by Sean Russell
An hour before sunset Alaan stopped them and built a fireamong the trees on the crest of a hill. It was a good place to camp-easilydefended-but when Tam went to unsaddle his horse Alaan stopped him.
“We won’t camp here,” he said.
They built the fire up, raising a berm of dark earth aroundit to stop its spread. When this was done, Alaan led them on into the gatheringgloom. They made camp in almost total darkness sometime later. No fire waskindled there, and they ate a cold supper of bread and smoked meat. Alaanpicked the places for each man to make his bed-a small depression in theground, the shadow of a bush-so that none was easy to see in the darkness.Watches were chosen, and Tam drew the first, which he would stand withCrow-heart. How they would know the time to call the next watch Tam did notknow, for the stars couldn’t be seen.
“If we have fortune on our side, the men hunting us willfind the fire and wait until it has burned low before they approach. That iswhat any wise man would do-wait until it is very late before they attack. Bythen it will be very hard to follow our tracks.”
Alaan had again brought them to a hilltop for the night,though this one was much larger-not a mound like the last had been. To thenorth there would be a clear view in daylight, though it was nothing but a seaof darkness that night.
Tam strung his bow and put his quiver where he could easilyput his hand on it. He and Crowheart settled themselves on the ground in aplace where they could both look to the north and watch over theircompanions-had there been any light!
“I can see nothing,” Tam whispered.
“We shall have to trust to our ears this night,” Crowheartanswered. “But don’t make enemies out of the wind sound, or the creaking of atree.”
Easily said, Tam thought, but he knew that when onelistened hard enough every sound became a threat. Instead he found himselffighting to keep his eyes open and slipping into near dreams, his mindwandering to fanciful things. Crowheart began to snore softly. Tam reached out andput a hand on Rabal’s arm, the leather of his jacket cool in the night-butCrowheart did not stir.
Tam stood and gave his head a shake, moving his arms andshoulders to work the kinks out. The clouds had thinned, he realized, and hazystars began to surface. A faint landscape began to appear: areas of darknessand dull gray. Tam could hardly tell what might be hillside or wood.
And then he thought he saw a light flicker. Tam rubbed hiseyes and looked again. It wasn’t a firefly.
“Rabal!” he whispered, shaking the man’s shoulder. Finally,he tugged on his beard, and Crowheart stirred. “There is a light below.”
Crowheart scrambled up. Tam could barely see him in thedark, looming to the right-larger and more solid than Tam, like a mound ofshadow. “I see nothing,” Crowheart said, after a moment.
“No, it was there. I’m sure of it.” Tam searched thedarkness, trying to find the flickering light; but after a moment he was nolonger sure where in the massive darkness he had seen it.
For a long while they stood, staring into the night.Crowheart began to shift from one foot to the other. Even Tam started to wonderif it had only been his imagination. And then it flickered again.
“There! Do you see?”
“A torch,” Rabal said softly. “I’ll wake Alaan.”
“No need,” came a voice from behind. “Not with all the noiseyou two are making.”
Alaan came and stood to the other side of Tam. The flamewould flicker into existence for the briefest second, then disappear again fora long moments.
“I think Rabal is right-it’s a torch. And whoever carries itis following our track. They might be giants, or the Knights who are theirallies, but I think we should assume they are allies of Hafydd.” Alaan stoppedas the light appeared again for an instant. “They’re not so far off. Can youwake the others, Rabal?”
“What shall we do?” Tam asked. “Shall we saddle the horses?”
Alaan was very still in the darkness, staring out over thevalley below. “No, best to meet them here. The wind is in the north, so thesmell of our horses will not reach them. We’ll go down the hillside a little… and prepare a surprise for them.”
Tam heard his companions stirring as Rabal found each ofthem in the dark. They pulled on boots and took up their weapons-weapons thathad been set out where they would come easily to hand.
Fynnol appeared at Tam’s elbow, the Valeman recognizable inthe dark by his size-the smallest of them. He shifted about, unable to keepstill.
“How many are there?” Fynnol whispered.
“I don’t know. No more than we saw chasing us.”
Fynnol nocked an arrow, though clearly whoever bore thetorch was still far beyond range of their bows. “But was that rider right? Isthere a sorcerer among them? Could it be Hafydd?”
“Alaan doesn’t think it likely. Nor do I. Hafydd wasn’tamong them when they pursued us to the north pass. He couldn’t have found hisway into the hidden lands alone. He hasn’t that gift.”
“I hope you’re right,” Fynnol said, his voice squeezing outof a dry mouth.
Cynddl came and instinctively stood beside Fynnol so that thelittle Valeman had a friend to either side. Tam could sense Wolfson in thedark, standing still as a mountain.
“We’ll let them come partway up this slope,” Alaan said. “Thereis a little break in the trees. Do you see? That patch of gray not far below?”
Tam was not absolutely certain that he did. He glanced up atthe sky, where the stars stood out, cool and bright. Even starlight would help.
“Quiet now,” Alaan whispered. “We don’t want them to know we’rehere.”
Tam nocked an arrow and pulled back against the bowstring,getting the feel of it. His own mouth went dry, and his breath came in short,quick gasps. It did not matter that he had been in such situations before, hestill felt fear wash through him like a cold wave.
The torch appeared, flickering dull orange. Black, bittersmoke drifted up to them. Tam thought he could make out shadows moving in thedull light-men and horses. A thought occurred to Tam.
“How do we know these aren’t the knights who came to ouraid?” he whispered to Alaan.
Before the traveler could answer, a horse nickered down thedraw, and one of their own mounts answered.
The shadows below stopped, then scurried into hiding. Thetorch was doused.
“Does that answer your question?” Alaan said softly. “Theywill try to come upon us with stealth, maybe work their way around to the eastor west.”
“To the west lie bluffs,” Wolfson whispered in his deeptones. “Some might climb them by day, but not by night. If they find their wayto the east, the hill will channel them up a little draw. Some of us couldawait them there.”
“We are a small enough company as it is without dividing ournumbers further,” Alaan said, and Tam could hear the concern in his voice.
“Then we will await them here,” the giant said, “where theymay come at their leisure.”
“How far to this draw?” Alaan asked.
“Only a little distance,” the giant said. “Less than a stone’sthrow.”
Alaan was quiet a moment, and Tam could almost feel himweighing the different options. “Here,” he said, “help me with this stone.”
Tam could just make out the dark forms of Alaan and Wolfsonbending over a large boulder. They broke it free of the ground and sent ittrundling down the slope, the sound of shattering branches following as itwent. Curses were heard below as men scurried to get clear of the boulder bearingdown on them out of the darkness.
“Go back!” Alaan called. “Go back while you still live!”Then quietly to the others he said, “There. Now there is no doubt what theyface. They will not be such damn fools as to come up this way. Fynnol, stayhere with Rabal and watch. Shout if you need us. Everyone else follow Wolfson.We shall see this draw.”
The stars shone a meager light down beneath the trees, andthe men stumbled over rocks and roots as they followed Wolfson’s great shadowthrough the wood. Tam started as the giant
’s small pack of wolves appeared outof the night, gamboling around their master. But then they must have caught thescent of the men below, and they slunk along silently, growling low.
“Here,” Wolfson whispered.
Tam could see little-shadows overlaid by shadows-and allshapes seemed strange. The ground under his feet was soft with grass andmosses, and a wind whispered up the hillside, carrying the scent of pine andspruce, the fecund floor of the forest. An area of greater darkness yawed openlike the mouth of the wood. Perhaps this was Wolfson’s draw.
“But I can see nothing,” Cynddl complained.
“My wolves will warn us of their approach,” the giant said, “ifwe don’t hear them stumbling and gasping up the draw.”
Tam crouched, an arrow ready. He tried to quiet hisbreathing so that he might hear the slightest sound. The leaves battered together,and a hollow breeze hissed through the wood. An owl hooted three times, and faroff he heard a wolf howl.
And then the sound of a rock rolling, thumping over otherstones, before coming to rest. A muttered curse.
Tam pulled back his bowstring a little, feeling it bite intohis calloused fingers. A smell stung his nostrils-like metal being forged.
He heard the others sniffing the air. A dull light seemed toseep up from among the underwood below. Faintly, trees and bushes wereilluminated. He drew his bowstring back, aiming down the narrow draw. Certainlysomeone would appear with a torch … but what he saw did not seem to betorchlight.
A dim, glowing snake of silver wound around the roots a halfdozen paces below. And then another. It seemed to branch and flow upward, likemolten metal.
“Quicksilver!” Alaan cursed. “Up into the trees!” He turnedand in three steps had thrown himself up into the crook of an oak. He did notstop there but scrambled frantically higher, shaking the branches as he went.
Tam stood for a moment, entranced, as the quicksilver wovein and out among the rocks and roots, it branched and swirled and joined again.
Cynddl grabbed Tam’s arm and pulled him nearly off balance.
“Do as Alaan says!” the story finder hissed.
Even giant Wolfson dragged himself up into a tree. Tam andCynddl followed suit, just as a snake of quicksilver seemed to dart at Tam’sboot. It went after the wolves then, who watched it, mystified. It touched thepaw of one and the wolf leapt back, howling in pain. The pack was off then,tearing into the dark, snakes of silver coiling through the wood after them.
Men came pounding up the draw, swords at the ready. Tam sawthey were careful not to step on the strands of silver that twisted aroundtheir feet.
An arrow flashed, and one man staggered, plunging a handinto the quicksilver trying to balance. He screamed like he’d thrust his handinto molten iron. Up he leapt, but it was too late. The quicksilver spread uphis arm, and he danced in a circle, screaming.
Tam shot the man coldly in the throat, and he fell back, tumblingslowly over and over down the long slope.
It was over in a trice. Arrows shot out of the trees, andthe dozen men were quickly driven back. Scrambling to avoid arrows, men steppedinto the quicksilver, and the wood echoed with their screams.
The cold heat of the quicksilver soon dissipated, and Alaanswung down from his branch, boots thumping onto the forest floor.
“Quickly!” he whispered, “before they regroup. We must begone!”
Tam stumbled off into the darkness after the traveler,glancing back every few feet, fearing that a silent tendril of quicksilverchased him. That it would coil around his leg and drag him down, screaming.
Sixteen
Jamm was not healing. His cough had grown worse, and he laboredterribly to breathe. The heat of his fever could be felt at a distance, andhis face was an unnatural orange-crimson.
He’s going to die. That’s what Carl thought. Thelittle thief was going to cough himself to death or simply drown in the fluidsgurgling and bubbling in his fouled lungs.
Carl watched helplessly as Jamm endured another spasm ofcoughing, bent double on the hard ground. They had found a spring concealed ina grove of willows that stood like an island in fields of ripening oats. It wasnot a good place to hide during the daylight hours, for if anyone approached,there was nowhere for them to go but into the wheatfield, but Jamm could not goa step farther. Carl tried to keep watch all around, but it was difficult, forthe fields were small and bordered by thick hedgerows and trees. It would notbe difficult for a company of armed men to approach, unseen until it was toolate.
They were hungry, too. No amount of springwater would fillthe void in Carl’s stomach. He found himself eyeing the green oats andwondering if he could eat them and if they would provide sustenance. Carl’sstomach growled loudly.
The day, Carl noted for the first time, was very fine. Justpast high summer, warm but with a breeze from the west. If not for thehedgerows, they would have been surrounded by an undulating sea of soft green.A few errant clouds sailed slowly across the blue, casting small islands ofshade on the lands below.
Carl heard someone talking, then the squeak of an axle, thehollow thumping of hooves. Jamm stopped coughing then and perked up,listening.
“Someone comes!” he said, and tried to suppress a cough.
Carl bent to try to lift his guide but the little man wasbent by another spasm of coughing.
“Go!” Jamm managed, gasping. “Leave me.”
Carl looked over his shoulder. He could still hear the soundof someone approaching-a voice … muttering.
“I’ll help you up, Jamm. We’ll lie in the grainfield untilthey’re gone. Come.”
But Jamm succumbed to his coughing-almost retching, the attackwas so violent. Before Carl could decide what to do, a man appeared, coming upa path through the willows. He was leading a small horse that drew behind it abattered old cart. Seeing Carl, he raised a hand and waved, then took off hisstraw hat and wiped his forehead with a shirtsleeve. Carl waved tentativelyback. He glanced down at his red-faced companion, who was surely not fit to bemoved.
The stranger bore a load of rough-sawn oak in short lengths.A box of tools perched on top, mallet handles and spokeshaves protruding. Theman brought the horse to a stop and stood staring from Jamm to Carl.
“Help me get him into the back of the cart,” the man said. “Mywife is a healer.”
Jamm didn’t protest as he was loaded aboard, but Carlthought he felt light as a child, as though his flesh were melting away. Theman filled a wooden bucket and let his horse drink, then led them down from thewillow grove. He seemed to take a circuitous route, and paused once behind ashielding hedge while some farm laborers passed in the distance.
“’Tis a terrible sickness your friend has,” the man said,shaking his head.
“Yes,” Carl agreed.
“Has he had it long?”
“Just over a day.”
The man took off his hat and wiped his brow again, his facecreased and troubled. Carl guessed he was a man coming to the end of his fifthdecade, his hair thinning, manner quiet and thoughtful. His skin was stained byhours in the sun, and his hands were large-knuckled and calloused, his forearmsthick. He was a tradesman, clearly. A woodworker of some kind.
Carl had the feeling that the man was not quiet just becausehe was in the company of strangers, but that he spoke little to others-despitethe muttering Carl had heard. Complaining, it had sounded like. The complaintsof an aggrieved man. Even so their benefactor did not offer his name, nor didhe ask Carl’s or any other question that Carl would have expected under suchcircumstances.
It was nearly evening when they arrived at the man’s home.His wife came out the door to greet him-she was delicate and sad-eyed, frailwith disappointment. Her fair hair was graying-ashes and snow-and her handswere thin-boned and worn from work.
“Man’s sick,” the stranger pronounced, and his wife hurriedaround to the back of the cart.
She took one look at Jamm, and said, “Bear him in, Thon. We’llput him in the back room. No-in the attic over the woodshed.”
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Carl and Thon carried Jamm up a narrow stair to a whitewashedroom beneath the eaves. His limp form was laid on a bed, where he was instantlyseized by another fit of coughing,
The woman put a hand to Jamm’s forehead, then lightlytouched the dark bruises and cuts on his face. Gently she peeled his shirt awayfrom his sweating torso to reveal more bruises.
“Who beat him like this?” she said softly.
Carl looked warily from man to woman. They would turn themover to the Renne in an instant once it was learned who they were-or worse, toVast.
“Soldiers,” Carl said. “Drunken soldiers.”
The woman turned to her husband. “I will need cold waterfrom the well and cloths. We must bring his fever down. Boil waterwillow barkin my small pan.”
The man went off, his boots almost silent on the stairs.
“Open the window, would you?” she said. “A breeze will help.Poor man. His ribs are cracked or broken, and bile has collected in his lungs.”
Thon returned with a bucket of well water and cloths. Thewoman soaked a cloth and gently bathed all of Jamm’s wounds and bruises. Onecloth she folded neatly and laid across his forehead, a single large towel wassoaked and laid over his torso. The window opposite was opened, and a breezeswirled softly through the room.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” Carl said, as the husbandretreated down the stairs again. “We were just traveling across the Isle whenthe soldiers found us.”
“We know who you are,” the woman said, gently washing Jamm’sneck. She didn’t look up as she said this, but perched on the bed’s edge, herface serious and sad. “You needn’t fear anything from us. We won’t give youaway to the Renne or their cursed allies.”
But she did not say his name, nor offer her own.
