The Hidden Stars Part 7

Yet Sinderian found that she could not rest. Even after the long, quiet night, she felt threatened, uneasy. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw other eyes looking back at her: sea-green and deadly cold, like pale, venomous moons. And every time she began to drift off, she startled back awake at the imagined sound of heavy breathing: a vast windy exhalation within the tiny confines of the cabin, smelling of dead fish and rotting seaweed.

Finally, she slid into a deep, oppressive sleep filled with unpleasant dreams.

Hours later, she woke in the dark with Faolein's shout echoing in her mind. Drowsy and disoriented, she levered herself into a sitting position. Somewhere up above, men were screaming, footsteps clattered across the deck. On all sides of her, timbers creaked and groaned, while the hull of the ship vibrated as though it must surely burst apart. And again-even more imperative than before-came the wizard's mind-shout: Sinderian! We are under attack.

She threw her legs over the side of the bunk, and, with her heart rattling in her chest, she groped her way across the cabin in the dark, pushed open the door, and entered the crew's quarters. There at least there was light, thanks to a half-burnt candle in a hanging tin lantern. An overturned bench, a tankard lying on its side in a pool of ale, a sea chest thrown open and its contents scattered across the floor, all spoke of a sudden alarm, followed by a hasty departure.

Weaving a hurried path through kegs, boxes, bales, and hammocks, Sinderian finally reached the ladder. A babble of voices-screams, shouts, frantic orders being relayed from man to man-came down the hatchway as she kilted up her skirts and scrambled from rung to rung. Even before she reached the top, she had an idea of what she would find. The air stank of blood and panic and the rank stench of some deep-sea creature.

She came out into the blazing midafternoon sunlight to find the decks awash with blood and broken bodies everywhere she looked.

Despite the wizard's vigilance, a great water dragon with eyes and horns of crystal had taken Balaquendor by surprise, rising from the depths, slithering up one side of the ship, and looping a section of its long, flexible body around the hull, almost before anyone had time to react. Men had scattered in search of weapons, calling out to their mates below, and Faolein's mind-shout sounded like a clap of thunder in his daughter's head. Then, constricting its snakelike body, the dragon began to squeeze the vessel until boards cracked, and the sea came rushing in. Sinderian arrived just in time to see the monster throw another coil around the ship.

It was nothing like she had dreamed it, being at once more beautiful and more deadly. Sun reflected off hard, glittering scales: steel-blue, amethyst, and silver, shading to mother-of-pearl below. Light dazzled off the p.r.o.nounced ridges of its immense rib cage, shone through thin membranous fins all down its spine. It had pointed fishlike teeth, the color of old ivory, the smallest as long as Sinderian's hand, and a pale tongue that flickered in and out like a green flame. Around its neck, ancient wizards had placed a wide metal band, a collar forged of iron and bronze, etched with runes of power to keep it spellbound-but the runes had failed.

The ship gave another violent shudder. While Faolein frantically wove spells to keep the hull together, the water out, and the caravel from sinking, two men up on the quarterdeck armed themselves with bows and sent down a rain of arrows. At the same time, Prince Ruan, his guards, and the remaining sailors attacked the monster with swords, knives, axes, clubs-anything that came to hand.

Linking minds with her father, Sinderian felt his lledrion take hold: shining strands of light and energy drew the broken timbers together and held them, slowing the leaks in the side to a mere trickle. Yet it took all of his thought and will to keep the ship from breaking apart faster than he could repair the damage; if he shifted his attention for even a moment, his spell would fail. Rather than distract him, Sinderian withdrew.

Dropping to her knees beside one of the bodies on the deck, running her hands hastily over him, she sensed a broken arm, a concussion, and ma.s.sive internal injuries. The spark of life had been so nearly extinguished, for a moment she thought that he was gone. But dead men don't bleed, she reminded herself. And probing a little deeper she was able to detect an almost imperceptible flicker.

There was no time for the delicate joining of broken blood vessels, the careful knitting of flesh and bone; what Sinderian did instead was simple, crude, and temporary-but under her hands the life force flared up, the sailor groaned, blinked his eyes, and mumbled a question.

"Stay there. Don't move, or you'll begin to bleed again," she tossed over her shoulder as she stumbled to her feet and staggered for balance. "I'll come back to you when I can."

The dragon's wedge-shaped head was weaving from side to side on its long, sinewy neck, and the great tail lashed back and forth across the deck between the masts, making it dangerous to cross. The boards under her feet were slick with blood and seawater. At the sight of a man sprawled unconscious or lifeless on the planks only a dozen feet from the place where she stood, Sinderian felt caution fall away. With reckless determination, she made up her mind that she would somehow find a way to reach him. She waited until one of the Prince's guards engaged the monster's attention by slashing at its head in a blur of motion, then she ducked under the thick muscular tail and flung herself down beside the man on the deck.

He was already dead-had almost certainly died instantly, for his neck had snapped, and his head was battered beyond recognition.

Sinderian felt a sickening sensation of guilt wash over her. I wished to go back into battle, she reflected bitterly, but a wizard should always be careful of her thoughts. Did I, somehow, cause this to happen?

Yet she knew that to entertain these fears was worse than futile. Let a wizard start blaming herself for everything wrong that happened in her vicinity, and she soon became useless, too frightened to do anything at all, and ultimately a danger to herself. So she had been taught by her masters at the Scholia, and so experience had taught her since.

She rose to her feet, scolding herself for her momentary weakness. The monsters of the deep don't come at your beck and call, Sinderian, nor the Tides of Fortune flow at your command. Don't make yourself more important than you are. Still, the impression that she was to blame lingered like a thorn beneath the flesh, too painful to be ignored.

Over by the mainmast, a sailor failed to move quickly enough. The mighty tail swept him across the deck and crushed him against the bulwarks.

Meanwhile, Prince Ruan and the guardsman Tuillo were in the very thick of the battle. As the dragon's head weaved from side to side, jaws snapping, they both rushed in with their broadswords.

Grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands, Ruan slashed downward, felt the blade connect and cut through the glittering hide, only to glance off the bone below. The huge head recoiled, laid back its ears, and hissed, then came hurtling down in his direction. He threw himself back and to the left, just in time to avoid being gutted by the jagged ivory teeth. Beside him, Tuillo swung an overhead cut at the extended neck, striking just behind the skull; there was a trickle of dark red blood, smelling strongly of seawater, but nothing more. Ruan realized they were doing the monster little damage, and only dulling their swords.

"The eyes," he shouted over the din. "Try for the eyes."

Tuillo nodded grimly and reached for his dagger, just as the Prince reached for his. They sprang from either side at the same moment, stabbing at the crystalline eyes. Ruan felt his dagger connect; there was a sound like shattering gla.s.s, and his blade broke, but the eye went dark, and more of the thick red blood came dribbling out.

Tuillo was less fortunate. His stroke just missed, his dagger skidded off the slick, scaly hide, and his own impetus continued to carry him forward. Trying to recover his balance, he slipped in someone's blood, fell to the deck and hit his head, and lay there stunned.

Even as Ruan rushed to his defense, the dragon's head came down, and its wide mouth closed around Tuillo's armored torso. There was a horrid sound of teeth grinding against metal links as the monster lifted the guardsman off the slippery boards, whipped him through the air like a terrier worrying a rat, and flung him against one of the masts. His body hit the oaken spar with bone-crushing force, then slid down to the deck.

In the moment of shock that followed, Ruan heard Sinderian's voice speaking urgently behind him. "Behind the ear. There is an old story: Prince Revin of Alluinn killed a water dragon once, by driving his spear into a soft spot behind the ear. I don't know if the story is true, but-"

The Prince had already heard enough, and he knew what he must do. Dropping his dagger, he caught one of the ratlines and pulled himself up. Climbing swiftly and agilely, he went halfway up the rigging, then was forced to hang there while the battle continued below, waiting for just the right moment to jump.

Seeing his chance at last, he leapt from the ropes and landed soft-footed on the broad triangular head, reaching out to grasp one of the curved horns just in time to keep from being thrown off. Then, tossing his sword into the air to reverse his grip, he caught the hilt and drove the point downward, just behind the dragon's fan-shaped ear. The blade went in only an inch or two, then stuck fast, and would go no farther.

Shifting his footing, Ruan released his grip on the horn, took his sword in both hands, and threw the full weight of his body forward, driving the blade in all the way to the hilt. The monster bellowed, flung its head back, and Ruan felt himself flying through the air.

He hit the water with a loud splash some twenty yards from the ship and only narrowly missed being caught by the lashing tail as the dragon lost its grip on Balaquendor and landed in the ocean beside him.

Though a strong swimmer, the Prince was barely able to stay afloat as the monster beat the water into a b.l.o.o.d.y froth with its convulsions, then sank beneath the waves.

The tumult of battle was over, but the air rang with the sound of hammers, and the smell of burning pitch was everywhere, as the men made temporary repairs to the ship.

Sinderian knelt on the deck beside the battered body of the guardsman Tuillo, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. For every blood vessel she repaired there was always another and another requiring her attention, and despite her increasingly frantic exertions the life went leaking out of him so quickly she could not keep up. At last his heart gave a final, feeble flutter and stopped beating altogether.

Why she should doggedly keep on after all hope faded, she did not know. Perhaps it was a lingering sense of guilt and shame, the fear that some careless wish of hers had brought this thing about. When a light hand fell on her shoulder, a quiet voice spoke in her ear, it was a long time before the meaning of Prince Ruan's words finally penetrated.

"You can't call back the dead. You have labored most heroically on his behalf, but there is no use going on."

Looking up at him, Sinderian drew in her breath; a flush of anger pa.s.sed over her. She had blood on her hands and on her gown; her dark hair was sticky with it; she was weary, sweating, bedraggled. Yet the Prince had somehow found the time to remove his wet tunic and braid back his damp hair; in shirt, hose, long cloak, and high boots, he looked none the worse for his dip in the ocean.

"This man's life may mean little to you," she said, in a voice shaking with anger. "There will be others, I suppose, eager to take his place in your Honor Guard, men of no name or importance ready to serve the High King's grandson-"

"You are mistaken," Ruan answered softly. "I knew this man's name very well and what his life was. He had a wife and a family, and a farm near Pentheirie. His oldest daughter is named Fearn, and she's to be married this summer at Hafentide. Tuillo hoped to return in time to see her wed, and I promised him-" For a moment, the Prince's voice wavered, then it and his jewel-bright gaze steadied. "But dead is dead, and there are others here who have need of your skills."

One of the two surviving guardsmen, the one called Aell, offered her a rough, callused hand. Sinderian took it, rose stiffly to her feet, and looked around her with dull eyes. At least a dozen men with bruised and broken limbs were lying on the deck or sitting propped up against the masts; everywhere she looked she saw faces sick with horror or drawn with pain.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry, tried to stop the shaking of her own limbs, but found that she could not. It was true: she had drained herself to no good purpose, and now she had less than enough to give to those still in need. Did I learn nothing at all in Rheithun? she wondered.

An unreasoning resentment flared up inside of her: against the world at large, against herself-most of all, and by far the least reasonable-against the silver-haired young man standing before her, flanked by his guardsmen.

Sinderian swept him an unsteady curtsy, spoke to him between clenched teeth. "I thank you, Prince Ruan, for teaching me my duty."

They prepared the dead for burial at sea, after the custom of Thaerie and the Lesser Isles: bathing them first with sweet waters, placing packets of silk-wrapped earth next to their hearts, then sewing the bodies up in canvas shrouds.

Sinderian took no part in these rituals. She went below to wash off the blood and change her gown, and returned in time for the funeral, standing stiff-shouldered and mute while the Master spoke solemn words over his own men, the Prince over Tuillo. She did not join in the eirias after, and turned abruptly aside and went back down to her cabin as the bodies were tipped over the rail and consigned to the deep.

After the funeral was over, the Prince and Faolein climbed the ladder up to the quarterdeck and spoke for a long time apart from the others.

"We will never make it as far as Skyrra," said Ruan. "Can we even make it as far as Hythe?" Though outwardly cool and composed, he could feel his heart still beating strongly, his nerves tightly strung, like those of a man on the verge of battle. But where was the threat? Not anywhere that he could see.

"We will land at Tregna, in Mere," the wizard answered. "It is the nearest port. In a storm, these makeshift repairs would never hold, nor could my daughter and I work the weather and keep the hull together with our spells at the same time."

It was a bright blue afternoon of sun and soft wind. The deck swayed gently under their feet; a cloudless sky tilted overhead. It was hard to imagine a spell of bad weather on such a day, but the Thaerian Sea was p.r.o.ne to freakish gales, as Ruan knew very well.

He made a wry face. "And so we are forced to land in Mere-where the Duke keeps faith with no one and plays all sides at once-where otherwise we should never have ventured at all." He felt an uneasy stir of suspicion; his frown deepened. "It seems to me that the sudden appearance of this water dragon was almost too convenient. Can we really be certain that our enemy didn't free the creature, break the spell that held it sleeping, and send it to follow and attack our ship?"

"Sea serpents and water dragons and all such creatures are utterly lawless. No one can tame them, no one can predict where they will go or what they will do," Faolein replied in his calm, gentle voice. But a fine line appeared on his high white forehead: there was something tense and watchful in his lean, stooped figure. "Phaorax is an island the same as Thaerie, the same as Leal. Ouriana has no more desire to fill the seas with monsters than we do."

Ruan pondered that for several minutes-a loose strand of silver hair blowing across his face, his turquoise eyes narrowed against the light-considering all the implications. "To fill the seas with monsters." He repeated the words slowly, thoughtfully. "But how many such creatures could there possibly be?"

"According to legend, the greatest of all wizards, Mallion Penn, bound six hundred and ten dragons to the ocean floor with his spells. His brother Coall accounted for one hundred sea serpents, as well as nearly a dozen great monsters that even his fellow magicians did not know how to name. Meanwhile, the other wizards of Alluinn-"

But then (remembering, perhaps, that these were only the tales of minstrels and storytellers, not written histories) Faolein shrugged. "It's likely the numbers have been exaggerated over the years. And though the creatures live longer than wizards, longer even than your kinsmen among the Faey, they are not immortal. Some of them must have died during the long years of their captivity.

"For all that," he said, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his long purple robe, gazing out across the water, "there could be hundreds of them, even thousands of them."

7.

Two days later, they limped into the harbor at Tregna and docked at a weather-beaten pier south of the port, where the waves broke white against ma.s.sive piles of rotting oak.

Those on deck had already spied three sleek black galleys of thirty or more oars, ominous with red sails and banners of crimson and sable, in among the great merchant cogs and carracks and three-masted round ships at the busier quays to the north. They might not have docked at all, but for the fear they had already been spotted entering the mouth of the bay. To turn back then would have aroused suspicion, and battered and patched as she was, Balaquendor had no hope of escape if the galleys pursued her.

Ruan and the two wizards met by lanternlight in his cabin to discuss their situation. Sinderian sat on the bed, wrapped up in her cloak against the dank chill of the leaky hold, while Faolein and the Prince studied a map spread out on a chest between them. It was a rough map of the coastal duchies and princ.i.p.alities, sketched out by the wizard from memory-not to be absolutely relied on, he said, for he had last traveled in these realms as a young man more than a hundred years ago.

"Repairs to the ship will take too long, and we dare not sit here waiting to be noticed by those on the Pharaxion galleys," said Faolein. "We never intended an overland journey, but it seems we have little choice now. It will be lengthy and arduous, no doubt, and not without danger, perhaps. Yet the sooner begun the sooner ended."

The Prince nodded grimly. He slid his dagger from its sheath, traced out a route on Faolein's map with the point. "It will be at least a four days' ride north to the border-and that's with good roads and good weather. Then, I suppose, we turn immediately east and head across Hythe to the Cadmin Aernan."

In the pa.s.sage outside, there was a stir of movement. Faolein's gaze flickered briefly in that direction, but it was only the two guardsmen keeping watch against any intrusion. "I had far rather head east from Tregna, and so come sooner to the mountains. There could be some delay crossing the border into Hythe, and even if not-" He hesitated, then went on with a faint air of apology, "Even if not, I do not quite like the idea of putting ourselves in the hands of your kinsman, Prince Bael."

Ruan's strange eyes widened in surprise. "Bael is a fool, but he holds to the Alliance. Whereas the Duke of Mere-"

"The Duke of Mere knows nothing of where we are going or what we intend to do there. Hythe does know, and may even await our coming, hoping some mischance will bring us his way. Mere with his uncertain loyalties worries me less than Hythe and Weye in their reckless zeal. A man may serve the Dark, Prince Ruan, and never suspect that he does so."

An incredulous smile played across Ruan's face; he looked at the wizard, at Sinderian, then back at Faolein. "What is it you imagine that Bael would do to us? Or, more to the point, I suppose, try to make us do, if we were in his power?"

"There is no saying what Prince Bael might expect of us. It is bad enough when our enemies take us by surprise, but when it is our friends who prove unpredictable and untrustworthy-" He shook his head dolefully. "It seems that we can't avoid a journey across Mere, either north or east, but we can choose not to risk Hythe as well, and that is what I advise."

Though still unconvinced, Ruan declined to argue more. He had not spent much of his youth under Eliduc's tutelage without learning that a wizard's instincts sometimes took him where reason might not follow: nevertheless, those instincts were not to be ignored, nor a wizard's words lightly set aside.

In the morning, they prepared to go ash.o.r.e.

"It would be better," said Faolein to the Prince, "if until we reach Skyrra you went by some other name, or by one of your lesser t.i.tles." He had already discarded his purple robes, replacing them with nondescript garments of earth-brown and russet; now he traded his long carven staff of yew wood banded with silver for a shorter one of oak with a bone handle, such as any old man might carry.

"I shall be the Lord of Penraeth," said Ruan, after a moment of thought. "That's a small holding on the west of Thaerie, which n.o.body here will know anything about."

In leather breeches and silver mail, with his long fair hair hanging loose behind and braided in front, warrior fashion, there was little in his dress to set him apart from the guardsmen Aell and Jago, except for a cloak of fine soft wool dyed the brilliant blue of a summer sky and a slender golden torc that he wore on his neck. Just before they had parted, his grandfather had provided him with a heavy purse filled with gold and silver, and the amber and ivory used as money in the north, for there was no telling what expenses they might meet with along the way. This purse he gave into the wizard's keeping before he left the cabin.

Tregna, in Mere, is a grey old town, crouched behind ma.s.sive dikes and breakwaters of stone and clay, which hold back the sea during a high tide. Yet it is nearly impossible to pa.s.s through Tregna dry-shod: water wells up between cobbles in the streets, makes brackish rills of all the gutters, trickles under wooden walkways. Along the noisy waterfront, peddlers hawk boning knives, fishhooks, and string; scrimshaw, trinkets made of whalebone and sh.e.l.l; and baskets of clams or live eels. The houses are built of sun-bleached planks, and the nets of the fishermen make a canopy of light and shadow overhead, where the fishwives string them from house to house to dry.

In those days, Tregna, like other towns in Mere, had a mixed population: Men in great numbers; tiny, claw-footed Gnomes; and a thriving colony of full-and half-blooded Faey. Sinderian saw many of these Faey as she crossed the slippery stones down by the breakwaters, heading for the town: white-skinned and yellow-eyed, with fine, flowing hair of ivory or silver gilt, and delicate, birdlike bones. Few even of the half-bloods were as tall as Prince Ruan. He walked right past them as if unseeing, and none of them looked at him.

While Faolein, Jago, and Aell went off to buy horses, waterskins, saddles, and all of the other things they would need, Sinderian and the Prince stopped in one of the fishy dockside taverns to gather what news they could.

In the low-ceilinged taproom, windowless and smoky, Sinderian sat down on a narrow bench scarred with the names and initials of previous visitors, and glanced around her. Already, the tavern was crowded, though the hour was still early. The air reeked of herring, onions, pipeweed, and unwashed bodies, but under all else she detected the unmistakable stench of fear. The conversation on every side of her was loud and profane, with much laughter, yet the laughter was false and much too shrill-and if n.o.body mentioned the Pharaxion galleys at rest by the quays, Sinderian guessed there was not a man present but knew they were there.

Loudest of all was a group of Men by the bar, in shabby cloaks, out-at-elbow tunics, and worn-looking boots. They wore random bits of armor, unpolished and beginning to show rust, and some had great swords hanging from belts or leather baldrics marked with the Duke's badge of the armored fist.

Soldiers, she thought, recently released from their lord's service, with no place to go and no way to keep themselves. Their faces were lean and hungry, the bones too prominent, and the eyes wary; though their part in the war was apparently over, n.o.body seemed to know what would happen next.

Over oatcakes, green pears, and a thin young wine, Sinderian asked Prince Ruan if he had kinsmen in the town. "Is there anyone here," she asked, lowering her voice, "who might possibly know you?"

His face hardened; he linked his fingers around the stem of his cup, and his knuckles showed pale in the gloom. "The Faey you see here are Ni-Ferys-they have nothing to do with me," he answered coldly. "My mother is of the Ni-Fea."

A short while later, when one of the Merian Faeys chanced to pa.s.s too close on his way to the bar, there was an immediate and instinctive reaction on both sides-a flaring of nostrils, a flash of bared teeth-so that Sinderian was reminded of two lean white cats, bristling and spitting their defiance.

Just after erien, the noon hour, Faolein pushed his way through the crowd and came to their table. Supplies, he told them, had been easily if not cheaply obtained. "Whether there are shortages or not I can't say, but prices are so inflated that few can buy, and our Thaerian gold was readily accepted." When Sinderian and the Prince followed him outside, they found Aell and Jago minding five good horses and a pair of pack mules.

For Sinderian, her father had purchased a bay mare and a lady's sidesaddle. Gathering up her heavy dark skirts, she was preparing to mount, when Prince Ruan appeared at her side, holding out a hand sheathed in a grey leather gauntlet.

"I know that you have often traveled with an army," he said, as he helped her into the saddle. "But here there will be no wagons-no other women-not any of the things to which you are accustomed. I wonder," he added, with a glinting smile, "if you regret that you came?"

She gave him a sparkling glance of defiance under her dusky veil. "I am not so poor a creature as you seem to think," she said, taking up the reins. "And if you, Lord, can put aside your t.i.tles and your silks and velvets, and take no harm from it, it is likely that I can survive as well."

On the outskirts of town, they rode past a large and prosperous-looking inn, three stories high with stables and a garden, behind low stone walls. The yard was full of stamping horses under the lime trees; men in black armor with traceries of silver and bronze stood in a knot by the door; and a troop of harried, baggage-laden servants ran back and forth between the horses and the covered porch. It was, to all appearances, a n.o.bleman's party, about to embark on a long journey.

But riding past the gateway, Faolein felt a chill pa.s.s over his skin. He reached out and touched Sinderian lightly on the arm, directing her attention to a gaunt white-haired figure, booted and spurred and cloaked for travel, who was just crossing the yard and moving toward the stables. A vagrant gust of wind billowed the cloak of rich wine-colored brocade; there was a flash of scarlet beneath, and a thin hand covered with shining silver scales reached out to grasp an edge of cloth and pull it back again. On every knuckle of that hand were rings of hard metal.

Very slowly, and apparently without seeing them, the head turned their way. Faolein knew that dead white face, with its heavy jaw, hawk nose, and barren eyes-and Sinderian knew it, too. He heard her sudden harsh intake of breath; saw her hands tighten convulsively on the reins; but she said nothing. Nor did Faolein, until they had pounded over an arched wooden bridge and left the town behind.

Then, just out of sight of the houses, if not of the smoke that hovered over the rooftops, he called a brief halt. The other men drew up their horses in a circle around him, while he told them what he and his daughter had seen. "One of the Furiadhin, in Tregna. Whether he is on the way to Skyrra as we are it is impossible to say. But if he is...we are only a little ahead of him."

Sinderian had gone as pale as wax; her voice trembled with anger and loathing. "It was Goezenou-little chance that I wouldn't recognize him, having seen him lead armies so often in Rheithun. They say he is the cruelest of all the Furiadhin, and that he was the one who ordered the slaughter at Gilaefri."

Ruan and the men-at-arms exchanged fierce, eager glances. The horses, scenting their excitement, danced in place. "How many with him?" asked the Prince, only just managing to keep his restive roan stallion under control.

"Some eight or ten that I saw in the yard," answered Faolein. "Perhaps more inside the stable or the inn. And I caution you, Lord, that we are not at home here. We have no right to break the Duke's peace without provocation."

The guards looked crestfallen, and the Prince gave an angry laugh as he tugged at the reins.

"Then let us go swiftly," he said, wheeling the stallion about, casting a savage look back the way they had come. "If we are not to fight them, let us at least make haste to reach Skyrra first."

They rode all through that afternoon, in the soft light of a fine spring day. The sky overhead was high and cloudless, but there was a thin haze to the west, turning the sun the color of a ripe apricot. Because nothing further happened to threaten or disturb them, they camped that night under the stars, continuing the next day at a more comfortable pace.

On either side of the road there were wet green fields; little rills and streamlets, waterways choked with reeds; ditches alive with muskrats and voles; and silver pools and lakes, scattered like coins across the countryside. Sometimes, the level of the land sank beneath the water into marshland, then the road continued as a mighty stone causeway. Frogs sang in the bulrushes; great flocks of white birds startled up out of the high gra.s.ses as the horses pa.s.sed by.

Wherever there was higher ground-a steep embankment, an upswelling hillside-there always seemed to be a tiny village or isolated manor house, seldom more than a handful of buildings, a garden patch, and some pens for the animals. The country folk of Mere, said Faolein, lived largely by fishing and fowling. This was not good country for farming.

Occasionally, they pa.s.sed, off in the distance, a shapeless heap of stone and rubble, marking some ruined city or castle. Many had fallen during the Change, the wizard explained, but no few had been destroyed by the earthquakes that rocked this region at every full moon.

In the early evening, they stopped to rest and water the horses by a narrow stream running swift between large mossy stones. Some old bent trees, willows and alders, grew on the bank, trailing their hair in the water, and there Sinderian threw off her veil and knelt in the green shade to wash the dust from her face and hands.