Kate released the parking brake and put the car in gear, letting it roll out of the camp.
For a moment Joe was in two places at once: the house at Daw Road and a different house, made of red stone, tall and narrow, surrounded by forest. The scene shifted until his vision blurred and his head ached—forest, road, house, house—until it settled with only a slight quivering. His head still hurt. He glanced over at Mrs. Hunt, who looked ashen. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
Arrim had the same look of sickness combined with a kind of sharp excitement.
The Daw Road house was gone. In its place was a tall, narrow house made of red stone in a grove of old-growth forest. Snow capped its roof, melting where a smoking chimney poked at the sky.
Joe saw movement around the door; several men came out, some carrying boxes that Joe recognized from the basement of the house on Daw Road. Caution made him back up, gesturing to the others. They all three retreated until they were in the thick of a small copse of young trees and tangled vines. The winter woods gave them scant cover, but the men were intent on their mission and didn’t notice any watchers.
“Who are they?” Joe said in a low voice.
“Lord Tharp’s men,” Arrim said. “They must be removing the last of the weapons and bullets and bringing them to Red Gold Bridge.”
Beneath them the ground began to quiver. A dusting of snow fell from the trees. At the house the men began to scurry, shouting to each other. Someone dropped a box of bullets, and they spilled out into the snow. The ground gave a jerk, and Joe was thrown to the ground along with Mrs. Hunt and Arrim.
If it hadn’t been for the earthquake, Joe thought he might have noticed that the house was under attack a split second sooner. As it was, he was in the midst of pushing himself to his feet when a crossbow bolt thunked hard into a tree trunk right over their heads. Joe rolled over to look at it and then back at the house up ahead. He immediately flattened himself against the ground, pulling Mrs. Hunt down with him. Arrim flopped back down, too, and they lay there, covering their heads.
Men began pouring out from among the trees, shooting arrows and brandishing swords. In the house, the defenders rushed to the top floor and began firing weapons out the top windows. Some went down right away, but others made it to cover behind trees.
“What the hell?” Joe said. “What do we do now?”
“Stay low and wait,” Arrim said. He turned to look at Mrs. Hunt, flattened in a small depression in the snow. “Are you all right, milady?”
She made a movement of her head approximating a nod.
As the Jeep neared the gordath, bumping along the makeshift road discovered by the scouts, they could hear the sounds of fighting up ahead, the distant thunder of the guns rolling over the distance. Marthen rode with one hand on the roll bar. He had said nothing to her at all during the entire journey. Varig could be heard cursing and praying under his breath from the backseat.
The radio crackled.
“General . . . arthen . . .” Colar’s voice came over the radio. Marthen fumbled with the device. The Jeep rattled over the terrain.
“Acknowledge him,” she said, wrestling with the steering wheel as the Jeep slewed over the rough terrain.
“Go ahead,” Marthen said into the radio. She rolled her eyes.
“Push the button to talk.”
Marthen’s lips pursed in annoyance, and she was filled with rage at his mannerism. You have nothing to be superior about, she told him in her head. She concentrated on driving. Marthen pushed down the button and said, “Go ahead, Terrick.”
“We . . . eed help! We’re under . . . tack!”
Marthen almost dropped the radio, and the Jeep slid sideways as Kate overreacted. Marthen clutched the dashboard but otherwise regained his calm. He pushed down the button.
“Tell Lord Terrick to send in all soldiers and surround the house. Tell him to station crossbowmen and archers among the trees to pick off any retreating troops. Varig is on his way.”
A few minutes later they came upon the battle. Kate tromped on the brake, and the car skidded to a stop in a spray of snow. Bullets whined overhead, and crossbows and longbows sang. The men shot in quick succession, placing bolts with professional ease. There were small battles everywhere, men with swords slashing at each other in close combat.
Varig leaped from the backseat. “Find your vantage point!” Marthen ordered, and the archer slipped into the forest.
Marthen got his sword from the backseat and got out of the Jeep. He thumbed down the button on the radio. “Terrick. Send four handfuls of men to me, at the front of the house.”
Bullets sang out, and Kate threw herself down on the front seat, her back tearing painfully. Marthen put on his helm and waited calmly, and sure enough, men streamed out of the woods toward him. Without another word he began running toward the front door, and they followed him. His plan immediately came clear; as he and his men joined battle with the defenders, the close combat kept the others from shooting. They were equal now, sword to sword.
With a crash, a crossbow bolt shattered the Jeep’s windshield and stuck in the car seat by her shoulder. Kate screamed, throwing up her hands. Covered with glass, she looked around for a clear path from the fight and scrambled from the Jeep, running low to the safety of a nearby bush, where she could see the back of the house. The fighting was light here. Next to the house was a cellar door leading into the ground. Looking in all directions, she gathered up her courage and bolted across the clearing. Another arrow twanged overhead. Running low but full tilt, Kate dashed behind the house. With trembling hands she lifted up the door enough to slip inside and make her way down the stairs into darkness.
Twenty-two
Lynn didn’t find the gordath so much as it found her. She heard distant gunfire, and the earth trembled. The air wavered in front of her eyes, like heat rising from a campfire. I must be in the right place, she thought. When she came upon the battle, she held the horse back between the trees.
Dead and dying men lay everywhere, their blood darkening the snow. Men beat at each other with swords. The trees bristled with spent arrows. The men in the tall stone house were shooting from the top windows, but they were not immune to casualties. Someone else was shooting, too, placing shots with careful consistency. Lynn watched as man after man went down. The snow was pocked with blood. A car was abandoned by the edge of the clearing, its windshield smashed. She looked again. That’s Mark’s Jeep! A roar broke from the woods, and hundreds of men came running toward the battle. Tharp had come to defend his weapons source.
And there he was himself, the leader of Red Gold Bridge, riding a chestnut warhorse. Dungiven snorted and went to neigh a challenge, one stallion to another. Lynn grabbed the rein and backed him a few steps to keep him busy, then turned to look again.
Her vision wavered as she sighted the front of the house, where the air seemed thickest. The gordath. But how do I get there?
Maybe I just wait until they all kill themselves.
The earthquake that followed knocked her off her feet.
Joe held on to the ground during the violent shaking. With a groan, two tall trees toppled to the earth next to them, pulling up dirt by the roots. “Arrim, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Arrim surveyed the scene. He nodded. “It must be stopped. We’re running out of time.”
Joe knew what he meant. The air had gathered in front of the house, and it looked as if it puckered like a seam. The gordath grew dark. A slit grew between the seam, and the darkness flickered there. As they watched, it widened.
A soldier, in a sword fight for his life, stepped backward into it and was swallowed up. His scream was cut short, and he disappeared.
It took him, Joe thought. It’s burning a hole between the worlds.
Men shouted and backed away.
“All right,” Mrs. Hunt said. “You begin to close the gordath. ” She took a deep breath. “I will try to capture my husband’s attention.”
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“Are you crazy?” Joe said. “You can’t go out there. You’ll get killed.”
“Quite likely,” she agreed. Her face was pale and pinched.
Arrim, however, agreed. “Time to make things right, my lady,” he said.
Mrs. Hunt nodded. She looked unsure of herself, sad, and more than a little reluctant.
“Yes, past time,” she said, but more to herself than them. “I don’t know if it can be done, after so many years.” She got up, dusted the snow and dirt from her front, and took off her kerchief, letting it billow out into a large square. After she was done remaking herself into the calm, cool, person Joe had known for the past year, she stepped out into the clearing, waving the dark blue cloth.
Somehow she caught their attention. Amid the shouting and the chaos, a long, mournful horn sounded, and the fighting slowed and then stopped. Men lowered their weapons and watched Mrs. Hunt come out of the woods in her long, warm coat, her dark hair freed from the kerchief to fall over her shoulders.
“Eyvig,” she said in her clear voice, looking at the big man on the chestnut warhorse. He looked at her across the clearing, and though his face was masked, it was clear he was transfixed. He pushed his horse toward her one step, then another, and she held her head up and waited for him.
This time when Mrs. Hunt spoke, her voice dropped into a silent clearing.
“Eyvig, I am back.”
The silence deepened. Lord Tharp took off his helmet.
“Sarita,” he said.
“Do you accept me back, Eyvig?” Mrs. Hunt said, standing straight and proud in her shearling coat.
Tharp inclined his head, but it was less an answer than further punishment.
“He loves you and misses you still,” Arrim had said. Joe could see it, but he could also see that forgiveness was not going to come easy to Lord Tharp.
“I cannot give you an answer now,” he said, and his voice rolled out over the clearing. “I have longed for this day, that is true, but it cannot take the place of what we are fighting here. My property has been stolen: my lands defiled, the good people of all the lands of Aeritan have been raided, killed, their livelihoods burned, their smiths killed and forges broken, all by the orders of this man, not even a member of a council but a tool of theirs.”
He pointed at the other general, who merely looked at him, his bloody sword bare in his gloved hand. Next to him the other lords closed up ranks.
“The lands of Aeritan rose up against you, Lord Tharp,” one growled. He swept his sword around. “Look around at all the colors against you. You brought these weapons to Aeritan. Look what they have wrought. You keep the gordath open against the guardians’ counsel, and it is breaking up the world. You know it, my lord. You’ve felt the earth tremors and the shaking that threaten to take down your fine stronghold. We did not ask for this war, but we will continue to press it.” He threw a deliberate glance back at the house behind him. “You might retake this house with all its weapons and bullets and strange materials in it, but even as we two speak, Lord Kenery’s main force is attacking Red Gold Bridge.”
Tharp smiled. “Your news is old, Lord Terrick. Lord Kenery has been convinced to return to his neutral stance by the Lady of Trieve.”
A mixed gasp and cry rose up among the men amassed against Tharp.
That shocked them, Joe thought. Still, the fellow, Lord Terrick, retained his composure, though his face tightened in disgust.
“That betrayal is a matter for the Council, as is yours, Lord Tharp. We will continue to fight, and we will continue to batter the walls of Red Gold Bridge, while the gordath does its best to tear down the rest of it. If that is what you wish for your legacy, then so be it. But I will not stand by and let you destroy my country. My lands.”
“He’s right.” Arrim got up and came out of the woods. Joe hurried behind him. “Your man Bahard shot me because I was seeking to close the portal against him. But I saw the signs, Lord Tharp. I saw even then what the gordath was doing, pulling open between the worlds. Why do you continue to press this battle? Your lady wife returned, my lord. She saw what the portal was becoming, and she returned to make it right.”
As if to emphasize his words, the earth shook, and the gordath spread wider. Now they could see inside, a darkness beyond the darkest night. Men backed away farther.
“Don’t lecture me, guardian!” Tharp said. He scarcely glanced at Mrs. Hunt. “And you live dangerously when you speak for my lady.”
“He speaks well for me,” said Mrs. Hunt. “He speaks truly. All those years ago, when I fled, I thought the gordath had closed behind me. Little did I know—or want to know—that it had stayed open just a crack, enough so that it could be opened again. And again.” She stopped and peered around. “What have you done with the barkeep?”
Tharp scowled. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Her mouth quirked. “I hope to. I hope you discovered his true nature. He was neither well-liked nor well-trusted on the other side of the Wood. But you were always a poor judge of character, my husband.”
“I judged you well, and you came up wanting,” he said.
She came right back at him. “You were quick to judge me, indeed, but you never even knew me, husband.”
“I knew enough, wife.”
It had the sound of an old argument. They stopped, but a muscle jumped in Tharp’s cheek, and Mrs. Hunt—Joe could not stop thinking of her that way—had a cold edge to her that almost made her pale face glow with light.
A movement from the far side of the clearing caught his attention. Lynn came out of the woods, brushing aside branches. Everyone turned to look at her and the massive horse she led.
Jesus, thought Joe. She was thin, wrapped in strange clothes, her face narrow and her hair unkempt. Her clothes were torn and dirty, and her cheeks were raw with cold. He pushed past Arrim into the clearing. She didn’t see him right away. Instead, she held out Dungiven’s reins to Mrs. Hunt.
“Mrs. Hunt,” she said. “I have your horse.” The big horse cocked his ears forward at Mrs. Hunt and whinnied at her as if he recognized her. For the first time a real smile spread across the woman’s face, lighting it with delight.
“Your horse?” said Tharp, disbelief making his voice rise.
Mrs. Hunt came over to Lynn and touched Dungiven’s muzzle. He snorted and rubbed his head against her.
“I am a daughter of Wessen, husband. When I came across Gordath Wood to the world on the other side, I knew only two things: horses and wealth. I used my knowledge well enough, I think.” She slid her hand up Dungiven’s head, rubbing it beneath his forelock. “I had thought to bring this one with me when I was ready to come back. A gift. I ask only one thing: that you return everyone to their proper place before this war resumes.”
She turned to Lynn. “Lynn Romano. When you return, you will find in my house my lawyer’s phone number. Call him. He has papers for you to sign that transfer Hunter’s Chase to you.”
Lynn stared at her, openmouthed. “I—Mrs. Hunt, I mean, Lady Sarita—”
Mrs. Hunt inclined her head and turned to her husband, taking Dungiven’s reins from Lynn and holding them out to Tharp.
Tharp hesitated, clearly torn between punishing his wife and accepting her apology. At length he dismounted and took the reins in one hand and her other hand in his.
“We have much to talk about,” he said, and his voice was low, as if he was trying to keep it for her ears alone. She nodded, and he turned.
“General Marthen, Lord Terrick,” he said. Marthen bowed, and everyone turned to look for Terrick. The older lord stepped forward and nodded. He was disheveled, his armor bloodied, his colors torn and soiled. Lord Tharp bowed in return. “I do not intend to lose this war, nor do I intend to pursue it with less fervor than I have been doing, just because my lady wife is returned to me. But I will accede to a truce for now to gather our wounded, send these wanderers home, and close the portal. It is more pressing at the moment.”
As if to
add urgency to his statement, the earth rumbled again. At sharp orders from officers, men laid down their weapons and began to help the wounded. Lynn looked around, taking it all in. Her gaze stopped on Joe. He pushed through the crowd and took her hands, then pulled her into his arms.
His kiss was real and rough and urgent, and she started crying again. It felt so good to be held by him, his arms around her and his cheek pressed against the top of her head. He was warm and strong, and she felt so right in his arms, and it was all mixed in with the sadness and loss she felt for Crae.
“How did you get here?” she said, half crying, half laughing.
“This thing called a gordath. It’s been causing a hell of a mess back home.”
“I know. Here, too.”
He kissed her again, then held her tight. “I thought you were dead.”
“I know. I tried so hard to come home.” She had so much to tell him and not enough words to say it. She thought longingly of her small apartment and the chance to have all the time in the world to tell him everything. Not the apartment. The main house. I own Hunter’s Chase.
Sudden shouting made them both look up. The ground trembled, but it took on a different note now. Arrim stood in front of the portal, his arms outstretched as if to encompass it—or draw its edges together. For an instant Lynn could see two houses, and Daw Road leading away from them.
“Time to go,” Joe said. “I didn’t want to rush you, but we better get Kate and get out of here.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Kate?”
He stared at her. “Yeah, Kate. Mossland. Isn’t she with you?”
“Kate Mossland’s here?”
“She came after you the next day. You’ve never seen her?”
She shook her head, her bewilderment turning to dread.
The fighting had stopped. Kate got up from her hidey-hole and climbed the short steps to the cellar door, pushing it up and over with a jarring thud. Her back screamed, and her arms quivered with effort. She looked around. Everyone was picking up the dead and the wounded. She wondered how long it would be before Talios was inundated with casualties. I should get back, she thought. I need to help him.
Gordath Wood Page 34
