For a man in his eighty-fourth year Wilum proved surprisingly nimble. The golden harp, slung like a bow across his back, did not seem to impede his ease of movement, nor did his long cloak. Indeed, Kal and Galli found themselves hard-pressed to keep up with him, as he clambered down the ladder ahead of them. They touched bottom, which lay submerged under half a foot of turbid water. Off to one side of the small chamber in which they now stood branched a narrow gap down which the water underfoot plunged noisily. Ahead, the passageway that led to Owlpen Castle opened before them. Squared off with large timbers, it stood only shoulder-high.
"Come, lads." Wilum motioned with his lantern. Stooping, he entered the shaft and was swallowed by the enveloping gloom. Kal and Galli looked to one another, then fell in behind him. The wooden supports above them dripped down large beads of cold lake water.
"Just a moment, Master Wilum," said Kal, "we'd better unspan our bows. All we need is waterlogged bowstrings, and they'll end up worse than useless to us in a pinch."
"Very well, quickly then."
"What about the harp?"
"No need to worry about that, lad. It would take considerably more than some stagnant old water to damage it."
Kal passed his candle ahead to Galli, then unstrung both their longbows and stuffed the strings in a leather pouch attached to his belt. Galli returned the candle to Kal and gathered both bows in his free hand, allowing Kal to nurse the uncertain flame of his candle, as they hurried on. They were soon drenched to the skin. Once Kal's light spluttered and died, extinguished by a drop from the roof beams. At this he had to squeeze past Galli in order to allow Wilum to relight the candle from his own lantern.
"You'll have to be more careful, lad. This isn't the best place in the world to fiddle about with a tinderbox," said Wilum, a brusque edge to his voice, as he deftly lowered the wick end of Kal's candle down through the unshuttered top of the lantern to the exposed flame of the candle fixed within.
It did not help that Kal was incessantly being speared by the rearward tips of the bowstaves held by Galli. All three kept stumbling and losing their balance on the slick rocks and debris submerged in the sluice-run at their feet. Kal found the tunnel suffocating. The space was so narrow, the candlelight so weak, and the oozing moisture so unchecked that he expected at any moment to have the life squeezed out of him by tons of overlying lake water, sweeping them all to an awful death. Kal again glanced at the roof of the shaft ahead of him, caught in the undulation of Wilum's lamplight. It was as if only a flimsy shell of wood separated them from the crushing weight of Deepmere.
Kal saw Galli's stooped frame ahead of him, struggling with Wilum's precious satchel, trying to keep it dry even as he slipped once and fell. How far was it from Ardiel's Well to Raven's Crag Island? A good half-league, no doubt. But to the young Holdsman, cramped, chilled and wet through, it felt as if they were slogging all the way to Dinas Antrum.
Kal marvelled at the dogged determination that had gone into the building of the tunnel. Where had they gotten the labour to carry through this daunting project—those enigmatic figures who had lived during the Age of Echoes? It was speculated that the echobards were responsible for Ram's Knap and Ardiel's Well, in addition to all the most ancient sections of Owlpen Castle and the settlement of what was now Wrenhaven. With the coming of Ardiel, the echobards had disappeared from Ahn Norvys without a trace, save only the allusive glory of their monuments and some few faint but evocative shreds of legend. It was said by some that they could not abide the Great Harmony inaugurated by Ardiel. So they left their haunts and took up their abode in remote woodland glades and oakwood coppices, far away from the prying eyes of men, on the unmapped fringes of the world, like the Hidden Folk, as evanescent as a morning mist on a bright summer's day.
On they plodded. It seemed that the tunnel would never come to an end. Above the din of the rushing water Wilum raised his voice, and they came to a halt.
"Let's stop for a moment, lads. I need to catch my breath. It isn't far now."
"Where do we get out of this place?" asked Galli, wrestling with the shifting sack on his shoulder.
"Just up ahead, we're almost there. You'll see soon enough."
After a moment's rest, Wilum pressed on again in the lead, steadying himself, his unencumbered hand moving in steps along the stone wall of the passage. About a hundred paces farther, the tunnel broadened and opened onto a large chamber.
"Watch it, be very careful now. Stay close by the wall to the left here," warned Wilum. They were standing side by side now on a narrow ledge that gave onto a murky pool. The dark lambent waters threw back an oily reflection of wavering light and spilled past their feet with a burbling echo down the floor of the tunnel from which they had just emerged.
In the wan light of the two candle flames, Kal could make out the rough contours of the chamber. Directly ahead of them the pool was met by a wall of massive cut-stone blocks that rose straight to the ceiling of vaulted natural rock above their heads. On a large stone in the centre of this wall was carved an inscription in spindly runic characters, flanked on either side by the figure of a rampant wolf. Where they faced it, the pool described a gradual half-circle that was bordered by the mortared rocks of the ledge on which they stood.
"Look, there's something in the water!"
"How's that, Kal? What do you see?" demanded Wilum, who was already halfway up a flight of rough-hewn stairs that ascended from the ledge.
"You're right," said Galli. "It looks like a body. With coiling grey things wrapped around it . . . like vines. And look, on the ledge here. Blood, and a fair bit of it at that. There's been some kind of struggle here."
"A body? How?" Wilum had retreated down the steps to peer into the depths of the pool. He then lifted his gaze. "And what's that? An opening of some kind? At the far end of the pool there. In all the times I've been here I've never seen anything . . ." He was pointing to a dark gap in the solid granite of the cavern's face which marked the beginning of some other passageway that he obviously did not recognize. "There's danger here without a doubt. Come, follow me quickly. But be very careful and watch your footing, lads. To slip into the water here means certain death." He had raised his forefinger in admonition, then let it fall, pointing to the waters. "This is what the echobards called the Pool of Retribution. It's deep, fed by icy springs that percolate up from the netherworld. You can see the long tendrils of yffarnian water ivy just below the surface. Let only one of them fasten onto your arm or leg and there would be no escape, just as there wasn't for this poor wretch. It's said that the echobards meted out punishment to evildoers and criminals here."
"What is that inscription, Master Wilum?" asked Galli.
"It's written in runes that date back to the Age of Echoes, and neither Ardiel nor Hedric nor any Hordanu since has been able to unlock their mystery. In the Great Flight of the Echobards their meaning was lost. Even the runes on the Great Harp have refused to yield their secret. Let's move on. We can't afford to linger." He turned back to the stairs.
The hazards of the Pool of Retribution did nothing to slow Wilum's sure-footed progress along the ledge to the base of the steps. Kal and Galli, however, clung to the wall of the cavern and moved ahead by fits and starts, testing every footfall, lest any slip or loss of balance send them tumbling into the choking clutches of the ivy. They safely reached the foot of the stone stairs. Wilum stood waiting for them.
"Well, I'm quite glad to see you survived that ordeal," he quipped.
Wilum looked considerably less solemn and stately than he had looked some nine days ago on the evening of the Candle Festival or even than he had as recently as yesterday morning. His venerable white hair was a jumbled mess of sodden wisps, while his thick woollen cloak, drenched as it was, looked as heavy and cumbersome as a suit of armour. He turned, and up the stairs they continued, following what had become a continuous trail of blood.
The stairway curled up sharply to meet the stone wall which bounded the Pool of Retribution and ended in a landing which was recessed into the cavity of the wall itself. Wilum stopped and turned to face the two young men, who had reached the landing now themselves and stood before another set of stairs that rose from it.
"More blood." Galli pointed to the floor.
"Hush. Speak only in whispers and sparingly at that. I'm at a loss as to how to explain the blood, lad. It unsettles me. But there's precious little we can do about it anyway but be cautious, and quiet. The stairs before you are cut into the width of the wall of Owlpen Castle. The walls are thin, so we'll have to tread carefully. For all we know, the Castle may already be overrun by the Boar's troops. I hope not."
Straining their ears to catch the sound of intruders, they began to climb the stairs, their way a steep diagonal hollowed out from the core of the wall. Soon the quiet was broken by Wilum breathing heavily from the physical exertion. The flight of stairs turned and gave onto a small rounded alcove. Wilum whispered for them to remain at the top of the staircase for a moment. Then he crawled forward and pressed his face into a nook in the wall. Kal heard the faintest of clicks as of a latch being lifted and in a moment another click.
"A peephole," he said by way of explanation as he turned back to them. "It looks all clear to me down in the Great Hall." He crouched on hands and knees to examine a wooden trapdoor set into the space of floor at their feet. The pool of candlelight from the lantern he had placed on the floor glowed a ruddy hue on the boards, bloodstained where someone else had strained to lift it.
"Here, lift this up for me, Galli. Careful now," Wilum whispered, pointing to the two rings attached to the trapdoor. Wilum stood above the opening with his lantern and motioned silently to Kal, bidding him go down the ladder which was fixed to the wall below the trapdoor. After a short awkward descent, Kal, still nursing his candle, touched ground and was followed by Galli, burdened with longbows and satchel. Wilum, guarding the lantern and shifting the weight of the Talamadh on his shoulder, came last. They found themselves in a square niche, scarcely large enough to hold the three of them. But now for the first time since they had descended into the darkness of Ardiel's Well, they encountered natural light. The light of day streamed into the close space from a strange opening in the farther wall.
"Look at all the blood," whispered Kal.
"Quiet, Kal," mouthed Wilum. Before them, a whole section of the facade across from the ladder yawned open—a door set on a pivoting hinge at its centre. There were bloodstains all over the floor of the tiny room, as well as the walls themselves. Whoever had come here ahead of them had felt his bleeding hand along the wall looking for the doorway and for what controlled its mechanism. He had found it, for the small knob mortised into the stonework of the wall just beside the hidden door was covered with blood as well. Wilum pushed Kal aside, cocked his ears, and peered through the nearer of the two openings that had been formed by the crosswise slab of moving wall. Wilum signalled to Galli, bidding him listen. The young Holdsman motioned that he heard nothing.
The area beyond seemed safe and clear. Wilum lifted the glass shutter of his lantern and blew out the flame. Then, bidding the two young men to stay silent by drawing his finger up to his lips, he gestured for them to follow. With this he stepped through the slantwise gap.
Kal knew now where they were. He had visited Owlpen Castle once with Wilum. This was part of the gallery that girdled the Great Hall and the Overlord's Chamber on the main floor. From it a company of archers could defend the castle, for the walls of the gallery were liberally punctuated with arrow slits. A series of long thin clerestory windows provided illumination for the entire main floor of the keep. The hidden chamber behind them was built into a column that abutted the interior cross-wall which separated the Great Hall from the Overlord's Chamber. Diagonally across from them were the turreted winding stairs that formed the main entrance to the keep. There was not a sign of another soul in the castle.
Once they had all come clear, Wilum swung shut the door, which closed with a dull thud. Again the fine workmanship made it almost impossible to distinguish the seam between the secret door and the adjacent wall, except for a bloody handprint which ended mid-palm in a straight line.
Kal made his way to the nearest window. He beckoned to Wilum and Galli, while cautioning them to keep their bodies clear of the opening. From there, landing on a jetty on the island's eastern approach, limned by the weak half-light of the rising sun, they saw a company of five swart figures—Black Scorpions clad stoutly in chain mail. They watched the men moor the shallop and now turn in ones and twos to look up at the Castle.
"Come on, Kal, let's have those bowstrings," said Galli, breaking the spell of silent apprehension.
"Let me dig them up here," said Kal, fumbling for his pouch. "They'll be making their way to the main gate. We should be able to pick off at least two of them, if not more. After that they'll scatter like rabbits. Too bad they've got so much in the way of cover between here and the jetty. What do you think, Master Wilum? Don't you think we'd better go on the attack ourselves before they make the entrance of the keep?"
"Aye, Kal. You and Galli had better give them something to think about. It'll afford us some breathing space, a chance to fetch what we've come for and get out."
The soldiers were roughly two bowshots distant and appeared almost casual in their actions, unconcerned about any possible danger on the island. Kal and Galli had strung their yew-wood bows and had each extracted a water-soaked shaft from the quivers slung over their shoulders. Nocking their arrows in readiness, each of them took up his station at an arrow slit and waited until their quarry moved closer into range.
"When shall we let loose, Kal?" breathed Galli.
"Hold 'til they're just within comfortable range. What after that, Master Wilum?"
"We can't waste time. I'll get the rolls and the map while you two finish your business here." Wilum pointed to an opening in the cross-wall that divided the castle keep in two. "I'll meet you at the staircase in the corner of the Chamber. You'll see it readily enough when you cross over there. Then we'll go fetch those coracles from the castle cellars and remove ourselves from this island. I'll see you both soon. Just take your time and make sure those grey-goose feathers of yours fly true and find their mark. Briacoil, Kalaquinn. Briacoil, Galligaskin."
Wilum clutched his staff and strode to the steps that led from the gallery down into the Great Hall, which lay bare of all furnishings save for a great oak table and some benches. These had once seen much merriment and feasting, but now stood bedecked with only dust and cobwebs.
Wilum disappeared from sight into the adjoining room, leaving Kal and Galli at their perch in the gallery, tense and expectant, peering out onto the path below. The air was heavy-laden with the fresh sweet smell of primroses. A great yellow tide of them grew in wild profusion under emerald larches on the gentle slope by the ramparts of the Castle. Golden daisy buds lifted their white petals to a brightening sky, while linnets flew around the bushes and trees, swelling now with leaves in the springtide.
The shrill cries of a kestrel on the wing sent a shiver of apprehension into Kal. It was not so much fear as a feeling of revulsion at the slaughter their fearsome longbows were about to unleash. Skrobb had been different. Kal had shot him only to wound and to slow him down. He and Galli had only ever hunted game animals in the Holding, and here for the first time they were peering down on a human quarry.
"I can't say I like this," whispered Galli from his point of vantage, hardly daring to speak louder than a whisper. "Are we really going to shoot them down? I suppose it's still hard to believe all this murder and mayhem is really happening in our own peaceful Holding. Here we are about to actually kill a person, I mean, with an arrow that we've sped on its way, you know, not like that landslide we started. Somebody living and breathing with families and loved ones probably. I mean they must have families, mustn't they, Kal? Just like us? Even though they're ugly and humourless? How can we just pick them off from up here?"
Kal turned from Galli to watch the soldiers tramping along the overgrown flagstone footpath up from the landing.
"I can't say I care for this any more than you do. But look what they've done, how close they came to doing us in, and what they plan to do. They're the Boar's trained killers. Trained killers. Think of that. Think of your cousins in Wrenhaven, all put to the sword, any of them that couldn't escape. And I can't help but think that some of them didn't, seeing as how the Boar attacked without them getting much of a warning. There wasn't enough time for that. When I left him, I reckon Landros couldn't have had the time to raise the alarm for all that many townsfolk before they fired the place. And your cousins, hardly more than babes . . . Picture those men as ruthless beasts. Beasts hunting us down without mercy. It's up to us. We've got to fight back. We've got to try to stop them or they'll slaughter us all." Kal's body stiffened, his head raised, his fingers flexing around the grip of his bow and the nocked arrow. "Look sharp, Galli. They're coming closer . . . Another few seconds and they'll be within range. Let's choose our targets. I'll take the fellow with the scorpion standard." Kal looked to Galli and saw the questioning look on his friend's face. "And you, you get the man just behind him on your left. Don't let loose, though, 'til I give the word. Get on your mark now. Don't worry, it'll be fine. You trust Cloudbeard, don't you?"
"I do, Kal. But there's more than one of the folk that's beginning to wonder if he's not a throwback, clinging to the old things and the old ways when it's clear there's a new era dawning, a new order of things. They say it's his arrogance and pride that sets him at odds with Gawmage and the Mindal."
"Have you ever looked to the source of all that poison talk?"
"Aye, it's mostly Enbarr and Kenulf and a couple of their cronies stirring things up against him."
"There you are. Wilum is to be trusted. If all else fails, he will not. Hush now. Let's look to those Scorpions. We'll give them a sting—Get down! One of them's looking up towards us." Kal slid away from the slit. He had seen the Scorpion with the standard stop and point up at the Castle. The murmur of quarrelling voices drew ever nearer, yet he dared not peer around the edge. The voices of the soldiers now grew silent, as if they had composed their differences. This was discomfiting. Knowing now that they must have come within range, he ventured the slightest peek and realized that they were walking more slowly, looking up and around them, their swords extended and their shield arms raised.
Kal laid his longbow down and crawled under the threshold of his slit to whisper into Galli's ear.
"We'll have to make it a good shot. They've seen something and they're on their guard. Aim for the sword side. I'll give the word." He scrambled back to his post and took up his bow.
The moments passed with charged stillness, their bodies poised.
"All right, Galli, now! Let fly right now!" The tension was broken like a thunderclap by Kal's whispered command, as he moved himself into view at the arrow slit, his bow bent into its full arc.
The two shafts flew loose with a thwack of unclinched bowstrings. One of them, Kal's, sped with unerring marksmanship to its target, piercing cleanly the chain-mail hauberk of the hapless soldier. Driven off target by a vagrant downdraft, Galli's arrow caught its intended victim in the thigh. Almost before the first had met their mark, a second flight was cutting through the air. Another man fell, clutching at the arrow in his chest—Galli's mark. This time it was Kal who missed. Amid shouts of surprise, the three survivors scattered for cover. The standard lay beneath its mortally stricken bearer, its gilt-edged purple streamers entangled in the thistle that had overgrown the footpath.
"Come, let's find Wilum," Kal sputtered. "The rest of them will be skulking through the underbrush up to the Castle. Gives us a bit of time to make good our escape, I hope." Kal did not wait for Galli to answer, but slung his longbow over his shoulder and ran down the gallery stairs, heading straight for the Overlord's Chamber with Galli close on his heels.
The two fled into the Chamber, awash now with beams of morning sunlight that came pouring in through the high thin windows just above the gallery on the east side of the Castle. The Chamber, once the sleeping quarters of an Overlord and his family in the Age of Echoes, was even emptier and more desolate than the Great Hall. In one corner, beside a large open hearth, lay a wooden chest from which Wilum had clearly already taken the contents, for he stood waiting for them on the other side of the Great Chamber in a recessed nook that was cloaked in the coolness of still lingering night shadows, his arms overflowing with the thin parchments on which the manor records were kept.
"W-well, Master Wilum, two of them are out of action and now we have only three of them to deal with. And one of them's wounded," said Kal. For the second time in the mere space of hours he had dealt out death even as it stalked him.
"Three left . . . Well, let that be as it is. You've trimmed the odds. Now we must fly again." He turned to Galli to hand him the parchment rolls. "Take these. Put them in the satchel. Now let's go down below. We'll need a light—oh, where was my head when I blew out the lantern and candle? Where are they?"
"I've got them here in the sack—Listen," cried Galli. "It's a hunting horn being winded somewhere in the distance. But it's not one of our horns, the note's too harsh."
"Here, as you value your life, let's get them relit." Wilum took out a small tinderbox from beneath the folds of his cloak. It took no more than one strike of flint on steel to ignite a small pile of tinder shavings, from which they took a fresh light for the two candles. Wilum took one of them and closed it behind panes of lantern glazing while giving the other to Kal to tend.
He turned and hastened down a narrow spiral staircase—the Overlord's private entrance to his castle. Enclosed by a small circular stone tower, it felt more like the shaft of a well. Down one flight of stairs they reached a landing with a small but sturdy wooden door.
"This is the postern gate, our way out," whispered Wilum. "But first we have to go down into the cellars and procure ourselves a boat or two."
Following one another down a farther short stretch of stairs in single file, they reached a musty place where, from out of the earthen floor, rose huge stonework piers that undergirded the building above. These used to be the Castle's storerooms, now littered with earthenware jars and several piles of odd planks and worm-eaten bits of wood—the decrepit remains of the Castle's furniture—bedsteads, chests of drawers, sideboards, and chairs, along with ancient suits of armour, rusting in the dampness.
Wilum stepped around a solid rectangular abutment that flanked a portion of the outer foundation from floor to ceiling, housing the well of Owlpen Castle. He held his lantern over a dark bowl-shaped hump.
"There's one of our coracles. But where's the other?" Wilum poked about here and there through the cellar looking for the other boat, but was brought up short.
"No wonder you can't find it," Galli said. "Whoever it was that left his blood all over the place made his way down here too and took it. It was a smaller boat. And look at his tracks here, small ones. And did you see the flecks of dried blood on the stairs coming down?"
Wilum returned to where the young men stood. He wore an expression of growing consternation.
"Fine. We'll have to make do with one, then, and hope we're given the chance to make two trips. Blow out your candle, Kal. Mine should be enough to light our way to the door. I shudder to think what's happening out there. The valley's probably swarming with Ferabek's minions." Wilum grimaced. "Here, turn the coracle around. I think you'll have to carry it sideways to get it up the stairs. There you go." Wilum helped Kal tilt the coracle up on its plaited hazel gunwale. The young man grasped it with two hands by its side and began lugging it along the dirt floor to the steps leading up to the door. Wilum returned to the stone wall and picked up two paddles that hung there. Darting ahead of Kal, he lit the way for him up the steps. Galli followed behind with the bows and the overstuffed satchel. At the top of the stairs by a thick oak door bound to the jamb with broad hinges, he bade them stop. The door stood ajar.
"Lean the coracle against the wall," he ordered Kal in an undertone. "There you are. It should stay like that. You too, Galli. Leave off your load for a moment. Both of you, nock an arrow. I need you here."
Hurrying up the steps, Galli joined Wilum and Kal, pulling an arrow from his quiver.
"Keep your silence now, and unplug your ears—especially you, Galli—our lives depend on it."
By slow degrees Wilum widened the opening of the doorway. On the other side of it, from a recess above their heads, there hung suspended the iron fretwork of a small portcullis that had barred the way to the outside. For several moments they stood under the portcullis, but heard nothing beyond the tangy chirp of sparrows and a cliff swallow, perched on the upper branches of a tall silver birch, its urgent "kwik, kwik" impelling them to make a run for it.
"The way looks clear. Put away your bows for a moment. Grab hold of our baggage, both of you. Step smartly. We've got to reach Deepmere before they can overtake us."
Wilum stepped out into the fresh spring air, which carried a strong pleasant scent of lavender from the profusion of bluish flowers spread out along the earthworks of the Castle's northern face. A startled honeybee came buzzing past him towards its nest in a hollow willow pollard, draped by sprays of wild gooseberry that grew out of the decayed touchwood on its ancient crown. Close by the pollard stretched a little pond, white with water-crowfoot, entirely covered from bank to bank, not a tiny section of it ungraced with a blanket of silver cups. Some greenfinches had alighted for a drink at its shallow edge. Wilum waded knee-deep into the meadow grass of what was once the pleasance of Owlpen Castle.
After squeezing the coracle through the portal, Kal laid it down in the grass. He pulled the bow off his shoulder again and reached for an arrow. Galli, who had left the doorway open behind him, placed the sack down beside Kal and readied his bow as well. In silence all three of them craned their necks, surveying the scene around them and letting their clammy water-laden bodies absorb the warming rays of the eastern sun.
"So far so good," whispered Kal. "Let's get away from here. Which way should we be going, Master Wilum? You know the island—What's that?" he exclaimed, for a sudden rustling sound came from the woods by the pond. "Here, let's take cover. No, not back in the Castle. We haven't a hope in there. Quick, behind this hedge."
Leaving the boat in the grass, they ran towards the uncertain cover of the hawthorn hedge. Setting up, the two young Holdsmen pulled back on the arrows they had nocked.
"There's our enemy. She doesn't look very fearsome to me," Wilum said, as he pointed to a deer and her capering fawn who browsed on some thick hazel bushes on the meadow's edge, unaware that they were being observed. "Kal, go fetch the coracle again," continued Wilum, as Kal and Galli returned their shafts to their quivers. "We'll take that path through the woods there"—he pointed—"to the Hollow of the Eagles by the Raven's Crag. We can launch the coracle there and quit this island."
Traversing a small orchard of apple, plum, and quince trees, their twisted limbs hoary with lichen, they entered the forest which had once been the Overlord's deer chase. It was a handsome stand that had remained unmolested by the woodsman's axe. As they approached it, the doe lifted her head and vanished, leaping with her fawn into the sheltering depths.
To make the coracle easier to carry, Kal had passed his longbow to Galli and hoisted the thing onto his back, so that he looked like a gigantic black beetle. Keeping silence, they listened intently to all the forest sounds around them as they trod. For the first while the path took the form of an ancient flagstone walk closely overarched with flowering bushes. Walking through it, Kal was forced into a stoop. To his great relief, they emerged from this bower into the higher canopy of unmanicured hardwood forest. Once or twice they were startled to attention by a rustle of bushes or ferns—a rabbit or a stoat peering out at them with alarm through the filtered sunlight of the forest.
Farther into the heart of the deer chase they stole, driven by their need to escape. Kal slouched under his burden and was forced to take his bearings from Wilum's sandalled feet and the rustling hem of his cloak. It was he who caught the reflected glint of something metallic on the forest floor amid a tangle of decaying leaf litter.
"Master Wilum, there's something on the ground here just off the path." Kal gestured from under the coracle to where a fragile shard of sunlight had managed to penetrate the cool dimness of the woodland shadows.
"It's a coin," said Galli. He had come to Kal's side and stooped to pick up the shining bit of silver, which he now held up to view with a puzzled look. "Here, Master Wilum, what do you make of it?" Galli handed the piece to Wilum, who took the coin and turned it in his fingers, running his thumbnail along its edge.
"This is coinage of very recent minting. The date . . . 3012 H.R. And the inscription too . . . Quite interesting. It's in Gharssûlian and reads, 'His Illustrious Majesty Ferabek IV, Firstborn Scion of the Mighty House of Soluda, Beneficent Wielder of the Sceptre of Keftiu.' Goodness." The old man chuckled. "It's so long-winded that Ferabek has hardly left room for his own scowling ill-favoured countenance. This is a Gharssûlian Crosskeele Groat." He sent the coin spinning into the air with a flick of his thumb and caught it. "And it certainly hasn't lain in this spot for years."
"This seems to be another path," Galli said, scrutinizing the forest floor around them. "Look, it cuts across ours and continues in that direction towards the Castle."
Kal laid down the coracle and began kicking aside the leaves and humus that littered the spot, revealing a beaten trail. "Doesn't this path come up from the beach by the Lochar Rock?"
"The Egrets' Cove, yes, a fine little cove, a superb landing place. I'm afraid that there are more enemy soldiers here than the ones we first saw. These aren't the Scorpions you fired on . . . No, these are others—"
"That's it!" said Kal, "The horn. They were summoning their comrades, who'd landed at the Egrets' Cove to avoid being spotted from the Castle's turrets. They must think the Castle's held by Holdsmen."
"Quite so. It's fortunate we didn't cross paths with the soldier who lost this Groat and his fellows. What I'm afraid of now is that there may be more Black Scorpions on their way up this path from the Egrets' Cove. Come, we'd better push on. This is definitely not a good place to hold conference."
Wilum pocketed the Groat and turned with a quick step back to the trail they had been following, so that Kal, having taken up the coracle once again, found himself hard put not to lose sight of his receding figure. Along a gently ascending grade the three of them trod, scanning all around them for sign of ambush. Once their hearts leapt to their throats as the air around them was pummelled by the drumming wings of a partridge they had flushed from its roost. Another time Galli called them to a halt when he spotted, about a hundred paces away on a ridge above them, a glittering pinpoint of light like the sun off the boss of a shield. Wilum had Galli test the curious gleam with a well-aimed bowshot. When the shaft had sped to its mark and there was no stir of movement, they decided it was just a vagrant trick of the eye—light caught reflecting on stone. Even so, for a while they kept casting sidelong glances back, half-expecting the suspect ridge to disgorge an attacking company of Black Scorpions from its sun-dappled mask of trees.
They stepped over a shallow rill that purled past them, stained brown by peat, and veered to the right along the rising slope. The path began to twist this way and that, sinuously avoiding the gulleys and the brambles, the streams and lichened rocks, following the way of least effort along the contours of the hill, which was studded with willows and ancient oaks. The path left the woods and was swallowed by a sheltered cusp of open heath that led to a promontory jutting into the lake, framed against the vaulted azure of the sky. The cries of nesting waterfowl filled the air, drowning out all other sounds. The path made an arching turn to the right through a carpet of heather back into the woodland.
"Let's stop here for a moment," bade Wilum, looking out along the promontory. "There's the top of Raven's Crag. From there we'll be able to see the beach. Come, both of you. Let's have a look. Three pairs of eyes work much better than one weary old pair. Let's take cover close to the ground under those bushes by the edge of the cliff."
They left their baggage hidden from the path and traversed the shoulder of the Crag, stooping down as they neared its edge. Lying prone under a flowering currant, they peered over the side. All around them rose a din of screeching birds, swarming over the jagged niches and clefts on the face of the Crag below. Kal tugged on the sleeve of Wilum's cloak.
"Look." He pointed. "Down there on the beach. Look how many boats there are!"
"Keep your head down."
"You were right," continued Kal. "More Scorpions have landed. Eight boats of them. They must have gone to the Castle. Must be thinking they'll have to storm it."
"Aye. We were indeed fortunate not to have stumbled into them. Even so, we still may before this day is out. Let's draw back now and take stock of our situation."
They eased themselves away from the cliff top and walked back to where the hidebound boat lay propped up by a spongy bed of heather.
"No, Kal, leave it where it is. Galli, give those longbows to Kal. There, that should make your load a bit easier. My lads, we shall avail ourselves of Ferabek's much too ample bounty."
"Steal a boat?"
"Exactly," continued Wilum. "It's a lucky thing too, since that little basket couldn't possibly carry the three of us. Nor would these soldiers have given us the opportunity to make two trips. So while the hounds are on a bad scent, we'll make a run for it and turn this invasion of theirs to our advantage. Here, let's continue along this path to the Hollow of the Eagles and from there along the shore to the boats. We'd better be quick about it."
As they pressed on along the path, they could hear high above them the honking chatter of geese coming home to nest in the coves and reedy inlets of Deepmere, its age-old quietness riven by the fell clash of arms. Their progress was much faster now, as they struck back into the arcading deepness of the woods without the awkward weight of the coracle to impede them. The trail plunged into the narrow trough of a steep ravine that rent the eastern flank of Raven's Crag. The ground underfoot was strewn with the musty remains of last autumn's leaves. Here and there stood small pools of water that had collected on the floor of the ravine from runnels scored into the sides by melting snow and spring rains. Kal felt exposed and vulnerable and hoped that Wilum had calculated things right. Then, as if to jar him from his self-pitying reverie, he heard in the hush of that solitary place the lovely flute-like warble of a hermit thrush, which had alighted on a bare larch root a mere stone's throw away. One little creature, at least, who cared little that there were Black Scorpions abroad.
For several hundred yards, they followed the ravine in its sharply falling course against the bulk of the Crag until it flattened out and gave onto an apron of rock set flush against the adamantine walls of the Crag itself. Spreading its talons on a cornice of stone that overhung the three companions was a large eagle, which eyed them disdainfully from its perch. The three paused, struck with amazement, for over time the name of the place—Hollow of the Eagles—had become ironic, a mere throwback to the Age of Echoes, when eagles still soared majestically on the currents of air that blew through the valley. Kal looked out to the lake. From the open side of the Hollow he could see the surface of Deepmere, its opalescent ripples spreading in the morning breeze. Striding up from its shores were the snow-crested summits of the Radolan Mountains, aflame with the burning of a spring sun. There was a rush that parted the air above them. They spun around and saw the eagle rising slowly from its coign of vantage, a mighty sweep of pinions propelling it through the rift before them. Catching an upcurrent of air, the bird began to circle and glide, needing only an occasional stroke of its wings to remain airborne.
Breaching the Hollow was a set of wide rough-hewn stone steps that led down to a ribbon of sandy beach behind a veil of maidenhair ferns that covered the scree under red ash and mountain hemlock trees.
"We've got to be even more careful now," advised Wilum as they descended the steps, "for we don't dare meet up with the enemy along the shoreline. We'd be helpless and with no place to escape. Galli, we're in dire need of your talents at this point."
"Aye, Master Wilum. I don't see anything strange at the moment. Nor hear anything. The birds are too loud. I sense that they're in a fright. This island hasn't seen so many men in quite some time."
They reached the shelving stretch of sand beneath the overhanging mass of rock that made the shape of a raven's head. All around them the air resounded with the raucous cries of waterbirds. Deepmere, bounded on the horizon by its eastern shoreline, lay sparkling before them.
"Wait," said Galli, who held up his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and peered out across the waters of the lake. "I see some movement in the distance. On Edgemere Road. The speed—some of them are on horseback . . . Fire . . . They're fighting! There's the flash of arms and armour—"
"Come, men." Wilum regained their attention. "We've an escape to make. We can't be of help to them with a lake between us."
They scanned the area around them. The eight boats of the Scorpions farther down the beach at the Lochar Rock lay hidden from their sight by a curving elbow of land that enclosed the reedy shallows below the Hollow of the Eagles, making a little inlet.
Wary of discovery, the three Holdsmen rounded the corner beyond which, about three hundred paces distant, the Egrets' Cove cut abruptly into the regular sweep of the foreshore. On the fringe of the bight carved out of the island by the Cove they descried the indistinct shapes of the boats they had seen earlier from the headland which dominated the skyline at their backs. Galli jostled the heavy sack of Wilum's papers on his shoulder while his hand rested on the hilt of his shortsword. Kal fitted an arrow to his bow.
By the time they reached the Cove the tension had abated somewhat. In his vigilance Galli had seen and heard nothing to cause them alarm. It seemed that the Black Scorpion Dragoons in their haste to answer the horn's summons, or their enthusiasm to join in combat, or simply their raw excess of self-confidence, had chosen not to place a sentinel at the boats. It was no small blessing, and for this the three Holdsmen were grateful. Kal had put away his longbow, his attention taken up by the flat-bottomed fishing boats that now lay at hand. Wilum gestured to Galli, ordering him to put the satchel in the stern of the first boat they came to.
"This way, lad. We'll take this one and scuttle the rest."
"It's a shame. These belong to the men of Wrenhaven. I recognize Sendar's mark on this one," said Galli, setting his foot on the gunwale of another of the boats.
It took only one or two solid thrusts of the sword to tear a gaping hole in the planks of each of the hulls. Then, while Wilum took a seat in the stern, Kal and Galli pushed the one undamaged boat off the beach. They ran alongside it in the water until it floated free of the shingle, then clambered aboard.
"Galli," said Kal, "it's better if I row alone. Here, let me get by and I'll sit there between the oarlocks. You can kneel in front of me here and keep a lookout."
"Very well, steersman. Set a course for Riven Oak Cove," instructed Wilum. "But give the island a wide berth."
Galli scanned the shore. "It looks all clear. The only sign of movement I can see is an egret rising out of the marsh in the Cove."
Soon they were skirting the Lochar Rock, an islet of moss-encrusted weathered stone that broke the water level of the lake just beyond the Cove. Waving in the breeze on a tiny patch of earth at the very crest of the Lochar Rock stood a lone beech tree. Beneath its stunted limbs teemed a colony of cormorants. Some of them were nesting and some stolidly stretching out their wings to dry in the sun. Just a short way past the Rock, when they were well outside the range of bowshot, Kal began to steer them north. Raven's Crag loomed above the waterline to their left, and from this distance the large rocky outcrop did indeed bear the shape of a raven. It was said that this was the reason the echobards had chosen to build Owlpen Castle on the island, since for them Corvus, the Raven, was a talisman to ward off evil. Looking back to the Island, Kal hoped this talisman still retained some of its former potency.
All they could hear beyond the splashing of oars was the background din of nesting fowl. Kal was working hard at the oars, his face now covered with dripping beads of sweat. Once they began to pass the northern extremity of Raven's Crag Island, they could no longer discern in profile the outline of the raven. The Crag looked like just a shapeless mass that, knife-like, cleaved the strong north winds which so often came funnelling down the valley. That morning, however, there were merely soft-blowing airs that teased out gentle ripples and cat's-paw on the surface of the water, as pure and clean as crystal. Above them, far over the shining lake, lay fantastic carven billows of cloud, spreading rank beyond rank to the horizon of mighty peaks ringing the valley in every direction.
Kal broke the monotonous plash and creak of the oars. "Master Wilum, I'm going to head due north towards Wrenhaven for a stretch. We should try not to give them any idea where we're headed. They'd probably see us from the Castle if we turned the corner and changed direction here . . . Although it doesn't much matter, I suppose."
"Why do you say that?"
"They know where we're headed anyway. Like a fool I told them everything at the Sunken Bottle. And it's not as if they had to torture me to wring the information out of me either. Old Golls fished me in, played me for a simpleton. It was my own stupidity."
"I'm certain, lad, that it would not have taken them long to find us at the Coomb in any case. I can see that you're worrying at this like a dog over an old bone. We all make mistakes, Kal. Why, I should have been wise enough to take the measure of that sneaky messenger of Gawmage's. And there's more, so much more I should have done before things came to this pass. It's what we learn from our errors that makes all the difference. Aye, therein lies the gift of wisdom. The main thing is to make good on our mistakes, and you have most of a lifetime to do that. You've learned a lesson in human trust, Kal, and I daresay that it could have been much more costly." Wilum put a hand on Kal's shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
"Can you see anybody up on the Crag, Galli?" asked Wilum, changing the subject.
"Nobody at all. My bet is that they're much too busy ransacking the Castle trying to find us, not to mention these manor rolls."
"Give them time," Kal said, "and they'll be combing the island from stem to stern."
"No boats, no manor rolls, and no prisoners to show for their trouble. They'll be as angry as hornets." Galli said.
"Here, Galli, you switch places with Kal and take over at the oars for a while. As for you, Kal, come, sit here and tell me how you happened to meet up with Ferabek, and what exactly you overheard him saying to Enbarr. If we're to counter his latest move, I've got to know everything you can tell me. And on the run as we are, this may be my last chance to speak with you for some while. Better start at the beginning. What happened after you left the keeil yesterday morning?"