Perhaps it was only her fancy, but it seemed to Eirran that Newbold had regained a little of his youthful vigor, which had been lacking of late. Perhaps he even realized that they were going to rescue his beloved Jenys. But that was silly, she told herself. For all that Newbold was an exceptional creature, he was only a bird, with only a bird's limited consciousness.
Perhaps the hardest part of this journey, in a strictly personal sense, was the way Weldyn kept at Yareth. It was plain that Yareth's “weakness” in forming a relationship with one woman and continuing to live with her rankled the other Falconer.
“Come,” he was forever saying. “Show us how to lay a fire, season the food, make up a bedroll. Your, er, wife must have taught you a far daintier way than ours. Are you lonely? I wonder that you didn't bring your, er, wife with us.”
Yareth would simply stare at him out of his amber-brown eyes, never uttering a word of defense for himself, for Eirran, or for any of his actions. Eventually Weldyn would give up for a while and subside into silent disdain, only to begin his tirades all over again at the next opportunity. The other men learned to give the Falconers a wide berth when Weldyn was going on at Yareth like this.
Yareth is still angry at me or he would surely answer back, Eirran thought miserably. He is still offended that I was not there to bid him farewell. Nor can I blame him. He has a proud heart, and I shamed him. Isn't it enough that he has defied all Falconer tradition in taking a wife? Must she also be shown to the world as a weakling who runs away, who can't even bother to stand by him when he rides off to rescue their child?
Warily, she kept an eye on the moon. But her woman-time did not appear. Eirran found this more a relief than an additional worry; in fact, worry might well be the reason for its absence. She was all too familiar with the effects of strong emotion on a woman's most intimate functioning. And also, she realized, it might well be a part of the shape-changing she had undergone. A woman wearing a man's form would find such a thing difficult to explain, to say the least, and so the Guardian might have foreseen the problem and suppressed it as a kindness to her.
Their progress northward slowed even more. Once the haste to get away from the ambush site was over and they seemed reasonably satisfied that no one was in close pursuit, the Hounds dropped their pace. Now they traveled not as a band of outlaws fleeing from danger but rather as a group of travelers returning home in an unhurried though expeditious fashion. Still Yareth and Weldyn sent their falcons skyward at regular intervals and twice the rescue party had to turn aside and find places of concealment when some of the Hounds back-trailed for a league or two.
“They aren't complacent fools, we have to give ‘em that,” Girvan said. “We'll have to be extra careful going through Alizon Gap or I miss my guess. There's magical wards and I don't know what else set there and it's all made in such a way it turns you aside into the swamp.”
Eirran found herself nodding her understanding with the others though she had no experience at all with these matters of the northern countries. But even as far away as Karsten and later in Blagden, she had heard about the fearsome Tor Marsh, and how the men who ventured there did not return.
“Yet you've been through the Gap many times,” Yareth said. “So there must be a path somewhere. Don't you know the safe places to go?”
“No. The path keeps changing, and it shifts at random intervals. Maybe a week goes by, maybe a day, maybe six months, and no way to tell. Like I said, it's been four months since I've been north. The wards might have shifted once or a dozen times since then. But we can be certain the Hounds came through as close to a shift as possible, and that they'll go back the same way they came. We'll just have to follow their footsteps, that's all, and not get caught either by them or by the wards.”
“Then why not take the short way straight through the Alizon Ridge?” Yareth said. He scanned the low line of mountains in the distance. To the east, the lofty peaks from which this spur had broken and sprawled across the land, forming a barrier nearly drowned in swampland, reared cold and purple. Their tops were lost here and there amid banks of thick cloud. Beside these terrible peaks that raked the very sky, the Alizon Ridge presented no barrier at all. “It looks easy enough.”
“Easy indeed even for an ordinary man, let alone a Falconer,” Weldyn said. There was a boastful note to his voice. “You were probably too young to remember, but the Eyrie was so high those ‘mountains’ ahead of us look like anthills in comparison. But I must tell you there are dangers in them nonetheless, dangers enough that even the Hounds take the longer road around. You've probably been too, ah, busy of late to have heard about it.”
Yareth gazed at the other Falconer expressionlessly, then turned away without a word.
Ranal spoke up hastily, filling what could have been a dangerous silence. “Isn't there some way you can tell when you're coming close to one of these magical wards on the road?”
“Not until you've set it off and are trapped in it. Rolling smoke thick enough to choke you, phantom armies, beasts with teeth as long as your foot—oh, the Witches have some pretty tricks set up for the traveler in these parts. The worst is when it looks like there are ridges you think you have to work your way around, and the only way you can go is toward the swamp. The land leads you there, you see. Unless you know each rock like it was your cousin and can tell the false from the true, you'll go blundering off and never know the difference.” Girvan shook his head. “I don't know whether any of it's real or not, even to the ground under our feet. But that doesn't matter. What counts is that it mostly keeps the Hounds penned up and not worrying away at Estcarp's flanks.”
“Until lately,” Ranal said. “Well, if we've got horrors in the mountains, swamps and marshes to the other side, and magic in the middle, I'd say the magic offers us the least danger in the long run.”
“Don't forget the Hounds,” Dunnis said. “They'll be waiting for us, if we live through this part of our journey.
“I'm not forgetting anything. But by this time they've decided they got away clean, I'll warrant. They won't be looking over their shoulders.”
Eirran couldn't keep herself from speaking. “Surely—” her voice broke a little “—surely the Witch-children could sense if they were approaching something magical.” She glanced around; Hirl and Ranal were looking at her. “I mean, that's why they're so important to the Hounds, isn't it? That they have magic bred in them?”
“That makes good sense,” Dunnis said. Even his pleasant nature was somewhat shadowed by the dangerous prospect that now faced both the riders and the children they had traveled so far to rescue. “The Hounds, as we know, are no fools.”
“Aye,” Girvan said. “But the Hounds didn't catch the children just so they could smell the way back through Alizon Gap for them, and no mistake. There's darker deeds they've got in mind or I miss my guess.”
Eirran needed no reminder. Jenys, she thought. If only I could contact you, mind to mind. If only you'd try reaching me again. And Yareth. If only we could find comfort in each other's arms.
She looked at Yareth. He was staring towards the north, and the muscles in his jaw were working the way they always did when he was deeply and silently angry about something. Eirran wondered if his anger was greater at the Witches—the Hags, as he called them—, at the Hounds, or at her.
Six
I
Mouse had long ago stopped crying. She simply had no more tears, nor did the other girls. Once, from the depths of her shock, she cried out for her Mama. But Mama was back at Blagden, still wondering where Mouse had gone, and knew nothing of what had become of her. The cry for help was not repeated.
Day after day the Witch-children rode on the front of saddles, carried by those of the white-haired men who had drawn lots for the duty and lost. Hounds of Alizon they were, from the enemy land to the north. Mouse could feel her daily guardian's resentment as they traveled with her huddled on his saddlebow. She felt no more important than a sack of grain—less, for one coul
d eat the grain and, little as they were fed, the children consumed supplies that must begin to run low sooner or later—and she wondered why the men were going to so much trouble on the behalf of six little girls.
Even if they could have somehow found the opportunity to escape, they could not have gone far, not on foot. The northern horses were much too large for them to manage. Anyway, they answered only to their masters’ commands. And the little girls were hungry, so hungry. They were beginning to grow weak. They wouldn't have lasted a day on their own.
Now that the raiding party was beyond all reasonable pursuit, the men slowed their pace, conserving their mounts’ strength. Nevertheless, Esguir, the leader, sent back-trackers periodically to scour the trail behind them and be certain that no one was following. Each time these back-trackers returned and reported seeing nothing and no one, Mouse's spirits fell a little lower, her hopes of being rescued grew dimmer, and she found it harder to put an optimistic face on things. In spite of their adversities, however, the children had the resilience of youth. They were beginning to get over the shock of Leaf’s death and of being kidnapped, even Mouse, although by unspoken mutual consent they kept very quiet about it. Who knew if some show of resistance on their part would annoy their captors, bring the leader's sword down on their necks as well? They huddled together very quietly at night, speaking in the lowest of whispers, if at all.
Sometimes, when circumstances permitted, they searched out edible roots which they shared raw, just before bedtime. It helped them sleep better if they were fortunate enough to find a bite of fresh food to supplement the stale rations the Alizonders gave them. But they were seldom so lucky. On the nights when they could find nothing they clung together even closer, if possible.
“Where are we going?” Lisper's eyes were wide and shiny, and she looked beseechingly at Star as though she thought if she asked the same question often enough, Star would somehow conjure up the answer.
For the first time, she had a reply. “North,” she said. “We're going north.”
“How can you tell?” Cricket whispered.
Like the other girls, Star had acquired a tight, wary set to her lips as she struggled to cope with her ordeal. Now her expression softened a little. “My Witchname,” she said. “I know the stars. And I can tell by the direction we're traveling that we're heading north. Sometimes we veer a little to one direction or the other; that's how I could tell for sure. But then we always turn north again.”
“I thought you got your name because you were so bright.” Mouse clapped her hand over her mouth, fearful that she had spoken too loudly.
“Me, too,” Bird whispered. “You're about the brightest person I've ever met, besides my Mama and Papa. And the Guardian,” she added virtuously.
“Thank you,” Star said. “But what use is it to know which direction we're going if there's nothing we can do about it?”
Flame reached out and touched Star's hand. “I'm sure we'll be able to think of something, when the time comes,” she said with her characteristic firmness.
“Perhaps.”
Star settled down, pulled her thin blanket over her shoulders, and closed her eyes. Suddenly, Mouse heard what Star was thinking. It was the first time it had ever happened with anyone besides her Mama. But this was as clear as if she had somehow slipped inside Star's head and become one with Star's thoughts. The other five children leaned too hard on her for advice and leadership, and she felt very small and alone, unequal to the task. Mouse lay down beside Star, snuggling up against her and spreading her own blanket over the both of them. The children had quickly learned that shared warmth was doubled warmth, and the nights were still quite chilly.
“I'll help, Star,” Mouse said in a very small voice. “We all will. Don't worry. You don't have to do it all yourself, alone.”
Star just sighed. Perhaps she was already asleep. Nearby, the other girls settled themselves likewise for sleep in pairs as Mouse and Star had done, seeking the maximum warmth out of the inadequate blankets they were given. Bird and Flame were already asleep but Lisper and Cricket jostled each other and complained about a stone that dug into first one's side, and then the other's. At last Cricket sat up, rummaged around until she found the offending pebble, and tossed it away, careful not to throw it in the direction of one of the white-haired guards.
“There,” she said disgustedly. “Baby. Good thing we're all here to look after you.”
Lisper said nothing, but Mouse thought she heard her snuffling to herself. Of them all, Lisper was the one she worried about most, and, she felt, so did the other four.
Oh, why did they have to be in the power of these dreadful white-haired men, and not safe in the Place of Wisdom, as they should have been, being instructed in their craft? Why hadn't Mouse paid more attention to Bee when she was lecturing to them about magic, on the road to Es City?
North, Star had said. Mouse knew, with a sinking feeling, that what lay to the north was even more of the white-haired men, that they were heading in the direction of their homeland, Alizon. She hoped with all her might that it was still a long way off, that it would take many days to get there. Anything to prolong the time before she would discover why it was that the strangers had taken her and her sisters, and what they intended to do with them once they got there.
II
The travelers began to slow their pace as they neared the toe of the low mountains barring their way. The buff-brown land had given way to the red-brown of dried blood. It was as if centuries of decaying vegetation—or something worse—had been harrowed into the soil, though no farming implement had ever broken the crust of the land. The vegetation had gone gray-green again, though somehow it looked unhealthy and not at all like it had around Es City.
Unclean, Mouse thought. This land has a kind of sickness. I do not like it here.
Something wailed in the distance, and the lank white hounds lifted up their muzzles and howled a challenge in reply. The men hurriedly snapped leashes onto their collars and the dogs leaped and strained, trying to escape and chase after whatever had called to them.
There was a far-off hint of moisture in the air, though Mouse knew instinctively that this was no smell of the sea but rather of something far darker. In some strange way it smelled the way the land looked—diseased. For several mornings they had ridden through fog that lifted only reluctantly, as if it had a sentience all its own and didn't welcome intruders. Now, as they traveled, the mist came spilling over the rims of hills and washed over the level ground like soundless gray waves. It swirled around the horses’ feet, and the travelers slowed still further. The horses might have been wading through sluggish water, groping their way across the dismal landscape. The fog gradually rose to the horses’ knees, to their flanks, until it enveloped all in a steadily thickening blanket of dirty gray.
Though the road in this area looked considerably more passable than other stretches they had covered, now leagues behind them, the Alizonders brought their horses to a walk. A few of Esguir's elite Hounds dismounted and began to lead the way, eyes to the ground as if searching for something. At midday, the travelers stopped to rest, and to eat a quick and cheerless meal.
“Where are we now, Star?” Bird said. She shivered; the day had grown cold and the stale bread with a lump of flavorless cheese gave them no warmth.
Star gnawed an edge off her hunk of bread and then wrapped it in a fold of her cloak and put it away. They had all learned to do this; their body heat sometimes softened the hard crusts enough so they could be chewed rather than splintered. “I think we're near Tor Marsh,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. She wiped away a patch of mold and bit into her cheese.
“Oh,” Lisper said in a soft, decayed voice. “That'th a bad plath, ithn't it.”
“Dangerous, rather than bad,” Star said. “We always avoided it when my parents and I were out during the trading season, traveling in the wagons. Preferred to deal with garth-holders in the foothills, when we came this far north.”
>
Mouse swallowed a bite of bread and cheese together; it tasted like ashes. With a pang, she remembered the cheese Mama used to make, and what a good flavor it had. She might never see Mama again, might never even eat a bite of decent food again— No. She mustn't allow herself to think like this. Unappetizing as this food was, this was all she had to ease her hunger, so she'd better set to eating it. She had to stay strong, so she would live. Her slab of bread was slightly less stale than the others’, and she ate determinedly, refusing to taste it, until it was all gone. In her preoccupation she didn't notice Esguir striding towards them until he and a few of his men were virtually in their midst.
“I need the services of a Haglet,” he said brusquely. “That one. Take her.”
Cricket cringed away from Esguir's pointing finger and the men who stepped forward to do Esguir's bidding. Her half-eaten crust of bread and bit of cheese fell to the ground as they grabbed her by the arms and hustled her off, following Esguir who had gone back the way he had come.
“What are they going to do to her?” Lisper said fearfully. Her eyes were unnaturally big in her pinched little face, and they shone with unshed tears.
“Nothing,” Flame said. She picked up the bread and cheese from the ground where Cricket had dropped it and brushed the dirt off. “Nothing that we can do anything about,” she amended.
Lisper began to snuffle again.
“Oh, stop that,” Bird said irritably. “If they were going to kill her, they would've done it long ago. The rest of us as well.”
Star nodded. “She's right. In any case, we have to stay calm.”
Some of the Alizonders came then and forced them to their feet. “We're going now,” one of them said.
The children hastily stuffed whatever remained of their food into cloak pockets, having long since learned to do as they were bid and do it promptly. Flame put Cricket's food away for safekeeping, carefully placing her remnants in a different pocket in the inside of her cloak. As usual, one man was assigned to watch each of them while they were moving, and they forced the children to walk along just in front of them.
On Wings of Magic (Witch World: The Turning) Page 24
