by Ian Irvine
“And what would the Whelm be doing?”
“We could hide until they went away.”
“Perhaps if you were to instruct me in the making of wings I could fly to safety.”
“I was trying to help.”
“I haven’t got the strength for this,” she said irritably. “Go back where you came from.” She stood up abruptly and walked away to the fire.
He ignored her. “I think we should—” he said, reflecting.
Not only was he a fool—he didn’t even listen! Karan turned back bitterly disappointed. Her foolish dreams of him were humiliating to recall.
“You live in a dream world,” she said deliberately. “Your Histories were made to entertain the toothless while they swill their slops. Romantic tales are all they are, and your help is just as worthless.”
Llian looked bewildered. This was nothing like he had imagined, or was used to. “The Histories are truth!” he cried. “The best truth that we can recover from the past, and the foundations of our culture.”
“Go away,” she shouted. “I don’t want you. You’re useless.” The message sank in at last. Llian cried out and covered his face with his hands. Then he got up and wavered his way to the door in his blanket. Karan could scarcely believe what she was seeing. “Not now, you imbecile—tomorrow, or the next day, when you are better.”
Llian turned at the new order and staggered back to his seat. His progress was too painful to watch. Karan went outside to calm herself, torn between laughter and despair. How to manage such a one? A few minutes later she peeped around the door and saw that he was sitting on the bench, staring down at the floor. He looked absolutely miserable and Karan’s soft heart was moved. She should not have been so rude; after all, she had called him here. She marched back in and took him in hand.
“You are going back to Tullin, and I am going on alone. Come now, lie down and get some rest.” She took the pot from the fire and rinsed it out, flinching at the pain in her wrist, filled it with water from a cracked stone jar on the hearth and put it on to boil.
Shortly Llian was slumped before the fire, wrapped in his blanket again. Karan turned his clothes, which were scorching. She made tea with a pinch of herb, tapped the side to settle the leaves and poured the green liquid into mugs. Llian wrapped his fingers gratefully around the hot metal, perhaps thinking that the offer of tea signaled a truce. A thought came to him.
“Last night you seemed so desperate. I really felt for you. Yet today…”
Karan weakened a little. “It’s nearly two months since I fled Fiz Gorgo, and I’ve been hunted all the way. Every time I lose them something leads them back to me. Yesterday I hid in the snow, without a fire, and my enemies were so close I could sense them, when the pain was very strong. Finally they gave up for the night but it was a terrible one; one of the worst I’ve had. I gave way to my weakness. My call was a fantasy, a dream. I did not imagine for an instant that you were close by, that you would come.”
Llian regarded her through the steam from his cup. There had seemed more than Karan in that dream sending, more even than the Whelm. Who was that other, greater figure? Yggur, trying to get back bis Mirror? He sipped his tea. It tasted of the bitter herb in the soup. Karan sat cross-legged in front of the fire, staring into the flames, rocking slowly back and forth. In her left hand she still held the stick and was drawing absently on the stone with the burnt end.
“What happened in Fiz Gorgo?”
“Yggur came back too soon. Maigraith had the strength to hold him, but not to escape herself. I did what I was told; I fled.”
“I didn’t know there were two of you. Who do you serve?”
“You are too curious. You appear out of nowhere and expect me to trust you. I don’t. I did not ask for your help. You’re arrogant and I don’t think I like you very much. I’m going on, and I go alone. The stream will have fallen in a day and you can go back to Tullin.”
Llian went red with mortification. Perhaps he had thought she would change her mind. Karan felt the tiniest morsel of pity for him then, for his face was so open that he must be genuine. And after all, he had come all this way to help her, whatever his motives.
“What can I do?” she said as kindly as she could. “You are hurt worse than I am, and you don’t know the mountains. You are kind and soft. I was like that myself once. You don’t belong up here.”
“But you have no food, and you are hurt as well. You cried out for help.”
“I did, but not yours,” she said. “I’ll pay you for what spare food you have. You won’t need it, save for tomorrow. Rest now. You can best help me by delaying them. Even an hour will help.” She lapsed into silence, staring into the fire again.
Llian turned onto his good side on the stone bench and pondered his situation. Why should he go on? He couldn’t force her, nor wanted to. He would have to pay his debt to Mendark some other way. But he wanted to see the Mirror very badly. And learn the tale of it, and her tale too.
Lost in these thoughts, it was a while before he noticed that Karan had quietly gone out, leaving the door ajar. Outside the wind whistled in the ruined roof. Every now and then a gust swept in, sending the fire leaping and scurries of sparks across the room. Llian looked around. Her small pack lay in a corner. Perhaps that was where she kept the Mirror. Temptation beckoned. He sat up too hastily; pain stabbed through his side, so sharp that he cried out. Now was not the time.
That was a good decision for, a minute later, the door was kicked wide and Karan lurched in backwards, dragging a large branch. She heaved it through the door and dropped it in the middle of the floor. There was snow in her hair.
She hacked off several smaller branches with a hatchet, broke them into pieces and cast them onto the fire. She poked the thick end of the branch in for good measure, the remainder extending across the hearth into the middle of the room.
Llian slumped on the bench. He felt utterly demoralized and useless. Not since he was sent away as a child from home and family had he felt such emptiness and despair. Had she not been staring at him he might have burst into tears.
It was snowing heavily outside now. Llian lay in an exhausted sleep. He was wrapped in a gray blanket, one bare foot sticking out the end, and Karan’s coat under his head for a pillow. Karan sat on her pack in front of the fire, watching the patterns of light and shadow on the wall. Every so often she got up and pushed the thick end of the branch further into the fire, then sat down and resumed her deliberations.
If she could just cross the pass into Bannador she would feel safe, but one way to the pass was cut off by the Whelm and the other by the flooded stream. How, after all this time, had she allowed them to drive her into this trap? And what were they planning now? Would they try and catch her unawares in the dawn, or lie in wait as she made her way back down to the pass? Was there a way to make use of this gift that had come so unexpectedly?
Llian rolled over in his sleep and groaned. Even in his sleep he looked lost and miserable. Why had someone with so little to offer spent so much of himself to find her? Or was it another trap? What would he do, if she slept?
The wind began to howl in the roof. Karan slipped out and walked down the ruined hall. The storm had passed and the sky above was clear, though more heavy cloud was coming up from the west. Inside the ruins the wind had piled the snow in deep drifts, fantastically shaped in the starlight. She waded through a shadowed drift and walked down to where a low stone wall ran along the cliffed edge of the plateau. The wind hissed through the dead grass, flinging gritty snow against her cheeks.
She sat behind the stone wall, partly sheltered from the wind. It was very cold. Llian of Chanthed. Llian the Zain. They say your voice is like the singing of angels. So it was when I heard you in Chanthed. When you tell the Great Tales, Rulke himself would weep; as I did, once. I was needlessly cruel to you tonight, but what else could I do? Your voice will not get me home. She could feel his charm working on her again, and tried to harden her heart the more
.
The stars showed the tenth hour now. There was no sound save the hissing of the wind and the rustling leaves of a bush on the precipice. If I leave him it might delay them for half a day. Damn him!I didn’t ask him to come. No, I’m being dishonest. That other night, and last night, I did call him. He answered and I was glad of it, so glad that it colored my whole day. Surely the Whelm will see how harmless he is.
No, they will tear him apart in case I told him something. Perhaps they would do it anyway, out of malice, thinking that he is my friend. I must take him under my protection. The thought made her snort An ironic reversal that should amuse him too, since it is one of the tools of his trade. Oh, how am I become such a fool, to so burden myself? But how can I leave him to their mercy?
A rustle behind Karan made her jump and she cracked her injured wrist against the stone wall. She cried out, but it was only the wind scraping a twig against the rock face. She sat down again, cradling her wrist The tears began to freeze on her cheek. It’s no good. I must have help. But there is no one, only him.
Far below, in the vast bowl, the starlight caught a stretch of the river in a glittering ribbon of silver. Patches of snow and ice shone whitely, and here and there was a dark rumor of forest. The ridges leading back to Tullin were a broken, shadowy mass. The plateau stretched out of sight to east and west. Her gaze was caught by the towering bulk of Mount Tintinnuin, sheathed in snow and ice and with a banner of cloud breaking from its eastern tip.
She stared down into the bowl, trying to compose herself. The wrist began to throb. It had been healing, but now she felt the bones grate. As she looked down the cliff face she realized that something was moving below. But surely no one could climb this crag at night, in snow and ice?
Yes, there it was again, unmistakeable this time. Fifty spans below, no, less! Methodically, purposefully, a figure was scaling the precipice. Were there others? She scanned the cliff, but only the one was to be seen. As soon as he reached the top the smoke would give them away. No time to get away, with Llian not even dressed. But there was no good hiding place in the ruins either.
Karan made as though to run back to Llian, then stopped. Dropping to her knees she peered over the edge again. The figure was baffled by a smooth, projecting rock surface. It moved to left and right, indecisively; then, evidently finding a handhold, it resumed its steady progress. Now and again she saw the starlight glitter on its upturned eyes. She leaned out over the cliff. Karan was an excellent climber but she would not have attempted this climb without ropes and irons. She watched in admiration, astounded by his technique. The wind had died a little, although the climber’s cape flapped behind him still, and she fancied she could hear his harsh breathing. He was scarcely a dozen spans below her now; she saw clearly his pale face and his bared teeth. Idlis!
She drew back suddenly from the edge, inadvertently putting her whole weight on her wrist. The pain galvanized her and she leapt up, looking around wildly for a weapon, not even thinking what she did. There was no branch or log nearby. Stones there were in plenty, fitted into the wall and lying on the ground in little heaps. She heaved wildly at first one, then another until her fingers bled, but it was no use. Even if she’d had the use of both hands, the blocks were too large. No, there was a broken one. She hefted up the smaller piece, about the size of her head, and hobbled over to the cliff, holding the rock awkwardly between arm and hip.
Idlis was scarcely three spans below. She remembered his skin blistering in the sun, and hesitated. He was terrifying, but human. She stood frozen into immobility while he climbed steadily. The light struck his eyes again, and they were cold.
Then he saw her and grinned, wolfishly. That shocked her. Human he was, and her enemy. Karan swung her body around, releasing the stone from her hip. The throw was true, but at the last moment Idlis twisted away to one side. The stone skimmed the side of his head, glanced off his shoulder and fell into the night. He swayed away from the cliff, holding on by a hand and a foot, his face twisted with pain.
For a moment Karan thought he would fall, could not believe that he clung there still after that blow; then he mastered himself, brushed his hand over his eyes as though to clear them, and resumed the climb. She stood there, appalled at what she had done, shocked at its lack of success. She fled.
After a minute or two she looked back, but the edge of the cliff was hidden. Now she climbed the ruined inner wall and scurried along it, bending low. Across the yard, a few hundred paces away, the wall was broken where it joined the hall. She made for that point and dropped noiselessly to the ground at the partly roofed end. The door of the anteroom was ajar, as she had left it. The room was lit only by a faint glow from the fireplace, but still was warmer than outside. The branch had gone out, leaving a scatter of ash and charcoal on the stone floor. Her pack was untouched and Llian lay as she had left him. She felt his forehead; he was slightly feverish. At her touch he flung his arm out and mumbled a few disconnected words. She stepped away and he went back to sleep.
Karan wedged the door with fragments of slate and roused the fire. The flames leapt up. She took up her little hatchet, settled back into a recess beside the door and waited. The wind moaned in the ruins. The fire crackled for a while, then grew silent. The night wore on.
16
* * *
FEAR OF HEIGHTS
Llian began to toss in his sleep, crying out in a strange voice. Karan laid her cool hand on his hot forehead until he grew still. The wind died away to a whisper. Only a faint glow now came from the fire. For a time there was absolute silence.
Then from outside there came a faint but unmistakable crunch, as of a piece of slate breaking underfoot. A pause. Then a scrape. He was at the door. He tested it. It yielded a little. Karan tensed.
A rush, a thud. The door smashed open. Idlis hurtled into the dimly lit room and crashed down the steps, struggling to keep his balance.
Llian leapt up with a cry of terror, became tangled with his sleeping pouch, and fell. Idlis threw himself on top of him in a frenzy and the two rolled over and over, striking blindly at each other. Llian cried out in pain.
Karan crept out from her recess and struck Idlis behind the ear with the back of the hatchet. He fell on top of Llian without a sound. Karan threw wood on the fire and in its light bound the Whelm’s hands and feet behind his back with cord. She stuffed bark in his mouth and awkwardly dragged him off the half-suffocated Llian to a corner. Her fingers cringed from the texture of the Whelm’s skin.
Llian sat up, stunned by the violence of his awakening. Karan was standing over him, breathing heavily, with a wild look in her eyes. He tried to heave himself to his feet but his legs failed him. She held out her hand. He pulled himself up, walked unsteadily back to the bench and fell down again.
“You saved my life! I must have been asleep. Where did he come from?” He still had no idea what had happened.
“Up the cliff. He thought you were me.”
Llian stared at her. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t think you could help. Now we’ve got to go. If he can scale the cliff in darkness and ice, the others might be close behind. You’ll have to come with me.”
Llian subsided.
“We can’t talk here,” she went on. “They might be able to get our speech from him.” As she spoke she was repacking her bag. “How are you feeling?” she asked, looking over at him. “Better, I hope.”
Llian tried a tentative smile. He felt awful. And yet, he wanted to go with her. “I’m much better now,” he said as steadily as he could. “Something hot to eat and I’ll be ready to walk all night.”
Karan gave him a searching stare. She retrieved the pot from the fireplace, unwrapped something from her pack, cut off a lump and threw it in the pot. Water sizzled on the fire.
Llian dressed. The clothes were warm but still damp. His side was hurting terribly and there was a large bruise on his cheek. Karan had gone down on one knee beside Idlis and was feeling his head. Ev
en in repose the Whelm’s mouth had a brutal curve to it. He stared at the scarred face. The back of the head was bruised and bloody, and there was a large lump, rudely bound, on the side of his head above his eye. “How did he get that?” Llian wondered aloud.
“I dropped a rock on him while he was climbing the cliff,” said Karan, with a curious expression. “He was lucky. Though perhaps he’ll wish he hadn’t been when the others get here. Here, drink this.” She handed him a full mug.
Llian did not know what to think. All this had happened while he was asleep?
There was enough soup left over for another mug each. Llian picked bits of charcoal out of his mug, slurped the residue, wiped his mouth. Karan had her hand on the door.
“Are you just going to leave him there, to follow us again?”
“Would you kill a helpless man, even a Whelm? I cannot. What I did to him on the cliff was shameful enough.” Three times now I’ve spared this one, she mused. In Bannador we would consider that an omen; and even for an enemy, a debt. Having had Idlis’s life in her keeping, she felt a certain bond, a certain responsibility. As indeed she felt for Llian. Her life had suddenly become complicated and confining.
The wind had died. The rising moon in its last crescent shed barely any light. But it was still hours short of dawn. She turned to the west.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the waterfall stream. Sometimes these mountain creeks fall as quickly as they rise.”
But long before they got to it they could hear it roaring and grinding the stones of its bed. They found a sheltered place among the rocks for the short wait till sunrise, just to be sure. When it came, dawn was a steely-gray affair, for thick clouds racing in from the west had covered the whole sky. The river was still a black torrent.
“It’s much higher than when I crossed,” Llian said.
“Wait a bit; it must fall during the day.”
Karan was trying to doze, cocooned in cloak and hat, while Llian kept watch. The light grew slowly, then suddenly came that indefinable moment when the world was more light than dark. He looked absently back toward the stream and was shocked to see two figures on the other side, not far upstream.
