by Roger Taylor
‘Not much call for either Wardens or Watch Guards,’ Nordath said. ‘It’s a quieter, more trusting place.’
Hyrald looked round the circle of firelit faces. ‘That’s perhaps the way we should go. Through the mountains and down the western side.’
‘Forgive me, but it’s not through, it’s over the mountains,’ Rhavvan said, arcing an extended forefinger significantly.
Hyrald turned to Endryk who shrugged. ‘The further south we go, the more people there are. And the nearer we get to Arvenshelm, the more likely they are to remember the Death Cry from what you’ve told me. We’re going to have to go into the mountains sooner or later, just to hide.’
‘Do you think we can go over the mountains?’
‘I was brought up in mountains far more severe than these,’ Endryk replied. ‘But I know enough not to underestimate even the most innocent-looking of hills. Given that we’ve got to go into them eventually, we might as well do it now, while the summer’s with us and there’s game for hunting and fodder for the horses.’ He was about to add something else, then thought better of it. Hyrald pressed him. Endryk smiled a little guiltily. ‘I was about to say it’ll be even harder than what we’ve been doing, but then I remembered we were at war. Hard or not, we’ve no choice.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Deceptive stuff, good venison. Makes you too comfortable.’ He sat up and stretched himself. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. We should go over to the western side as soon as we can. I’ve no idea of the way so I suggest we continue south until we come to the first likely-looking valley, then we’ll have to take our chance.’
The next morning they woke to a thin drizzling rain. Endryk was irritatingly hearty. ‘Good mountain weather,’ he announced. ‘But at least the visibility’s not too bad.’ He watched as they each examined their boots and clothes, then he repeated the instructions he had given before they had retired the previous night. ‘Keep together. Once we start climbing, watch every step, especially now that it’s raining. And if we’re moving down – even more so. Whatever you do, don’t rush. There’s no urgency. We’ll stop a lot – go at the pace of the slowest. Any problems, speak up right away.’
‘And keep breathing and relaxing,’ Rhavvan whined, to general amusement.
‘More than ever,’ Endryk confirmed in the same vein.
For most of the morning, their journey was little different from what it had been over the past few days. The rain came and went to its own rhythms and progress was for the most part silent. As they walked, Endryk studied the mountains. Eventually he stopped and pointed. ‘There’s no guarantee whether what lies beyond it is passable, but that valley there seems to be the most tempting.’
‘Not too far,’ Rhavvan said.
‘It’ll take most of the day,’ Endryk replied. ‘Distances, heights, they’re all deceptive in the mountains.’
His estimate proved to be correct and it was late afternoon by the time they were entering the valley. As they drew nearer, Endryk stopped and turned them all round to look across the country they had just walked over.
‘I thought my legs were telling me something,’ Nordath said, rubbing his thighs ruefully.
‘What a view,’ Adren said, wiping her forehead. ‘We’re so high. I didn’t realize we’d been climbing so long.’ The rain had long stopped and though the horizon was lost in mist, the countryside was laid out before them in a rolling patchwork of hills and forests, laced here and there with white and silver streams and lit by a watery sun hesitantly making its way through the slowly clearing sky.
‘It didn’t seem to be so high when we set off,’ Hyrald said.
‘I told you – distances, heights – all deceptive in the mountains. We’re very small things really,’ Endryk replied. ‘But let’s make the most of where we are by spending a little time looking for our pursuers.’
‘I can’t even see which way we’ve come,’ Adren said uncomfortably. ‘I wouldn’t know how to get back.’ Endryk bent close to her and pointed out features that they had passed. ‘Now we’re in the mountains, that’s something we need to be careful about. It’s quite likely we’ll have to retrace our steps at some time or other and things tend to look very different when you’re travelling the other way. I’ll show you how to mark a track without it being conspicuous.’
They spent some time watching intently, but there was no sign of anyone following them.
‘Like I said last night, they’ve gone,’ Rhavvan declared emphatically. ‘Running for home with their tails between their legs.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Endryk agreed finally. ‘Besides, it’ll be much harder for anyone to follow us through the mountains.’
‘You don’t seem particularly overjoyed at losing them,’ Hyrald said.
‘Just wondering what your Vashnar will do when he finds out what’s happened to them.’
Rhavvan laughed at the prospect. ‘I’m only sorry I won’t be there to see it.’
Endryk did not share his humour. ‘You miss my point. For whatever reason, he put enough urgency into them to have them exhaust themselves and their horses finding us, not to mention abandoning their colleagues – not something I presume even the likes of Aghrid would do lightly. So the questions now become who will he send next – how many – when – where?’
Rhavvan closed his eyes. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’
‘Will he?’ Endryk replied starkly.
Rhavvan had no answer.
They continued westward along the valley for the rest of the afternoon. It rose steadily but gently and was easy going.
Sheltered by the mountains, it grew dark prematurely and they were pitching camp while the sky was still comparatively light, the higher peaks turning pink as they caught the unseen setting sun.
As all hint of the sun faded, Rhavvan looked round at the dark silhouettes hemming them in, some wrapped about with scarves of dull grey cloud. ‘I’m not sure whether I like this or not,’ he said. ‘It feels a bit too closed in for my taste.’
‘It’s not as closed in as the forest,’ Adren said curtly, though she was hunched forward a little, her arms wrapped around her knees. Rhavvan contented himself with a grunt by way of reply.
The following days passed without untoward incidents other than those inherent in travelling with horses through unknown mountain terrain. As they moved on, now west, now south, now along lush valleys, now through dense forest, up steep slopes and over disconcerting ridges, through endlessly changing weather, each of them was obliged to wrestle with the implications of their changed circumstances. Anger, elation, frustration, contentment, resignation, even some despair came to all of them in varying degrees at different times. There were angry quarrels, surly and resentful silences, earnest discussion, apologies, reconciliations, laughter and excitement. And throughout, the group slowly changed.
Adren maintained an instinctive female concern for her appearance which she used unashamedly to scorn the men into doing the same.
‘There’s not one of you suits a beard,’ she inveighed one misty morning, her face wrinkling in distaste as she emerged from her tent and viewed the shuffling ensemble. ‘And for pity’s sake do something with your hair. You look like a sale of chimney sweeps’ brushes – and second-hand ones at that.’
Her undisguised contempt provoked a robust, if brief, exchange:
‘All the disadvantages of being married and none of the advantages…’
‘Looking like that could cause a riot. I’ve arrested smarter-looking tramps…’
‘The Death Cry at our backs and the Death Nag to our front…’
‘Little chin too fragile for a blade, is it, dear?’ Pat, pat.
Endryk, who had shaved regularly since they had set out, and taken the same quiet care of his appearance as Adren had of hers, excused himself from hearing any appeals and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. Adren’s onslaught was sufficient to make the offending males turn to him for instruction about how to sharpen their knives for such a task. Only Thyrn
hesitated. Not having a mirror to hand he fancied the straggling growth tickling his chin was distinctly manly and he was secretly quite proud of it. A gentle tug on it by Adren and the epithet ‘cute’, however, was sufficient to make him hastily follow the example of the others. It proved to be a strained and bloody affair for all of them, but Adren bravely hid any pangs of conscience she might have felt about it.
It was one of many small turning points for the group. More soberly, later, they all agreed the importance of striving to keep the appearance of Wardens.
Slowly Endryk was becoming less and less their overt instructor and leader. Hunting, trapping, fire-lighting, cooking, maintenance of equipment and clothes, tending the horses, all the many activities that were a necessary part of their continued progress, not to say survival, became both shared and routine and subject only to the passing grumbles of the moment – even the continuing nightly guard duties. None of the group hesitated to ask Endryk’s advice when they were unsure, nor he theirs.
Though they still moved cautiously over skylines and maintained their watch for pursuers, it became increasingly obvious that Aghrid and his men had abandoned the chase. This, coupled with the developing daily routines eased the pace of their travelling.
Having increasingly less to tell his charges about the necessities of their lives, Endryk began to show them some of the fighting techniques which had manifested themselves in his skill with the bow and the sling and in his confrontation with the indignant, sword-wielding Adren. Ironically, the searching inquiries which this incident had generated at the time had faded away as the real nature of the group’s day to day existence had become apparent. The interest was still there though, and of all the daily tasks that had to be done, practicing with sling and bow were the least likely to be scowled at. The sling proved to be a demanding weapon and while all of them acquired a modest proficiency, none of them excelled. With the bow, the patterns set at the beginning were maintained. Adren became very fast and accurate, while the others became more than proficient. Nordath, never having had cause to handle any kind of a weapon before, was particularly proud of the progress he eventually made.
‘It would never have occurred to me that I could learn such a thing at my age. It’s oddly relaxing too.’
His unassuming pride illuminated all of them, particularly Endryk.
Rhavvan, inevitably, made himself a particularly powerful bow which sent a heavier arrow further than all the others’. Save Endryk’s, that is. ‘It’s just a better bow,’ he told the irritated Rhavvan as the big man tested its seemingly less powerful draw. Rhavvan’s range and accuracy nevertheless became impressive, though the lengthy task of retrieving the far-flung arrows caused him as much irritation as it did amusement to his comrades. ‘We should get that damned dog of yours to bring these back,’ Rhavvan protested. He picked up a stick and threw it. ‘Here, Nals, fetch.’
The dog’s head did not move, but his eyes followed the flight of the stick then returned to stare balefully at the thrower before closing.
Endryk had no hesitation in teaching his companions the use of the bow and the sling because they were necessary for hunting and none of the group had had experience with them. The use of sword, staff and knife, however, had no such rationale, nor had unarmed fighting, and he was almost apologetic when he suggested that these too should be studied and practised. His concern was unfounded. The three Wardens had a genuine professional interest in what he had done to Adren and had not forgotten it, least of all Adren herself. And while Thyrn’s youthful enthusiasm had been tempered by Hyrald’s stern reproaches, Nordath’s reservations had dwindled in the light of his success with the bow and his rueful acceptance of the reality of their circumstances.
Unlike the instruction he had given with the bow, Endryk did not teach directly. Instead he had the Wardens demonstrate their own ways, then made suggestions and debated strengths and weaknesses with them. He was particularly intrigued by Rhavvan’s skill with the long staff. His work with the knife disturbed them all, as did his teaching on the ethics of fighting with or without weapons, which he was adamant were to be understood more deeply than any fighting technique.
‘Don’t start conflict. Avoid it if humanly possible. If it isn’t, be clear in your mind: you’ve the right to survive and you may do whatever’s necessary to ensure that. When you’re safe, stop – perhaps help your enemy, if you can.’ He addressed his remarks most strongly to the Wardens. ‘This is more alien to you than it is to Thyrn and Nordath, but you understand, don’t you? I’m not talking about trying to avoid injuring disorderly citizens. I’m talking about dealing with people who intend to kill you. You’ve had to do it already and you’ve done well, but you’ve not really thought about it and you need to. If you hesitate, you’ll die. And your companions may die. Don’t forget that. Not ever. Your focus, your resolution, must be clear and unclouded.’
‘We understand. But it’s hard. As you say, it’s not our way,’ Adren said into a heavy silence.
‘It is now,’ Endryk replied coldly.
‘It’s horrible.’
‘It is.’
There was some debate, but not much. Endryk’s logic on all points was as impeccable as it was awful. He did not attempt to teach Thyrn and Nordath this kind of fighting, but left it to the Wardens, intervening only when complexity and elaboration began to bring confusion.
‘Keep it simple. This is life and death. Avoid, and attack the centre. Your body’s far wiser than you, let it do what it already knows. You’ve more resources than you realize when you have to fight.’
‘If,’ Nordath said.
Endryk did not reply.
As with everything he did, Endryk proved to be quietly relentless in his instruction. Practice was not excessive but it was regular and purposeful. Achievements were praised but they were always used as a step towards some further goal. It was a discipline that bewildered, even angered, all of them at some time, except, unexpectedly, Thyrn.
‘There is no end. Abilities must always be stretched,’ he said, quoting one of his wiser erstwhile masters at the Caddoran Congress. ‘Where improvement can be made, it must be made. Why else would it be there?’ Thyrn’s manner was both unaffected and peculiarly humbling and the need for continuing practice was never disputed again.
Thus the days passed. Occasionally there would be speculation about the future and what they should do when they reached the far side of the mountains, though it was accepted that no plans could be made until the mood of the people was known. Occasionally too, homesickness would come like a hammer-blow to take its toll as some casual remark reminded them of the injustice they had suffered and the good lives they had been obliged to abandon. Weapons practice was the invariable cure for such attacks.
Then, one morning, Thyrn was gone.
Chapter 18
Degelham was a typically Arvens village – a random but not unpleasant muddle of one and two-storey houses and cottages, each one identical to its neighbour only in its warped roof, heavily lintelled windows and crooked and twisted walls. A few, mainly towards the outskirts of the village, showed signs of neglect but most were in reasonable, if not good order, for Degelham was quite prosperous. It had a better than average blacksmith, an excellent saddle-maker and a peculiarly surly cobbler who, through a mouthful of nails, invariably advised his customers that their shoes would be ‘ready tomorrow’ independent of how long they had been in his safe-keeping. For the most part however, its inhabitants worked on local farms, their own smallholdings, or in the nearby town of Degelvak – Little Degel or Degel’s Guardian, depending on which student of Old Arvens or particularly parochial resident of Degelham was being asked. The village also sported a small but thriving quarry and it was stones from this that covered most of the roofs and metalled the road which threaded a winding way through the seemingly randomly built houses. Here and there, dirt roads and pathways branched off this main thoroughfare to skirt past more reclusive dwellings before disappearing vaguel
y into trees or fields or rampant undergrowth.
Despite its prosperity, Degelham was not the home of anyone particularly important or powerful, and was thus of little interest to Vashnar other than being the last wayside stop before he and his entourage pressed on to Degelvak – the most northerly point of his progress. Even travelling leisurely and in luxury could become irksome and cramping after a while, and opportunities to rest and water the horses and for everyone to walk awhile were valued.
Being home to no special allies, Vashnar’s messengers would have passed through the village almost without noticing it and, at most, all he expected was some more or less impromptu reception by the local Watch Guards, gossip of his coming having almost certainly preceded him. Thus as the coach came to a halt by the larger than usual green at the centre of the village he was not particularly surprised to see, in addition to various livestock and a handful of curious villagers, a nervously shuffling gaggle of men sporting the traditional black neckerchiefs of the Local Watches. He was, however, more than surprised to have the coach door opened by a Tervaidin Trooper and he hesitated momentarily at the sight of him, instinctively using the shade of the coach’s interior to ensure that his features did not betray his response.
As he emerged into the bright sunlight he paused and looked about him before waving a purposeful acknowledgement to the waiting men. A glance and a touch on Vellain’s arm dispatched her to speak to them. He wasted no such pleasantries on the Trooper.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Commander Aghrid sent me, sir.’
Vashnar had already taken in every detail of the man. Although he had obviously made an effort to make himself presentable, his uniform was creased and showed signs of ineffective attempts to remove travel-staining. The sunshine highlighted deep lines of fatigue in his face. He was also blatantly nervous. Everything about him told Vashnar that he was not going to receive the good news he had been anticipating. He held the man with an unblinking black-eyed stare.
