The Temple at Landfall

by Jane Fletcher

  The Guards had also noticed the change in strategy. Lynn overheard two exchanging remarks.

  “Looks like the girls have been told they can’t play hide-and-seek in the bushes.”

  “Typical Rangers. Never take the road if they can scramble through the undergrowth instead.”

  “It explains why their uniforms get in the state they do.”

  “Is that it? I thought they played mud fights in their spare time.”

  The Guards did not mention that their own appearance when they arrived in Redridge had not been quite so pristine, but a traditional rivalry existed between the two elite services, which must have only added to the rancor when Machovi had pulled rank at the meeting the night before. Fortunately, the differing duties of the temple Guards and the border Rangers rarely brought them into close cooperation. When it came to opinions about military matters, the only thing they were agreed on was a common disdain for the ordinary Militia who policed the towns and countryside.

  Lynn’s gaze slipped past the line of red and gold riders and up to the mountains. The lower slopes were covered with wide sweeps of tall firs, while above them hung dark faces of sheer rock, slashed with snow-filled crevasses. The peaks cut a jagged line against the clear blue spring sky. Ahead of the carriage, the road over the pass rolled across the softer folds of the valleys. These were clear of trees and probably used for grazing sheep in the summer, though now they were deserted.

  The sight of the open fields of white set Lynn thinking of her childhood, memories of playing snowball fights with her sisters and making snow women. Her mind turned to another clear recollection of one winter’s day, climbing to the high pastures with her teenage aunt and looking down on the whole farm laid out below her, toy-like in the snow. Her mother had been furious when they returned. Her aunt always had been a touch indifferent to the dangers of snow lions on the uplands.

  The bump as a wheel bounced over a pothole jolted Lynn back to the present, jarring her neck and making her stomach lurch. It would have been much more comfortable for them if they had all been on horseback. Or then again, maybe not, Lynn told herself. She had not ridden since she had entered the temple, and by now her muscles would have completely lost their tone. After the first couple of hours, riding would not be fun at all.

  “Imprinter. Could you lead us in a hymn?” Sister Smith’s voice completed Lynn’s return to the here and now.

  “Certainly, Sister. Is there any one in particular you think appropriate?”

  “Yes. I think ‘When First the Elder-Ones Set Foot’ would be suitable.”

  The thoughts occupying Sister Smith were not hard to guess. Lynn raised her voice in song as the carriage rolled on over the snow-covered hills.

  *

  By dusk, they reached a staging post one-third of the way over the pass and on schedule to be in Landfall before the twenty-third of the month. Sister Smith’s mouth was hidden under her mask, but Lynn was certain it held a triumphant smile. There had been no sign of the snow lions all day, and even the Rangers seemed a little more at ease once the last of the riders had entered the wooden stockade and the gates were shut and barred.

  The staging post was like a small fort, set in the middle of a long valley. Its stout timber walls were three times the height of a woman, high enough to keep out any snow lion. Within these defenses, the sides were lined with buildings: stables, stores, and barrack rooms. Latrines were situated in one corner and a tall watchtower in another. It would provide a safe resting place for the night, although a little cramped, and the squeezing of Guards and Rangers into such close association could well give rise to friction.

  Captain LeCoup appeared to be well aware of the possibility, and she acted quickly to keep a firm hand on things. While stabling the horses and preparing for the evening meal, she and Lieutenant Ramon moved continuously among their troops, stamping on any injudicious attempts of humor at the Guards’ expense. Unfortunately, the captain’s attempt to instruct the Guards in methods of dealing with snow lions was less well judged. From her seat beside a fire, Lynn overheard part of one such conversation.

  “You can’t fight lions from horseback. The tops of their skulls are solid bone and their pelts act like cushions. If you try swinging your sword down on them you’ll only cause superficial wounds that will just make them mad,” LeCoup explained.

  “That may be true for the short swords you Rangers have.” The Guard was disdainful.

  “A meat cleaver wouldn’t go through. The pelt is like matted rope. You have to use the point of your sword in a straight thrust, preferably at the throat or chest where the fur is thinner. Get down and under when they pounce.”

  “I think I’d prefer my chances on horseback,” a second, bored Guard chipped in.

  “But your horse hasn’t been trained to deal with them.” LeCoup’s voice held a touch of impatience.

  “My horse has been trained to deal with everything,” the Guardswoman snapped back.

  Lynn glanced around. Five Guards were listening to the captain with expressions ranging from hostility to amusement, while LeCoup looked as if she was fighting a battle to control her temper, and only just succeeding. It was doing nothing to soothe relations between the Guards and the Rangers and LeCoup appeared, at last, to realize this. She started to rise, in search of a more receptive audience, when Major Machovi joined the small group.

  The captain sank back onto her seat. “Ah, Major. I was talking about snow lions.”

  LeCoup’s voice made it clear that she hoped the major might force her women to take the advice more seriously. Lynn could have warned the Ranger against such optimism. The Guards were selected for their doctrinal orthodoxy. The only way to get promoted was to make a show of doing and believing everything a Sister told you. Maybe tall Guards looked more impressive in their uniforms, but physical strength and fighting ability came poor seconds to piety in terms of desirable qualities, and intelligence could be a positive handicap to an ambitious Guard. It was very unlikely that Machovi had reached her rank by thinking for herself. However, LeCoup seemed unaware of this and returned to her lesson.

  “Snow lions often work in teams to make ambushes. A couple will get behind their prey and try to stampede it toward where the others are lying in wait.”

  “You make them sound intelligent,” Machovi said skeptically.

  “Not intelligent, but cunning. Whatever you do, you mustn’t run the way they are guiding you—”

  “Guards don’t run.”

  The arrogant assertion stopped LeCoup cold. Another of the Guards stepped into the silence. “The Ranger captain has been telling us to dismount if the snow lions attack. She says that swords are no good against lions when you’re on horseback.”

  Major Machovi smiled patronizingly. “Well, maybe the short swords that you Rangers carry, but I think you might be surprised at what a Guard’s sword can do.”

  LeCoup’s face froze in a stony glare. Lynn suspected she was silently counting to ten. Then the captain got to her feet, bid the Guards a formal good night, and stomped off to where the Rangers were starting their preparations for sleep, spreading blankets over piles of fresh straw. Lynn felt all her fears of the previous two days return in a rush. Even after eleven years in the temple, she could still be amazed by the obstinate stupidity of the Guards. The Sisters were imaginative radicals by comparison.

  The time to sleep was approaching. Lynn slipped outside to visit the latrine block. On the way back, she stopped in the middle of the square. The air was cold, but the skies were clear. Laurel, the smaller of the two moons, had just edged its way above the mountains. Its light reflecting off the snow was enough for Lynn to see her surroundings but not enough to diminish the brilliant intensity of the stars. At the corner of the stockade, the watchtower was a black silhouette against the glittering backdrop. A few more minutes would pass before her absence attracted comment. After a moment’s thought, Lynn wandered over to the ladder and began to climb, soon reaching the flat platf
orm at the top.

  Immediately, she saw that she was not alone. The tall figure of Lieutenant Ramon was leaning on the railing and looking out over the winter landscape. Lynn hesitated, one foot on the ladder and one on the observation platform, then mumbled, “Excuse me,” wondering if she could climb back down without it seeming too much like running away.

  The lieutenant glanced over her shoulder, her peaceful expression changing to one of surprise. She had obviously expected the sound of footsteps on the ladder to belong to another Ranger, but she recovered quickly and spoke before Lynn could decide what to do.

  “Please, ma’am. If I may take this chance, I...I would like to apologize for being rude this morning. I was angry at the way Sister Smith...” Ramon’s voice trailed away, although judging from her expression, she would have liked to say something very unflattering about the Sister.

  Lynn paused then smiled and stepped onto the platform. Being angry at Smith was definitely a reaction she could identify with. “That’s okay. I wasn’t in a good mood myself this morning.”

  “Have you come up here for a reason? Do you want to pray in private or...?” Ramon stopped, looking uncertain.

  “Oh, no. I just wanted to admire the view. Are you on sentry duty?”

  Ramon matched Lynn’s smile. “No. Like you, I’m just here for the view. We aren’t bothering with sentries tonight. The snow lions won’t be able to get in, and with them on the prowl, we’d probably even take pity on a bunch of bandits and let them in. If they knocked on the door and asked nicely.”

  “Do you really think the snow lions are around here?” Lynn asked anxiously, hoping to have her fears allayed.

  The Ranger sighed. “I don’t know. The year is getting on. They might be moving back north, but if they’re really hungry, they might be desperate. I’m afraid I can’t be as certain as Sister Smith.”

  “I don’t think anyone could be that certain,” Lynn said with feeling.

  “She does seem very”—Ramon paused as if hunting for a word—“sure of herself.”

  “You must remember Himoti whispers directly into her ear.”

  Lynn could tell that Ramon was unsure whether to take her statement literally. “And she doesn’t talk to you, an Imprinter?”

  “Oh, on occasion. Four times a year we have a fast day when we aren’t allowed to eat anything after sunrise and have to spend the whole day on our knees, praying. It’s supposed to be a spiritual experience, and by the end of the day, Himoti’s statue often talks to me.”

  “Really?”

  Lynn grinned. “Yes. Mind you, I’d have more confidence in it as a religious miracle if it didn’t usually start right after I’d seen little pink fairies dancing on the altar and just before one of the reverent Sisters turns into a flying pig and flaps her way out the window.”

  For a second, the lieutenant was silent, clearly startled to realize that a blessed Imprinter could joke so irreverently, but then she joined in the laughter. They leaned against the railing and surveyed the bleak winter scenery together.

  After a short while longer, Ramon asked, “How are things going in the barracks? I was wondering if I should go back and support the captain.”

  “There have been no fights yet, and now people are more or less settling down for the night. Your captain was having a hard job explaining to the Guards how to deal with snow lions, but I doubt there was anything you could have done.”

  “Didn’t she make any impression on them at all?”

  Lynn’s nose wrinkled. “Not so as you’d notice. They seem to think they can cut the lions down in their tracks and that you have problems because your swords are too short.”

  “Their swords are longer, true enough, but they are also lighter. Like the uniforms, they’re mainly for show. They’ll just bounce off the lions’ heads.” She reached to her waist and half drew her own sword. “This sword is more like a Ranger herself: short, ugly, and very efficient.”

  Lynn laughed at the analogy. “I can’t see that all three apply in your case.” She looked up pointedly; Lieutenant Ramon was a clear twenty centimeters taller than she was. For the first time, Lynn studied the Ranger’s face. The moonlight enhanced the clean lines of Ramon’s high cheekbones and well-formed lips. In fact, the thought shot through Lynn’s mind, there’s only one of the adjectives that’s in with a chance. Aloud she said, “I mean, how efficient are you?”

  “I can make a jar of boot polish last a whole year,” Ramon retorted quickly.

  “Don’t let one of the Guards hear you say that. They’d have a fit.”

  “Do you think so?” Ramon bit her lip mischievously. “I might make a point of repeating the line just to see the reaction.”

  Lynn grinned then turned to look into the fort below and sighed. “I’d better go back before Smith starts to wonder where I am.”

  She started to climb down the ladder, but as her foot touched the third step, a long, desolate howl echoed over the mountains. Lynn froze and looked back to where Ramon was standing.

  “It might just be the wind.” The Ranger’s voice held little confidence.

  Lynn shook her head, either in denial or to loosen the sudden tightening in her neck and shoulders, then continued her descent. Ramon came to stand at the head of the ladder and looked down at her. “Ma’am.”

  Lynn stopped and glanced up.

  “If things do turn nasty, remember, you’re the important one, not Sister Smith. You are the one we’ll protect. And if it comes to it, there isn’t a Ranger or Guard who won’t willingly give her life to keep you safe.”

  The assertion was nothing less than the truth, and both of them knew it. Lynn’s face was sober as she made her way to the ground and back into the barrack hall. She could not help wondering if Smith had included that in her calculations.

  Chapter Five— Snow Lions

  The sun had not yet cleared the tops of the mountains when they left the staging post. The cavalcade filed out between the large wooden gates and headed south toward Petersmine. At first, the journey was much like the day before, but while the morning wore on, the road became bumpier as they reached the high point of the pass. Here the effects of frost and wind had done the most damage. The landscape was also colder and bleaker. In places, the firs extended down to the roadside so that the route wound between the dark columns of tree trunks. Elsewhere were fields of broken rock where the sharp contours were softened only by the covering of snow. The hooves of the horses slipped on the ice, and Lynn twice bit her tongue when the carriage wheels hit large stones.

  Despite the poor state of the road, the party made good time, and as the route began to fall again, the scenery softened. The afternoon was drawing to a close when they caught the first glimpse of the next staging post, their destination for that day. The wooden fort was perched atop a distant ridge, its tall watchtower outlined against the soft evening sky. Although still some way off, the sight of it encouraged everyone with thoughts of a hot meal and a rest, and the speed picked up noticeably. Lynn felt herself begin to relax and enjoy the panoramic view. This was the last time she would ever see mountains, or any sort of countryside. When she entered the temple at Landfall, she knew she would never again leave its walls.

  The road dropped down into a basin-like depression hollowed between high mountains on either side. Ahead of them, a saddle ridge shielded the staging post from view, but it could be no more than three kilometers away, barely a quarter of an hour. The hope of getting out of the bone-jarring carriage even put a temporary stop to Sister Smith’s constant stream of theological discourse. In the welcome silence, Lynn’s gaze settled on the distant peaks. Her thoughts were drifting away to where the serrated ranges began to fade into the purple of twilight, when the peace of the evening was torn apart by a sudden fury of howling from behind.

  Sister Ubbi screamed. Lynn leaped up and stuck her head out the carriage window in time to see the nightmare forms of three snow lions break from cover on the hillside and charge down toward th
e riders on the road, lunging and bounding in an avalanche of white fur. At once, the Rangers’ rear guard swung around. Before Lynn was able to register what was happening, some were dismounted, their horses shooed back to safety behind the growing line of drawn swords. But Lynn did not have long to observe the action.

  Major Machovi’s voice rang out wildly. “Quick! Get to the fort!”

  From the driver’s box came a sharp cry and the crack of a whip. The carriage leaped forward, urged on by shouts from the line of Guards at the side.

  “No! Slow down. There’ll be more ahead!” But Lynn’s words were lost in the rush of wind and the pounding of hooves. The jolt when the wheels hit another pothole threatened to send her sprawling across the carriage floor, but she clawed onto the rim of the window, pulled herself back, and was again able to get her head out.

  The carriage was racing up the slope toward the top of the ridge. Ahead, Lieutenant Ramon and the advance party of Rangers were already dismounted and standing in the road, waving their arms in an attempt to halt the headlong rush of the carriage and its escort. Their action had no effect on the resolute Guardswomen, and at the last moment, the Rangers were forced to jump aside, letting the onrushing cortege through.

  “You deal with the lions; we’ll see the Imprinter safe to the fort!” one of the Guards shouted as they passed.

  In despair, Lynn saw the faces of the Rangers flash by, a montage of disbelief and anger. Lieutenant Ramon’s mouth was open in reply, although nothing could be heard over the thunder of hooves and wheels. Then the carriage reached the top of the ridge, surged over, and the Rangers were lost from view behind the crest of the hill.

  As they began to descend, Lynn looked ahead, dreading the sight of more snow lions, lying in wait. This valley was more rugged than the last, scooped from the side of a mountain and rising steeply on the far side. Across its middle was scored the gash of a ravine, widening into a precipitous gorge to the west. The landscape was devoid of trees, but dense clumps of bushes were strewn on both sides of the road in an uneven patchwork. Tauntingly close, the staging post stood high on the opposite hillside, but it would be a longer ride than Lynn had anticipated. The road swung out wide and looped around the valley floor to cross the ravine by a wooden bridge where it was narrowest, on the eastern flank.