by R. J. Grieve
Grinning secretly to himself he followed her, knowing well that she was genuinely tired and that her flash of temper would not keep her going much farther.
However, just as the sky began to lighten and the first tentative notes of bird song began to take to the air, they crested a slight rise to find the wood closer than they had dared hope. The sight of it buoyed them up to make the last effort to reach its eaves before the light grew strong.
Celedorn glanced back across the dimly lit plain and for a moment thought he saw something moving. He halted abruptly. Elorin, in single-minded determination to reach the wood, did not notice that he had stopped. He concentrated his gaze, trying to penetrate the tendrils of ground-mist that obscured the plain. Something that was darker than the mist, that looked like a small, black cloud, appeared to be travelling swiftly across the grassland. It travelled close to the ground, heading northwards. He blinked in astonishment and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, but when he looked again, it was gone. Common sense put it down to the mist and the grey early morning light playing tricks with his eyes. But some niggling instinct deep within him was not entirely able to dismiss it. However, as he had not the smallest idea what it might be, he was forced to banish it from his mind. He said nothing to Elorin of what he had seen when he rejoined her. She was unaware that he had lagged behind and passed no comment as his long stride caught up with her just in time to enter the wood. With a great sense of achievement, she took half a dozen steps into the wood, then sat down abruptly on a log. Just before he too entered the trees, Celedorn looked back, but the plain, now bathed in the rosy light of dawn, was innocent of movement.
Elorin, watching him from the log, saw his backward glance and instantly sensed his unease.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. It may be nothing but I thought I saw something following us across the Meadowlands.”
“Turog?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t know what it was. It’s probably nothing, just my eyes playing tricks. There is definitely nothing out there now. The plain is deserted and there is certainly nowhere to hide.” He smiled wryly. “Maybe I’m getting tired too. We must find somewhere to rest where we will be well hidden. The Turog watch fires that I saw last night were real enough. I don’t know if they were coming this way or not, but the Forsaken Lands are infested with the creatures and one must never take safety for granted. I’ll look around and see what I can find.
When he returned, she was nodding off again. He picked up the basket and nudged her awake.
“If I had been a Turog, your throat would have been slit by now,” he observed dryly. “Come on, I’ve found somewhere.”
He led her deeper into the wood as the sun cast long fingers of light between the trees and the birds sang and twittered amongst the branches. The Wood of Uldor lacked the menace of the Great Forest. Its atmosphere was benign, a perception heightened by the fact that it teemed with birds whose song cheerfully filled the air. Finally, he stopped in front of an ancient fir tree whose branches came right down to sweep the ground. Forcing his way between the prickly branches, he revealed an area of needle-strewn ground close to the trunk of the tree, completely screened from view from the outside world.
“The ground is dry here,” he remarked, “and the needles are old enough not to be sharp.”
She nodded and sat down without saying a word, but to his surprise she didn’t instantly go to sleep. She sat on the ground staring intently at the pine needles between her feet. He sat beside her and after observing this for some time, said: “I thought you were dropping with tiredness? Do you not wish to go to sleep?”
She shook her head without looking up.
With an acuteness that did not entirely surprise her, he suddenly said: “You’d better tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I know you well enough to tell when something is troubling you. You’d better tell me what it is.”
She looked at him consideringly for a moment, as if undecided, but when she spoke, it appeared that she was changing the subject.
“How far is it, would you guess, to Skerris-morl?”
“Not far,” he replied accepting the rebuff. “The river is supposed to be near the edge of the wood. Once we find it, we then simply follow it down to the sea.”
“Do you really think we’ll find fishing boats there?”
“There is a good chance. The value of the silver pearls makes it worth the risk of approaching these dangerous shores.”
She was silent for a moment, her brow clouded. “If we find a boat they will take us back to Serendar? To Sar-es-Marn, won’t they?”
He frowned, wondering where all this was leading. “Very probably.”
Finally she took a deep breath and he sensed that she was coming to the crux of the matter.
“Surely you are bound to be recognised in Sar-es-Marn. The fishermen may not recognise you but there are many merchants in the City-by-the-Shore who must have had.....er.....unfortunate encounters with you.”
“Very likely. This cursed face of mine is too easily recognised.”
“But what will they do to you if they catch you?” she persisted.
He smiled crookedly. “Hang me,” he declared tersely. “King Orovin has a noose set aside especially for me.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “How can you be so casual about it? How can you make light of such a thing?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I was under the impression that you thought hanging was too good for me.”
“That....that was before. That was in Ravenshold when you must admit that you had done little to endear yourself to me, but......”
“.......if you are trying to make a saint out of me, don’t,” he interrupted harshly. “That shoe will not fit no matter how much you force it.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, you are no saint, but neither are you quite the blackguard you would have people believe. You see, I have not forgotten how you stood on the very edge of that broken bridge, risking your life to save me. Sometimes when you are being provoking - which admittedly is most of the time - you make me so angry I could explode, but other times......well, I just don’t want to see you executed however much you might deserve it.”
He didn’t answer her immediately but sat staring off into the distance, his mouth a little grim.
“Much as I hate to shatter your faith in me,” he responded acidly, “but in all honesty I must tell you that I deserve such a fate several times over. You might think that you know me but you do not. There are things in my past that you could not even begin to imagine, things I have done that I would not even begin to tell you about. I am no more a hero than I am a saint. Reserve those roles for your noble Prince, if you please. I could certainly not play them, nor do I have the smallest desire to try.” His grey eyes grew cold. “I am what I am and make no apology for it. I might have tried to save you at the bridge but have you forgotten that the very first time I met you, I struck you so hard that I knocked you to the ground?”
“I had forgotten.”
“Don’t. It is dangerous to forget such things.”
“I have also forgiven.”
He turned a glance on her that was like being doused with icy water. “I ask no forgiveness. I will never ask forgiveness of anyone.”
“No, I can easily believe that. No doubt you would go to the scaffold exuding defiance until the very end, but despite all you have said and all you have done, I do not wish to be the cause of delivering you to King Orovin’s vengeance. We must ask the fishermen to drop you off on some deserted part of the Serendarian coast where you have a chance of making your way back to Ravenshold.”
With one of his characteristically abrupt changes of mood, he suddenly smiled ruefully.
“Your Prince would not approve of that suggestion.”
“My Prince does not owe you a debt - I do. You have only been put in this situation because of me and
I will not let you pay the price.”
“You repaid your debt to your Prince and look where it landed you. Perhaps you should rid yourself of this overdeveloped sense of obligation before it is the death of you.”
She shrugged. “Like you, I am what I am.”
He stared at her reflectively for a while. “I’m beginning to think your Prince is a fool. A total, complete and utter idiot.”
She swelled with indignation and drew breath to protest but he cut her short. “Enough. Our journey is not over yet. It’s time to get some sleep.”
“But....”
“Oh, do as you are told for once!” he snapped, relapsing into his former self. “I can’t tolerate women who answer back.”
Chapter Sixteen
Skerris-morl
They found Skerris-morl the next day. It was a wide, shallow river, clattering its way cheerfully between rounded, grey boulders that glistened with quartz. Its clear waters mirrored the trees that hung over it just for the sheer pleasure of looking at their own reflection. Sometimes a beech, growing at some improbable angle from the bank, would stoop down to touch the crystal waters with trailing fingers. Kingfishers flashed turquoise across the surface, and dippers, perched on the rounded stones, would bob up and down, flashing their white throats, apparently just for the joy of seeing the sunlit day. Celedorn was reassured by their presence, for they were wary little birds that would disappear in a flash if all was not well. The river halted their northward path and they now turned westwards following its course to the sea.
Elorin found its noisy, chattering presence a cheerful companion but Celedorn was more equivocal because it robbed him of a sense upon which he heavily relied - his sense of hearing. Elorin teased him about it but he shook his head abruptly, refusing to be beguiled.
“Amongst the trees, where vision is limited, hearing is almost more important than sight. It’s a pity we know of no other way to the coast than to follow the river.”
But as the days passed, it seemed that his vigilance was unnecessary. They saw not a sign of the Turog. The pleasant weather continued and the sun shot sparkles off the rippling river. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the shortage of some basic necessities and the monotonous diet of oat cakes, the days could almost have been described as halcyon for Elorin. Her companion was reserved but not unpleasantly so. Often he walked beside her in silence, his mind busy with his own thoughts but when she spoke to him, he responded readily, abandoning all trace of his former sarcasm. Yet still she had the impression that he walked beside her in body only, and his mind was oblivious to the sunshine and bird song, locked in some distant place peculiarly his own. The more time she spent in his company, the more she became convinced that Dorgan’s assessment of him was correct - a complicated man, with many depths like a deep river. Not like the Skerris-Morl, where all was on the surface, but like the Harnor with many dark and powerful currents hidden from sight. Reluctantly she began to be intrigued.
After several days, the river began to broaden and its banks grew less steep. The water abandoned its cheerful romp in favour of a more stately pace. Shoals and sand banks began to bisect its passage and on the southern shore the trees began to thin and change in character, from regal beeches to grey-green willows and elders. On the northern bank, which they were following, the Wood of Uldor continued, the slightly rising ground giving them a panoramic view over the marshy, reed-fringed land to the south. Suddenly, on rounding a bend in the river, Celedorn, who was a little in advance, gave a cry. Elorin hurried up to him.
“The sea,” he exclaimed, pointing between the trees.
The river, curling its way between sandbanks and tiny islets, slid serenely into a wide, sandy bay. A crisp line of surf could be seen breaking on the beach and out to sea a curving brown stain marked the sediment carried by the Skerris-morl. There was a sandbar at the mouth of the river, crowded with a snowdrift of white gulls. Their raucous squabbling carried faintly to them over the sound of the river. To the south, a dense, shoulder-high forest of golden reeds shook and quivered in the breeze. Apart from the gulls there was no other sign of life.
Elorin sighed with disappointment. “No ship.”
Celedorn looked down at her. “That would have been too easy. We must wait. It might be several days or even weeks before one of the fishing vessels turns up, but things could be a lot worse. At least now we will have a change of diet.”
She wrinkled her brow enquiringly.
“Oysters,” he informed her, “and mussels too. I don’t think I could have stood another day of those oatcakes.”
She smiled. “Just as well. We have only four left. What do we do now?”
“We’ll set up camp amongst the cover of the trees but in a position that gives us a clear view of the estuary in case a ship arrives.”
“Set up camp indeed,” she snorted derisively. “No blankets, no cooking utensils and worst of all, no soap.” She surveyed herself in disgust. “The only things I possess are these clothes and look at them! - dirty and torn.”
He grinned. “You have an overdeveloped obsession with hygiene.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” she remarked, sardonically surveying him from head to foot.
He gave a crack of laughter. “Vixen,” he remarked approvingly. “We’ll find a spot where you can bathe, albeit without the benefit of soap and I think we’ll risk lighting a fire - at least during the daytime. If we choose wood that is bone dry there should be little smoke.”
“All the comforts of home,” she observed, following him down the bank.
“Besides, we’ll need the fire to open the oysters because I’ll be damned if I ruin my sword on them.”
“I’ve always preferred them cooked anyway. I never liked the look of them raw.”
He shot her a sharp glance but said nothing.
The bank on the northward side of the river continued to rise until it formed a wooded hill sloping gracefully down to the estuary. The river was now tidal and unsuitable for washing but they found a little brook which tumbled down the hillside to join its larger cousin. They made camp not far from it, in a hollow amongst the trees that yielded an extensive view to the river and the sea beyond. While Elorin visited the brook to see what repairs she could make to her appearance, Celedorn climbed down the bank to the estuary and was soon wading about in the shallow water, collecting oysters and mussels from the bountiful supply. He took off his shirt and collecting his salty treasure in it, returned to the camp. As there was still no sign of Elorin, he collected stones and dry branches and soon had a fire going. He picked out the best of the oysters and set them carefully on stones close to the heat. Ever mindful of security, he retreated to a distance to observe the effect of the fire and was relieved to find that it generated hardly any smoke. By the time he had returned, some of the oysters had opened and were ready to eat. He was amused to discover in one of them a little misshapen pearl which had twisted itself to look like a heart. It was of no value and he absently put it in his pocket before consuming the contents of the shell.
The crackle of a twig behind him brought him to his feet in one fluid movement. His sword was in his hand in a flash, pointed menacingly in the direction of the sound. Elorin halted, shock written on her face, the weapon an inch from her throat.
He relaxed and sheathed his sword. “You caught me unawares,” he explained, leaving her to take that for an apology if she wished.
“Personally,” she said, recovering her poise, “I think it’s a guilty conscience making you jumpy. It hasn’t escaped my attention that you have been making serious inroads into those oysters.
His lips twitched. “There’s plenty here. In fact, I gathered so many I had to use my shirt to carry them - it’s just about ruined it,” he said, holding up the offending item. “It’s got such a bad rip down the back that it’s not worth putting on again.”
She noticed that he had a powerful, broad-shouldered frame that was lean and supple enough to indicate speed as well as
strength. Strangely, she had assumed that because his face was so badly scarred the rest of his body must be also, but he was unmarked. Not a flaw was seen in the tanned skin of the back turned towards her.
Unaware of her scrutiny, he handed her an oyster.
“You look marginally cleaner,” he remarked, observing her wet hair.
To his amusement she began poking about in the oyster. “Do you think we might find a silver pearl?”
“They are very rare. You might find a white one but they are not so valuable and indeed if the pearl is not either a perfect sphere or a teardrop it is worth nothing,” he advised, forgetting about the one he had found. “Now I am going to visit this stream of yours. I’ll take the remnants of my shirt to use as a towel but I doubt whether, without the use of a razor, you’ll see much improvement when I return.”
“These oysters are delicious,” was the only comment he got in reply.
“Don’t eat so many that you make yourself sick,” he recommended and headed off through the trees.
When Elorin could eat no more, she shook out her damp hair and started drying it between her hands by the fire.
The day had dulled and become a little chilly. She was glad of the warmth of the fire and only wished she could have enjoyed its comforting presence during the night, but her companion would not take the risk. The glow of the fire could be seen from a great distance in the darkness. But as she sat enjoying the heat, gently rubbing her hair between her hands, a strange, yet oddly familiar feeling crept over her. A feeling she had not experienced since the Great Forest. Elorin felt she was being watched.
Her hands ceased their movement and she sat very still. It was then that she noticed that the birds had stopped singing. Even the breeze had dropped and the trees stood deathly still. The only sounds were the slight crackling of the fire and the distant susurration of the sea. All at once, she became aware of a vulnerable feeling in the small of her back. She was now certain that something was behind her. Beads of perspiration broke on her forehead and every muscle grew tense with apprehension. A wave of cold, unreasoning fear swept over her. Summoning every ounce of resolution she possessed, she slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder. At first she could see nothing but the quiet, leaf-strewn hollow, but a slight movement attracted her attention to a dark space between the trees - darkness that moved. Too dark for a shadow; strangely black and dense as if lack of light had concentrated to a degree that passed the boundaries of nature. It was like looking into a bottomless void. Then out of the depths of the strange darkness something began to glow. Something that grew and intensified as she watched. She found herself staring into two glowing red eyes, burning with malevolence like embers plucked from a furnace. Out of the dense darkness they stared unblinkingly at her, exuding a sense of pure, undiluted evil. Her skin began to crawl and dimly she was aware that the hair on her scalp was lifting but she could not look away. She sat rooted to the spot as if impaled. The darkness surrounding the eyes had no shape or form but it gradually began to drift closer. She wanted to move, to run, to scream but she sat like stone under the hypnotic power of its gaze. Then, all of a sudden, a log poised on top of the fire overbalanced and falling out of the flames, struck her knee, burning her. The pain shot through her and broke the spell. With a sob of sheer terror she leapt to her feet and bolted up the bank between the trees, one thought and one only in her mind - to find Celedorn.
