The Hidden Stars Part 13

They kept on at a steady pace for perhaps another two miles, until Gilrain indicated it would be safe to stop and rest for a bit. Sinderian threw herself down in the soft leaf mold under a great oak tree, and the others did likewise.

"There is a village called Brill, little more than a league and a half from here," said the Ni-Ferys, "where I am known, and the people are trustworthy. There we can get horses, food-whatever we need."

Sinderian knit her fingers together, rested her forehead on the back of her hands. "If you know someplace closer where we can lie hidden until nightfall, someplace we can rest...? If any of Saer's men should overtake us between here and this village of yours, what could we do as we are now?"

The Prince opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue. For himself, his Ni-Fea pride said to keep on going, show no weakness, but his half-Human flesh was weak, and almost fordone.

He looked at each of his companions in turn. Aell and Jago were wan, shadow-eyed, exhausted. As for Sinderian, if she could even stand again and try to stagger on, that was a wonder.

He had a dim memory of Eliduc saying once, in a time of crisis, that he was borrowing strength from the next fortnight. Whether the wizard had meant this literally, or whether he was being facetious, Ruan had an idea that Sinderian was drawing on resources better left untapped. Every step she took now, every effort expended, would have to be paid for later.

All this being so, only a fool would insist on continuing for another four or five miles.

"I know of a place," said Gilrain. "A cave in these hills. But if we decide to go there, I think we should go at once."

Slowly and reluctantly they climbed to their feet and plodded on. Gilrain took them through a cleft between the hills, past a rocky ravine tangled with blackberry bramble and shepherd's ivy, and at last to a ferny green dell with a swift-running stream, a deep black pool, and a glittering waterfall.

Without a word, they all fell down on their knees by the stream, dousing faces and hands in the cool clear water, bringing up double handfuls to drink, and to drink again.

They drank their fill, then washed away as much of the dirt and the sweat as they could. With a sigh, Sinderian sat back on her heels, pushing damp tendrils of hair back from a white, glistening face. Droplets of water glimmered in Jago's brown beard. Everyone turned toward Gilrain, waiting for further instructions "Behind the falls," he said, "there is a cave. Very few people know of its existence. And as there is only a single narrow way in, it ought to be highly defensible. If one of us keeps watch at all times, we should be safe enough there."

He showed them how they might enter: standing with his back to a wall of sun-warmed stone, and edging sideways along a mossy shelf until he pa.s.sed behind the waterfall. Following after him, the Prince and the rest soon found themselves in a damp cool place, where the clamorous voice of the falls was very loud, and only a dim misty light filtered in through the veiling water.

There they cast themselves down on the rough cave floor, and disposed themselves to rest. Ruan himself had no intention of sleeping-he meant to spend the next few hours gathering his strength, and covertly watching their new friend. But the cave was spinning around him, his eyelids were very heavy, and the dark tide of sleep was not to be resisted; despite his struggles to stay awake, it carried him off into oblivion.

14.

Sinderian woke on the floor of the cave, every muscle and joint aching after so many hours on that stony couch. It was a struggle even to sit up, she had grown so stiff. She sat for a long time with her knees drawn up and her head in her hands, taking short shallow breaths, until she finally summoned the will to stagger to her feet.

A little red sunset glow came in through the waterfall, and she saw that Gilrain had already been out to gather windfall and kindle a tiny fire at the back of the cave. Joining the Prince and his men, she held her stiff white hands over the little yellow flames, cherishing the warmth. That offered scant relief against the ache and the chill, but frozen muscles gradually began to thaw, and the pain subsided to a dull throb.

As soon as the sunset faded, Gilrain stamped out his fire. They left the cave, feeling their way in the dark along the slippery ledge under the waterfall, and came out into a bright moonlit night.

For Sinderian, trudging along at the tail end of the party, the five miles they walked to the village of Brill felt like a hundred. The previous night she had been alternately numb and terrified. Now she was thoroughly alive to the shock and the pain of Faolein's death, the grief every bit as fresh and sharp as it had been when she first held the crystal arrow in the palm of her hand and knew how it had been used.

Her thoughts were a tangle of regrets and resentment: My father who I never knew or understood as I ought, fool that I was-gone now, and I can never make it up to him. My gentle, kindly father, who loved me much better than I ever deserved-We needed more time, more time!

All the while, her joints still ached. She might have managed a shibeath to ease the pain, but she lacked the strength to help the others, too, and she made up her mind it must be all or none. Miserable as she was, she pitied the men in their armor, which must torment them a hundred different ways, they had been wearing it and sleeping in it for so many days and nights. Well did she know how it could chafe and pinch and gouge, having treated such hurts during the war in Rheithun. They must be cursing its weight and the discomfort it caused with every step.

Meanwhile, her own discomfort continued to increase. The soles of the dainty red leather shoes she had been given at Saer were full of holes; they were worn to rags, worse than useless. The fur lining chafed at blisters on her heels. With a grunt of disgust, she dropped down suddenly to the ground, tugged off the shoes, and threw them under a bush. Then she stumbled back to her feet and walked on barefoot.

She had long since discarded the silken belt with its chiming golden medallions; dropping it down an air shaft while she and the Prince were still prowling through the fortress; now she wished she might be rid of the heavy, impractical gown as well. It had an annoying tendency to catch on rocks and twigs and trip her up. Again and again she tore herself loose from a bush or a branch, reckless of the fine velvet, the rich sable trim. It had been ruined anyway, she reflected sourly, when she crawled through the drain.

They came down out of the hills and into a flat, wooded country. A narrow road led through the forest and straight on to the village, said Gilrain. The road was of hard-packed earth, less rocky than the ground they had been walking for the last three miles, and far kinder to Sinderian's bruised feet.

They had not gone far when Ruan cried out that he could hear hoofbeats on the road behind them. Caught without a plan, they scattered in five directions, and took cover in the bushes under the trees.

Sinderian lay with her face pressed against the damp, leafy earth. Twiggy branches tangled in her hair; thorns scratched her bare feet. A large company of mounted men rode by at a brisk pace not ten feet away, and the ground shook beneath them. A momentary panic took her. She closed her eyes, breathed in and breathed out, struggling for control. She had supposed she was beyond feeling fear, beyond caring what happened to her, but why then this sick excitement, this trembling in every limb?

As the clatter of the horses and riders gradually died, everyone slowly emerged from hiding. Prince Ruan brushed leaf mold off his cloak. He had blood on his face, Sinderian noted, and Jago's hands were badly scratched. She had not been the only one to take refuge in a thornbush.

"There is a fork in the road a little farther on," said Gilrain. "Let us listen and hear which way they go."

To Sinderian's ears the night was silent, except for a whisper of wind in the trees, the pounding of her own heart. But the two Faey stood alert and listening.

"North," said Ruan, after a moment. "They turned north."

"And the village lies east of here," said Gilrain. "Let us continue on."

Sinderian fell into step beside him. She felt strangely exhilarated after her recent fright, more alert to her surroundings, the woodland sounds and scents-more aware of her companions, too.

She had thought when she first met Gilrain that he was a full-blooded Faey, but now, walking beside him shoulder to shoulder, she realized that could not be true. He was not so tall as Prince Ruan, not even as tall as she was, but tall enough at least to betray Human ancestry. Nor was he quite so graceful in his proportions as the Ni-Ferys she had seen at Tregna.

Half-breed like the Prince, she thought. Maybe even less.

And for the first time she began to wonder what helping them was likely to cost him. "What will happen to you after we part company at Brill?"

He hesitated, gave her a sidelong glance out of his yellow eyes. "I have friends I can go to. Or, if you wish, I might continue to guide you. I am much older than I appear." He flashed her a smile. "A trait hardly likely to raise comment in this company. And I am well traveled. I know all the back country of Mere and Hythe and Weye, the best roads through the Cadmin Aernan. The high pa.s.ses will be open this time of year, and you would not find it a difficult or a dangerous journey with the proper guide."

Sinderian drew in her breath, felt a b.u.t.terfly pulse of fear in her throat. "Why should you think we are heading for the Cadmin Aernan?"

"You need not worry. Your business in the north was not known at Saer. But that you and Dreyde's visitors from Phaorax are all heading north and east-to Skyrra, perhaps, or Arkenfell-that much is evident. Also that some great matter hangs on who should arrive there first. With me to guide you it is not too late, you might still win that race. Will you have me?"

She was much inclined to accept this offer, but she shook her head. "It is not for me to decide...or not me alone. I will speak with Prince Ruan, though I am very much afraid that he won't like it."

The village of Brill is a scattered settlement, which has stood for time out of mind at the edge of the Foweraker Wood. Cottages of stone and slate, of wattle and daub, of wood and thatch, cl.u.s.ter on either side of a trickling stream, straggle for a half mile down the road, and encroach on the forest. There is a small village green with a well and a fountain, where geese and smaller fowl drink and dabble during the day, and in addition to these amenities, Brill boasts a smithy, a craft hall, and an ancient temple to the Seven Fates. In those days, there was a high earthen dike on the eastern side, and a low th.o.r.n.y hedge surrounding most of the houses. That was all the defense that they had.

It was to the blacksmith-the headman of the village and its most prosperous citizen-that Gilrain meant to appeal for aid. While the others waited in the darkness under the trees, he went on ahead to the forge. Sinderian could see him quite plainly in the pale moonglow, moving toward a square two-story building, with that light feline step that reminded her so much of Prince Ruan.

She saw him raise his hand and knock on the door, but the sound was absorbed by distance and a rustling of leaves over her head. A door opened, letting out a beam of yellow firelight; a shadowy broad-shouldered figure stood silhouetted on the threshold. What words were exchanged, Sinderian did not know, but she saw a large friendly hand come down on Gilrain's shoulder, saw him nod once, twice, then a third time, before turning around and heading back toward the trees.

"Dreyde's men have searched the village twice already," said Gilrain when he drew near enough to speak. "Once at noon, and again shortly before sunset. They are not expected back, and the smith says that he and his people will be willing to help us."

Over his shoulder, Sinderian saw a slender boyish figure slip out through the open door of the house, heading toward one of the smaller cottages. Seeing which way she looked, Gilrain said: "They are going to set a watch on the road in both directions, just to be safe. If someone comes, we'll have sufficient warning."

The smith's house was solidly built of stone, with a slate roof over ma.s.sive oak beams. They entered to a savory odor of soup simmering in a copper kettle and griddle cakes browning on hot stones.

Once inside, Sinderian was soon seated on a low bench by the central hearth, with a wool fleece thrown over her shoulders and an earthenware mug full of steaming hot broth thrust into her hands by the smith's buxom wife.

Through a door standing halfway ajar, she could see into the forge, with its open furnace, flagstone floor, and hammers and anvils. Otherwise, the house seemed to be all one large room, with a staircase leading up to a loft for sleeping. Windows were unglazed and covered by stout wooden shutters, and there was no chimney, only a round smokehole at the peak of the roof. But the fire burned with a clean resinous smell, and there were tall yellow candles in polished bra.s.s holders standing on a table of solid oak. It was clear to Sinderian that she had come to a place of homely comfort.

In addition to the smith himself-with his barrel chest and bristling blond beard-his wife, and the boy who had gone out earlier, there were also three daughters, and a white-haired grandmother in a faded blue dress who sat on a three-legged stool by the fire, mending a man's shirt with a length of linen thread and a bone needle.

It was a goodly family, Sinderian thought. And realizing that she and her companions put all of them in danger, the children and adults alike, she felt a pang of distress.

What right had she to claim their help, to imperil their safety? Yet it was hard to think of moving, harder still to do so, when she was finally warm and comfortable.

Meanwhile, three more men in rough woolen tunics came in through the door, and with them two weather-beaten women, of indeterminate age. They all spoke in low voices, solicitous for the travelers, and very eager to offer a.s.sistance.

For these people of Brill, as Sinderian soon gathered, were rustic but hospitable. To the memory of Lord Goslin they were fiercely devoted, but Dreyde they naturally distrusted. He had come from "foreign parts" halfway across Mere and had done nothing since settling at Saer and a.s.suming the t.i.tle to win their affection. That it was even his t.i.tle to inherit there was some reason to doubt.

Gilrain, on the other hand, they knew very well. He was the old Lord's G.o.dson and fosterling. And as such, the whole of Brill was apparently ready to do him any and every service, explained the smith's eldest daughter. If they might in the process cause inconvenience to the upstart Dreyde, then so much the better.

But ought we to believe in the honesty of these people? Sinderian wondered. Ought they to trust in such ready kindness, such open-handed generosity? An unpleasant thought insinuated itself: these men of Mere were no longer allies. In another few months, they might even be enemies. And the last time she had received such pressing hospitality, it had all gone badly.

Yet Brill seemed an altogether more wholesome place than Saer. Here she detected no undercurrent of fear, no false bright smiles, no a.s.sumed gaiety. The villagers were sober and practical, they spoke and acted like sensible people. They knew their danger-in truth, they knew their situation very well-and after taking reasonable precautions, they accepted it.

Sinderian decided to trust her instincts. She allowed herself to relax, to bask in the warmth of the fire, to sip her broth, and listen to the conversation going on around her.

"We knew why we were fighting the war," said a hard-faced man with bright red hair. "Men from this village have been there. My brother was with the army that took back Ceirduillin, after ten years of Pharaxion rule. He saw the great temple there, the blood on the stones. He saw the sick and the lame starving in the streets, and the granaries full of corn: to be burned in honor of the Empress-all for her vanity, while children starved. The Duke did wrong to forsake the Alliance."

So this, Sinderian thought drowsily, was the temper of the countryside. No matter how insincere Dreyde had been, there was ample resentment against the Duke, even, perhaps, unrest in the villages. These people knew, just as she knew, that the enemy only bided her time before sending armies to invade Mere.

Yet if the people rose up against their Duke-She caught her breath at the thought. If the people rose up in rebellion against the Duke, then so much the better for Ouriana of Phaorax, so much the worse for the people of Mere. A house divided would the sooner fall. Whatever happened, Ouriana's victory was practically a.s.sured.

Yet there remained the prophecy and the quest, Sinderian reminded herself, and the success or failure of that might yet change everything. If she had momentarily forgotten, Prince Ruan had not. She could hear him bargaining with the smith and another man for horses.

Two venerable geldings and a five-year-old mare-"rawboned, ungainly, with a jolting gait"-those were all, said the blacksmith, that could be spared.

"We have only a dozen horses in the entire village, do you see? We use oxen and a.s.ses for draft animals mostly. And if half of the horses in Brill suddenly disappeared-" He shrugged a broad shoulder. "That might draw the attention of Lord Dreyde's men."

"Very well," said the Prince. "The mare will do to carry the baggage, if her gait is as bad as you say. We can take it in turns to ride the geldings."

When the smith named a price that was ridiculously low, Ruan's eyebrows rose. It must go against his pride to accept what amounted to charity from such simple people. But he clamped his mouth shut in a thin hard line, dug in his purse, and produced the necessary coins.

"It is one thing to pay for the horses, which they can hardly spare," said Gilrain in Sinderian's ear. "Also for the things that you take with you. But do not allow the Prince or his men to offer money for what you eat here. It would be worse than insulting. In this part of the world, hospitality is sacred."

The villagers offered packets of waybread, of dried fruit and smoked meat wrapped up in fresh leaves, some boiled eggs, and a small cask of ale: ample provision for the next fortnight, and longer if they were prudent. To Sinderian, one of the women brought a homespun gown, faded to a b.u.t.ternut brown, and a pair of scuffed boots that she said had belonged to her son who had gone to the war and not come back.

Just when, precisely, Sinderian drifted off, her mind going vague and her thoughts wandering, she did not know. The voices in the room receded to a distant murmur. She came back awake only when somebody stirred the embers under the pot, and the fire flared up. As if in response, angry voices rose and clashed in another part of the room.

She looked over her shoulder and saw the Prince and Gilrain facing each other beside the door. Ruan's jaw was set in a stubborn line, and his arms were folded across his chest. Gilrain's slim body quivered with tension, and his eyes flashed.

Reluctantly, she left her warm seat by the fire and swept across the room, trailing her sheepskin blanket behind her.

"He says he has offered to guide us through the mountains," Ruan hissed between his teeth. "Surely you don't mean to accept?"

She felt a flush of annoyance pa.s.s over her. "And why not, after all? You don't know the way and neither do I. We would be fools to attempt the Cadmin Aernan without a guide."

"Neither do we know, yet, why this Ni-Ferys is so eager to be of a.s.sistance!"

Gilrain put his hands in his belt, stood with his feet well apart. "To spite Dreyde. To spite Thaga. You can understand that, I think. My people may not love revenge as yours do, but it is possible to injure us. Goslin was old, but Dreyde lied when he told you that he was ill. I am not the only one convinced that his sudden death was caused by Dreyde and his tame sorcerer; it came too pat, it was far too convenient. And he lied about something else, too. Whatever he said to the wizard, he is the Duke's man. Dreyde came to us from Clowes, with the Duke's blessing, and Thaga came with him."

He lowered his voice. "And when Thaga was at Clowes, they say he was always at the Duke's side whispering, whispering in his ear. I do not think it was simple cowardice, 'simple prudence' as Dreyde would have it, that caused the Duke to desert his allies. I think he was corrupted, somehow, and that Dreyde and his hedge wizard were a part of that, too."

Sinderian rubbed at her eyes. She would rather not think about Thaga, but she supposed that she must. "Not a hedge wizard, or a simple country sorcerer. I begin to suspect that Thaga must be an Otowan magus, though probably not of the highest order. The magi, they say, practiced many of the old Earth Magics, as well as their own spells, which were wholly of the Dark. I sensed both kinds of magic at Saer."

The two Faey looked at her doubtfully. "But the magi were destroyed," said Ruan. "We were taught the story as children: a thousand magicians died in a single hour, and the world was Changed."

"A thousand magicians died, but a handful may have survived. Some of them must have lived to pa.s.s on their arts to men like Thaga. Didn't he tell us as much himself?" she asked. "Not of our order on Leal, he said, but educated at a school in the east, no longer in existence. Ouriana may have found him when she was in Otoi, and sent him to Mere to spy and work mischief."

Ruan uncrossed his arms. "There is more than one kind of spy, more than one way to work mischief. I don't trust this half-blood Ni-Ferys, and neither should you."

She was suddenly aware of a hush in the room. Everyone was listening to their dispute. No one spoke, no one moved. With a sigh and an apologetic glance for Gilrain, Sinderian invited the Prince to step outside and discuss the matter privately.

He went out before her, his sky-blue cloak swinging and his head very high. The wind had risen, sending rags of cloud sailing across the face of the westering moon.

They stood just outside the light from the open door and conversed in low voices. "Has it never occurred to you," said Ruan, "to wonder why he only bestirred himself to befriend us after your father died? If he wanted to help us, why didn't he try to save Faolein first?"

Sinderian ran a tired hand through her hair. "Perhaps-perhaps he believed, as you did, that Faolein could look after himself. What was reasonable for you to think could hardly be suspicious in him."

The Prince stiffened, as though hearing himself and the Ni-Ferys mentioned in the same breath was highly offensive. Sinderian struggled to master her own impatience. But she had felt too much in the last day and two nights; her nerves were unstrung. She answered with more heat than she intended: "Whatever there is between his people and yours, we can't allow it to influence our decision. We can't-"

"My people," he said, a flush creeping up to his cheekbones, "are the Men of Thaerie. You know nothing about me if you think otherwise. But at least admit that I know more about the Faey than you do!"

She leaned back against the side of the house. "And what do rivalries and prejudices among the Faey matter to us now? This Gilrain is just as much a Man of Mere as you are of Thaerie. What can you possibly say against him, except that you do not like him?"

The Prince shook his head, unable to reply, though the set of his jaw and his rigid, angry posture were argument enough.

And somehow that aroused as much resentment in Sinderian as anything he had said. "Tuillo died. Faolein died, to bring us this far. We can't allow their deaths to mean nothing, or throw aside this chance my father bought for us and paid for so dearly."

Now Ruan looked bewildered. It was his turn to slide his hands through his hair, to draw it back from his face. "Chance? What chance did Faolein buy us with his death? When you speak in riddles, how am I to understand you?"

Sinderian caught her breath sharply. She had not known this thing herself until the words came out of her mouth unbidden. "Do you think that Faolein walked into that trap at Saer without even suspecting?" she asked fiercely. "Do you imagine he couldn't see into Dreyde's mind, into his rotten black heart, within moments of meeting him? My father knew long before that. He knew when he stood before the gate that he was in danger-he saw his peril, but he knew also that we would pa.s.s through the fortress unscathed. For our sake he gave himself up."

The Prince gave a short, harsh laugh, astonishment melting into disbelief. He walked to the door, but then he turned back again. "When we might just as well have avoided Saer altogether? That makes no sense at all!"

She clenched her hands, so that the nails drove into her palms. "And what chance do you think we would have had, on foot in the hills, in country that even Faolein did not know well, with Dyonas and Camhoinhann hunting us, and Goezenou following right behind them? Whereas now we have horses, supplies, and a guide, if we will accept him, and most likely the Furiadin believe we are dead or prisoners at Saer-or else they would never have left the fortress when they did. They will be miles away by now, and unlikely to spare us another thought."

He looked her over in frowning silence, his handsome face very pale, his silvery eyebrows coming together. "And you think that his Foresight revealed all of these things to Faolein?" he said at last. "You think that he knew exactly how it would be? Even for a seer like your father, that would be a remarkably detailed prediction!"

Sinderian bit her lip. "Not exactly how it would be, no. He could hardly have seen everything. Just enough to choose his path and know that it was right."

The Prince, who had been about to leave again, stopped with one hand on the doorframe and a suddenly arrested look on his face, as though considering her words, considering them deeply. "That much I can believe. I have known Eliduc to have such inexplicable insights. To know what needed to be done, without knowing why it was right-or even how he knew it. It might have been the same with Faolein."

And then he capitulated all at once, with a twist of a smile and a low graceful bow, so that Sinderian wondered if he might be mocking her. "If Faolein's daughter says that it was, it must be so. Very well, then, let it be as you wish. The Ni-Ferys shall be our guide. After all, he need not be entirely trustworthy in order to be of use. And it may be as well to have him travel beside us, where we can keep an eye on him, instead of following behind us, unseen and uninvited."

They went back inside the house and told Gilrain, Aell, and Jago of their decision-an arrangement that seemed to find favor with the men-at-arms. With that matter settled, Sinderian gathered up the dress and the boots she had been given earlier and went up to the loft with two of the smith's daughters to change her clothes.

The older girl, Brielli, unlaced the wine-colored gown, and Sinderian shrugged out of the soiled velvet. It fell at her feet on the plank floor, and she stepped away with a shudder of distaste, glad to be rid of the thing and the memories it evoked.

"I will burn it, after you are gone," said the younger girl, picking up the gown, wrinkling her nose. It still reeked of the sewers at Saer.