In the Eye of Heaven Part 19

They would miss Lamoric's tournament. Every man there must understand it. Right there, they were deciding whether to disband and scatter themselves on the winter roads of Errest, or to press on-no matter where they must ride.

"So we ride harder and get around it," Lamoric replied."Lord Moryn said six days.""And what are you you saying, my captain?" saying, my captain?"

"It is sixty leagues, Sir Lamoric. Skirting it will be days, not hours."

"If we left the packhorses?"

"We might borrow arms. But, after Silvermere, none of these animals is fit for heroics."

There was a long silence. Every man was listening closely.

From his place in the line, Durand could see Lamoric bend. There had been enough moisture in the air that his black hair hung streaming.

"Sir Agryn," Lamoric began carefully. "I have heard that men have pa.s.sed safely through Hesperand."

It was like some play; they might almost have rehea.r.s.ed it.

Austere Agryn was very still as he regarded the forest. There was a strange quality to the light in that green corridor.

"Yes, Lordship. Men have come and gone. Some see nothing but wastes and foundation stones. Those who keep the King of Heaven firmly in their hearts can-"

Berchard was standing in his stirrups. "-If they take no food and drink no water. I mean no offense, brother Agryn, but this is the Otherworld, or close enough. What's us is us; what's them is them. There are rules and rules and rules inside."

"It is true," said Coensar. His words steamed in the clammy air. He had been staring into the tunnel ahead, remembering or marshaling himself. Now, he looked back to the others. "I've seen it. Years ago now. Me and my lads rode in, and we rode out again, and I am here to speak of it."

Lamoric nodded carefully."I do not wish to turn back," he said.

Now, the young lord turned to his retainers. Somewhere, they must have known that this had been in his mind since Acconel. Somewhere, they had already consented. Still, Lamoric had to speak.

"Lord Moryn has called me out. You, all of you, saw it. And he's promised that the Herald of Errest will be there to witness. Unlooked-for, we have been given a last chance. There will be no others." His eyes took on the gaze of every man, even Durand's. "There is providence in this," he said. "We must go on."

Not a man said a word.

Lamoric spurred his horse and rode into the tree-lined path. Every man followed.

A SEA OF SEA OF leaves whispered and set the Eye of Heaven to winking. leaves whispered and set the Eye of Heaven to winking.

Durand happened to turn his head. For an instant, the world swam, and he might have been a drowning man at the bottom of a flooded world. Then it settled.

"Keep your wits about you," Guthred chastened. "I can see it lulling you. If we're to get through, you can't be dozing. I've talked to poachers in h.e.l.lebore. They'll slip through now and again. Treat every leaf like a scorpion."

At the head of the party, Sir Coensar was grave and watchful. The sword and shield in the man's hands told Durand more than any spoken warning. Still, the place was green and bright. He could understand why the peasants of Ydran would choose to hide here rather than face whatever doom awaited them in their hovels. The air even smelled better. In Yrlac, it had been dank, full of sopping gra.s.s and muck. Here, a man's mind turned to the warm days under the Reaper's Moon: the last days of summer. Here, mere were green leaves; in Yrlac there were none. Still, Sir Coensar went armed.

But, as every sentry knows, any danger grows routine in time. After another hour, Durand felt as though he had slept last night under a summer moon and woken to greenery and humming flies. The track climbed down into a winding maze of stony hillocks where the scabbed trees twisted toward the sky. The jostling of the trail had shuffled the riders. Wide trails narrowed or bent tight under the trees. In the process, he and Guthred had fetched up near the head of the column, just behind Coensar, Agryn, and Lamoric. Durand felt now that he was bodyguarding them all.

"I don't understand what it means," Lamoric said. "Why would he disinherit his son? And what happened to Alwen?" After a silent moment, he changed tacks. "Poor father. His masterstroke is ruined now."

Coensar kept his eye on the convoluted trail."Lordship?" asked Agryn.

"Sorry. That wedding. I'd seen hardly thirteen winters- still a page in Windhover-when Father announced that he would give Alwen to Radomor of Yrlac. I thought that it was nothing but politics, tying loyal duchies and old bloodlines. With one wedding and another, he'd bound Mornaway, Yrlac, and Gireth all together for the king." He gestured with the edge of his hand. "Then I saw the man.

"I was home for the Sun Wheel at the Turning of Winter. Alwen, she had a bit of a sharp way of speaking, and one of my father's liegemen, Sitric Gowl, he muttered a name: snipe or shrew or some such nonsense. I remember thinking he was a wh.o.r.eson, but Radomor! He loomed up like a thunderhead between Sitric and my sister. It ended in the tiltyard with Radomor lifting Sitric right up from the ground. By the neck. Hanging the fool like a one-man gallows, just with his own two hands. That wedding was more than n.o.ble houses among the Sons of Atthi. He knew her, he married her, and he fought for her."

Durand looked up between the trees. He thought of the Eye of Heaven upon them all.

"Now old Ailnor's cut him off, and what kind of death does my sister have? Almora seeing her in that boat? Mockery. I thought she must be happy, when I thought of her. There was a child."

Durand had the key. He knew the source of Radomor's fury. He knew that he had played jailer to mother and child. He knew it all. If he meant to call himself a man, he could not stand mute.

"My mind's turning round and round it," Lamoric said. "And now we are here," here," he finished, looking into the trees. Finally, Durand could keep silent no more. he finished, looking into the trees. Finally, Durand could keep silent no more. "Look to her husband." "Look to her husband." But the voice was not his. But the voice was not his.

In an instant, Lamoric's men were in motion: blades and shields and swiveling helms.

A stranger stood in the track: one of the Fetch Hollow men, or one like them. Tall and lean and lethal behind a haunted stare. Cool bra.s.s scales glinted under his cloak.

Coensar landed with Keening at the man's throat, and the old sword moaned.

"Always the same," murmured the man. He showed no sign of having noticed the sobbing blade at his gullet. Like a sleepwalker, he looked through them.

"Let him stand, Coen," Lamoric breathed.

Coensar did as he was asked, but kept Keening's point at the man's throat as he gave ground.

"Who are you?" asked Lamoric.The stranger paused. His eyes narrowed.

'There have been many like you. A great many," he announced.

"What business have you telling me about my sister?" "Always the way." It was as though he was not talking to them. "You go to the tournament," the stranger added. "I don't know what-"

Coensar raised his hand. "You aren't speaking of High Ashes, are you?"

"The tournament," the warrior corrected.

Coensar snapped the flat of his hand into the stranger's sternum, but the man seemed more bewildered than injured. He had broad shoulders.

"What tournament?" Coensar said."The Bower. The tournament on the Gla.s.s."

Now it was Sir Agryn's turn to interrupt. "Ask again who he is."

"What of it man?" said Lamoric. "Who are you? My captain'll kill you where you stand if you don't answer."

Now the stranger seemed to notice the edge still flickering at his throat "I am called Saewin. I search." He blinked, giving his head a half-shake. "You go to the tournament?"

Incredulous, Lamoric turned to his captain. "What of this tournament? This Bower?"

"I have seen it Lordship," said Coensar. "Once. Every seven winters, since the High Kingdom. There's a tournament in Hesperand."

"But... but we have no time. We must reach High Ashes." His horse seemed to pick up its master's mood, nodding anxiously.

"We may still try," said Coensar.

The man called Saewin was nodding. Then, as fluid as a fish, he stepped from Coensar's sword to the shoulder of the hill. His hand darted deep, and he pulled from the earth the weapons of a fighting man from another age. First, a long and straight-bladed sword flashed into the twilight. Durand judged that there was hardly another like it left under the vault of Heaven. Next came an oval shield and a helm, gilded like a reliquary. The last, though, was the strangest of all. Deep in the ground, the warrior caught hold of something, then pulled, drawing out a long shaft of some dark wood. Hand over hand the weapon came, until a blade popped like a fish from the depths. It was a lance or long spear. As the stranger switched the blade high over his shoulder, a weird rain spattered over the men. A drop landed on Durand's cheek.

Guthred's eyes locked on Durand's face. Durand reached up, and found that his fingers came away red. The old blade was bleeding. Dark tears sweated from the edges to curl down its blood-dark shaft.

Saewin stood then, a mad warrior from a thousand winters past, looking for all the world like he meant to join them.

"You're mad," Lamoric said.

Berchard spoke out. "Lordship, think carefully about what you do."

"You'd have me bring this madman with us?"

"I just say think on it. This is no ordinary place. Turning aside strangers. Nothing good comes of that."

Agryn knuckled the skin under his nose. "There is something about that name 'Saewin.'"

"Fair enough then," said Lamoric. "I won't turn a stranger away in this place, but neither will we slow our march for him." He turned to the man. "Keep up, Saewin of the forest, and you may travel a while with us."

Saewin nodded slow under his antique helm, looking for all the world like some bra.s.s creature of the sky.

THEY HAD COVERED another league when Durand spotted a glint among the trees. "What was that?" Heads swiveled his way. another league when Durand spotted a glint among the trees. "What was that?" Heads swiveled his way.

Knights from ahead and shield-bearers behind all watched as he pointed. "There." A shape moved beyond the trees.

Something clattered-Saewin had dropped his war-gear in a heap and now scrambled up an old beech, hands and feet finding holds more easily than Durand could find rungs on a ladder. Five fathoms high, the warrior looked out like a sailor.

"Armed men," Saewin breathed. Everyone heard.

Berchard's face twisted. "Armed men? What's he on about?"

"Quiet," said Coensar. "Everyone. Your shields and your swords." said Coensar. "Everyone. Your shields and your swords."

Durand hooked his scarred shield from his packs, and turned back to find that he had a long clear glimpse of the other party: Soldiers and horses had halted in a clearing only a hundred paces from where he sat. Every horseman wore a coat of mail. Just then, Durand's borrowed horse shifted, and, with that tiny motion, the trees eclipsed the other company. He tried for another glimpse, but no matter how he moved, he could not find the chance window that had let him see. "They're gone," he said.

Coensar nodded sharply. "Quietly now, gentlemen. And eyes open. I won't send outriders in this mad place, so each man must be his own lookout."

Saewin dropped the five fathoms from the branches, and plucked his gear from the track.

As THEY LOST THEY LOST the light, they saw more and more of the wandering strangers. the light, they saw more and more of the wandering strangers.

For leagues, the trail sank, and, in the earthen walls rising around them, muscular tangles of beech roots became the ribs of small caverns. Durand found himself imagining the wink of buried h.o.a.rds in the hollows. High above, the elephantine trees knotted like a sanctuary aisle.

A voice from the back of the ranks called out, "Now I see them." The men winced. Troops had been sighted in all directions. Now, Coensar did not even bother to call a halt. It seemed that the forest was crowded.

Durand worked his shoulders, his hands lumbered with sword and shield. A louse took its long chance to p.r.i.c.kle the back of his neck.

Just as he let the straps go to have a scratch, the bushes exploded. A mounted rider plunged into the track. Sunset flamed in the knight's face and the yard of steel in his fist. Durand uncoiled, catching at his own sword and shield, sure he was too slow.

Though he was so close that Durand could see the stubble on his jaws and the blaze where the wind had burned his cheekbones, no blow fell.

The knight simply stared down the track, seeing nothing. His head turned once more, and then he urged his horse up the bank.

This time the column had stopped, and the eyes of every man were wide and fixed on Durand; some men were lowering the sign of the Eye.

"You."

Saewin stared up at him, the bleeding spear in his fist. The man's head tilted, causing the shadows that brimmed in his eyes to turn.

'I'm the one."

The rest of the company were nudging their horses into motion. Durand tapped his mount's flanks, but the stranger kept pace.

"Me. Though the search has been long, we are very near now," said Saewin.

Even as the madman spoke, Durand was conscious of Guthred watching him.

"I don't know what you want, friend," Durand said, "but, whatever it is, you can have it."

"My Lady awaits me." There was something about his hands: blood oozing up between knuckles locked on the old spear. "Me." "Me."

Berchard jounced in between them. "Here," he said. "Leave the boy alone. Whatever old snare you're worrying at, he's nothing to do with it."

Durand heard a new sound: running water. Somewhere ahead, a good-sized stream rolled through the leaves. It would have to be nearby and quick for him to hear it over the din of hooves and harness. Berchard was nodding.

"What is it? Why do you look?" Saewin demanded. "What do you hear?"

Durand had no time to answer. The stranger's head whipped round. "What do you hear!" "What do you hear!"

The men of Lamoric's company hesitated, catching the stranger's rising frenzy.

"Ride on," Coensar ordered.

"What is it?" Saewin had turned from Durand, appealing to anyone. Durand spurred his horse. The company rode at a ragged canter now.

"h.e.l.ls," snarled Guthred. "Get to the river. The river or we're all all done for!" done for!"

Berchard called to Durand: "Ride, boy. Ride!"

"Stop!" Saewin shrieked. They were leaving him behind. "Not like this. Not again!"

Durand had a glimpse of the arcane warrior springing up on a great stone behind them, the veins and sinews of his body standing stark below a face that seemed nothing but rolling eyes. Creation fell into darkness. The trees roared their horror.

The men sawed their reins like plowboys. A wind snapped around the galloping company, s.n.a.t.c.hing at cloaks and sucking at the breath in Durand's mouth. He was standing in his stirrups, and his horse was flying. Behind them, Saewin lunged, hurling himself around trees and shaking the earth. Great husks of bark came free in his hands.

The forest was unraveling before them. Beyond the shoulders of the men ahead, Durand saw a narrow span. A bridge like something carved by a bowyer swung from the gloom. There was light beyond: green banks and shining leaves. The hot blast of Saewin's raging burned on Durand's neck.

They rode out. Saewin screamed, and they hit the deck of the span, vaulting in an instant onto the high arch.