Deverry - A Time Of War Part 34

'What? Are they invisible? It's going to be a task straight from the third h.e.l.l, fighting invisible enemies.'

'Nah nah nah - naught so bad as that! You'll see them plain enough when they ride off the end of their dweomer road and appear under your walls. Your Grace, there's not a moment to lose. Alert the countryside, send for your lords, I beg you - do whatever needs to be done!'

Jill turned and ran for the door of the great hall. Although she feared a direct outpouring of the army near the town itself, the letter had implied that Lord Tren would be joining the force before it struck. Thus there was a chance that Alshandra's minions had brought their army out of Evandar's country at Tren's dun and were planning on riding an ordinary road down to Cengarn. If so, she'd be able to scout them out in the falcon shape and bring back some solid information. She ducked into the side broch, climbed the staircase as fast as she could, then rushed into her chamber and barred the door. Panting for breath, and stripping off her clothes as she moved, she walked to the window. Already, down in the ward, men of the warband were hurrying toward the stables - messengers, no doubt, to rouse the countryside.

As soon as she'd quieted her racing heart, Jill transformed herself into the falcon. As she leapt from the window and flew, she heard a strange noise jangling and booming over Cengarn. Since her senses were bound to the perceptions of the etheric plane, it took her a moment to recognize the sound of temple bells, ringing out an alarum for the town and for all the farmers round about. Down below, the streets and houses, seen from the etheric in full morning light, looked grotesquely dead, all black and grey as if they were carved from shadow made palpable. Among them she saw the auras of the townsfolk swarming about, rushing here and there, some to man the gates, some toward the dun itself. Others milled and bobbed about the streets or clumped in the open s.p.a.ces, moving aimlessly like particles of flour move, sprinkled on a bowl of water.

Before she headed north she swung out wide, taking a turn south and east over the settled farmlands, where she saw, among the reddish auras of field and forest, the same orderly panic. Already a few farmers were driving herds of cows, judging from the size of the yellow horizontal auras, toward the city.

Behind them trudged women, leading children and pushing handcarts. Warned for weeks now, the people were ready to move. In that she could take what comfort she could, and truly, there was little else she could have done to improve their lot. Even if she'd thought of the mothers of all roads that ran through Evandar's country' and had remembered earlier that Alshandra had the same access to them as Evandar himself, the town never could have sheltered the surrounding farmers, with all their families and livestock, for these last weeks of waiting. Things would soon be bad enough inside the walls as it was.

North of Cengarn lay very little but wild hills. As she flew steadily over the dirt track that did for a road north, Jill saw only a pair of shepherds and their dogs, driving a small flock toward the town. Beyond that lay wilderness, forest and stream, boulders and hill, unrolling under the unnatural speed of the falcon's huge wings. Even though the wind blew in her favour, Jill wondered if she could fly the entire thirty miles or so to Tren's dun and still return safely in a single day. Fortunately her long weeks of scouting had built up her physical strength to some extent, but she was still, underneath, an old woman trusting in the unnatural vitality of the dweomer rather than to sound muscle and bone.

The sun was just past its zenith when she saw, far ahead at the edge of her view, the clearings in the forest marking the first fields of the late Matyc's demesne. His brother's lands lay to the east, the chamberlain had told her. She let her right wing dip, began to turn, beating a little in a gust of wind, and saw far belowr her the raven. Even from her height she could tell that it was much too big to be an ordinary bird. Like a real raven it flew low, swooping over the cleared fields as if it were feeding on gleaned grain, while, like a real falcon, Jill could fly high enough to be virtually invisible.

For a moment she hesitated, riding the wind while she debated. Even though her human instincts counselled mercy, here was a splendid chance to rid herself of a powerful enemy, On the other hand, attack would reveal her own existence, another mazrak on Cengarn's side. Yet, once the siege began, she'd be forced to reveal herself, anyway, if, for instance, this enemy dweomcrmaster should think it could fly over the dun with impunity. The feathers on the back of her neck lifted in rage at the thought, that some threat might fly over a place that the falcon instincts saw as her nest and endanger those that the falcon considered fledglings. Jill took her mark, stooped, and plunged.

Down the falcon plummeted, talons extended for a deadly thrust, with the rush of air singing round her like a warcry. All at once some avian instinct must have warned the mazrak below. The raven shrieked in sheer terror, flew and dodged barely in time, and began flapping madly north. Jill sheared off, turned, and rose again for another strike as the clumsy raven flew for its life, shrieking and cawing all the while. If some huntsman had watched, he would have seen an ordinary-seeming pair of birds, except for the size, and an ordinary enough pattern, one he'd seen a hundred times, of a determined falcon marking its panicked kill, stooping and plunging, barely missing while the exhausted raven dodged frantically and flapped northward.

When Jill rose again she knew that this time she'd have the raven, just as a falcon will, in the end, wear down the wiliest of birds. Yet the raven suddenly steadied itself, collecting its human wits, most likely.

Just as Jill plunged, it flew straight ahead - and disappeared. One moment it was there, flying in full sun over a field of ripe barley; the next it was gone, simply and completely gone. With a shriek of her own Jill broke off the stoop, flapped wildly for a moment, then turned and headed back south. She'd seen what she needed to, another mazrak, sure enough, and one that could fly into Evandar's country and travel the mother of all roads. Now she needed to make her own retreat. She had no illusions that she could best an enraged Alshandra, if the raven should bring her 'G.o.ddess' back with her from the astral plane.

Jill flew off south, but just as she reached the forest edge, she circled back for a look behind her. Sure enough, the black flapping shape of the raven had reappeared, and this time, it flew east. Not quite wily enough, were you? Jill thought. She flew up, stayed as high as she could and still keep the raven in sight, and followed her unknowing guide. In just a few more miles, the raven led her to a camp, a vast spread of soldiers and mounts, wagons and servants, apparently stopped for a noon rest, the auras like a bed of glowing coals scattered across the dull bare ground. Without flying lower Jill simply couldn't see whether inside those auras stood humans or Horsekin, but there was no doubt that the enemy was marching. She circled south and flew off for home, beating strong and steadily against the wind.

It was sundown when she reached Cengarn. Already the town was crammed full of people and animals.

With her etheric sight it seemed that in the gathering shadows Cengarn lay burning, all gold and flickering yellow with here and there the red of a warrior's aura to mimic flames. As she swooped over the dun, she circled to lose speed and height, heading over the ward toward her tower window. Since she knew him well, she could pick out Yraen's aura in the general confusion. He looked up, saw her, shouted, and began trotting toward the side broch that housed her chamber.

By the time that Jill had landed and returned to her own proper shape, Yraen was pounding on her chamber door. Yelling at him to be patient, she clambered into a pair of brigga, pulled on a shirt, and ran barefooted to unbar the door and let him in.

'Have you seen Dar?' he blurted. 'Do you know which way he rode?'

'Which way he what?'

'This morning, before you raised the alarum, he rode out. I mean, him and his men. They rode out to hunt.'

'Well, ye G.o.ds, man, they'll probably ride back before night, like they usually do. The enemy won't reach us before tomorrow.'

Yet even as she spoke she felt a stab of danger. At times, sick of being penned up in what they called 'stone tents', Dar and his men stayed overnight in the wild forest.

'I can't fly any more today, Yraen. I'm exhausted. All I can do is scry him out and try to tell you where he is, and you can send a couple of men out to meet him.'

At this blunt mention of magic, Yraen rolled his eyes like a spooked horse.

'My apologies, my lady, for forgetting how tired you must be. I'll go fetch you meat and drink.'

Yraen bolted like the spooked horse, as well, rushing out of the chamber and clattering down the stairs.

Jill walked to the window, leaned upon the sill on folded arms, and looked up at the trail of clouds gleaming gold against the velvet sky of twilight. When she focused her sight and thought of Dar, she saw him standing in an utterly undistinguished clearing by an utterly undistinguished river, and then, slowly, like figures walking toward her out of a sea fog, his men came into her vision as well, all of them dismounted, standing round their prince and arguing furiously. As far as she could tell they were miles from the town and squabbling, perhaps, about whether to try to ride back in the darkness. When she felt a stab of rage, that today of all days they'd ride so far, she was tired enough that she lost the vision.

All at once she had to sit down. She staggered over to her chair and slumped into it, leaning forward and bracing herself against the table. Dimly, as if she sat at the bottom of a deep well, she heard the clatter of Yraen coming back up the stairs. In a few moments he appeared with half a loaf of bread and a plate of pork and cabbage.

'Ye G.o.ds,' he snapped. 'You look as pale as Death! Tell me what to do for you.'

'Pour me water from that pitcher on the chest.'

Jill forced herself to eat a few bites of bread and wash them down with the water while Yraen hovered helplessly nearby.

'Arc you sure the prince rode south?' she said at last.

'I am, though later he could have gone in any direction, depending on the deer and suchlike.'

Jill swore, mustering oaths that would have shocked her silver dagger of a father. Unconsciously Yraen stepped back, as if out of reach.

'Carra must be frantic,' Jill said, once her feelings were sufficiently relieved. 'Is she in the women's hall?'

'She's not, but in her chambers.'

'Then go get her and escort her to the hall. Tell her to stay there, too, until her husband returns. There must be an extra bed or suchlike, near where the serving women sleep. Tell her it's my order, and if she breaks it, I'll turn her into a frog!'

'I will then.'

Yraen fled her ill temper, banging the door shut behind him. With a ma.s.sive sigh Jill leaned back in her chair. The lard-glazed food looked hideous to her, but she forced herself to pick at it while she considered what to do. In a few moments she would have to summon her energy to bring the news to the gwerbrct. Her physical loathing at the thought of climbing down the stairs and back up again made her realize that no matter what danger Dar might be in, it was truly impossible for her to fly to warn him.

Since she couldn't identify where he was, sending ordinary messengers after him would only mean losing them as well. If only he'd been another dweomermaster, trained to hear her thoughts!

All at once she laughed aloud. Dwcomermastcr, no, but he was not only a full-blooded elf but a prince, only two generations removed from an extremely inbred line of royalty that had been, if she remembered her history rightly, known for its innate dweomer talent. She smiled to herself, rather grimly, and finished the water in her cup. Trying to reach him on the ethcnc was at least worth a try. Since all elves can see the Wildfolk and other etheric forms, he would be able to see her etheric double whether he eould hear her thoughts or no. If she waved her arms and made all sorts of dramatic gestures, he would at least know that some sort of danger was pending.

Someone knocked - pounded, really - on the door.

'My lady, my lady? Be you there?'

'I am, Jahdo. Come in.'

All tousled hair and huge eyes the boy burst into the room.

'Oh my lady, I do be sorry for the disturbing of you, but His Grace did send me to fetch you. All the pages, they be busy as busy, rushing here and there on messages and suchlike.'

'No doubt.' Jill got up, grimacing a little at her exhaustion. 'Excited, are you?'

'I am, my lady, but oh, I be scared. Meer does keep telling me about how horrid sieges be, one of the seven great disasters for a city, he did say.'

'What are the other six?'

'Well, now, I don't truly know them all. He didn't say, like, though I do think that one other be plague.

My apologies.'

'It doesn't matter. I don't even really know why I asked. I think I'm scared, too.'

At that Jahdo turned more than a little pale. Jill caught his hand and let him lead her to the stairs.

Down in the great hall the gwerbret was pacing, leaning hard on his stick, back and forth by the dragon hearth. Behind him trailed his worried servitors. Jill was glad to see that Lord Gwinardd stood among them in the company of several lords that she didn't know by name. Apparently Cadmar's loyal va.s.sals were riding in to join their lord. When she glanced at the far side of the hall, she found it crammed with men, eating and drinking in a grim silence.

'Your Grace summoned me?' Jill made Cadmar a bow.

'I hear from Yraen that you have news for us.'

'I do, Your Grace. May I sit?'

'Of course.' Cadmar looked round him, startled as a man coming out of a faint. 'We'll all sit. Ye G.o.ds.

Don't know what's wrong with me, trotting back and forth like an old ram who sees a young one in his pasture.'

When Jahdo pulled out a chair for her, Jill sat gratefully. She could only hope that the n.o.ble-born would let her tell her news and leave fast. But as the plans and the arguing dragged on, so did the evening, hot and seemingly endless.

Daralanteriel and his men had indeed travelled a good score of miles through rough country that day, hunting the grey deer. Although he'd wanted to push hard and return to Cengarn, their horses were exhausted from the chase, and unlike their elven masters, they couldn't see with only starlight to guide them. He may have been a prince, but he was always mindful that in the current situation of the Westlands, his men were his equals in everything but name. When they shouted him down, he listened and eventually agreed to make camp, especially once they'd found a perfect spot, a sizeable clearing with grazing for the stock and a nearby stream. Since the night was so hot, and light a luxury to those with elven sight, they dispensed with lighting a fire.

Although the rest of the men jested and laughed, pleased with the chance to spend a night in open country, Dar felt his bad mood settle round him like a wet wool cloak. He kept to himself, brooding at the edge of the clearing. The wheel of stars was turning toward midnight when, a few at a time, the men stretched out on the gra.s.s to sleep. Dar's lieutenant, Jennantar, came and found him where he'd been sitting, on a dead log off among the trees.

'We'd best post a guard,' Dar said.

'Why? Jill's been scrying and suchlike for weeks now and never seen a trace of an enemy.'

'Oh, I know, but I've got the strangest feeling round my heart. I don't like this. We should have gone back.'

'My prince, we couldn't get back.'

'Well, then, we never should have ridden so far.' Dar got up, suddenly furious. For the first time in his life he wished that he had the power of one of his fabled royal ancestors, to speak once and be obeyed.

'I told you this afternoon! We needed to get back.'

'But that stag! I've never seen a stag like that, all white, and with horns that big.'

'Well, neither have I, but he gave us the slip in the end, anyway, didn't he? So here we are, way out in the middle of nothing and no stag to show for it.'

Jennantar merely shrugged at the luck of the hunt. Dar had the brief thought of slapping him, caught himself, and let out his breath in a long sigh.

'Something's truly gnawing at you, isn't it?' Jennantar said.

'Yes, and I don't know what.'

Just as he spoke Dar felt a cold ripple down his back, as if an icy hand had stroked him. He threw up his head like the stag, listening. Something was moving in the woods nearby. He never thought, merely yelled.

'Wake up! Arm!'

And that was the only reason that any of them lived. Dar drew his sword and rushed among his men, kicking them awake, while a cursing Jennantar grabbed his hunting bow and slung his quiver. All at once torches flared, war cries shrieked, and a party of armed warriors came rushing towards the clearing. The elven hunters had barely enough time to get to their feet, grabbing for bows and swords, before the enemy was upon them, huge hairy beings, reeking of horse sweat. Later Dar would realize that there'd been easily fifty of them, but at the moment, there was no time for thinking.

'Meradan!' Jennantar howled. The Hordes!'

When he shot with a hiss of a hunting shaft, and the lead warrior screamed and crumpled, clawing at his abdomen, the others hesitated, giving the elves the briefest of moments to fall back round their prince.

Jezryaladar had a bow as well, and he and Jennantar loosed another round, then another, as the Gel da'Thae warriors reformed and charged again. The two elves in front went down, hacked and bleeding, but the line held. At the rear of the charge someone threw a torch into the pile of saddle blankets and other gear; greasy flames shot up and crackled with a foul blast of smoke. Dimly Dar heard horses neighing in terror, and the sound of hooves pounding and dancing.

'Ranadar avenge us!' Dar shouted out the ancient warcry of his house. 'To the h.e.l.ls if need be!'

The enemies screeched a babble of foreign words. Dar could put together a bare impression of their huge size and of manes of hair, long and braided, glittering with little charms and beads, before they charged again.

At close distance the bows were useless. Jennantar and Jezryaladar had no choice but to fall back and circle round the pack, hoping for a clear shot in the ghastly light of the fire creeping through the gra.s.s, as the rest of the men, unarmoured and outnumbered, fought to the death. Dar was barely conscious of where he was and what he was doing; he was all instinct, slashing, parrying, dancing in for a stab and whirling back, his innate grace his only shield as the clumsier Gel da'Thae hacked and swore. When something rolled against the hack of his legs, Dar jumped and twisted round, found Farendar lying dead in a pool of blood, and killed the warrior who'd stabbed him with one thrust to the throat.

As that Gel da'Thae went down, Dar jumped over his corpse and charged the grunting warrior behind.

The fire caught the dry shrubbery at the edge of the clearing and flared up high, sending a wave of yellow light over the clearing. The Gel da'Thae facing Dar screamed in terror, threw his sword onto the ground, and began howling out a trio of incomprehensible words over and over. All Dar could a.s.sume was that he was terrified of fire, that they all were, because suddenly the enemy was breaking, running, throwing down their weapons and howling in panic as they raced away through the woodlands. Panting and sobbing for breath Dar spun round. Jennantar still lived, pulling a wounded man away from the spreading fire. Jezryaladar came running, grabbing the fellow's feet.

'Let's get out of here!' Dar yelled. 'Is there anyone else? Get across the river!'

The only other man alive was Devalanteriel, and he was bleeding all down his. side, and coughing up blood, too, as he stood weaving, trying to keep his feet. Dar threw an arm round him just as he died, crumpling forward onto the gra.s.s. The fire was roaring in a circle half-round them.

'Dar!' Jennantar screamed, 'Get out of there!'

Dar sheathed his sword and ran, splashing into the shallow river, stumbling across in water up to his armpits, letting it wash his friend's blood away. It was so hard to breathe that he thought for a moment that he'd been wounded; then he realized that he was sobbing aloud. At the far bank Jennantar grabbed his arms and hauled him ash.o.r.e He too was weeping.

'Forgive me,' he kept saying, over and over, 'I should have listened to you. Forgive me.'

'No time for that now.'

He knelt down by the wounded man - young Landaren - and found blood soaking his tunic. When he pulled the gory cloth back, the wound proved superficial, a sideways slash across ribs and skin.

'He's been smacked across the head, too,' Jezryaladar said. 'But I don't think his skull's broken. He'd have died if it was, when we were hauling him through the water.'

Dar nodded, drawing his dagger, and began cutting a reasonably clean strip of cloth from his own tunic to staunch the wound.

'We've got to get out of here,' he said while he worked. 'I don't know where they came from, but there's bound to be more. Oh by the Dark Sun herself! Carra!'

For a moment he could neither move nor speak, just from his sheer terror on her behalf. With a sob he caught his breath.

'I've got to get back to Cengarn.'

'Don't be a fool.'

The voice sounded so hollow, so strange, so much inside his own mind that he shrieked, twisting round to look. A little ways away from their group and as far as possible from the river hovered a pale blue shape, mostly human, though strangely smooth and transparent. It was slight and frail, probably feminine, though the shape of its head indicated cropped hair. The others had seen it, too. Jennantar tried to speak but could only make a strangled sound.

'Jill!' Dar whispered. 'Ye G.o.ds, are you dead then?'

'I'm not.' Her words echoed in his mind again. 'I came in the dweomer body to warn you, and I see that I'm much too late. Dar, the enemy's marching for Cengarn. Can you reach Calonderiel? Your horses have stopped bolting and are herding, well, some of them, anyway, just beyond the river to the south.'

'We'll have to try, then, won't we?'