To Green Angel Tower, Volume 1

by Tad Williams

  Simon shrugged. Hotvig, who had also looked back, stared intently for a moment, then swiveled around once more.

  The thought would not quite go away, however. As Homefinder plodded along beneath him, Simon remembered a bit of a recent dream—a field of grass whose color was so even that it might have been painted, a sky as cold and unchanging as a piece of pottery, the whole landscape eternal and dead as stone.

  I’ll take surprises, I think, Simon decided. Even with the bad ones included.

  They heard the music first, a thin, piping melody that wove in and out through the noise of the wind. As they came down the hillside into the bowl-shaped valley around Sesuad’ra, they saw a small fire burning at the edge of the great black tarn that surrounded the hill. A little round shape rose from beside the fire, draped in shadow, silhouetted by flame as it lowered a bone flute.

  “We heard you playing,” Simon said. “Aren’t you worried that someone else might hear you, too? Someone unfriendly?”

  “I have protection of sufficiency.” Binabik smiled just a little. “So, you are returned.” He sounded studiedly calm, as if worrying was absolutely the last thing he might have been doing. “Are you all well?”

  “Yes, Binabik, we’re well. All Fengbald’s sentries were staying close to their fires.”

  “As I have myself been doing,” the troll said. “The flatboats are over there, where I am pointing. Would you like to rest and warm yourselves, or should we be going up the hill now?”

  “We should probably get the news to Josua as soon as possible,” Simon decided. “Fengbald has something near a thousand men, and Hotvig says that almost half of them are Thrithings mercenaries.” He was distracted by a shape moving along the shadowy shore. When it passed before a high snow drift, he saw that it was Qantaqa slipping along the water’s edge like a driblet of quicksilver. The wolf turned to look toward him, her eyes reflecting the firelight, and Simon nodded. Yes, Binabik was indeed protected: no one would sneak up on Qantaqa’s master without first dealing with her.

  “That is not truly good news, but I am thinking it could be less good,” Binabik said as he gathered together the pieces of his walking-stick. “The High King could have thrown all his forces upon us, as he was doing at Naglimund.” He sighed. “Still, a thousand soldiers is not a comforting thought.” The troll pushed the assembled stick through his belt and took Homefinder’s reins. “Josua is gone to sleep for the night, but I think you are sensible when you say you will go straight up. Better we all go to the safeness of the Stone. Even if the king’s armies are still distant, this is a wild place, and I am thinking that the storm may bring strange things out into the night.”

  Simon shivered. “Then let’s get ourselves out of the night and into a warm tent.”

  They followed Binabik’s short steps down to the edge of the lake. It seemed to have an odd sheen.

  “Why does the water look so strange?” Simon asked.

  Binabik grimaced. “That is my news, it gives me sorrow to say. I fear that this last storm has brought us more evil luck than we had guessed. Our moat, as you castle-dwellers would call it, is becoming frozen.”

  Sludig, who was standing close by, cursed richly. “But the lake is our best guard against the king’s troops!”

  The little man shrugged. “It is not all frozen yet—otherwise there would be terrible difficulties to get our boats back across. Perhaps we will be having a thaw, and then it will be a shield to us again.” The look on his face, shared by Sludig, suggested that it was not very likely.

  Two large flatboats waited at the lake’s edge. “Men and wolves are to go in this one,” Binabik said, gesturing. “The other will take the horses and one man for watching them. Although, Simon, I am thinking your horse has been with Qantaqa enough to bear the trip in our boat.”

  “It’s me you should worry about, troll,” growled Sludig. “I like boats less than I like wolves—and I don’t like wolves much more than the horses do.”

  Binabik waved a small, dismissive hand. “You are making jokes, Sludig. Qantaqa has risked her life at your side many times, and that you are knowing.”

  “So now I have to risk my own again on another of your damned boats,” the Rimmersman complained. He seemed to be suppressing a smile. Simon was surprised again by the strange fellowship that seemed to have grown between Binabik and the northerner. “Very well, then,” Sludig said, “I will go. But if you trip over that great beast and fall in, I am the last person who will jump in after you.”

  “Trolls,” Binabik said with great dignity, “do not ‘fall in.’ ”

  The little man plucked a burning brand from the flames, extinguished the campfire with a few handfuls of snow, then clambered onto the nearest flatboat. “Your torches have too much brightness,” he said. “Put them out. Let us be enjoying this night, when some stars can at last be seen.” He lit the horn-shielded lamp hanging at the front of the barge, then stepped gingerly from one rocking deck to the other and fired the wick on the other boat as well. The lamplight, lunar and serene, spread out across the water as Binabik dropped his torch overboard. It disappeared with a hiss and a belch of steam. Simon and the others doused their own brands and followed the troll aboard.

  One of Hotvig’s clansmen was deputed to ferry the horses in the second barge, but the mare Homefinder, as Binabik had predicted, seemed unruffled by Qantaqa’s presence and so was deemed fit to ride with the rest of the company. She stood in the stem of the leading boat and gazed back at the other horses like a duchess eyeing a gang of drunkards carousing beneath her balcony. Qantaqa curled up at Binabik’s feet, tongue lolling, and watched Sludig and Hotvig as they poled the first barge out onto the lake. Mist rose up all around; in a moment the land behind them had vanished and the two boats were floating through a netherworld of fog and black water.

  In most places the ice was little more than a thin skin across the water, brittle as sugar candy. As the front of the boat pushed through, the ice crackled and rang, a delicate but unnerving sound that made the back of Simon’s neck prickle. Overhead, the passage of this wave of the storm had left the sky almost clear; as Binabik had said, a few stars could indeed be seen blinking in the murk.

  “Look,” the troll said softly. “While men prepare for fighting, Sedda still goes about her business. She has not caught her husband Kikkasut yet, but she does not stop her trying.”

  Simon stood beside him and stared up into the deep well of the sky. But for the soft tinkling of the water’s frozen crust parting before them, and an occasional muffled thump when they struck a larger piece of floating ice, the valley was supernaturally silent.

  “What’s that?” Sludig said abruptly. “There.”

  Simon leaned to follow his gaze. The Rimmersman’s fur-cloaked arm pointed out across the water to the dark edge of the Aldheorte, which stood like a castle outwall above the north shore of the lake.

  “I can’t see anything,” Simon whispered.

  “It’s gone now,” Sludig said fiercely, as though Simon had spoken from disbelief instead of inability. “There were lights in the forest. I saw them.”

  Binabik stepped closer to the edge of the boat, peering out into the darkness. “That is near where the city Enkie-Shao’s aye stands, or what is remaining of it.”

  Hotvig now moved forward as well. The barge rocked gently. Simon thought it good that Homefinder still stood placidly in the stem, otherwise the shallow flatboat might have overbalanced. “In the ghost city?” The Thrithings-man’s scarred features were suddenly childlike in their apprehension. “You see lights there?”

  “I did,” Sludig said. “I swear by the Blood of Aedon I did. But they are gone now.”

  “Hmm.” Binabik looked troubled. “It could be that somehow our own lamps were shining back from some mirroring surface there in the old city.”

  “No.” Sludig was firm. “One was bigger than any lamp of ours. But they went dark so quickly!”

  “Witch lights,” said Hotvig grimly.
>
  “It is also possible,” Binabik offered, “that you only saw them for a moment through trees or broken buildings, then after that we passed from where we could be seeing them.” He thought for a moment, then turned to Simon. “Josua has set tonight’s task for you, Simon. Should we back water for a way to see if we can be finding these forest lights again?”

  Simon tried to think calmly of what was best, but he truly did not want to know what was on the far side of the black water. Not tonight.

  “No.” He tried to make his voice measured and steady. “No, we will not go and look. Not when we have news that Josua needs. What if it is a scouting party for Fengbald? The less they see of us, the better.” Stated that way, it sounded rather reasonable. He felt a moment of relief, but that was quickly followed by shame that he should try to falsely impress these men, who had risked their lives under his command. “And also,” he said “I am tired and worried—no, frightened is what I am. This has been a hard night. Let’s go and tell Josua what we’ve seen, including the lights in the forest. The prince should decide.” As he finished, he was suddenly aware of a vast presence at his shoulder. He turned quickly, unnerved, to be confronted with the great bulk of Sesuad’ra looming up from the water beside him; it had appeared so unexpectedly through the fog that it might have just that moment pushed up from beneath the lake’s obsidian surface like a breaching whalefish. He stood and stared up at it, openmouthed.

  Binabik stroked Qantaqa’s broad head. “I am thinking Simon speaks with good sense. Prince Josua should be deciding what to do about this mystery.”

  “They were there,” Sludig said angrily, but shook his head as though not as sure now as he had been.

  The flatboats sailed on. The forested shore vanished once more into the cloaking mist, like a dream receding before the light and noises of morning.

  Deornoth watched Simon as the youth made his report, and found that he liked what he was seeing. The young man was flushed with the excitement of his new responsibilities, and the gray morning light was reflected in eyes that were perhaps a little too bright for the gravity of the things discussed—namely, Fengbald’s army and its overwhelming superiority in numbers, equipment, and experience—but Deornoth noted with pleasure that the youth did not rush through his explanations, did not jump toward unwarranted conclusions, and thought carefully before answering each of Prince Josua’s questions. This new-minted knight had seen and heard much in his short life, it seemed, and had paid attention. As Simon related their adventure and Sludig and Hotvig nodded agreement with the young man’s conclusions, Deornoth found himself nodding, too. Though Simon’s beard still had the chick-feathered look of youth, Deornoth’s experienced eye saw beneath it the makings of a fine man. He guessed that the lad might someday be one such as other men might follow to their benefit.

  Josua was holding his council before his tent, where a blazing fire kept the morning chill at bay and served as a centerpiece to their deliberations. As the prince questioned and probed, Freosel, New Gadrinsett’s stocky constable, cleared his throat to gain Josua’s attention.

  “Yes, Freosel?”

  “Strikes me, sire, that all things your knight here says he saw, well, they be like what the Lord Mayor told us.”

  Simon turned to the Falshireman. “Lord Mayor? Who’s that?”

  “Helfgrim, who was once mayor of Gadrinsett,” Josua explained. “He came to us just after you and the others rode out. He escaped from Fengbald’s camp and made his way here. He is sickly and I have ordered him to bed, otherwise he would be with us this moment. He had a long, cold journey on foot, and Fengbald’s men had treated him badly.”

  “As I said, your Highness,” Freosel resumed, polite but determined, “what Sir Seoman here says bears out all Helfgrim’s talk. So when Helfgrim says he knows how Fengbald will attack, and where, and when ...” the young man shrugged, “well, seems we should pay heed. Would be a boon to us, and we have small enough to work with.”

  “Your point is well taken, Freosel. You said the mayor is a trustworthy man, and you, as another Falshireman, know him best.” Josua looked around the circle. “What think you all? Geloë?”

  The witch woman looked up quickly, surprised. She had been staring into the shifting orange depths of the fire. “I do not pretend to be a war strategist, Josua.”

  “That I know, but you are a keen judge of people. How much weight can we place on the old Lord Mayor’s words? We have few enough forces—we cannot spare anything on a bad gamble.”

  Geloë thought for a moment. “I have only spoken with him briefly, Josua, but I will say this: there is a darkness in his eyes I do not like—a shadow. I suggest you take great care.”

  “A shadow?” Josua looked at her intently. “Could it be a mark of his suffering, or are you saying you read treachery in him?”

  The forest woman shook her head. “No, I would not go so far as to say anything about treachery. It could be pain, certainly. Or he could be addled by harsh treatment, and the thing I see is a mind hiding from itself, hiding behind imaginings of knowing what the great ones are thinking and doing. But go carefully, Josua.”

  Deornoth sat up straighter. “Geloë is wise, sire,” he said quickly, “—but we shouldn’t make the error of a caution so great we fail to use what could save us.”

  Even as he spoke, Deornoth wondered whether he was so concerned that the witch woman might talk his master into passivity that he was ignoring the possible truth of what she said. Still, it was important in these final days to keep Josua resolved. If the prince was bold and decisive, it would overcome many small mistakes—that, in Deornoth’s experience, was the way of war. If Josua wavered and hesitated too long, over this matter or any others, it might steal away what little fighting spirit remained to New Gadrinsett’s army of survivors.

  “I say we pay close attention to what Helfgrim the mayor has to offer,” he asserted.

  Hotvig spoke up in Deornoth’s support, and Freosel was clearly already in agreement. The others held their peace, although Deornoth could not help noticing that Binabik the troll had an uneasy look on his round face as he poked at the fire with a length of stick. The little man put too much stock in Geloë and her magical trappings, Deornoth thought. This was different, though. This was war.

  “I think I will have a talk with the Lord Mayor tonight,” Josua said at last. “Providing he is strong enough, that is. As you say, Deornoth, we cannot afford to be too proud to accept help. We are needy, and God, it is said, provides what His children need if they trust Him. But I will not forget your words, Geloë. That would also be throwing away valuable gifts.”

  “Your pardon, Prince Josua,” Freosel said. “If you be done with this, there are other things I need speak on.”

  “Of course.”

  “We have more problems than just readying to fight,” the Falshireman said. “You know food is dreadful scarce. We fished the rivers until they be nearly empty—but now ice has come, we cannot even do that. Every day hunters go farther and come back with less. This woman,” he nodded toward Geloë, “helped us find plants and fruits we did not know were good to eat, but that only helps stretch stores gone mighty thin.” He stopped and swallowed, anxious about speaking so forwardly, but determined to say what was needed. “Even do we win here and beat off siege ...” at the word, Deornoth felt an almost imperceptible shudder travel around the circle, “... we’ll not be able to stay. Not enough food to last us through winter, that is the length of it.”

  The baldness of his statement dropped the makeshift council into silence.

  “What you say is not truly a surprise,” Josua said at last. “Believe me, I know the hunger our people are feeling. I hope the settlers of New Gadrinsett are aware that you and I and these others are not eating any better than they are.”

  Freosel nodded. “They know, your Highness, and that’s stopped any worse trouble than grumbling and complaining. But if people starve, they won’t care that you be starving, too. They’ll go.
Some be gone already.”

  “Goodness!” said Strangyeard. “But where can they go? Oh, the poor creatures!”

  “Don’t matter.” Freosel shook his head. “Back to tag along the edges of Fengbald’s army begging for scraps, or back across plains toward Erkynland. Only a few be gone. So far.”

  “If we win,” Josua said, “we will move on. That was my plan, and this only proves to me that I was right. If the wind swings in our favor, we would be fools not to move while it blows at our backs.” He shook his head. “Always more troubles. Fear and pain, death and hunger—how much my brother has to answer for!”

  “It’s not just him, Prince Josua,” Simon said, his face tight with anger. “The king didn’t make this storm.”

  “No, Simon, you are correct. We cannot afford to forget my brother’s allies.” Josua seemed to think of something, for he turned toward the young knight. “And now I am reminded. You spoke of seeing lights on the northeast shore last night.”

  Simon nodded. “Sludig saw them—but we are certain they were there,” he hastened to add, then darted a look over at the Rimmersman, who was listening attentively. “I thought it best we tell you before doing anything.”

  “This is another puzzle. It could be some feint of Fengbald’s, I suppose—some attempt to outflank us. But it makes little sense.”

  “Especially with his main army still so far away,” Deornoth said. It did not seem like Fengbald’s method, anyway, he thought. The duke of Falshire had never been the subtle sort.

  “It seems to me, Simon, that it could be your friends the Sithi coming to join us. That would be a happy chance.” Josua cocked an eyebrow. “I believe you had some conversation recently with your Prince Jiriki?”

  Deornoth was amused to see the young man’s cheeks turn bright scarlet. “I ... I did, your Highness,” Simon mumbled. “I shouldn’t have done it.”