Back | Next
Contents

Ten

Galli shipped his oars and leaped over the side knee-deep into the frigid spring waters flowing out of the Skell into Deepmere. Kal helped him haul the boat up onto the pebbled southern shore just below the stone bridge which crossed the narrow span of the Cove. There was every chance the enemy might be lurking in the area. Their nerves were stretched taut, and they started at the slightest rustle of leaf or branch or any sudden trill of birdsong.

Kal was struck by the overpowering feeling that they were all being watched, but he in particular. He could sense the tragic presence of the echobard king who lay long-buried in this spot—not a presence he could pinpoint, but one diffused through the air itself, affecting him as a barely perceptible tingling along the nape of his neck.

The boat well on shore, he and Galli let Wilum climb out. Talamadh slung over his shoulder again, Wilum clambered up to the site of the Riven Oak, onto a small lift of land that overlooked the stone bridge and the beaten earth of the Westwynd Way. It seemed an age ago that Kal had paused, listening on the bridge atop Star Thistle. Galli had taken the satchel of irreplaceable books and manuscripts out of the boat and laid it aside. They hid the boat behind a boulder in a thorny brake beside one of the solid stone piers of the bridge and turned to join Wilum. Up beyond the bridge they found him staring with glazed eyes at the broken stem of King Herne's Oak, chanting verse of some kind, his tone grave and prophetic.

 
"When royal oak is cleft from root to crown,
Fell ruin shall fall upon Wrenhaven town.
If this betide, let wise folk bring to mind,
That Arvon's fall be not too far behind."
 

Kal and Galli regarded the ancient oak where it stood broken on the grassy hillock. Its trunk was rent completely asunder, as neatly as if it had been split in two by a gigantic axe. The fissure that had formed a hollow crook on the bole of the tree, where the two parts of trunk had once been knit together as one, was gone. The once solid base of the tree was entirely ripped open, its wood scored and charred black. It was a wonder that the tree remained standing at all, for only the stubborn tangle of bedded roots served to keep the two halves upright. Close to the splintered tree, oddly untouched, sprang a solitary oak sapling in the full vigour of its springtime growth. Kal called to mind the thunderstorm that had filled the valley with its sound and fury two nights after the Candle Festival. It had been the worst storm in living memory and had, besides blowing off more than one roof of thatch, laid low many a stout tree of ancient dimensions.

Wilum turned to his two companions, his face serious. Ignoring the snowy wisps of hair that an offshore breeze kept blowing across his face, he fixed a look on Kal. "There you go, lad, yet one more indication that the dire times foretold by Hedric have come upon us. Hardly allows for any doubt that the Great Harmonic Age is coming to an end. But there's hope here all the same," he continued, gesturing towards the sapling and frowning with an effort of concentration. "That's it, I remember the couplet now. 'When Lammermorn feels sharp death's dreadful sting, Shall Arvon once more gain her rightful king.' There's the bright day that shall surely follow this storm. Where one king fell, another is destined to take his rise. It was here on this nuddick of ground that the last of the echobard kings met his end—betrayed. His body was stuffed unwept and unsung into the hollow of this tree. King Herne's spirit rests uneasy here and will never find peace while the Great Harmony lies shattered and unstrung. But make no mistake, lads. Herne was the gentlest and noblest of the echobard kings.

"But we'd better go. We're in uncommon danger so close to the Westwynd Way. No point in lingering here any longer than we have to." Wilum turned heel from the oak and made for the path. "All right then, the two of you, follow me."

Wilum set the pace, threading his way through the rising tumble of boulders which girdled the Lower Skell, a wild foaming stretch of water. For a long while it was difficult going on the rocks, made slippery by a ceaseless spray of cold river water that soon had them soaked to the skin once more—the second time that morning.

The Lower Skell made a slight bend, and the three of them were forced to clamber up a steep ridge of rocks which ended in a flat bank of smooth pebbles. Here the Skell gathered itself into a broad sequestered pool, a quiet break in its headlong flow called Hart's Leap Pool. Ahead of them cascaded a small waterfall by which the water that Hart's Leap Pool lost by spillover was replenished.

Many a drowsy summer afternoon of herding on the shielings was spent by the pool's refreshing edge, a safe peaceful interruption of the Skell, untouched by King Herne's restless spirit. While the sheep grazed, the young herdsmen would languidly watch the dragonflies darting in and out of the tall grass on its fringes and give ear to the song of the linnet and the thrush vying with the sound of the water.

"Not much left of Thane Hector's cairn . . ." Wilum stopped to catch his breath, gazing at a formless pile of rocks beside the pool. "That animal . . . worn-out and wounded . . . now I know what it must have felt . . . driven by the huntsman."

"Just like us," Kal said.

"Like us . . . like the Stoneholding . . . like Arvon . . . in its death throes." Wilum grew sombre.

It was here several centuries earlier, Kal recalled from the lore of the Holding, that Thane Hector Strongbow witnessed the death agonies of a great stag, a quarry that he had pursued in a desperate chase down the entire length of the Holding. In the last stages of exhaustion from its wounds, it had leaped down from the crest of the waterfall into the Pool and then dragged its battered body onto shore. His heart cut to the quick by the creature's grace and nobility, Thane Hector had it buried there, erecting a cairn over its grave.

There existed no path up the mountain on the cairn side of the Pool, where the three now stood, so close to the Hart's Leap that they were caught in its cascading mist. Here, however, lay the Tahr Steps, a natural causeway of level rocks that ran below the waterfall and reached the other side of the water. Beyond the stepping stones lay the path up which they would continue their journey along the purling course of what had now become the Middle Skell.

Kal bounded with sure foot across the Tahr Steps, which lay hidden on the far side of the pool in a tussock of dark flowered sedge, dusted with light yellow pollen. Wilum and Galli followed and came to a halt for a moment beside the young Hordanu amid the fragrant scent of elder-bushes in full white bloom. There were crab apple and wild plum beside the footpath that climbed to meet the level of the Hart's Leap and then settled into a more gradual ascent beside the winding bed of the stream. They scrambled up and, with the tumbling waters of the Hart's Leap now at their feet, looked down on Riven Oak Cove. They could discern no sign of pursuit. Yet it remained impossible for them to gain a notion of what armed intruders might be creeping their way through the wooded mountainside all around them or along the Westwynd Way, which hugged the forest-shrouded shores of Deepmere.

At either end of the lake hung a pall of grey-black smoke marring the pristine beauty of the mountains that ranged the Holding. The three men stood in silence. The fires still burned. How few souls had survived the ravages of the Boar and had escaped the charred wreckage of Wrenhaven and the scattered homesteads along the Edgemere Road? How many lay slain under the hot ashes of their own homes?

Galli was the first to turn away. "It's all gone. There's nothing left." He choked on the words.

Wilum and Kal now turned as well from the outlook above the Pool and joined him at the stream's edge where it slipped over the cliffside.

"Never nothing," Kal said, "There's never nothing left. There's always hope." He tried to look into his friend's face.

"Aye, Kal," said Wilum behind them, "but that's a saying that is both true . . . and cold comfort. Particularly at a time like this when, despite the sun, all seems darkness. But now come, we must go."

The three fell silent again, despondent and sorrowing for their fallen clanfellows as they trudged along the path. Kal looked about him. The sheer beauty of the highlands and the memories it evoked only sharpened his grief. Here the boys of the valley used to come in the gathering dusk to "burn the Skell." Bearing torches, they would light up the shallows of the river and impale the startled trout with three-pronged spears. Then in the evening they would feast on fish roasted over their campfire, singing and carousing until it was almost dawn. Which of these fellow revellers might be numbered among those who felt the Scorpions' sting, their spirits now swirling like curls of smoke skyward from the white spire of Mount Thyus, which cleaved the distant horizon? And what of his family, Uncle Lentum and Aunt Halimede and their children who lived in Wrenhaven? What had happened to them? Had they escaped or been crushed by the scourge of Ferabek's sword?

By slow ascent they continued up the wide foothill glades of Mount Thyus. The mountain reared its unbowed head with indomitable pride from its sun-mottled fundament of meadows and forest. The unique way in which Mount Thyus was configured—a spire rising from a gentle grade called the Saddle through which they now trekked along the Skell—afforded its lower slopes the richest source of summer pasturage in the western end of the Holding. The flanking shoulders of Mount Hecla and Stonehead, whose snowcapped peaks towered over Thyus, gave the area the aspect of a valley by protecting it from the stormy blasts that swept in from the north, rendering it more temperate than normal.

To their left, the brimming waters of the Middle Skell wound through a meadow and seemed to tremble on the verge of overflowing, like wine that crowns a glass. Level with the lush grass edging the path, the river water gleamed in the sunlight, as if burnished by spring's warm touch. Here and there the dark shadows of a stately oak or a stooping willow covered the stream. Elsewhere, the braided stream slipped into a peaceful side hatch dressed in watercress and toothwort.

In places their path was broken by tiny gurgling becks which they overstepped with ease. In another spot the way would turn soft and spongy underfoot, as it skirted a boggy tarn of rifted peat that sprouted hart's tongue fern and bog asphodel. The moist earth was strongly redolent of spring. The sweet smell of new growth pushing through the mat of decaying grasses and ferns brought back to Kal's mind his first journeys as a boy to these verdant haunts of the Middle Skell. This place . . . it gave him a love for the soil of the Holding, made it seem a privileged land set apart.

He glanced back and noticed that Galli had paused to rest with Wilum, who seemed unusually stiff and withdrawn ever since they had drawn up the boat in Riven Oak Cove.

"How are you feeling, Wilum? Getting tired now? I hope I haven't been setting too brisk a pace for you."

"If you want to know the honest truth, you're walking just a touch too fast for me, Kal," replied Wilum, seated on the trunk of a maple tree that lay levelled by the high wind of the storm that had felled King Herne's Oak. "My years betray me. I felt the urge to stop here for a short bit to drink in this wonderful smell. The Saddle here around the Middle Skell has always struck me as such a beautiful spot, the most beautiful, perhaps, in all the highlands, if not Arvon, or indeed all of Ahn Norvys for that matter."

"It's funny, I was thinking the very same thing."

"I know, Kal. You're one in spirit with the soil of this highland valley of ours, rooted in it, as am I. Many's the time on my way up to my Enclosure I've skirted your campsite, while coming near enough to hear the merry voices of you lads—"

"Will you look at that brazen little thing?" interrupted Galli, pointing to a brown water rat perched on a dead branch that had become lodged in an eddying elbow of the river. The little creature was bent over the surface of the water, picking with its paw at the plants and rushes that had drifted downstream and had become entangled in the obstructing branch. Holding the stem of an uprooted marsh marigold exactly as with hands, it drew one of the leaves to its mouth and nibbled it, feeding without fear, even though Kal stood only a few paces away. In a flash it let the plant drop and darted its paw down into a clump of wood poppies that the stream had whirled into a sodden yellow mass. In the same instant as the water rat held up its wriggling prey—a newt—the fronds of fern behind him parted, to reveal the lustrous form of a river otter. Oblivious of the rat, the otter lunged muzzle-first at the struggling newt. The rat, refusing to be done out of its tasty morsel, pulled the newt out of harm's way and rounded on the trespasser with its teeth bared. A savage tussle ensued. The water rat was forced to drop the newt to take up a fight for its life. The struggle was unequal. But chance was with the doughty water rat, who happened to find the soft underside of the sleek river otter, just below the throat. Once the water rat's stubborn little jaws had clamped onto this soft spot, it was not long before the body of its opponent fell limp.

"Well done, water rat!" exclaimed Kal.

The animal spun, startled by the acclamation of the three laughing men. Its nose twitched once, and it shot off into the long grass, leaving the lifeless otter floating at the river's edge.

"Aye, that he should stand up to the otter! Usually he would have just dropped his prey and bolted for his tunnel," Galli said.

"A dauntless little creature." Wilum grew still again. "We'll take a lesson from him and make our stand against the mighty Ferabek, as slight as the odds appear to be. But only if we're forced to. First we run, not from cowardice, but as part of a wiser strategy, in order to marshal our strength and find the Boar's soft underbelly."

"Aye, Wilum, if we could only find some tunnel we could burrow into, some way we could just hole up, 'til we sort things out and devise a way to fight back."

"There are many places in the coastal clanholdings and even amid the Arvonian Isles that would serve our purpose well. And both South Wold and Thrysvarshold are honeycombed with caves and hidden dells. But the best spot of all, I still think, is the Marshes of Atramar."

"And all we have to do is get from here to there," moaned Kal.

"Don't fret. Getting to the Marshes is the least of your worries. You have a very much longer journey than that to make," Wilum replied. "Truly, Kal, our worst misfortunes are often those which never befall us."

Kal started as if Wilum had read his thoughts.

"Take what's happened up until now for instance. I'm overjoyed that neither you nor I nor Galli nor the Talamadh has yet fallen into the Boar's hands, and that we've managed, so far, at least, to escape his attack on the Howe. Besides which, we've salvaged all those key manuscripts that Galli's carried so patiently all morning."

"Seems a small victory."

"A very mistaken assumption, my young Hordanu. As long as the seed of Ardiel remains alive somewhere, and this holy harp remains intact, we have hope of restoring the Harmony. No, Kalaquinn, a great good is being accomplished here merely by virtue of the fact that you and I are hale and hearty, and the Talamadh remains safely in our hands, even though we do have a horde of Black Scorpions in hot pursuit of us, and even though we'll have to skulk our way by stealth through Arvon's hidden hills and valleys, and we may all be forced to live in some cave like rabbits in a warren."

"I understand. I'm sorry for sounding so defeatist, especially after all you've told me and the confidence you've placed in me," said Kal, abashed, gazing on the Talamadh, which Wilum had held on his lap.

"I'm glad about that. If only I could put my own preachments into practice. There's not a more sorrowful doom-saying bard in all of Ahn Norvys than am I. Well, I think my old bones have had enough rest," Wilum said, rising with a sigh from his makeshift seat. "We'd better carry on. You first. But, please remember that I'm not young, and Galli here is laden down with a fair bit of parchment."

"Oh, you needn't worry about Galli. He's as strong and sturdy as a workhorse, eh Galli?"

"Aye, Kal, but even a workhorse needs his victuals. What I wouldn't give for some sausage and cheese and a nice big tankard of Gammer's nut-brown ale."

"And you sure keep Gammer and your fair cousins hopping, don't you? It's a wonder they have any time at all to spare for your dear uncle Diggory."

"Never mind, anything I eat I more than make up for in the work I do around the farmstead. I'd like to know if you do as much!" Galli had grown surly, nettled now by Kal's banter.

"Ah, that's what I was looking for." Kal broke out in a smile. "There's the old Galli that I know and love, grumpy when he's hungry and letting me know what's what. For a while there you were treating me with kid gloves, like I was a stranger or something."

"Well, I suppose I'm just getting used to the idea of you being 'Great High Hordanu.' " Galli pulled a look of haughty disdain, and rolled his eyes.

"Aye, sure, all dressed in state and giving wise and august counsel to all comers here on the Saddle. Next thing you know you'll be addressing me as Master Kalaquinn."

Wilum stepped up and placed a hand on Kal's arm.

"Nevertheless, you are indeed Hordanu, not publicly invested, that's true, and leagues yet from being in secure possession of your office, without a doubt, but all the same, you are now Hordanu with me. Nothing, not even the meanness of your station in life, can change that. Your office makes you a direct and living link with Ahn Norvys's first Hordanu as well as with Ardiel. One day, when things are put to rights, many will pay you the deference and honour due your high station, and it will be your part to accept it without balking or else betray the trust of your people and so risk again the unravelling of the order of things. But all of this you have yet to learn.

"Still, given our present circumstances," Wilum continued, turning to Galli, "it would be prudent for you to treat Kal no differently than before. You're hearth brothers. Any awkwardness and unwonted respect you show to Kal will tend to draw suspicion down on us while we're on our journey. Very well." Wilum smiled at the two, ushering them with his arms up the path. "It would be a good idea for the two of you to take the lead now. I can trail along in your wake. I think, though, we should keep a vigilant silence."

The Middle Skell gleamed like silver foil as the sun approached its meridian. It flowed bright and clear over a sculpted bed of milky white pebbles that imparted a murmuring voice to the passing waters. Here and there the stream darkened into a deep pool, overhung with birch and willow bowing to their reflection over the watery depths beneath them. The path was bordered much of the way by a flowering hedge of hawthorn, coiled with climbing honeysuckle. Under the hedge, wildflowers abounded in profusion, swaying in the lucid spring air. Broom, full-flowered and visible at every step, ran along the coppiced stands of forest in veins of gold.

A quick-darting squirrel would occasionally clamber along the upper reaches of a leafy grove nearby, scolding the passersby. The bright melodious outpourings of finches and song sparrows were interrupted sporadically by the impertinent chatter of jays. Two ravens, in their ebony plumage, croaked in a beech tree by the meadow's edge. On the other side of the Skell a sleek red fox skulked down the sloping brae beside an oak pollarded by time that sprouted leafy antlers from its broken brow. Nestled in the crown of the oak was a wren's moss-built nest partly veiled by a growing tuft of primrose. When the fox caught sight of the three wayfarers, it took fright and disappeared into the seclusion of the woods above the brae. On either side of them, the Saddle had gathered itself into sloping folds of forest and meadow, broken here and there by rocky battlements.

For a time, Kal and Galli walked several steps ahead of Wilum, sharing the unspoken feeling of deep friendship. Galli broke the silence. "You know, Kal, it's not easy to think there's apt to be real danger lurking in these hills around us. It's all so beautiful."

"Yes. I've always held a special place in my heart for this part of the Saddle. Maybe because it's so far away from the bustle around the Mere. It's so peaceful and secluded, unnaturally so, I mean in a good sense. Hallowed somehow. I don't know. I've always loved to come tramping up here from the time I was a boy. I'll never forget the day my father—I'm sure I can't have been more than about seven years old—'Son,' he said, 'I'd like to teach you a special song that goes with this place. Always has, as far as I know. One day it'll be your turn to pass it on to your own son, as my own father passed it on to me.' "

Galli nodded, smiling and thoughtful. Then he began, and the two friends sang in a whisper, like the breath of a breeze, the lines as familiar to them as their own childhood.

 
"From King Herne's cloven oak,
Where the waters churn broke,
'Neath the Westwynd Way bridge to the Mere.
Hie thy feet! Hie thy feet!
Else that restive wraith meet
By the Lower Skell's banks, rough and sheer.

Climb higher! Climb higher!
Through bramble and briar,
Up stony slope dire.
Climb higher!

To Hart's Leap and cool peace
By the clear Pool's green crease,
Deep in bloom spread beneath shading tree.
Soft! Here linger the strains
Of cheer's wistful refrains,
Here where once the greenwood rang with glee.

Climb higher! Climb higher!
O'er stag's final byre,
Where falls yet aspire.
Climb higher!

Here herdsman and drover
Drive for the sweet clover
Spring flocks o'er the green upland brae,
Up on to the Saddle,
Where rich meadows straddle,
The Middle Skell's wandering way.

Climb higher! Climb higher!
Amid the sweet briar,
And song sparrow choir.
Climb higher!

And along each deep bank,
Willows grow rank on rank,
Where the trail from Llyn Idwal descends.
Higher pressed to the base
Of dark Stonehead's grave face,
Bleak the Stonefoot Path wearily wends.

Climb higher! Climb higher!
Past Perch to admire
The falcon's wide gyre.
Climb higher!
 

Then upon Saddle Horn,
Where Skell waters are borne
From a mouth in the face of its wall,
To Tarlynn's green hollow,
Where few men dare follow,
The way 'neath mystic Fearney's pall.

Climb higher! Climb higher!
Towards the steep spire,
Where burns day's death-fire.
Climb higher!

Behold—climb no more,
None on this mortal shore,
Save one, shall trespass the Tarn's edge,
And to then mount the course
Of long-plunging Skell Force,
To stand on Skell's seven-source ledge.

But look ever higher,
Look higher! Look higher!
But look ever higher,
Look higher!"

 

A hush ensued as the sweet savour of the words lingered on the tongue and in the ear of the young Holdsmen. A few sparrows twittered, preening amid the silver spray of waters tossed from their wings along the shallow edge of the Middle Skell. The river gurgled and burbled between its banks over mossy stones. The breeze whispered through the tremulous leaves of a small aspen grove rustling above them. It seemed to Kal that the Skellside had taken up the song's quiet strains.

"Will the Song outlive us, Kal? I mean—Well, just think of it. Will we ever get the chance to pass it on? We've been all but wiped out. Who is there to remember? I guess it was just that one line . . . 'Here where once the greenwood rang with glee'—"

"Yes, that struck me too. I thought of all the fallen folk of the Holding. But know this, Galli, their spirits are immortal, as is their remembrance. The strains of our song, even as a spark of the Great Harmony, strained and fading though it be, are a warrant of their immortality. They are, even in their destruction, held in Wuldor's eye. And their memory will remain green for generations unending in ballads and songs sung by Arvon's finest bards."

Galli smiled to himself. Kal caught his eye and the two friends burst into laughter. Their mirth rang off the cliff face that had risen over them.

"How's that for sounding the part of 'Great High Hordanu'? I suppose there is something to it."

"That's all right, Kal. I like you all the same."

Wilum had closed the gap behind the two of them, for they had slackened their pace.

"I really don't think it's a good idea to break silence, lads. We don't enjoy the luxury of knowing the Boar's movements. For all we know his men are scouring the hillsides close by even as we speak," whispered Wilum at their backs.

"May I make a suggestion?" asked Kal, turning to Wilum. "We're only a few minutes from the Perch. We just passed by the path leading to it. Galli could have a good look around from it."

"An excellent idea. Let's make use of Galli's keen eyes. Lead the way," Wilum said with a wide sweep of his arm, letting Kal and Galli turn around and step past him. Just a few score paces down to their left was the path that branched off from the Skellside Path, climbing up to the Perch, a tongue of rock which, running out at right angles from a sheer precipice, overhung a yawning abyss. The Perch was only a bowshot's distance away from the Skellside Path, but was not visible from it through the thick cover of forest. The path took a sharp turn and ended on the top of a broad escarpment shaded by maples and oaks all the way to its very edge. They stopped beside an ancient moss-bound oak of enormous girth, half of whose huge limbs hung suspended over the chasm. From where they stood, they had a spectacular view of the whole southern end of the Holding.

"On second thought, I think it would be better if we didn't venture out onto the Perch," advised Wilum. "We'd be much too easily seen from there."

"But it gives us a much better point of vantage," Kal said.

"What about this old tree? If we climbed up on it, we'd get a view that's as good or even better than we would from the Perch?" Galli looked up into the spreading canopy of the oak.

"Here, I'll boost you up first. You've got a hold there? Good. Now give me a hand up."

"Sorry, Kal. I can't reach down that far."

"We need a bit of rope."

"Here, would this be long enough?" asked Wilum, who had loosened the braided rope by which he girded up his cloak in ample coils around his waist.

"That'll do fine," replied Kal, throwing the belt up to Galli, who in turn lowered one end and helped pull Kal up to the stout branch on which he was crouched. Kal followed Galli to the middle height of the tree, just below the crotch of two thick limbs that provided shelter for a pair of nestlings chirping shrilly in their bower.

Galli became less sure of his movements and more deliberate in assuring himself handholds. Kal climbed no higher, but guided Galli with words of encouragement and caution as he skirted the small unfledged birds clamouring for food. He straddled his legs across the branch curving into the vacant air beyond the edge of the precipice. By cocking his head to one side Galli said he could make out the whole lower part of the Saddle and Deepmere beyond, a patchwork pattern of pasture and wood furrowed by a network of streams and pathways.

"Can you see anything there, Galli?"

"Give me half a minute, while I get my bearings . . . That must be the Old Drove Road. Are those soldiers I see on it? Yes, I think so, must be. They're all marching in formation. The sun's shining off their helmets."

"How many of them, do you think?"

"Hold it. Let me make a rough count . . . Must be about a hundred, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Which way do you think they're headed?"

"They're making for the Skellside Path. At the rate they're going, they have about an hour's marching yet to reach Hart's Leap. Wait a moment now, I can see some more figures . . . maybe seven or eight people. They're farther up on the Saddle on one of the other paths leading to the Path."

"Soldiers too?"

"No, it doesn't look like it," said Galli, peering intently at the scene beneath him. "Why, if it isn't Gwyn. There's no mistaking that walk of his even at this distance. I think I can almost make out that thatch of red hair. Aye, it's him. And the others around him. Must be the rest of the Fletchers. Judging from their pace, they stand a good chance of stumbling right into the path of those soldiers once they reach the Skellside Path."

"Can you make out anything else?"

"Let me see." Galli's eyes scanned the heights. "Yes, over there . . . I see some folk coming up the path by Stonehead. It looks like they're on their way to the Coomb as well. Must be our own people, Kal. But they're not in any pressing danger. In fact, they'll probably make the Coomb ahead of us."

"Do you have an idea where exactly the Fletchers are?"

"On the edge of Llyn Idwal at the moment. If there were only some way of signalling them, of letting them know the danger they're in!"

"Is that all, Galli? What about back towards the Great Glence? Do you see anything on Deepmere?"

"There's nothing on Deepmere. I suppose we wrecked most of their boats. But wait. I can make out more men. I think there are soldiers, on the Westwynd Way, coming from the Great Glence, or what's left of it. I don't see anything but smoke coming up from the Howe and from Raven's Crag Island too—"

"Where are the soldiers headed?"

"Towards the Skell, on their way up to the Coomb, no doubt. But it'll be a while before they reach it, although some of them are mounted."

"It'll be a tough time for them on the Lower Skell with horses. They'll have to dismount and go on foot," Kal said.

"Aye. But I'd worry more about the ones on the Old Drove Road. They're much closer, more of a threat, certainly to the Fletchers."

"Do you see anything else?" asked Kal.

"No, that's all. There's nothing else that I can make out. We'd best get up to the Coomb."

When they had both swung down to the ground from the lowest limb, they girt themselves with their sword belts, which, together with their longbows, they had laid on the ground by the trunk of the oak. Wilum was looping and rearranging his belt.

"You two carry on to Tarlynn's Coomb," Kal said. "I'm going back down to warn the Fletchers and try to lead them out of harm's way. I wonder what held them up. They were one of the first to get my warning last evening."

"What on earth are you talking about, Kal? What did you see?" asked Wilum, glancing up sharply at his two young companions.

"There are soldiers coming up to the Skellside Path, hundreds of them. And Galli saw some of our folk on their way up. But the Fletchers, they're near Llyn Idwal, and it looks like they might run right into a mess of those Black Scorpions if someone doesn't warn them, and soon."

"Aye, the Fletchers must be warned. Every life we save from the Boar's clutches is precious," Wilum said despite the misgiving evident in his tone. "But, Kalaquinn, I don't know if—"

"Then I should go with you, Kal," said Galli, "in case there's trouble."

"No. You'd better stay with Wilum and guard him against danger. We can't leave him on his own."

"But what about you? If you run into those soldiers . . ."

" Aye, Kal," said Wilum, "there's danger in—"

"—and what if there's more trackers skulking in the woods? Arvon can't afford to lose you, now that you've been made Hordanu. Master Wilum's given us a job to do, remember."

"Ahn Norvys can't afford to lose its older and wiser Hordanu either, Galli, not to mention the Talamadh and the writings you've been lugging around. Besides, I don't intend to encounter any soldiers or trackers or anybody but the Fletchers. And even if I did, two would scarcely be better than one against—No, it makes more sense for me to go alone. No one knows this country better than you and me, and with your eyes and ears, you're better able to protect Wilum than me. We've scouted the path from the Perch, Galli, and the way is clear to Llyn Idwal. I can nip down and guide the Fletchers up by a different path to the Coomb. No, I'll go, and I'll go alone. Besides, I'm the one that had to convince Thurfar Fletcher in the first place. I have to go. I can see no immediate danger, so I'll just run down and back." Kal looked to his mentor. "Wilum?" he asked.

Wilum nodded and said, "Very good then, Kal, you go, but mind, Galli's correct in saying that we cannot afford to lose you, so be careful, be very careful. It would serve no good purpose if you went with him, Galli. I need you here by my side, and to help with the others when we reach the Coomb."

"We have a further problem, though. It looks as though the Black Scorpions are headed towards the Skellside Path, and if so, then they're bound for Tarlynn's Coomb. It's a sure thing that's the place they're headed for. Thanks to my loose tongue. That means the Coomb's no longer a safe spot. We have to find another place. We'll have to take another route. The Fletchers and I should meet the rest of you somewhere else. But . . ."

"I know your thoughts, Kalaquinn. The Hordanu's Enclosure is forbidden ground." Wilum's gentle gaze met Kal's own. "But don't forget that you have every right to enter the Enclosure yourself now, Kal. As for the others, yes, I see your concern." Wilum paused. "However, there comes a time when you have to bend the rules to serve the common good. So when you reach the Fletchers, take them directly to the Seven Springs."

"But I don't know the way."

"Just get to Tarn Cromar. You know the way there readily enough, don't you?"

Kal nodded.

"Good. Once you reach Skell Force, go up to the waterfall. You can walk to it. There's a path beside the Tarn. You cannot miss it. It will lead you past the waterfall to a landing tucked in behind it. There you'll find stairs of stone that will take you right up to the Seven Springs. Remember, just follow the path beside the Tarn and you won't get lost. If all goes well, we will all come together there, I mean Galli and I and any of the others who manage to make it to the Coomb. We'll drink together from the waters of the Springs. Now go quickly, Kalaquinn, and safely. Briacoil."

"Briacoil, Wilum!" Kal turned and broke into a headlong run as he retraced his steps to the Skellside Path, following it downhill as fast as he could towards Llyn Idwal.

 

Wilum and Galli wasted no time either in returning to the Skellside Path, where once again they set their bearings uphill. They came to a lookout that afforded them a partial view of the ground below. From it even Wilum could spot the tiny figure of Kal wending his way ant-like along the course of the Skell.

Their path now took a steeper aspect and became more rocky and wild, less given to the amenity of lush glades and cool virescent woodlands. The Middle Skell was now a roiling flux thrown from a cave-like mouth worn smooth by the waters that had cut through the face of the Saddlebow, a high ridge of rock bounding the upper limits of the Saddle. On the other side of this barrier lay Tarlynn's Coomb, a broad meadow nestled in a hollow below the sheer face of Thyus.

Wilum and Galli struggled up the sloping approach to the Saddlebow. Above them, the cliffs spewed forth the churning waters of the Skell. When they drew nearer to the Saddlebow itself, their path veered away from the river, following a narrow walkway along the base of the escarpment.

The two trudged along until they came to an opening, where the stern ramparts of the Saddlebow fell sharply, becoming no more than a shallow breastwork footed by a tumble of broken rock. Clambering over the breach in the solid face of stone, they entered a small lea of tall grass spotted with buttercups. They had hardly set foot in this meadow when three figures emerged from behind a large boulder at the bottom of the ridge.

"Hold, Master Wilum," warned Galli. His first instinct was to shrink back the way they had just come, but he recognized the figures of Narasin, a farmer, and his two sons, who lived at Thornycroft Pools, a farmstead lying close to Wrenhaven.

"Not to worry, Master Wilum. It's Narasin, Garis, and Artun." Galli stepped forward, waving to the three men. A few quick strides closed the gap between them.

"Briacoil, Master Wilum, and you too Galli," hailed Narasin, his sons at his heels.

"Briacoil, Narasin. What's happening here? Where is everybody? Tell me now, how many of you have managed to slip the Boar's net?"

"Few, Master Wilum, too few. I'd say there must be only thirty of us so far—"

"What? Only thirty? So few . . ."

"We've posted sentries here and on the other path that leads into the Coomb."

"And Thane Strongbow? Is he here?"

"No, he's not. Must be dead, I reckon. Can't be alive, that's my feeling. Broadmeadows and all of Wrenhaven's been levelled. We saw its fires filling all the night sky, and what a sight it was, by the welkin, to see them flames lighting up the darkness. No, Master Wilum, afraid to say. There's next to no one from Wrenhaven that's survived, excepting for Devved the blacksmith and his son, sore wounded, and that fellow Relzor, the cobbler. Aye, and the Thane's two retainers, Dellis and Nechtan." The farmer shot a glance at Galli. "It seems they was doing some courting at the Burrows last night, interested in a couple of the Clout girls. That's howcome they happened to get the alarm in time. They crossed the Mere with the Clouts. That's not counting that traitor son of the Thane's, Kenulf, and his kinsman Enbarr—now, there's a starved snake so poisonous mean he lives on venom."

"What! Both Kenulf and Enbarr here?"

"Aye, Master Wilum, sure enough they are. And you'll find that Enbarr's using that artful tongue of his to stir the people against you. You may find a few wavering in their loyalty, even though Frysan's doing his level best to tell them all about Enbarr's treacherous dealings with Ferabek."

"And what does Enbarr say to that?"

"He says Kenulf can back him up. He says he was only trying to come to terms with the Boar, in order to save the Holding before it was too late, so he claims, and he's a persuasive fellow, though for my money it's all smoothly turned lies he's giving out. I don't believe a word of it. It may be his mother was a Strongbow, but a more black-souled ill-fared token of the old Strongbow line than her son I've yet to see. And what's almost worse, he's got Kenulf eating out of his hand and trailing him like a new-weaned calf."

"What else?"

"He's been uncommon concerned about young Kal Wright and even asked Frysan all kinds of queer questions about his son. I shouldn't say asked. Commanded rather, fretting and strutting like he'd got all the right of the old Thane himself, telling Kenulf to shut his mouth and keep out of it. But Frysan, he stood up to him, wouldn't tell him a thing. It did my heart good. By the Great Glence—beg pardon, Master Wilum—but Frysan is like to myself. Doesn't trust Enbarr a whit and was all for binding and trussing him up and waiting, 'til you come up, but then it looked like there might be a right bloody fight develop if he tried. Anyhow, Enbarr's told everyone to let him know instant his Kal comes." Narasin fell silent, nodding respectfully to the Hordanu, a thick calloused hand working the back of his neck.

"Thank you, Narasin, I appreciate the news, as bleak as it is. It seems that Enbarr's playing for high stakes, perhaps his own skin, I shouldn't be surprised. His master can be none too happy, seeing as he's let me and the Talamadh escape from right under his nose. In any case, I think it would be better if you came along with me now. We'll let your two stout sons keep guard here, while you and Galli and I continue on into the Coomb . . . Beware, Galli," he turned to the young Holdsman, speaking softly, "don't breathe a word about Kal or where he is. There's no trusting Enbarr, or Kenulf. Why should he want Kal so badly? Granted, Kal's witnessed their treachery firsthand and knows much—"

"There's always been bad blood between Frysan and Enbarr," said Galli.

"That's part of it, no doubt, but there must be more to it than that. How did he discover that Kal had escaped the Locker? He must have doubled back to Broadmeadows after his late-night conference with the Boar. But why the interest in Kal? . . ." Wilum's muttered questions petered out into disquieted rumination. Then, as if continuing a train of thought unbroken by silence, he again addressed his companion. ". . . And not a word either of what we spoke about in the boat earlier. Do you understand, Galli?"

"Never fear, Master Wilum," Galli reassured him.

Wilum and Galli, accompanied now by Narasin, left the meadow and climbed the ridge of the Saddlebow, following a footpath that snaked through the sun-warmed rocks. Reaching the top, they cast their gaze down on Tarlynn's Coomb from the heights of the ridge. Through the sloping meadows of the Coomb wound the Middle Skell, closer to one side than the other. At their feet far below, the languid waters funnelled into a gaping pit and disappeared beneath the base of the Saddlebow. Gathered under a broad willow in the shadow of the ridge, close by the stream, a group of people milled about. Some of them looked up and pointed. Galli took a quick glance around before he and Wilum began their descent to meet them. Higher above, in the farther distance, now dimly visible was a cascading ribbon of water on the face of Mount Thyus.

"Skell Force . . ." he said aloud.

"Yes, I'm afraid we're going to have to make great haste to reach it. You can be sure that company of Black Scorpions will be moving much faster than we can. Well, let's find out who's managed to weather the storm," Wilum said, an edge of pain in his voice. Many familiar faces were bound to be missing.

When they reached the floor of the Coomb, they were met by a throng and plied with anxious questions—how had they escaped and what or whom had they encountered along the way? Some of the women were sobbing, too distraught even to talk. One of the first queries came from Marina, Kal's mother, flanked by her husband Frysan and their younger son, Brendith.

"What about my son? Where's Kal, Master Wilum? He is all right, isn't he?"

"Marina, don't worry. He's safe and sound," replied Wilum. "As for ourselves, I daresay we're in much greater peril than he is and can't linger here at length. There's danger close on our heels."

"But where is he, Master Wilum?"

"Hush, Marina, stop your fretting about Kal. Master Wilum has his reasons for not telling us, especially as we're within earshot of certain folk," said Frysan, now turning to Wilum. "How do you mean danger, Wilum?"

"There's a company of Black Scorpions making its way up the Saddle along the valley of the Skell. Unless we move quickly, they'll find us here and finish their misbegotten work."

"And why should we run again, Master Wilum?" demanded the valley blacksmith, folding his great arms across his chest. "Why not make a stand here? We have at least ten stout longbowmen, true sons of the Holding, and you can add one more to that number now with young Clout."

"No, Devved. The odds are much too steep against us. It would be far better if we made for the Seven Springs. Two men could hold an army there. We must garner our strength, while we hold council and decide what to do next." Wilum chose his words carefully, aware that hostile ears listened to him.

"I still say we hold our ground and fight. We're the finest archers in all of Ahn Norvys, and we're fighting on our own terrain. We can reduce the numbers of those crop-eared vermin by a hundred men."

"At what cost?" countered Narasin. "If it turns out that even one of our men is lost, that's one too many for us. For the Boar the loss of a hundred men is nothing. If he wants, he can fill this valley with men thick as the leaves in the forest. There's nought for us to gain by ridding the Saddle of but a handful of Black Scorpions. You're revenge-blind, Devved. You've lost wife and children, aye, but mind, your son Chandaris is alive still. Odds are he'll recover, so long as we keep from throwing our own lives away—"

"The words of a coward, Narasin, you toady of a bardic half-man!" The words cut through the air from a scowling figure raised as if on a dais above the startled company. Enbarr stood on a large stone. Galli had a much clearer view of him now than he'd had from the woods yesterday. He knew the man—a man of middling height with dark hair and protruding lips set in a bland oval face lightened by steel-grey eyes which flickered now with malice.

"What kind of highland men are you, to be browbeaten into flight by this pale shadow of a High Bard? He just wants to save his own stiff-necked stubborn hide. Ferabek isn't really after us. As far as he's concerned, he's only paying out a punishment to us for harbouring this villainous impostor, who, in his pride, opposes the Mindal and Ahn Norvys's sole true Hordanu, Messaan, in Dinas Antrum. I say we take a stand here and strike up talks with them. We have what they want and there's a chance yet for us to bargain for our safety. For too long we Holdsmen have flouted the might of the Mindal, making a mockery of the High Lord Ferabek and his Gharssûlian League. The time of choice is upon us, Holdsmen."

"Some choice!" grumbled one of the men above the restless murmurs of the scattered company.

Arms wide, Enbarr held out his hands in appeal.

"All around us everything lies in ruins. Yet we can still salvage some part of the sum of things. We can start by acknowledging, as all of Ahn Norvys does, that Messaan is the High Bard, the Hordanu, not this pathetic impostor!" Enbarr pointed to Wilum, his face twisted into a disparaging sneer. "Holdsmen, it's high time we stopped being obdurate, clinging wilfully to the old ways. We have a chance yet to save what little remains. What do you say, men and women of Lammermorn? The unthinkable has happened. You thought you could defy the might of the Mindal and rest secure in your highland sanctuary. Now, at last, justice has swooped down on us like a mighty bird of prey. How many years did you think we could beard the lion and escape unharmed, a small band of holdouts in the fastness of the highlands presuming to teach the rest of Arvon, let alone Ahn Norvys, about the sacred scheme of things? Our pride and folly have unleashed this scourge upon us. What do you say, fellow Lammermornians? Shall we bend to the reality of the situation, to the shape of things that be? Or shall we resist this new arrangement in our blind self-will, headstrong defenders of an idle dream, of an order of things that can no longer be defended? No, I say we must abide here and make terms with our liege lord. And it's not just me that's saying so. We've no choice but to heed our newly minted leader, the lord of our clanholding, seeing that the good Thane, his father, is no longer able to lead us. Ask Kenulf—rather my lord Strongbow here," Enbarr said as he cast an eye and deferential bow of his head to his cousin who stood to his left.

"I speak for you, do I not, my lord Strongbow?"

"Aye, you do, you do!" confirmed Kenulf, bobbing his head.

"Again I ask"—once more his arms, in open invitation, swept the breadth of the small crowd—"fellow Lammermornians, what do you say?" Enbarr stopped the wide gesture and pointed, hands open and palms up, to a withdrawn figure on the edge of the clutch of Holdsmen. "Relzor, you for one stand with the Lord Strongbow and me, surely?"

For a moment the cobbler scanned the faces of those around him, looking for a sign that there were others ready to cast their lot with Enbarr and Kenulf. Some nervous murmuring could be heard, and darting looks were cast in the direction of Wilum, who had stepped up before the rock. The Hordanu looked on his accuser face-to-face.

"Well spoken, Enbarr. You're a fine orator, but a very poor image of your illustrious uncle, who took you in as an orphan only, it's clear, to nourish a poisonous viper in his bosom. Now there was a lover of justice and truth—"

"Doddering old idiot, you mean," Enbarr mumbled under his breath, but loudly enough for Wilum to overhear.

"And a fine upstanding son you've turned out to be." Wilum turned on Kenulf. "Lackey to this vile foul-spoken cousin of yours. If it weren't for him and his base treachery, your father would still be alive!"

Whispers passed among the gathered Holdsmen.

"As would our kinfolk and neighbours," Galli called aloud.

"Kinfolk! What kinfolk are you talking about, you Telessarian mongrel!" snarled Enbarr.

"Nonsense and lies!" Kenulf cried. "It's all nonsense and lies! Enbarr'll tell you, won't you, Enbarr? Why, my father's just being detained by Ferabek, for his own good, to keep him out of mischief. Isn't that what you said, Enbarr?"

Wilum's eyes flashed. "And you would believe him, wouldn't you? Your father would have shuddered with shame to witness the disgraceful spectacle of his son under the thumb of this fiendish guttersnipe, betraying the hallowed trust vested for generation upon generation, even from the time of Ardiel, in the great family of Strongbow. You've spent too much of your time with him in Dinas Antrum currying favour with the Mindal and filling your head with their poison and treachery. What do you know of highland courage? You're a spineless coward, Kenulf, easily manipulated by your cousin there who's got you wrapped around his finger, so purblind you're taken in by his weasel words. His actions show him for what he is, a disgrace not merely to the mighty line of Strongbow, but to the highland honour of the Stoneholding." Wilum shook with rage. "Do you think that we Holdsmen are rank fools, ready to wait meekly for your precious Enbarr to deliver us up to the untender mercies of the Boar? Weren't he and you seen in his very camp dealing treasonously with him, thinking to ingratiate yourselves at the cost of our lives?"

The murmuring of the listeners grew louder.

"Lies, all lies, I tell you, made up by that stinking lowborn wheelwright and his dung-cart of a son." Enbarr was losing his temper and his audience. "I was risking my own skin to save you all, making peace terms with the Boar, but for your balking mulish presumption—"

"By surrendering all of us into the Boar's grasp. As if we would believe you! If you weren't such a ruthless two-faced rogue, I'd almost pity your blinkered folly. You think you're so clever to deal with a tyrant. You're caught up now in the glamour of his imperial power and his promise of reward. You suppose that you can save the sum of things for pay and that your paymaster is worthy of trust. What happens when he no longer has any use for you? Ah, I know what you're thinking, you're too clever to get caught flat-footed. But we'll see, won't we?"

"Aye, that we will," declared Enbarr, his eyes narrowed with amused disdain.

"Now let me tell you something, Enbarr, you too, Kenulf, and also you, men and women of the Clanholding of Lammermorn." Wilum turned his back on Enbarr and faced the remnant few of the Stoneholding. "You'd do well to heed me. There was a time when there was much sacred power here in our highland clanholding. But it has been entrusted, even in its waning, to the care of the Hordanu, one of an unbroken line from the time of Hedric to the tattered threads of my own day. Nevertheless, rest assured, there is power that resides here still, waiting for the moment of its revival. Never doubt it." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "It is a power that has always come from Wuldor through the harmonious measures of the orrthon, which in turn partake of the Great Harmony. And now that this Harmony is coming apart and is waning in its vigour, my voice is weak and quavering in Ahn Norvys and all that this office of Hordanu once was stands in the far-cast shadow of complete extinction at the hands of Ferabek. But while a germ remains of that great and glorious lay sung long ago upon the Mountain of the Quivering Cromlech by Ardiel of the Long Arm, Ferabek's conquest rests insecure, for, like a glowing ember, the cosmic harmony can be rekindled, fanned into a new and blazing fire, a fire that will cleanse and anneal our gloom-darkened world. Many prophecies in the Master Legendary speak of the desolation that will accompany the weakening of the Great Harmony. On the other hand, many prophetic texts also give us reassurance. They speak of the glorious renewal of harmony in the fullness of time.

"So stand with me, men and women of the Stoneholding. Our best hope lies in fidelity to the sacred music of the Talamadh and its keeper from time immemorial, the Hordanu, both of which Ferabek seeks with single-mindedness. My good people, it is not for nothing that we have survived thus far the ruthless might of Ferabek while our brothers and sisters lie smitten and unburied, though not unwept. Your role is to be the helpers of the true Hordanu, the true Guardian of the Talamadh. Your role is to keep safe the Hordanu and the Talamadh, no matter if all of Ahn Norvys yields to Ferabek and his usurping puppets Gawmage and Messaan. Will you play your part, men and women of Lammermorn? Holdsmen, do you stand by me, who am the true Hordanu, the Guardian of the Talamadh?" Wilum's blue eyes flashed like finely cut gems, while his arms and gesturing fingers, animated by his passion, drove home the points he made in reply to Enbarr.

Frysan was the first to shout out. "Hail, Lord Myghternos Hordanu, I acknowledge the true Hordanu and true Guardian of the Talamadh, as did our fathers and our fathers' fathers before them."

This provoked a clamorous repetition of "Hail, Lord Myghternos Hordanu."

Enbarr, realizing that the tide had turned against him, cried out crimsoned in a towering rage, "You have no right to opt for this . . . this washed-up old coot! You're my uncle's vassals! Tell them, Kenulf! Now that my uncle isn't around, Kenulf becomes the Thane Strongbow, Lord Protector of Lammermorn Valley and Wuldor's Howe. He commands you as your liege lord to stay here in Tarlynn's Coomb. Don't you, Strongbow? Don't you?"

"Why, yes, of course . . . I command you," Kenulf echoed, cringing beneath his cousin's fury.

"From here we will negotiate with Ferabek's soldiers and declare at long last our allegiance to Gawmage, the rightful High King of the folkdom of Arvon, and to Messaan, Ahn Norvys's High Bard, the rightful Hordanu, and, above these all, to the mighty Ferabek, Lord Protector of the Harmony, Emperor of the Free Peoples of East and West. You two there, Dellis and Nechtan, take hold of old Cloudbeard and bind him fast. Kenulf, tell them."

"Yes, do what he says. Take hold of him and bind him fast," parroted Kenulf.

"On pain of death," spat Enbarr.

"On pain of death, you heard," confirmed Kenulf.

Dellis hesitated, looking first at his companion, then towards Wilum. He began moving slowly through the crowd towards the Hordanu, followed by Nechtan.

"Stop, Dellis. One more step and you're a dead man." Galli had moved beside Wilum and drawn an arrow.

"Go on, you cowards. There are two of you. He won't dare shoot. Bind him as well, the insolent cur," bade Enbarr. But Dellis and Nechtan backed off. Reluctant and uncertain to begin with, this threat of force was all the persuasion they needed to side with their fellow Holdsmen for Wilum.

"I say 'yea' for Master Wilum," shouted Galli. "What do you say, my fellow Holdsmen?"

"Yea, yea, well said," resumed a loud and lusty chorus of voices, while Enbarr stood on his rock, livid and sputtering, unable to control his rage.

"Very well, have your way, the whole stinking lot of you! You'll see soon enough who was right. I leave you to your fate. Come, Kenulf! Dellis, Nechtan, come!" Leaping from his point of vantage, Enbarr shot a glance at Relzor, who made no move to leave. He then set his back to the survivors and, trailed by Kenulf, stalked off. The Thane's two retainers hung back for a moment, then shook themselves free of the group and broke into a quick stride to catch up with their master. There was the rattle of an arrow being drawn from its quiver.

"Let them pass," Wilum commanded softly. "There's nothing to be gained by shedding the blood of fellow Holdsmen, even the most false-hearted. Leave them to the mercy of the Boar."

"Where are they going, Master Wilum?" Galli said. "Shouldn't we keep them in sight? There's no telling what Enbarr'll do, now that he's got his back up."

"Aye," said Frysan, as he watched Enbarr and Kenulf climbing back up to where Garis and Artun guarded the lower approach to the Coomb. "Did you see him wink at Relzor? They were sore busy whispering and talking together before you came, Wilum. And now he and Kenulf are going off alone, leaving Relzor behind as their spy, no doubt. Perhaps we should stop the two of them, traitorous rascals."

"Leave them be for the time being, Frysan," answered Wilum. "There is little enough harm that they can do at the moment. I notice they're unarmed."

"Not that they could do very much, even if they were armed. Enbarr's always been a poor hand with bow and sword, and Kenulf's only slightly better."

"It's just as well they're moving down the Saddle," continued Wilum. "I think Enbarr expects to meet up with the Black Scorpions advancing on us from below."

"I wouldn't trust him, Master Wilum, not as far as I could spit. I've no doubt in my mind that he's seeking to sell us out," Galli said.

"That may be, but by that time we'll have made it to the Seven Springs, I trust." Wilum's mind turned to Kal with a silent supplication for his haste and safe passage there also.

"But the Boar will know where to find us. Enbarr knows where we're going."

"It hardly matters, Galli. Sooner or later Ferabek will scout out the Seven Springs on his own, since he's sure to know from sources other than Enbarr and Kenulf about the Hordanu's Enclosure. Besides, our trail to the Seven Springs will be easy enough to follow in any case. He won't need Telessarian trackers for that. No, Galli, you can let those two scoundrels be. The main thing is that they don't know where Kal is, or what our plans are once we reach the Seven Springs. If Enbarr had a clue, he'd be desperate to see that we're captured before it becomes too awkward and difficult for the Scorpions to close their trap. His own wounded pride and perhaps even his life depend on it. And if he had stayed with us, we'd always have to be on our guard, seeing as he's no fool and a man of murderous wiles who thinks that our cause is hopelessly doomed."

"I think we'll have to be very much on our guard anyway. What about Relzor?" said Frysan.

"We'll just have to keep an eye on him while we move out of here now as fast as we can," said Wilum.

Just then, Narasin disengaged himself from the buzzing throng of Holdsmen.

"What are we to do now?" he asked as he drew near to Wilum.

"We must move out of the Coomb and on up to the Hordanu's Enclosure, with all the speed we can possibly muster."

"The Enclosure?" Frysan's surprise was mirrored in Narasin's weathered face.

"Aye. Be at peace, men. It is our only haven, our only hope. How many of us are there?"

"Twenty-nine including yourself, Master Wilum. Eleven men, nine women, and nine children. One of the children, Devved's boy, is wounded quite badly. We've rigged up a stretcher for him."

"We'll have to travel quickly together. The smaller children will need to be carried by the adults."

"Which way do you think we should take, Wilum?" queried Frysan.

"We'll just plough on ahead, 'til we reach the path that leads to Fearney Hey. That's the shortest way to the Hordanu's Enclosure, and we've got to get to it before that company of soldiers catches up to us."

"Good," Frysan said, "Fearney Hey is about a mile off."

"And, I reckon it's not but two miles from Fearney Hey to Skell Force," added Narasin, a look of wonder still in his eyes.

"Which is in truth the entry point to the Hordanu's Enclosure," Wilum said. "To reach the Seven Springs we've got to make it to Skell Force, Narasin. Now quickly spread the word, you and Frysan, that we're headed for Fearney Hey. See that every child who can't keep up is carried by an adult. You, Galli, go on up to the ridge and call down Garis and Artun from their sentry posts. We'll need their strong young backs. Leave the sack here for the moment and collect it again when you come down. Be on your guard though. Enbarr and Kenulf may be lurking about still. Let's all of us meet at the Threadneedle Rock up there by the rapids. We don't have much time. Let us go."

 

Back | Next
Framed