The Northlands rise into a wilderness maze, cut up by streams and rivulets that tumble down to join one or another of the south-flowing rivers. At the time of which we speak, primeval forest covered its hills and clustered at the bottom of canyons and valleys. Even those who travelled through it regularly would have been lost after a few days if it weren’t for the existence of a secret pathway. Alshandra’s initiates had devised a set of symbols that, carved high up on tree trunks or chipped into boulders, marked an east-west route leading to northern Deverry and the little villages and farms of those Deverry folk who believed in the goddess.
Although she’d been a priestess for some years now and thus should have trusted in Alshandra, Sidro still feared the forest road. She’d been born and raised in Taenalapan, one of the towns the Gel da’ Thae had built among the ruins of an ancient city. In her view, stone walls meant safety and comfort, while every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves and bracken in the forest signalled bears and wolves, searching for a tasty two-legged meal.
The damp woodland smell frightened her even more. She had enough Horsekin blood in her veins to pick up scent-marks too faint for a merely human nose, but she lacked a gamekeeper’s knowledge to identify their makers, so to her, the leavings of the smallest weasel reeked of as much danger as those of a big black bear. When night fell, she climbed into the cleft of a tree and twisted her blanket into a rope to tie herself to a branch. She drowsed, clutching her sack, rather than slept, until at last the sun rose.
As chief acolyte in Zakh Gral, Sidro had been free of missionary work and its long treks through wild places. Her humiliation over the matter of Evan the gerthddyn and his supposed miracle had lost her that high position in the order. As she trudged along, her mind rehearsed grievances beyond her power to stop it. Rocca worked that very well, the scheming shrew! she would think. Now Rocca held the post of chief acolyte and the favour of the high priestess while Sidro found herself back as a simple traveller for the goddess, the lowliest rank in their order, Alshandra’s Elect. I know he was a fraud, but they’d never let me tell them why! That thought brought her a scatter of tears.
Late on her third day out of Zakh Gral, Sidro came to a narrow strip of meadow crossed with a stream of clear water. In the sunlight she felt safe enough to rest. She laid her sack of supplies and her blanket on the grassy bank, then considered the shallow stream. Although by the rules of their order the priestesses of Alshandra scorned such comforts as bathing, Sidro had never been able to break herself of the desire to be clean.
She pulled off her leather dress, laid it on the grass, and, still dressed in her linen shift, stepped into the cold mountain water. Gasping and splashing she sank into a shallow pool, then knelt on comfortable white sand to let the water run over her back and shoulders. Without soap she could do little more than rinse off loose dirt and old sweat from skin and linen both, but even that little felt like luxury.
‘Alshandra forgive me,’ she murmured, several times over.
She was scooping up water and splashing it onto her face when a shadow swept across her. Overhead a raven circled, an enormous raven, so large that she knew exactly what—or rather who—it had to be. She rose and climbed onto the bank just as the raven landed with a flurry of shiny black wings, which he folded before he spoke. Although he used the Horsekin tongue, his rigid beak distorted his speech so much that she understood him only because she’d known him since childhood.
‘Turn away!’
Sidro did as he asked. A sudden shimmer of blue light cast a brief shadow onto the grass in front of her. When she turned back, Laz Moj sat cross-legged and naked on the grass, holding a single raven feather in his long fingers. His mach-fala, that is, his mother-clan as the Gel da’ Thae call their extended families, had mingled human and Horsekin blood for a good many centuries. He was as tall and heavily muscled as a typical Horsekin, but he wore his brown hair cropped short and slicked straight back, as sleek as the raven’s feathers. His dark brown eyes dominated his face and its slender nose, thin lips, and sharp jawline—a face like a knife-edge, or so most people described it. Between the welter of blue tattoos on his face, neck, and shoulders, his skin was tanned, not the pure white of Horsekin skin, though his chest and stomach were pinkish-pale from a lack of sun.
‘I’m surprised to see you,’ Sidro said.
‘Why?’ Laz said with a bird-like dip of his head. ‘Sisi, my only love, I long for you still. Your scent haunts my dreams.’
Rather than respond, she took a few steps back.
‘Whether you long for me or not,’ Laz continued, ‘I’ve come to warn you. You’re in real danger.’
‘I thought so! There are bears and wolves around here, aren’t there?’
‘Oh, worse than bears, worse than wolves. The silver dragon has come a-hunting me and thee.’
Sidro caught her breath. For a moment the meadow seemed to rise up above her like a green wave. She dropped to her knees and let the world steady itself while Laz watched with a twisted grin.
‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘I only wish I knew why he hates me so much. I’d suppose it’s because I’m a priestess, and he belongs to Vandar, but he’s never tried to kill the others.’
‘And needless to say, I’ve never been a priestess,’ Laz said, ‘and yet he’s made it quite clear that he thinks I belong in the land of the dead right along with you.’
‘He hasn’t found Zakh Gral, has he?’
‘Oh yes he has. You daren’t go back. He’ll find you there. I know you hate the forest, but you’ll be safest here with me and my men.’
‘Your criminals and blasphemers, you mean. Your idolaters.’
‘Why do you keep calling them that? I may not believe in gods, but they all keep the old faith. I encourage them to do so, you know. It keeps them obedient.’
‘Then you’re murdering their souls. When you die—’
‘I know, I know, when I die I’ll go to Vandar’s horrible country in my raven body, and he’ll be plucking my feathers for all eternity.’ Laz was grinning at her. ‘He’ll doubtless roast me every night and serve me with some kind of nasty sauce to his fellow demons. And every morning, we’ll start all over again.’
Sidro set her lips tight together. She’d been trying to make him see reason on this subject for years, but all he ever did was mock.
‘What’s this?’ Laz went on. ‘It’s not like you to have no interest in discussing theology.’
‘Not with that loathsome dragon nearby,’ Sidro said. ‘If he’s found the fortress, we’re all in danger.’
‘We? Your pack of holy fools may well be in danger. You and I are not, as long as we stay in among the trees.’
‘They’re not fools!’
‘No? Think, Sisi! Only fools believe themselves safe when they have enemies. Only fools throw away their best weapons against those enemies, too. That Evan—we know how he managed to fly away. Would they have believed you if you’d told them? Oh no, they would have killed you just because you know mazrak lore.’
And now Rocca has her fake miracle, Sidro thought, the filthy little sow! Aloud, she said, ‘Evan’s been scrying me out.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Yes, very sure.’
‘And I suppose you don’t dare tell your ever-so-holy high priestess that, either.’
‘Don’t insult Lakanza! I shan’t stand for it.’ All at once she felt weary. ‘But we’ve argued all this out a hundred times. Yes, when it comes to sorcery they’re utterly irrational, but they’re still my people.’
‘And I’m not?’ He paused to quirk an eyebrow in her direction. ‘You loved me once.’
‘Who took me in when you deserted me?’
‘I never meant to desert you. I was afraid to claim the child. I thought my mother would order him killed. You agreed with me, didn’t you? If you’d given me a girl, it would have been different, but with two bastard sons in the mach-fala already—my dear mother, miserly old hag that she is, would have be
grudged every mouthful he ate.’
‘Of course, of course. I’m sorry, Laz. We’ve chewed on this old bone too many times, and I should let it drop.’
‘Bury it once and for all, will you? I would have claimed you both if I could have. Don’t you believe me?’
She ignored the question and glanced up at the sky, half-expecting to see Vandar’s white dragon stooping for the kill. ‘What’s wrong?’ Laz said. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No, you dolt, I’m terrified. First Evan, now the silver wyrm—I’ve got to go back to Zakh Gral. The silver dragon is one of Vandar’s servants in this world. What if he tells the prince of Vandar’s spawn or one of those Lijik Ganda rakzanir, the gwerbrotz, whatever they call them, about Zakh Gral? I’ve got to warn the fortress.’
‘Are the holy ladies going to believe you? “And how do you know about this dragon?” they’ll say. “Oh, a mazrak told me,” you’ll say.’ Laz tossed the feather away. ‘The rakzan of the fortress would have you raised on the long spear before you could scream Alshandra’s name.’
‘Hold your tongue!’ She heard her voice shaking. ‘I’ll tell them Alshandra sent me a vision.’
‘They won’t believe you. You’ve just been disgraced. Why would your goddess deign to warn you and not them?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I watched, of course, from way up high. The raven has sharp eyes, my love, and even sharper ears.’ He grinned at her. ‘And here you are, smelling of despondency, with all your lovely hair cut off, turned out onto the road to go wipe the spiritual arses of your believers over in Slavers’ Country, and a stinking lot of rabble they are at that. Your dear friend Rocca must be strutting like a bell mare in a herd of geldings.’
Sidro felt tears gather. She raised her hands and covered her eyes, trying to hide the tears, to force them back, to wipe them away, but they spilled between her fingers. She heard Laz getting up, walking over—a danger of another sort. She was only half-dressed, he naked, just as on that day so long ago when his mother had ordered her into the First Son’s chamber. She could remember walking in and seeing Laz lounging naked on his bed. She had known then what her duty would be, and she’d been so glad of it.
Glad then. Not now. Laz knelt in front of her and laid a gentle hand on her cheek. He took a deep breath, soaking in her scent. She knocked his hand away. With a soft laugh he sat back on his heels.
‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘your holy vows.’
‘Don’t torment me. Please, Laz, don’t.’
‘Well, I didn’t come here to cause you pain. Don’t you remember when you were a slave in my mother’s house? I set you free then. I’m trying to set you free again now. Please, won’t you even look at me?’
He was smiling, but sadly, his brown eyes strangely shadowed as he leaned closer. She looked into his eyes and found herself unable to look away. All at once she yawned with a convulsive shudder. I’m exhausted, she thought. I hardly slept last night. Laz kept staring into her eyes.
‘Come with me, Sisi,’ he said. ‘I want you to come with me.’
‘I can’t. I swore a vow to my goddess.’
‘But I’ve got something I want to show you, something very special. It’s a crystal, a crystal with sorcerous powers.’
‘The goddess comes first. I’ve got to go warn her people.’
‘There’s no need of that. They’re safe. That dragon—he wants to kill us, not them. Come with me so I can keep you safe.’
His eyes seemed to have become great drifts of dust, blown in a hot summer wind around her. His scent enveloped her.
‘But Evan, he’ll tell someone.’ Sidro suddenly found it hard to remember just who Evan was. ‘Word gets around. Those lords of theirs. Lijik Ganda, I mean.’
‘Why should they care what happens so far west?’ Laz leaned closer still. ‘Zakh Gral’s perfectly safe. No one will harm it. It’s hidden, it’s secret.’
Sidro yawned again. The dust clouds returned, dancing and swimming around her. ‘Secret,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, we have our secrets, don’t we, Sisi? Don’t you remember them? Come with me. I’ve learned so many new secrets since we were separated. Don’t you want to share them?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Don’t suppose. You know you want to learn them.’
‘I want to share them.’
‘You want to come with me.’
‘I want to come with you.’
The clouds turned black as smoke, and she fainted. When she woke, she lay decorously on her side in the grass. Laz was sitting cross-legged nearby. She sat up and looked around. Long shadows fell across the meadow from the western verge of the forest. In among the shadows something moved. As she watched, a Horsekin man emerged from the trees, leading a saddled horse.
‘Do you feel better?’ Laz said. You needed that little nap.’
‘I must have, yes.’ Sidro sat up, yawning. ‘Who’s that over there?’
‘A friend of mine. I summoned him while you slept. The horse is for you, to spare your poor swollen feet the walking. Ah, my love, I can’t tell you how joyful my heart is, that you’ve agreed to come with me.’
‘Mine is too.’ Yet for a moment she felt utterly muddled. When had she agreed? She couldn’t remember, yet she was sure that somehow, she had indeed done so. And I won’t have to walk in the forest alone, she thought. My dear Laz! Alshandra must have sent him.
When Laz’s friend arrived, Sidro noticed that the horse—a black mare with a white off-fore and a white diamond on her forehead—followed him without the benefit of a lead rope, though she wore a leather halter. The Horsekin nodded at Laz, then bowed to Sidro, but said nothing. He was slender, short for one of the ’Kin at about six feet tall, with their typical milk-white skin between the welter of blue tattoos on his face, neck, and hands. Across his left cheek blue letters in the Horsekin alphabet spelled KREN, the goddess of wild things. He wore a loose green shirt and a pair of buckskin leggings, ordinary enough clothing.
His black hair, however, marked him as someone beyond the typical. Most Gel da’ Thae men let their hair grow long and brushed it straight back or kept it in waist-length braids. This fellow had cut his hair very short except for a wide stripe down the middle of his skull, which he’d done in a row of narrow braids so that it fell to one side like a horse’s mane. When he bowed to her, the metal charms tied into the braids jingled and caught the light with a glint of silver.
‘I’ll transform and fly over the forest, my love,’ Laz said to Sidro. ‘I’ll see you at our camp. It’s not very far.’
Sidro’s shift had dried enough for her to put the dress on over it. Laz waited to leave until his friend had helped Sidro mount the horse. He handed her the blanket and her sack.
‘Don’t watch,’ Laz said.
She looked away, but once again she saw the flash of bluish light. From the saddle she glanced back to see his human body gone. The raven took a few steps, then bunched his muscles and sprang into the air with a drumbeat of wings. The mare ignored him; she must have been part of his herd for a good long while. Laz circled over the meadow once, croaked a farewell, and headed north-east.
The Gel da’ Thae nodded to Sidro, then clucked to the mare and strode off in the same direction. His long braided mane bobbed and swayed as he walked. The mare followed right along, switching her tail in a parallel rhythm.
‘What’s your name?’ Sidro said to him.
‘Pir.’
‘You must be a horse mage.’
‘Yes.’
She waited, but he volunteered not a word more. She considered asking more questions, but once they walked into the forest all her attention went to ducking low-growing branches and clinging to the saddle-peak. The trail they were following twisted uphill and down, dodged around boulders and sudden ravines. The black mare plodded after her leader, only breaking stride when she needed to pick her way around some obstacle.
The sun hung so low that shadows filled the forest, though o
verhead the sky still shone blue, when Sidro first smelled the camp: a stink of men, old cooking, some sort of ale-like brew, and the inevitable results of the last two. Another quarter mile on, and she saw it.
Scattered among the trees stood wooden shelters, made of rough planks supplemented with deer hides and laced together with thongs and bits of rope. She counted sixteen of them, more lean-tos than cabins, with their slant roofs and empty windows, but she could just make out a few more, half-hidden by the forest. Pir led the horse to the largest, which unlike the others sported four proper walls and a plank roof, though it seemed oddly squat and low. He clucked to the mare, who stood perfectly still while he helped Sidro dismount.
‘Welcome,’ Pir said. ‘Here come the others.’
She turned to see a sizeable number of Horsekin men walking out of the forest cover, at least two dozen by her rough count, dressed in a rag-tag assemblage of clothing: leather leggings, wool trousers, linen shirts, wool shirts, all of them dirty and torn. They kept their weapons, however, sparkling clean, since the last of the sunlight was glinting off spear points and the blades of long knives. They formed a semi-circle around her, Pir, and the horse, then knelt, bowing their heads. At a rustle behind her she glanced round and saw Laz, free of the raven form but still barefoot, standing in the doorway. He wore loose grey trousers in the Slavers’ Country style and a once-white shirt, belted at the waist. On the belt he carried a bone-handled hunting knife in a dark leather sheath.
‘Welcome and three times welcome,’ Laz said. ‘Come in, come in, my love! Men, this woman owns my heart and all my joy. Protect her as you’d protect me.’
With a shout the men hefted their spears in salute. Sidro raised her hands to acknowledge them, then turned away and joined Laz. He led her inside, down three steps to the sunken floor of the cabin. It proved to be one large room with a floor of rushes. In the corners, heaps of green pine needles filled the air with a cool, clean scent, a profound relief after the stench outside. A square plank table with two cut tree stumps for chairs stood in the middle. In one corner lay a straw-filled mattress with reasonably clean blankets upon it. Diagonally across from the bed stood a perch made of branches. She pointed at it.
The Spirit Stone Page 27
