by Carol Berg
“The way?” I felt dull and sluggish. I hadn’t even considered where I could go. Of course Camarthan was no longer safe.
The Elhim led me into the stables and past the line of nervous horses, most of them still skittish from the passage of the dragon flight. But in a corner box stood a smallish roan, peaceably champing at a bucket of oats until he caught sight of the Elhim and whinnied agreeably. “Hey, ho, Acorn,” said Davyn, patting the horse’s nose and producing an apple that the beast happily snuffled off his palm. “Acorn will carry you,” he said, noting my skeptical assessment of the undersized horse. “I promise your feet won’t drag the ground. And he’s carried heavier men than you. Give him his head, and he’ll bear you safely.”
“In the dark ... ?”
“... and the storm. He’s an intelligent horse. He knows where to take you.”
“Yours?”
“He allows me to ride him, and he will allow you. Now be quick.”
Davyn held Acorn’s head as I mounted, and he spent a goodly time whispering in the horse’s ear before stepping back. “Give him his head, and don’t be concerned. You’ll be met by friends. Tell them I’ll be along as soon as it can be done inconspicuously.”
“But I—”
Footsteps crunched beyond the stable doors. Davyn pressed his fingers to his lips and laid a hand on Acorn’s nose.
“Don’t touch me, you creeping ferret.” It was Alfrigg. “You’ll not hold me here another moment. I’m going back to Camarthan and search out the egg-sucking, flea-bitten Senai pig. I’ll nail his hide to the walls of my shop. I don’t care what he’s done. I’ll gut him with his own bloody knife, I will.”
A quiet murmur was identifiable as the quartermaster’s high-pitched voice, but I couldn’t catch his words before Alfrigg broke in again. “No, I don’t need a guide. I was riding these roads before you were whelped. And in worse weather. Why did I ever think I needed a Senai tongue-flapper? Tell your commander the deliveries will commence as soon as one or the other of us has slit this highborn bastard’s throat.”
Never had I been so glad to be despised. From the vehemence of Alfrigg’s curses, I was reassured that I hadn’t hurt him too much, and, as they were letting him go, I must have done enough for the moment. “I need to warn him,” I said softly. “They’re letting him go now, but—”
“The Udema will be warned that a rival merchant in one of his new territories has sworn an oath to eliminate him and his family. He’ll be on his guard. And he’ll be watched.”
As the hoofbeats died away, the Elhim led Acorn to the end of the stables farthest from the headquarters. My relief had warmed my blood, and I motioned for him to give me the reins. “Wrap them around,” I said, as he looked dubiously at my gloveless hands. “Yes, I know ... give him his head. But I’ll feel better with something to hold on to.”
“If he falters, tell him thanai. It will remind him.”
Thanai—home. “Davyn ...” I tried to etch the Elhim’s likeness on my memory so I could recognize him if we ever met again. Broad shoulders for an Elhim. Fair skin stretched over fragile bones. A deep cleft in his chin. Laugh lines about his eyes that hinted he was far older than the twenty or so years he appeared. The curl of pale hair that was forever drooping over his left eye.
“Perhaps next time you’ll believe it when someone offers you help. Now, be off. I’ll be missed soon.” He whacked Acorn’s rump, and the horse ambled slowly out of the stable, immediately turning away from the camp and into the whirling wilderness of snow.
In the matter of moments the camp was swallowed by the night. I could not tell whether we were heading east or west or over a cliff or upward to the stars that I trusted were still sparkling somewhere above the storm. Strange. For the first time in six months I was not afraid. There was something reassuring about going blind into the storm, as if I were indeed resting in the palm of the eyeless god.
Chapter 10
I called on Keldar a number of times during that frigid night. Not in fear. Just a soft reminder that I was still there in the blustering wind and unending snow. I didn’t want him to forget about me. The night was bitterly cold, my lips and nose and fingers so ominously dead to the touch that I longed for the familiar ache in my hands just to prove I still had them. I was horribly thirsty, but I had no water, no food, no means of making fire, and no shelter but the feeble defense of my cloak. For seven years I had been a traveling musician, priding myself on how little I needed in the way of material comforts, but I had never been trained to survive like a soldier in the field, with nothing. Every time I thought I had been brought as low as a man could fall, I slipped a little further. Why was I yet living? The god of wisdom must have a plan for me, for all knew that horses were beloved of Keldar, and only a horse stood between me and the long, cold descent into death.
To keep my mind off my misery and prevent any panic-induced attempt to head Acorn for Camarthan, I kept trying to make some sense of my interview with Zengal. The Riders were afraid of me. It was the only possible conclusion—their hatred, their determination to force me silent, their defiance of Devlin. No wonder the king was worried. It didn’t matter whether I was his cousin or his brother or his wife or his child. If he had to choose between me and his dragon legions, he had only one possible course. Devlin’s dragons kept Elyria and his vassal kingdoms in existence.
Those of the Ridemark clan considered themselves above politics. Each of the Twelve Families chose to serve the ruler it considered the best tactician, the fiercest and craftiest opponent, the most ruthless war leader, or the best paymaster. Once sworn in fealty to a lord, the only thing that would make the Riders bend their honor and defy him was a threat to the superiority of their position—that is, a threat to their dragons. But why in the name of the Seven would they think of me as a threat? My brain came to a standstill whenever I hit this question. I would back off and try another path, but always I came back to it.
It could not be that I made the dragons “uneasy,” as Devlin said. Zengal claimed that nothing made them uneasy. But the Rider had exploded in anger and defensive-ness when I mentioned the escaped hostages. He had spewed out contrived stories and rote excuses. And then what had he said? No black-tongued singer could make the kai let hostages go free. If the Riders really believed I had made the dragons disobey, caused them to reject the control of the bloodstones ... Vanir’s fire, no wonder they were ready to kill me! But why would they think it? A series of remote coincidences? I knew nothing of dragons save the sounds of their voices that a god had used to inflame my music.
“Idiocy!” I shouted on the hundredth occasion I reached this impasse, inadvertently jerking the reins wrapped about my frozen hands. Acorn pulled up abruptly.
“No ... no ... I’m sorry.” What had the Elhim told me to say? For a panicked moment I could not remember. It was too dark; I was too cold. I’d been awake and afraid and freezing far too long. “Go on, Acorn. Have your head. You know the way. Go home to your ... home ... yes. Thanai!”
With a snuffle, the sturdy little beast took off plodding again and I leaned forward, burying my face in his wiry mane. “Thank you, Acorn ... Keldar, all praises be sung to your name.” I did no more thinking on that long night’s journey, but drifted in and out of sleep, holding on by sheer instinct, for I had nothing of will left. I dreamed fitfully of dragon wings and unclimbable mountains of snow, of Callia laughing as she bled out her life on her green silk dress, of Goryx smiling and fastening the cold metal jaws on my fingers....
“No! No more. Please no more.” I screamed as he began to break them one by one. I fought to make him stop. I felt like I was falling, though my bonds held me tight while lights flashed about me, and he kept on—one after the other. “Have mercy,” I sobbed. “I will be silent until the end of the world.”
“I’m sorry, my friend,” came a familiar voice. “We had to get your hands untangled from the reins. It was a long, hard journey, but you’re safe now. You’ll be warm again in time.”
Hot wine was poured down my throat until I gagged, and something heavy and blessedly warm was wrapped about my shoulders.
Another voice. “Lift him onto the litter. Careful!” “On his stomach, not his back. Hurry and get him to the fire. Of all the ill luck to have such a storm. One would think the Seven would arrange it otherwise.” There was a great deal of laughter at that.
They should not blame the gods. The storm was surely Keldar’s doing. If I was blind, then so were my pursuers blind. I was settled gently on my stomach. My hands—which were not broken, only frozen—were wrapped in warm cloths. I felt the unmistakable jostling of being carried. “I’ll be all right,” I said, my words muffled in the soft fur under my face. “I’ll be all right if I can just sleep for a year or two.”
Friendly, hearty laughter broke out around me. I wished I could see who it was, but I was carried close to a blazing bonfire, where I caught only a glimpse of a dozen pale gray eyes and a great deal of fair hair before I fell so deeply asleep I could not dream.
The smell of new-baked bread and hot bacon drew me out of the luxurious darkness into the gray light of a cold dawn. “I’m sorry we can’t let you sleep for a year, but I think I’ve brought you fair recompense. Am I right?” An Elhim—and I was certain it was Narim—sat cross-legged beside me, holding out a plate piled high with meaty slices of bacon still sizzling from the fire and thick chunks of bread dripping with butter. Behind him a bonfire showered sparks on at least five Elhim who were stuffing blankets and pots and tins into enormous saddle packs. I lay on the snow-covered ground swaddled in thick blankets, close enough to the fire that my face was hot.
“You’ve brought me the only thing in the world that could induce me to move,” I said, maneuvering myself so I could sit up without exposing any part of me to the cold air. “Though it looks as if you were going to force me to it fairly soon anyway.” One of the Elhim began throwing snow on the fire, which hissed in protest and sent out huge spouts of steam.
“We need to be on our way. The storm has passed, and we assume you will be pursued. You came on Acorn.” His face wore a cast of worry that I eased by passing on Davyn’s message around a mouthful of butter-soaked delight.
“Ah, good,” said Narim. “Davyn is the best and bravest of us all. You were recognized, then?”
“I was a fool. Came near getting another good man killed ... and this Davyn, too, if anyone gets wind of what he’s done. You and your friends would do well to keep your distance. You’ve saved my life yet again—and I do thank you most truly for all this—but my best repayment will be to stay away from you.”
Narim smiled and shook his head. “Since we found you in Lepan, your life has never been truly in danger, Aidan MacAllister—not because you are the cousin of the king, but because you are the nearest thing the Elhim have ever had to a hope of redemption. Whatever debt you acknowledge to me or my kin, you will have ample opportunity to repay ... if you come with us. Many will risk whatever danger is necessary to keep you safe.”
“I don’t understand. How is it that you and Davyn ...?”
“And Tarwyl is over there loading the horses. You have a number of friends. I’ve no time to tell you all of it right now. We must be off before the Riders start looking this way. Only know that as long as one of the three of us lives, you will never go back to Mazadine.”
“But—”
“Hurry yourself or you’ll get stuffed in a saddle pack.” He threw my boots and cloak at me, and after that a heavy shirt and a pair of thick woolen gloves—my own spare shirt and gloves that I’d last seen in my rooms at Camarthan. I thought of the quiet Elhim who had taken lodgings across the passage from me and wondered if he, too, would appear among my rescuers.
Riding in a saddle pack didn’t sound all that bad, for the air outside my cocoon was bitterly cold and thin. Acorn had brought me a good way up in the world. As I pulled on my outer garments and relinquished my blankets to the busy packers, the sun shot over the eastern horizon, banishing the lingering grayness and drenching the world in the blinding blue-white brilliance of winter morning.
We were camped on a high, wide plateau, looking eastward over a panorama of rolling hills and valleys unrecognizable beneath their mantle of snow. The world might have been newborn in that dawning, for there was no sign of human handiwork anywhere to be seen in all the lands laid out before me. Behind me rose a sheer face of pink-tinged granite rising sharply into the deep blue of the western sky—Amrhyn, the towering grandsire of the Carag Huim, the impenetrable Mountains of the Moon.
My spirits, lifted by the kindness of the Elhim, sank abjectly when I saw Amrhyn. Where within the boundaries of heaven and earth could we go from this place except back the way we’d come? For centuries men had attempted to conquer the heart of the Carag Huim, but found no passage save those to the south of Catania or far to the north in the realm of frozen wastes. Every attempt ended at an unscalable cliff, a gaping chasm, or an impassable slope of dangerously crumbled rock left by an avalanche. Every man who claimed to have found a way into those mountains had been proved a charlatan, and it was widely accepted that the gods intended for us to contemplate such awesome works as the Carag Huim from a respectful distance. Even the Dragon Riders stayed away from this mountain range, calling it a place cursed by the gods. But I was in no position to question my rescuers. I had nowhere else to go.
In a quarter of an hour I was astride the faithful Acorn, plodding up a winding way toward the cliff face. I could not call it a trail. Narim and Tarwyl rode single file in front of me, and two others behind. Two stayed back to wait for Davyn.
All day we traveled through impossible ways: paths that appeared to lead over cliffs, yet would turn abruptly to follow a narrow ledge bearing downward. Valleys with no outlet until you squeezed between two giant boulders and passed through a dark cleft in the rock to emerge in an open vale. Impossible slopes of dangerously loose talus that turned out to be more stable than they appeared. Sometimes it was difficult to see exactly how we got to where we were going, for the blinding sun on the snowy peaks forced me to keep my eyes squeezed to narrow slits. Surefooted Acorn followed his brethren, and I came to think that perhaps only the horses really knew the way.
About midday Narim called a halt. We cracked the icy shell of a noisy brook to refill our waterskins and let the horses drink. While Tarwyl handed around hard, sweet biscuits and dried meat, the other three Elhim talked of the trail and the weather.
“Isn’t Alfrigg going to miss you?” I said to Tarwyl, when the conversation lagged.
The deep-voiced Elhim nodded solemnly. “My cousin has taken my place at the merchant’s shop. Curiously enough his name is also Tarwyl, but he’s much less efficient than I. I would guess he’s already made some terrible errors in the accounts and is very likely to be sacked any day now.” The four Elhim broke into merry snorts and chuckles.
The Elhim were so difficult to tell one from another, I could well believe his story. “And you”—I spoke only half in jest to the fourth Elhim, who indeed bore an uncanny resemblance to the fellow who had lived across the passage in Camarthan—“I would guess you have a cousin who has moved into your rooms? One who is perhaps as much a thief as you, who seems to have acquired every stitch I own and brought it here?”
His pale skin had a leathery texture to it, and he had a terrible, red-rimmed squint to his eyes, as if he’d been in blinding sunlight far too long, but he managed to tilt his eyes cheerfully at my question. “Indeed, my cousin plans only to stay a few more days. The room is really not at all suitable.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
Every attempt at more serious questioning was gently but firmly put off, and we were back in the saddle before I had a single clue as to where we were bound and how in the name of heaven they had managed to find this passage into the Carag Huim. Our path took us ever higher and ever westward into the heart of the mountains. The stark ranks of ice-clad peaks rose sharply into the heavens o
n every side of us, and the snow lay deep upon the trails we followed, so that our going was often little more than a crawl. I began to believe that we were indeed going someplace where the clan would never find me.
Evening came early on the eastern flanks of Amrhyn, leaving us in chilly shadows at the hour when the rolling lands we had escaped were still basking in the gold of afternoon. We were climbing a saddle between the main bulk of Amrhyn and one of its towering shoulders to the north. It was the steepest ascent we had made. Impassable, every other traveler would have declared it, unless they saw the narrow thread of rock wall supporting the path that crisscrossed the slope.
“Only a little farther,” called Narim, who was in the lead. “Have a care as we descend, Aidan; the horses always try to run down this ridge.” He wore an odd smile as he disappeared over the top. I understood it when I reached the crest and saw what lay beyond. Not another frozen wasteland to be traversed. Not another stretch of tundra broken only by stunted junipers and ice-shattered rubble, not a snow-filled bowl, but a vast green valley dotted with lakes and springs, patches of evergreen forest dusted only lightly with snow, and everywhere herds of deer and elk and small, sturdy horses that could only have been Acorn’s relations. A flock of birds rose from the trees at the passage of a wild boar. I could scarcely comprehend such a marvel. In the distance a geyser shot twenty stories into the heavens, and an eagle soared joyously on the warm air that rose from the valley floor, lapping at my toes.
Even if I’d been able to form a question, my companions had already abandoned me, riding at full gallop down a broad, winding road that traversed the steep hillside. Acorn pulled anxiously at the reins, and I knew what he wanted. I clamped my arms around his neck and shouted, “Thanai!”
Like an arrow released from a bow, the horse raced after his fellows, all the day’s weariness shed in the warm air and the exhilaration of home ground. Down, down, recklessly, wildly. Even as I hung on for my life, I found myself laughing in manic delight. Into the evening wood-land, startling deer and at least one black bear nosing an overturned rock, back into meadowlands, leaping one streamlet after another, circling deep, blue pools that steamed in the cooling evening. All the way across the breadth of the valley and into a rocky enclave where sheer walls made a protected corner and a stream trickled from the mouth of a cave through a bed of mossy rocks.
