe me, it won’t do any good. I know.”
Nigel smiled at him glumly. Beth was still in Des’s mind, he realized, every bit as much as Gwenn was in his. They had both played love’s game, and they had both lost. If nothing else, at least they shared that in common. “I’ll see you in the morning, Des,” he said after a while.
“Two hours before dawn, don’t forget.”
Nigel laughed. “Forget? Oh, man! This is Nigel, remember? I’m the one who’s been pleading for this journey all his life. I’ll be up and about before you, I promise you that.”
Des smiled thinly and left. Nigel sat slouched in the chair and closed his eyes. Maybe Des was wrong, he thought, maybe she would come, if only f
or a minute, for a second. Just to say goodbye.
And the rain fell harder.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elon made his way along the dark passageway that led from the Great Hall. He passed a sentry standing guard, then walked to the staircase. There were a hundred steps winding up from the parapet and to the top of the high tower. It was a long, difficult climb for the aging noble and more than once he found himself pausing to catch his breath. Suddenly the staircase widened, opening onto a broad veranda. Elon stood a moment, then made his way to the crenelated wall. A gray dawn was spreading rapidly across the sky, chasing away long shadows of night. His hands reached out and grasped the edge of the wall with frail hands. He stood firm now, feet slightly apart, staring down at the city below.
His city, he mused. His people. The clustered houses with tiled roofs looked miniscule. He felt like he could take the biggest of them and squeeze it within the palm of his hand. Here and there, early risers, occasional merchants or soldiers were busy making their way through the plazas and streets. Like ants, he thought. Men were like ants. And the Haven was their hill. The city, his city, was little more than a patch of blooming flowers in a garden of weeds. A civilized bastion taking refuge behind ancient walls, and desperately trying to hold back a sweeping flood of barbarism — barbarism that had taken over the world.
Suddenly he felt dizzy. His knuckles became white as his fingers clenched at the wall. Sharp pains raced through his chest. Elon gritted his teeth. “Not yet!” he hissed, “Not yet! I need more time. My work is not yet done.”
The pain became more intense. “Leave me,” he moaned. “I know my days are few, but I need every one. I must have more time!”
“My Lord?”
Elon spun around.
A woman dressed in a soft green toga moved from the stairs and toward the wall. Her eyes showed she was frightened. She dropped her veil. “Are you ill, my Lord? Let me send for a physician.”
Elon shook his head violently; he held up a shaky hand. “No, don’t,” he rasped, “I’m all right. Really I am. The pain will pass, it always does.”
The woman continued to stare for a moment, looking uneasy. Her eyes were soft brown, her hair ash blonde. Long braids fell over her breasts. Around her neck was a yellow silk scarf that blew gently in the breeze. “At least let me help you back to your rooms.”
“No, Gwenn. It won’t be necessary.” And just then the pain faded, as it always did. Elon took a deep breath and let his hands drop from the wall. Seconds later his composure was regained. But he remained worried. For the first time his illness had been seen, for the first time he failed to hide it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, returning to his normal voice.
Gwenn looked away from his piercing eyes. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “If you want to know, I’ve been awake all night.”
Elon nodded, smiling softly. “You came to watch them leave.”
She nodded. Gwenn knew she could not lie, not to him, anyway. He would know.
A chilly gust swept past as Elon beckoned her closer. He stared into her eyes and gave a stern look. “Did you not even say goodbye, child?”
The girl tightened the buttons at her collar; she bit her lip nervously. Why must he press me? Why can’t he let the past stay buried? Of all men, surely he should understand!
“I wanted to say goodbye,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t. Something inside just wouldn’t allow it. Even my father said I should have. So I came here instead.”
Elon reached out and touched her lightly on the cheek. She smiled at him through the saddest eyes he had ever seen. “Why are young people always so proud?” he asked rhetorically.” If your roles were reversed, he would have come to you.”
Gwenn looked away but still felt the burn of his gaze. “I did want to go, you know I did.”
“Then why didn’t you, child? I know Nigel wished for it.”
Gwenn smiled bitterly. “What good would it have done? The pain has just begun to leave, and I don’t want it to come back, ever. Going would do no good, serve no purpose.”
“Leave ‘good’ and ‘purpose’ to old men and politicians,” said Elon. “Dalia told me Nigel was awake all night, hoping that you might come, if only for a moment.”
Her eyes flashed, a tear welled. “Please,” she said, “don’t make it harder than it already is.”
Elon wiped the tear away. “Never mind,” he said. “At least you came here.”
Gwenn sighed. “Yes. I did that much.”
Elon shook his head sadly, recalling wasted years, loveless years. Why must his mistakes be so often repeated in others? “Poor child. Is there not enough grief and misery in the world that you must share it, too? You’re so very young, and life should be lived to the fullest. It must be enjoyed before it slips away, before the Fates beckon, as they one day must.” His words trailed off into a whisper.
Gwenn realized there was more behind them than he was saying. But she did not press. She leaned over the wall, resting her chin in her hands. Beyond the walls she could see for miles. The Plain was becoming rich and thick with spring grass; wildflowers were sprouting everywhere along the hills of the countryside.
And then she saw them: eleven riders riding single-file, moving slowly north toward the Dell. From this distance they were blurred and misshapen images, indistinguishable from one another. And they looked so lonely and forlorn. There were no throngs of well-wishers, no flying banners, no cheers of pride. Only eleven riders — grim, determined, leaving their homes for who knew where or why, and perhaps never to return.
A pulse throbbed wildly in her neck; she put her hands to her mouth. “Nigel,” she cried. “Nigel! I’ll wait for you, you know I will!”
Elon put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her as a father. “They will be back, you know,” he said. “And when they are, you’ll tell him then.”
She looked at him sharply, her watery eyes flickering. “Do you believe that?”
Elon nodded darkly, somewhat mysteriously. “I do. Hector will guide them and keep them from harm.”
Gwenn shuddered at the thought of the wolf.
“You must believe, child,” Elon pressed. “I do. You must hold your head high, and believe.”
The Lady raised her chin and forced a weak smile. “I was wrong,” she said. “I should have gone to him, told him I’d be waiting.”
“He knows,” said Elon. “And because he knows, he’ll come back no matter what.”
*
The dark rain clouds appeared again; they hung low as the band crossed the Plain and headed toward the hills. Nigel fidgeted in his saddle; there had been a minor crisis when Des had announced to the others that Nigel had invited a wolf to join their party. Though in the end all had grudgingly accepted the wisdom of the idea, some harsh words were spoken about Nigel’s high-handedness.
Antonius was sitting rigidly perched on Nigel’s shoulder, saying nothing. Overhead Mustapha glided, his wings at full span. Occasionally he dived down to Des, received a command, then returned to the skies.
Nigel glanced wistfully from side to side. To his left, along the banks of a meadow, was a small farming village with large mills lumbering over the tiny homes, casting long shadows. Nigel knew the village well. A few miles to the west lay Northwood, near his father’s old home. How he longed to go there now. To turn around and put this adventure behind him. He had been happy there, perhaps happier than he had ever been since. But he had only been a child. And you cannot turn back the passage of time.
This was good soil, this part of the Valley. Along the hills, farmers at their plows were working their fields. From somewhere came the clang of a smith’s hammer. A woman from a nearby farm peered up and waved as she drew a bucket of water from her well: Nigel turned and waved back. A final goodbye.
After a while the landscape suddenly became more pronounced. They followed along the edge of a weed-strewn ravine, taking a shortcut away from the road. A herd of sheep did t
heir early-morning grazing most contentedly under the watchful eye of a shepherd. The hills were becoming craggy now, the earth harder. Farms, few as they already were, were becoming even fewer. They were close to the Dell, close to the frontier. The only men they might happen upon would be a blue-tunicked patrol of Guardsmen.
“Where’s the meeting place?” asked Des, pausing for Nigel to reach his side.
“There’s a brook, beside a honeysuckle patch. Know it?”
Des swung his horse back and grunted. “Double up,” he called back to the riders, “It’s almost time for the rendezvous with Hector, and I want us to look very sharp.”
And before he finished, the mares had closed ranks, and the riders sat taller in the saddles.
They crested another hill, then rode down the angular slope. Nigel recognized the spot at once; he signaled for the band to halt. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at Des. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “here we are.”
Des shaded his eyes and peered across the pond. It was totally quiet in the thicket. He rubbed at his chin nervously.
“Don’t worry about Hector,” said Nigel. “He’ll be here. And believe me, he can be trusted.”
The Captain scowled. “I hope so,” he said. “Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough.”
From behind the trees Hector suddenly appeared. And with him were two of the biggest and fiercest Hunters Des had ever seen. The trio moved cautiously to the pond, then stood impassively, their eyes fixed keenly on the men.
Nigel dismounted and waited for Des to follow suit. Then they walked boldly to the pond.
The Hunters scrutinized them carefully as they approached. They knew what to expect with one, but the other man, the brazen one with the long knife at his side, of him they were clearly wary.
Unconsciously Des clutched briefly at the hilt of his sword. But it was really a pointless gesture; had they wanted, the Hunters could have sprung and slit his throat before the knife was out of its sheath.
After a moment of mistrustful watching, Hector crossed the pond. He stretched out his paws (and the claws were sharp as razors, Des saw) and lowered his head slightly in a bow, wolf-fashion.
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