"Thank you, Devved. You're a good man," Kal said after him.
"From what I can tell, it seems they were attacked sometime the previous night." Galli squatted, speaking to Kal in a low voice across the chest of the wounded soldier.
Kal nodded. "Aye, so you said."
"Came at them in the dark without warning. And the gathgours weren't the only ones feeding. The birds have been at them, except for our friend here. He kept them away with his knife, I suspect, else they would have pecked out his eyes. And the gathgours . . . Well, I count it a full squad of Black Scorpion Dragoons by my reckoning, posted here by Ferabek to keep watch and prevent our escape, no doubt. Seven dead, one of those dragged off, and two who fled in terror. That way, towards the Stairs." Galli rose to his feet. "And there's a dead Telessarian as well on the edge of the camp. One of the first to fall."
"The poor fellow must have been parched. But look, he's reviving now," said Kal as the stoutly built Gharssûlian emitted a loud groan of pain and struggled to focus his eyes. At the same time, he twisted his body in an attempt to move, but only managed to worsen the flow of blood from the wound across his stomach.
"Easy, easy. Lie still, man. You are badly hurt," said Kal, his voice firm but hesitant, as he searched for the right words in Gharssûlian. "And you're not like to survive, unless Devved hurries with that woundwort," he muttered to himself in his own tongue.
"Come, son. Truth be told, he's not like to survive regardless," Frysan said.
"Aye, but still, I must try."
Devved returned a few moments later, his hands full of dew-moist plant tops. Kal took the herbs, crushed them, and gingerly began pressing the pungent leaves into the wound, trying to stem the increasing flow of blood. The man shrieked into the night, his limbs convulsing in agony. His screams reverberated off the mountain face and across the upland field.
"We might as well use a horn, amble over to that wall there, and announce to the whole world that we're here," Devved said sullenly, glowering. Others glanced about, squinting into the moon-cast shadows of the outlying rocks. Kal finished dressing the wound.
"The blood continues to seep. 'Tis a mortal injury, Kalaquinn," Alcesidas said.
"Yes, yes. It is of no use," said Kal, shaking his head in resignation, regarding his blood-soaked hands.
The screams abruptly subsided. The dying man grew still, his breathing heavy and laboured, as if he was garnering his strength. His eyelids flickered open. His gaze swam, his eyes weaving back and forth before coming to focus on Kal. For a long moment the soldier looked at Kal; then, as if noticing him for the first time, the man narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips back over stained teeth clenched in a snarl.
"C-curse you! . . . Curse you!"
"So much for gratitude," remarked Devved, understanding the sentiment if not the Gharssûlian's words.
"You die, man. You are dying. Do you understand? Dying," Kal said. There was a quiet desperation in his voice that silenced Devved and the others who stood watching. "I am Hordanu. Fortune has brought me to your side in this your hour of greatest need. I can sing your Prayer of Passage. I can ease your crossing of the Birdless Lake. Let me help you. The time remaining to you is short."
The soldier's mouth worked like that of a fish lying on a river bank, opening and closing, gulping at the air soundlessly. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and then returned to stare at Kal. Then he whispered, in a voice strained and breaking, "I would rather . . . would rather the dreosan gnaw my guts . . . . I spit on you, Hordanu."
The dying man drew a sharp breath, then pursed his lips to heave a gob of spittle at Kal. But his body rebelled at the effort, and in a final bid to cling to life forced him to cough weakly. There welled from his mouth a gush of blood and saliva, spilling down his stubbled chin. His throat rattled as breath escaped him. All hatred spent, his pupils widened and his head fell drooping to one side.
"He makes his own crossing," Kal said, looking up at his comrades. "I tried. He is dead. May he find what peace he can."
Kal reached over the dead man and drew a limp arm across the still body, then lifted the other likewise. The hands folded on the soldier's chest obscured the crumpled insignia of the dread scorpion. He seemed even in death to cling to it. Kal pushed himself off the ground.
"What shall we now, Kalaquinn?" Alcesidas said, fingering his rowan sprig. "What is your purpose? There is naught else we can do here. And here we stand exposed to gathgours and other unseen enemies."
"Let us bring the others. Lay them here, beside him."
"But, Kal," Devved said, "we stand in danger here. His cries will bring the gathgours. Or his fellow—"
"Just do it! We haven't time to bury them, nor fuel to burn them. But we will do what we can. Now go."
Galli was the first to respond, striding away to the edge of the encampment. As the other men dispersed in silence to do Kal's bidding, Galli returned carrying on his shoulder the dead Telessarian tracker. He lowered the weight to the ground, then took a step to the side and bent over to pluck a flowering head of Eveningstar that had escaped being trampled. He touched the pale flower to his own forehead, then laid it across the dead man's forehead, so caked with blood that the birthrite tattoo could scarcely be discerned. "Let thy browmark be thy warrant," Galli intoned over the Telessarian, then turned quickly away to help the others.
Kal had the bodies laid neatly abreast of each other, covered with the torn canvasses from the tent and weighted down by the arms and armour of the Gharssûlian warriors. He knew it would do little to protect the dead from predation by vulture and carrion crow. Or, worse still, that of the gathgour, although Galli averred that the creatures had not returned to the site since the slaughter—perhaps they preferred fresh kill. Still, the act did something to assuage the sense of duty the living here in this place felt towards the dead, and an uneasy peace rested once again on the group.
The gathgours they dragged to the outer edge of the field, where the high stone ramparts crested the lower face of Mount Thyus. From the parapet of rock that enclosed the meadow, the mountain fell sheer hundreds and hundreds of feet to the black forest below. They threw the fetid carcasses down from the lookout gap in the wall.
The lookout was close by the Stairs of Tarn Cromar, the sole way down into the valley of the Stoneholding. Galli pointed out the tracks of the two Black Scorpions who had escaped the slaughter by the Well, fleeing past the lookout and down the Stairs. "They bolted like frightened rabbits. We've naught to worry from them. And I see no other sign of danger," he explained above the steady drone of Skell Force as he peered out into the darkness though the opening.
"Galli, I want you to light me a small fire, just enough flame to smudge the air with smoke. Put some grass on it."
"But, Kal—"
"No questions. Devved, help him. We're safe enough here. At the first sign of danger, we can bolt back to Nua Cearta. It's close enough."
Kal strode to the lookout. With Alcesidas and Frysan by his side, he surveyed the moonlit landscape below. There the waters of Tarn Cromar glistened against the darkness of the surrounding woods, and beyond that, far away, the faint glimmer of Deepmere's unsettled surface. Kal stood staring as the minutes passed. No one dared break his meditation.
"Nothing. There is nothing—no light, no fire, no sign of human life," Kal said quietly, then shifted his gaze to the skies above the flanks of the mountain. "Now, I wonder if he's anywhere about?"
The slight breeze bore a whiff of the fire that Galli had kindled nearby from remains he had retrieved of the camp's fire. Kal glanced over his shoulder. The small blaze crackled merrily. "Grass, Galli. Grass," he said.
Soon the air was thick with the pungent sweetness of smouldering grass. Alcesidas frowned with impatience. He and Frysan looked at each other.
"Now, Kal, what—"
Frysan had turned to speak to his son, but his words were cut short by a whistle, ear-piercing and close at hand. Kal had his fingers to his mouth, his head co
cked back. The sound he made mounted heavenwards, cleaving the night air. It was a thin, shrill shriek that slurred downwards, then, just as quickly, rose in pitch, until it fell off again in a long, descending trailer. Kal withdrew his fingers from his mouth and paused.
Alcesidas and his fellow hammersons regarded the young Hordanu with wide-eyed alarm.
"By the forge, Kalaquinn, between that noise and your smudge, you are sure to bring every gathgour on the mountain down upon us. Not to mention enemy soldiers."
"Dhu . . . ," Frysan said to himself. Then, turning to Alcesidas, he spoke so all the hammersons could hear. " 'Tis the cry of a fellhawk that he imitates. He summons his pet."
"There he is! Look!" Galli pointed out from the gap in the wall to the silhouette of a great bird wheeling through the air, climbing towards them on the horizon, wings beating the night air above the forested slopes below.
" 'Tis a monster! You have conjured the night drake in your folly!" Alcesidas stiffened, drew back a step from the embrasure and Kal, and made to unsheathe his sword.
"Stay your hand, Alcesidas. Peace. There is no need to fear." Kal sought to reassure the hammerson prince; then once again he raised fingers to mouth and shaped the fellhawk's cry.
"Come, Dhu, come." Kal raised his arm and hailed the fellhawk, his voice low and urgent.
The bird drew closer, growing larger and larger, an awesome sight, its sleek black body and huge span of wings now clearly visible as it approached Skell Force. It now emitted the same piercing wail. Still rising, it flew over the waterfall. The men crept back from the lookout, keeping their eyes trained on the bird as it glided, circling in the sky, and swept down towards them, scattering sparks from the fire with the draft of its wings as it overflew the group.
"That blasted bird! I'll never get used to it," Devved said as he ducked.
In a flurry, the fellhawk alighted on the wall near Kal. Alcesidas cringed and kept his distance, his fellows closing ranks alongside him.
"Come, Dhu. Come to me. Here's a tasty morsel," Kal whispered, opening his night pouch. From it he pulled a small bundle and unwrapped a piece of meat the size of his fist, which he held out at arm's length. Majestic in profile, the fellhawk jumped down from the rocks, wings half unfurled, and hopped, bobbing, to Kal. It plucked the meat from Kal's hand in a huge curved beak below a proud brow and fierce eyes, and swallowed the flesh with a toss of its head. The bird stood as tall as any of the hammersons. Kal stroked its glossy black head, speaking soft soothing words. Frysan and Galli joined him, a step ahead of Devved, while Alcesidas and the two hammersons warily looked on.
"Draw closer, Alcesidas. Dhu won't harm you. He savours human contact, when it's friendly—"
"Savours human contact, hmm . . . My fear is that he may savour human flesh."
"No fear, my friend, no fear." Kal laughed good-naturedly at the small man's apprehension. "I have nurtured him from a fledgling. It is company he craves. That is why I had Galli light a fire to help draw him to us. You, too, Devved, you have met Dhu before. You must show our hammerfriends that there is nothing to fear."
"Aye, nothing," Devved said, now standing with Frysan, though his tone betrayed him.
"Truly, Kalaquinn, you are a font of strange and unexpected wonders." The prince eased his way closer to Kal and to the fellhawk, impelled by curiosity. "Incredible!" he said as he took measure of the bird. "He must have a span the height of three of the tallest of you anuasoi!"
"You may stroke him, Alcesidas. Come, he will not harm you." The small man inched forward his hand to touch Dhu's smooth breast, then withdrew it again quickly, glancing at the fellhawk's hooked beak.
"Again. Stroke him again, my prince."
Once more Alcesidas stroked the fellhawk's glossy feathers, but this time he let his hand linger.
"Aye, don't worry. He enjoys being stroked," Galli said as he, too, placed a hand on the bird, then moved away to the opening of the lookout.
Soon Alcesidas was sweeping his hand softly down the fellhawk's sleek plumage. As he repeated the gesture, Dhu lowered his head and lifted his shoulders, gathering himself together. The great bird began to thrum contentedly, a deep, rolling rumble in its gullet.
"Re'm ena! Never have I seen Dhu thus aptly gentled. Not even by you, Kal," Frysan said.
"Yes, 'tis amazing to behold. It must be that you two see eye to eye in some wise, Alcesidas," Kal said, laughing again. " 'Tis fitting then that you should be his new master."
"New master? By the forge, what mean you?" Alcesidas started, pausing midstroke, and looked at Kal.
"We shall bring Dhu back with us to Nua Cearta. It is not right that he should be masterless in your fair kingdom." Kal opened his night pouch again and rummaged in it.
"Back to Nua Cearta? Why?"
"Because you and your folk are in sore need of a guardian, and Dhu has a taste for wolf's flesh—"
"I can see movement below, just down from Tarn Cromar. Human figures . . . a small patrol, maybe," Galli said as he turned away from the break in the wall.
"Hardly surprising. This place is not safe, and we've made our presence known," Frysan said. "We must leave quickly. How do you propose to take Dhu with us, Kal?"
"With this . . ." From his night pouch Kal extracted a brown leather sack. "A makeshift hood I scrounged from the tannery of the royal household in Sterentref." He quickly pulled the sack over the fellhawk's head. The fellhawk had straightened himself and stopped the low, monotonous cooing, its hypnotic spell broken by the new urgency.
"Now that his eyes are covered, he will settle down again. Like any hawk," Kal said. "And the sling, Galli, the sling that I asked you to bring?"
"Here."
"Quickly, unroll it. Come, Devved, help me lift Dhu onto it. We'll bind him in it. He'll be a light load for two of us to carry. He's all feather."
The great hawk submitted readily enough to the touch and voice of his master as it was laid down and gently tied into the broad canvas. Frysan and Devved picked up each end of the sling.
"Now, to Nua Cearta," Kal said, and the group turned and began striding up the meadow's slope to the path that would lead them back into the safety of the hollow mountain.
Four
"A most intriguing idea, Master Kalaquinn. Most intriguing." Meriones regarded Dhu with an approving eye. All the same, the stern-faced bard took care to keep his distance from the fellhawk.
"Well," the king said with raised brow, leaning on an ornate staff of office, "to gain such praise from the redoubtable Meriones, one can be sure it is a plan with much merit. Indeed, methinks our venerable bard has in Dhu finally met his match, a creature with a more forbidding mien than his own." King Magan's beard shook with good-natured mirth, his remark teasing a reluctant smile from Meriones.
Unhooded, Dhu preened himself, perching on the roost that carpenters of Nua Cearta had hurriedly built in a secluded meadow at the edge of the training grounds near Sterentref. The jangle of sword and shield drifted in the lazy summer air, vying with the drowsy hum of cicadas.
Kal pushed against the post and crossbar of the perch, testing its strength. "Well-wrought, this roost for Dhu that your doughty craftsmen have constructed on such short notice. 'Tis surpassingly well wrought, Sire. Elegant and well fitted to its intended purpose, like everything else I have seen in your kingdom."
"There is much, I am sure, that your folk could teach us," Magan said.
"And are teaching us, Sire," added Meriones. "The bowyers and fletchers of the Stoneholding are without peer. Much of their craft and bow skill have we acquired these past days."
"You are most gracious, Meriones," Kal said.
"My lord Myghternos Hordanu," said the king, "I have sent word throughout Nua Cearta to all my subjects that yon great bird is a gift from you, that he will cause no injury to them or their flocks, and that he is to be neither hindered nor harmed in his coming and his going."
"My deepest thanks, Magan Hammermaster." Kal bowed to the king, then turned
his attention to making a final adjustment to one of the jesses that bound Dhu by a leash to the crossbar on which the bird stood. Fussing impatiently with the leather straps, he estimated once more how much leeway the fellhawk would need.
"Alcesidas is come, Sire," Meriones said, leaning towards Magan and pointing to a wagon that trundled its way towards them.
The king shifted his weight and gaze, still clutching his staff of office, which had struck Kal as slightly absurd, its heavily carved, gilded, and jewel-adorned surface a stark contrast to the simple russet tunic and hose in which the diminutive monarch was attired.
At the approaching creak of wagon wheels, Kal straightened and looked up from his task. Quickly, he knotted the jess, stroked Dhu, and strode to where the two draught horses had halted.
"Briacoil, one and all!" Alcesidas greeted them with a nod and wave from the driver's bench. Beside him sat the carter, his hands clutching the reins.
"Briacoil. You did my bidding, I trust?" Kal said as he looked into the box of the cart.
Alcesidas stood from the bench and jumped into the box of the cart, where he pulled back a heavy sheet of oiled cloth. Kal clambered onto the cart and squatted beside the prince.
"Freshly killed and dressed. As you requested." Alcesidas said, looking pleased with himself. At their feet lay two long sable carcasses, a pair of tunnel wolves, neatly gutted and not long dead.
"It is well, Alcesidas. Indeed, you must add provisioner to your list of talents and accomplishments," Kal said, grinning.
"Nay, you have not me to thank."
"How so?"
"There were no fresh kills reported. We were at a loss. All the wolfmeat we had ready to hand was already fouling and fetid. And you made it clear that Dhu is no mere carrion bird. So a hunting party, Galli and Lencaymon, accompanied by Gwyn—"
"Gwyn?"
"Indeed, Gwyn. By the forgefire, the fellow would not be gainsaid. I had come to yon field of arms to confer with Galli and Lencaymon early this morning. The two of them were contesting one another, and that with ardour, at the archery butts. And 'twas no longer a one-sided affair, as it has been these three weeks past. Lencaymon was using one of the new bows that our bowyers have crafted according to your highland wisdom. Never have I seen him so hot and eager. In any case, I explained to the two of them our quandary, how urgently you required unspoilt wolfmeat. I had hardly spoken but that the two of them volunteered to track and kill a tunnel wolf for our purpose. Gwyn was there as well, close at hand, himself exercising his sure eye and surpassing bowman's skill to the gain of our hammerfolk. He made clear his desire to join Galli and Lencaymon in their hunt. And he did so with such insistence that I dared not brave the storm of protest if he were denied."
Darkling Fields of Arvon Page 4
