“Have you seen Gallen?” she asked.
“He’s up top.”
“Is he all right?”
“Quiet,” Orick said. “He just seemed to want some time alone, to think.”
Maggie bit her lower lip and frowned. She glanced up the trail, then headed up in a hurry.
Orick watched her leave, and something in her face bothered him. She’d been panicked, as if she didn’t trust Gallen to sit and think for five minutes.
Orick almost headed to camp, but curiosity got the better of him. Maggie was nearly running up the steep trail, darting between trees.
Orick turned and rushed after her, but halfway up the trail, Gallen met Maggie coming down, and Gallen had obviously seen Orick. The two of them walked down together, arm in arm, and Orick tagged along, certain that once again he had missed out on a chance to hear their secret conversations.
When they got back to camp, the Im giants all sat around a small cooking fire, circled by dark trees. Their tunics were stained by sweat, and they smelled none too sweet to Orick, but the humans next to them didn’t mind. Breakfast was ready, and they passed out the corn cakes, tasty enough fare for the road. Even Tallea was up to sitting a bit while she ate. It felt good to Orick to be in the daylight, with the sun shining on his fur.
Ceravanne addressed them all as they ate. “Today we must make some decisions. The roads to Moree are many, and each is fraught with its own dangers. We’ve come west out of expediency, but how far west shall we go? And when do we head south? I walked abroad in this land many years ago. The hills and mountains look little changed, but rivers have turned, old roads are forgotten and new ones are unknown to me. So I think it best to ask our friends, the Im giants, for their advice, and to ask Tallea the Caldurian for her help.”
“I not been to this land,” Tallea said.
“I know the roads along the sea,” Fenorah said, “and I know the roads inland by reputation. You could head south this morning at Marbee Road. It’s a wide road built upon a bed of stone, and it follows the river where it passes through many small hamlets, and borders many a field. The folk along the way are friendly enough, and accustomed to strangers. But I fear it is a dangerous road for you: the hosts of the Inhuman have already gone south on Battic Road, and Marbee Road will meet it in one hundred and twenty kilometers. They may be waiting for you there or beyond. Still, if you hurry, the chances are good that you could keep ahead of them.”
“What other choices do we have?” Ceravanne asked.
“Beyond Marbee, fifty kilometers, lies the Old King’s Road,” Fenorah said. “It is a winding road among the hills, built to connect old fortresses, many of which no longer exist. But there is many a farmstead along it, and a few villages.”
“And some places along the road often flood,” Ceravanne said.
“In the spring, this is true, but the roads should be clear this time of year,” one of Fenorah’s men protested. “But once again, it meets Marbee Road in two hundred and forty kilometers, at High Home. Beyond that, the next best trail would be the ancient highway at the foot of the Telgood Mountains. Only a few wild people live in those mountains—Derrits and the like. The road is mostly unused and has gone to grass. Some would claim that it is no longer safe, but I have hunted along its trails, and a sturdy wagon should make it through.”
“I know that way well,” Ceravanne said. “In younger days it was called the Emerald Way. The caravanserais would come out of Indallian, and at night when you camped in the valleys you would see the lights of their fires burning like winding rivers of stars along the hills.”
“That could not have happened within the past three hundred years,” Fenorah mused, a faraway look in his eyes, “though my grandfather recalled those days—the glory and the wars.”
“Indeed, it was the richness of this land that destroyed it,” Ceravanne said.
“If Derrits along road, road not good,” Tallea said. “Troublesome people.”
“What are Derrits?” Orick asked.
“They … are solitary giants,” Ceravanne said, “built for life on a sterile world. They are very strong, and very cunning.”
“They’re cowards and killers,” Fenorah said, glaring, grasping the hilt of his sword as if he wanted to cut one down.
“Eat other people,” Tallea said. “Build traps.”
“They can eat just about anything—from carrion to raw soil,” Ceravanne said, “and they will eat you, if you’re alone and fall into one of their pits.”
“We can’t use that road,” Maggie said, “not with a quick-running animal.”
“I agree that it is a dangerous choice,” Ceravanne said thoughtfully. “But beyond that old highway, there are no roads south until you cross the Telgoods. They’re a high mountain range, and we couldn’t cross easily.”
“Six hundred kilometers,” Fenorah said, “just to cross the mountains, and that land is so distant, I do not know the roads there.”
“I have been there,” one of Fenorah’s men said. “The roads south are good, better than any we have here, for the Lords of Telgood keep them. But the mountains also veer west, and if you go to Moree, then you will be spending much time in the high passes. The wingmen live there, and it is not safe to travel in parties as small as yours—especially without bows.”
“More importantly,” Ceravanne said, “we would be traveling hundreds of kilometers out of our way. And we need to hurry.”
“So,” Gallen said, “it sounds to me that perhaps our best choice is the Old King’s Road. It gives us a chance to race against the Inhuman, and it sounds safer than the far roads, more civilized.”
“But therein lies another danger,” Ceravanne said. “If we pass through hamlets and villages, undoubtedly we will meet more servants of the Inhuman. Do you suppose that they pose no threat?”
“All roads may lead astray,” Orick said, “and the longer we sit here, the more dangerous they become. I think Gallen is right in his choice.”
Ceravanne looked to Fenorah, as if the giant held the final word. “The choice is yours, dear lady,” he said. “No one should make it for you.”
“Then I will follow Gallen,” Ceravanne whispered. “Still,” she said more loudly, “there is another matter we must consider. And that is the question, who of us shall go? We know that the servants of the Inhuman are rushing ahead of us, we know that they will be prepared. If any choose to come, they will be risking great danger. So, I have spoken with Fenorah, and he has agreed to let any who desire return to Battic.” Her eyes rested on Maggie.
“None of us will return to Battic, I wager,” Maggie said. “None of us are cowards.”
“Yet there is good reason to consider the offer,” Gallen said loudly, and he stood, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “For one among us has already been infected by the Inhuman’s Word, and all who travel are imperiled by it!”
Orick looked around the camp. One of the Im giants leapt to his feet as if ready to attack the traitor, and Ceravanne looked from Gallen to Maggie, her face a mask of fear.
“Who?” Orick cried.
“I am infected, my friend,” Gallen said, and there was a sadness in his eyes. “Forgive me. The Word burrowed into my skull while we were aboard ship, and the Inhuman has been sending messages to me for the past two nights.”
“And what kind of messages does it send?” Fenorah asked, scratching his thick beard.
“It sends memories of lives spent and wasted. It tells me that the world is unfair, and that the peoples of Babel have been treated shabbily. The Inhuman cries out for justice, and reparation, and equality. But the humans of Northland will hear none of it.” Gallen paused and closed his eyes, looking inward. “The Inhuman teaches me to be ashamed of my own species, and to mistrust them and the Tharrin who lead them.” There was a long moment of silence.
Tallea, who had been leaning weakly against a tree, pulled herself forward, fixed her eyes on Gallen with desperation. Until now, she had always spoke
n crisply, breaking off her words and her sentences. But now, as if to emphasize their import, she spoke as others on Tremonthin did, in her harsh voice. “You can fight those voices, Gallen,” she said. “I know those who fought and won. At first, when you hear those voices, see their memories, it is like falling into a great darkness, and your own small voice is a tiny light—”
“No,” Gallen growled. “It is like falling into a vast and yawning light, and my voice is the small darkness!”
“Why did you keep this infection hidden from me?” Ceravanne demanded.
“Because I hoped that my mantle could defeat it. Because I believed that it could jam the frequencies that the Inhuman sent its signal on.”
“And your mantle fails you?” Ceravanne asked.
Gallen looked away to the north. “The Inhuman is switching frequencies, sending messages in short bursts. I have … memories flowing into me, like water gushing through a swollen dike. In the past few hours, I have recalled five lifetimes.”
“No, Gallen!” Maggie cried. “It can’t have!”
“But it has,” Gallen said.
“I don’t understand,” Maggie said. “The Word shouldn’t be sophisticated enough to do what you’re saying.”
Gallen shook his head, and there were tears glistening in his eyes. “Apparently we have underestimated the Inhuman once again. The Word is sending signals in coded bursts. My mantle tries to block them, but when it does, the Inhuman then begins sending on a different frequency. My mantle doesn’t have enough power to block both signals.”
Maggie frowned in concentration. “This is worse than anything I feared.” She took his hand and looked up into his face steadily, searching his features. “We can stop this! We can stop it! We could—take you underground.”
“Aw, and what use would it be, my love?” Gallen shook his head. “You can’t just hide me away from it. I’m fighting. My mantle is fighting, but it cannot stave off the attack. I must warn you: you go to battle the Inhuman, but by the time we get to Moree I may be Inhuman.”
“The Inhuman’s Word can be defeated, as Tallea said—” Ceravanne intoned hopefully, “by those who are strong of purpose, by those who are wise. I can help you defeat it.”
Gallen glanced at her, and there was a gleam of anger in his eye, and Orick’s heart froze at the sight—anger at the peaceful Tharrin, a folk who’d never done Gallen any harm.
“Thank you,” Gallen said coldly. “But I do not want your help.”
“Why?” Ceravanne asked, unable to hide how his tone had hurt her.
Gallen’s face took on a closed look. “I’m not sure I trust you—or any Tharrin.”
Two of the Im giants got up, throwing the remains of their corn cake to the ground, confused and hurt by Gallen’s words. They brought their hands to their short swords, as if ready to do battle over such talk. And Gallen half pulled his own sword.
“Wait!” Orick said. “Gallen here has always been a trusty lad. I’ve never seen him back away from any bandit or outlaw! So if you’re going to draw swords on him, you’d best be sure of your cause. And you’d better be ready to die.”
“Orick is right,” Ceravanne said. “Put your weapons away. We are all friends here. I’ll not force Gallen or anyone else to serve me.” Ceravanne stared deep into Gallen’s face, and the giants rested, seeing no immediate danger. But Gallen held his own sword halfway drawn, as if ready to sweep the blade free. The sunlight shone on Ceravanne’s platinum hair, and her pale green eyes reflected the light like cut gems. The sunlight caught her blue-white dress, and it gleamed like a bolt of lightning here under the dark pines. In spite of her strength and wisdom, she looked like little more than a frail child who could be easily swept away, and Gallen’s sword was nearly out. If Gallen had wanted to cut her down, he could have put a swift end to her.
“If you are willing to go to Moree to risk your life, then I will walk beside you,” Ceravanne said. “I know that the Inhuman teaches that I am its enemy, that the people of this world are but pawns in our hand. But you can trust me, Gallen. I desire harm for no one. I’ve come to bring peace to this land, not war. I have long been a friend to the people of Babel.”
The Im giants stirred restlessly at these words, studying her, and Fenorah said hopefully, “Unless I miss my guess, you are an Immortal? But I am not sure that I have heard of a Tharrin who was a friend to Babel.”
“For three hundred years I have been studying with the Bock,” Ceravanne whispered. “And for over two hundred years before that, I exiled myself. But I lived here before your grandfather was young—for two thousand years. In Chingat they called me the White Lady. On the island of Bin I was Frost Before the Sun, and in Indallian they called me the Swallow—she who returns. If you have memories from the Inhuman, Gallen, then you have heard these names, and you know why I have come here!”
“By the gods!” Fenorah swore. “The Swallow has returned from the dead! The Immortal is with us!” And the giants of Im all fell to their knees. Some lowered their eyes in respect, while others stared at her in amazement. One man drew his sword, as if pledging it to her service, while the others set their weapons on the ground before them, as if swearing to put them, away forever. It was obvious that all of them knew her name and her reputation, but none of the giants was certain how to react.
For one moment, as the giants sat with their heads lowered, it looked as if Ceravanne stood among a field of huge boulders.
And to Orick’s utter amazement, Gallen himself, who seemed but a moment before ready to draw his sword on her, suddenly opened his mouth in surprise and fell to one knee at Ceravanne’s feet, as if she had slapped him for some insult and he were begging her forgiveness. He watched her steadily. “I know of the Swallow, and how her gentle people fell in ancient days at the hands of the Rodim,” he said, “but I have not heard that she was a Tharrin. Truly, you are a friend of the people.” Gallen’s voice became husky. “I would be more than honored, if you would accompany me to Moree.”
“My Lady,” Fenorah said, “will you again build the Accord?”
“For long I’ve tried to bring peace between all peoples,” Ceravanne said. “And the Accord was my best effort. When the Rodim slew whole villages, I could hardly bear it. In anger I turned my back on them, and let my disciples ruin them. The slaughter was horrible, and I could not live with what I’d done. I had sought peace by giving in to war. For centuries I have been in the North, studying the ways of peace at the hands of the Bock, purifying myself. But now I must return to my people. The Tekkar and the Inhuman are forming a deadly alliance, one that could shake the stars.”
“I would fight them with you,” Fenorah said, and all of his men shouted, “Aye.”
“Then draw your weapons upon no man, except in self-defense,” Ceravanne said.
“But—how can we fight the servants of the Inhuman without drawing upon them?” one giant asked.
“Your people are tied to the sea, and I forbid you to shed blood. But that does not mean that you cannot fight. There are ships in the harbors of Babel preparing for war,” Ceravanne said. “Set them afire. See that the Inhuman does not cross the ocean. And in every ear, with everyone you meet, tell them that the Swallow has returned to build the Accord, and that she begs human and Inhuman alike to lay aside their weapons.”
“But the Tekkar will not listen to you,” Fenorah said. “They are as deadly and vile a race as ever the Rodim were. We cannot let them live.”
“How do we know that we cannot reason with them, if we have not tried?” Ceravanne said. “They are violent and cunning and bloodthirsty. But their men love their women as passionately as you love your own wives. And their mothers love their children.”
The Im giants shook their huge heads in disbelief, doubting that the horrid Tekkar could share any brotherhood with them.
But Fenorah looked to his men. “Anabim, Dodeo, the Swallow has spoken her wishes. I charge you to return to Battic and raise some men. Go east along the coast,
and set fire to any ships that are preparing for war. And tell people what you have learned here today—that the Swallow has returned to rebuild the Accord. It will set fire to their hearts.”
The two giants turned and ran from the grove, heading toward the bridge east.
“You know, Great Lady,” Fenorah said, “that news of your presence will put you in greater peril. It now becomes imperative for the Inhuman’s agents to kill you, lest some among their numbers give you aid. Legends of the golden days of the Accord abound, and long have we hoped for your return. Still, some people may be slow to believe that you have returned. In past years, there have been rumors.…”
“What kinds of rumors?” Ceravanne asked.
“It was said that you had died and that the Lords of the City of Life would not let you be reborn. It was said that they feared a new Accord. It has even been said that the Inhuman has sought to rebuild you, so that you will come and lead it to victory.”
“Those were lies spread by the dronon and their Inhuman,” Ceravanne said. “The dronon tried to kill me when they learned that they could not turn me to their violent ways, when I would not champion the cause of the Inhuman. Four times the Rebellion brought me the rebirth, and each time I tried to return south to my people, but the Inhuman stopped me.”
“Of course,” Fenorah said. “Some had guessed as much, and all will be glad of your return.” He lowered his head in thought. “Look, when I heard the Servants of the Inhuman talking yesterday, making plans in their cave, I knew only that they sought to turn you because you are a Tharrin, and because you brought a Lord Protector to fight them. I am sure that they did not know your real name, or the full scale of your mission.”
“I have been careful not to reveal that until now,” Ceravanne said.
“Well,” Fenorah said, “what I mean to say is—we had planned to take you inland for a hundred kilometers. But maybe we could go farther.”
Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) Page 26
