Victory Of The Hawk Part 12

Margaine would have laughed at that, but there was no room in the ministrations of the acolytes for laughter. They scurried through their final tasks under Eslenn's gimlet eye, and Margaine herself was given strict orders to hold still while they dressed her in a fine white gown and wound her hair in a complex crown of braids around her head. Into the braids they wove small white roses, the only fragrance Sister Eslenn allowed upon Margaine's person.

As if I'm a doll or a trained pet. Margaine gritted her teeth to keep from shrieking as the priestess finally escorted her, with the acolytes in tow, toward the nave. She had no other option but to walk where she was bidden, and to pray that the doctor would fulfill his promise to help her survive the rite.

A great ma.s.sed union of voices rose to meet them with multi-layered harmony as they approached the nave. Even from the cathedral's back corridors Margaine could hear them, hundreds of people all singing, without a single instrument to accompany them. None seemed necessary, for even at a distance the sound of it, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with fear and hope alike, caught at her throat.

When Sister Eslenn opened the door into the nave and the harmony poured out to engulf her, it brought tears to Margaine's eyes. The priestess held up a peremptory hand to keep her from entering, but that, oddly, didn't matter. Margaine was content to stand there for a moment drinking in the sound of the singing. It was the second most beautiful thing she'd experienced in the past many days, surpa.s.sed only by the curl of her daughter's infant fingers about her own. Then the hymn at last drew to a thundering close, and with a murmured command, Eslenn bid her and the young acolytes to proceed into the nave.

It wasn't the first time Margaine had set foot in St. Merrodrie's. It had been here, after all, that she'd been married to Prince Padraig-and before that, where the High Priest himself had performed the funerals for both of the prince's parents. Memory of Padraig kept the tears on Margaine's cheeks. Memory of the High Priest, however, turned them to droplets of ice against the fury that flushed her cheeks. Eslenn hissed a warning to her, but she elected to ignore it.

Let them see me angry. I will not go meekly to my death.

The silence after the singing was itself almost deafening, but it lasted for only a moment before a woman's voice pealed forth.

"Behold! She who would give her life to regain the favor of the G.o.ds for her people comes!"

Eslenn and her acolytes, with Margaine at their center, escorted her unwaveringly up onto the dais at the very front of the nave. There, waiting for her to ascend the shallow steps, were gathered the highest-ranking priests and priestesses of the Church of the Four G.o.ds. Foremost among them was the Ardtennal's choice for the new High Priestess, a woman not quite as old as the Bhandreid, and whose gently weathered features might almost have had a grandmotherly air were it not for the fervor burning in her eyes. It was she who'd raised an ornate golden staff to the congregation before her, and whose call now provoked an outpouring of cheers.

Halfway up the steps to the dais Margaine froze, looking out to the hundreds of faces in her line of sight. She hadn't expected this. But several of the people on the closest pews were sobbing, and several more began to toss white roses her way.

"G.o.ds bless you, Your Highness!"

"Saint Margaine of the roses! Saint Margaine!"

It was too much. The grandeur of the nave alone staggered her every time she set foot in it-but now all of it, the magnificent stained-gla.s.s windows that filled the place with rainbow light, the gleaming mahogany pews and the marble statues of the Four G.o.ds on either side of the pipe organ, was overturned by the outpouring of adulation from the congregation. New tears threatened Margaine's sight, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at them all.

None of them knew. None of them understood. They'd gathered in solidarity to seek the forgiveness of the G.o.ds-and not a one of them comprehended that the holy avatar they'd been given was a lie as old as Adalonia itself. The gathered priests and priestesses in their holy vestments were no better, for they'd been trained to perpetuate the falsehood. And with the Bhandreid herself in a throne on the dais, none of them would hear a word against her, much less the Anreulag or the G.o.ds.

I'm not getting out of this place alive.

For a seemingly eternal moment Margaine lingered, paralyzed by that thought, on the highest step leading onto the dais. Sister Eslenn hissed another warning just behind her, but what finally made her move was Tamber Corrinides hastening to her side and offering her his hand. In his suit of charcoal gray he seemed almost dowdy amid the finery all around him, but to her, he was a welcome spot of silence in the chaos. Gratefully she accepted his hand and ascended to the dais at last, while the congregation roared its approval. The doctor himself said nothing, and for that Margaine was more grateful still. She couldn't muster any hope that he'd be able to help her, but there was comfort in the knowledge that she was not entirely alone.

Then Ealasaid raised her hand, and silence swept through the nave, making way for her voice to resound in its wake.

"My people, attend now to Anjanke Tramorsen, First Priestess of the Mother-and now, by the verdict of the Ardtennal, High Priestess of the Church of the Four G.o.ds."

The priestess with the grandmotherly face bowed to the Bhandreid, and then boomed, "Brothers and sisters, I do not need to explain to any of you the tribulations our fair city now faces, for you've seen them with your own eyes. The Voice of the G.o.ds has turned Her face from us. Many of our loved ones have fallen to Her fire. Our homes, our places of business, and indeed, even this place of worship have stood at risk. We come together now in supplication and penitence-and in the hope that Princess Margaine, wife of Padraig, mother of Padraiga, can call back the favor of the blessed Anreulag and restore peace and prosperity to our land."

"Ani a bhota Anreulag, arach shae," intoned the rest of the priests and priestesses on the dais, along with the watching people before them all.

"I call now on Her Highness to receive her final blessings before we consign her into the Mother's arms," Tramorsen went on, turning to look in Margaine's direction.

"Courage, my lady," the doctor whispered beside her. "I'm prepared to do as I promised."

Margaine couldn't spare him the slightest glance, not with all eyes on her. She could only trust that his pledge would hold true as she stepped toward the High Priestess.

Something struck the ma.s.sive doors at the back of the nave, and as startled cries spread through the crowd, the doors flew open in a burst of force. A pale, haggard figure stood wreathed in flame between the opened doors. For a fleeting instant, Margaine felt a wild, ridiculous surge of relief-relief that lasted only until the figure raised its hands and hurled fire into the closest pews. As the congregation screamed and began to scramble toward the front of the nave, the High Priestess shouted, "We have no more time! Prepare the sacrifice at once!"

Two of the priests seized Margaine, but even as they bodily hauled her toward the altar, the Anreulag's voice sliced through the tumult. "Sacrifice? You think to avert my wrath by spilling blood?"

"She doesn't want her?"

"Spare us, Anreulag! Tell us what the G.o.ds demand!"

"Tell us how we've sinned! Please!"

The frantic cries echoed throughout the nave, but the Voice of the G.o.ds ignored them all as She stalked forward. In each pew She pa.s.sed the occupants pressed back toward the outer walls, while many in the back of the church fled out the now-opened doors. Half a dozen young Hawks leaped out into the aisle to intercept Her, only to fall beneath crackling bursts of blue. Three more Hawks opened fire upon Her, sending the people in range diving behind the dubious shelter of the pews to evade the pellets from the muskets-and only until High Priestess Tramorsen called out, "Blessed Anreulag, spare Your faithful! We have come only to offer you up this woman, young to honor the Daughter, yet a mother of royal blood!"

"That is not my name!" The Anreulag's hands lashed out to either side, sending bodies hurtling toward the walls and shattering the ends of the nearest pews, before Her right hand snapped forward to point straight at Margaine. "That human is the last one in this wretched city I will kill, because she is the only one who wished me free."

Behind Her, some of the Hawks still on their feet began taking charge of the exodus to the doors, guiding people out as quickly as they could move. The Anreulag never turned, and Her attention remained fixed upon the dais, yet She snapped Her hand almost negligently over Her shoulder. Fire lanced back from Her outstretched fingers into the wall high above the doors, sending fragments of plaster and wood raining down on the wailing people at the back of the nave.

"Do not do this, Blessed An-Blessed One!" the High Priestess called. "If our princess is not an acceptable sacrifice, we will provide another! Just tell us, your people who love and honor you, what we must give you!"

In answer, the Anreulag's hands lashed in all directions, striking down men and women who screamed as they crumpled beneath Her a.s.sault. With each strike, She hissed out a syllable that rang like a bell of ice.

"You. Will. Give. Me. My. NAME!"

"Blessed One, we know of no other name to give-"

Before Anjanke Tramorsen could finish, the Voice of the G.o.ds struck her down. Priests and priestesses flung themselves to either side while Margaine whirled to find the doctor simultaneously reaching for her. She pulled him down off the dais and then spun back once again, sheer force of n.o.ble training and the years of habit driving her attention to the Bhandreid. Ealasaid was the only living person still upright on the dais-and she rose calmly from the throne, a pistol in her hand, and shot the Anreulag.

Margaine froze under two simultaneous flashes of shock, that she recognized the gun as the same one the Bhandreid had used to threaten her, and that the Anreulag roared in fury and pain. The Voice staggered, and then, with a final blast of flame hurled straight at the aged monarch, She vanished. Ealasaid shrieked and fell backward against her throne, her skin singed, her free hand clutching at her breast.

"She hit Her," Margaine breathed.

"She hurt Her," Corrinides replied, his eyes wide with shock. "And the Voice hurt her in reply. Oh G.o.ds." With that he scrambled to the Bhandreid's side, leaving Margaine to realize that the G.o.ds had indeed granted her a reprieve, but at a dire cost. No one was crying "Saint Margaine" now-they were instead crying out in terror and pain. And with the High Priestess and the Bhandreid both fallen, she held the highest rank of those still able to act and restore calm in the sudden chaos.

Her heart heavy, Margaine pulled herself upright and began to call out her orders.

Chapter Sixteen.

East of Camden, Kilmerry Province, Jeuchar 12, AC 1876 In the course of her life Faanshi had rarely seen many people in the same place at the same time. In the years at Lomhannor Hall before she was locked up in the cellar, she could see dozens of people in the course of a day. She'd seen far more than that on her journey to Shalridan, even more than were riding under the command of the akresha d.u.c.h.ess now.

Never before, though, had she seen so many people united in purpose. Khamsin's regiment far outnumbered the remaining warriors of Dolmerrath, with enough armed men and women and beasts that Faanshi quickly lost count of them all. Gerren, Alarrah and the rest of the elves carried themselves with grim formality among so many humans. Alarrah in particular grew far more reticent than Faanshi had known her to be before, and barely spoke to her unless they were alone. By contrast Rab, Celoren and Lady Ganniwer, the more outgoing of Faanshi's small core of human companions, flourished with such company, freely intermingling with the Nirrivan soldiers, chatting, asking and answering questions, and lending their aid to work.

Faanshi tried to do the same, for at least with the simple tasks of tending beasts, preparing food, or mending clothing, she could convince herself she had a place among this host of soldiers. There would be wounded men and women, for she and the others learned quickly enough that they'd be pressing eastward in search of military outposts to claim in the name of Nirrivy. No one seemed to expect her to join what fighting would come, and indeed, both Kestar and Julian pulled her aside at two different times to urge her to keep herself safe and stay far from any battles they encountered.

She had little time to wonder how she might occupy herself instead, however, for their regiment journeyed first back to Camden. The regiment camped outside the town, but to her dismay, their camp was part of a far larger gathering of forces, large enough to leave her feeling lost indeed. Nor was her dismay helped when she received word on the night of their arrival that the akresha d.u.c.h.ess wished to speak with her.

An Adalon girl younger even than herself guided her to Khamsin's tent, calling out in respectful tones to announce their presence, and then smartly saluting the healer before she hurried away again. Bemused, Faanshi was left on her own to answer the d.u.c.h.ess's command to enter, along with the curious call of a child.

Inside she found Khamsin still wearing the Tantiu warrior's garb that now seemed to be her wont, but with her face uncovered by korfi or veil. A small girl in a child's version of the same raiment was playing on a rug at her feet with an even smaller boy, helping him build structures with brightly painted wooden blocks. All three faces turned her way, and the girl raised a hand to point directly to her. "Mama, who's that?"

Faanshi drew in a breath, more startled than she'd expected to be, for she'd almost forgotten that the d.u.c.h.ess had children. Khamsin had been pregnant with her daughter when Faanshi had been locked in the cellar. "Eshallavan, little akresha," she said, bowing to the girl. "My name is Faanshi, and I've come because your mother bade me come to speak with her."

"Eshallavan, Faanshi, come in," Khamsin said, gesturing her forward. "And say rather that I requested, not bade. I'm well aware that I hold no power over you, no matter what the laws of Adalonia and Tantiu alike might say. May I offer you tea?"

Warily Faanshi approached. The tent was smaller than she'd expected, for all that she had no real idea of how large or small a d.u.c.h.ess's tent should be. But there was room for a bed large enough for the woman and both children, two trunks that perhaps contained clothing and other belongings, and two chairs. Khamsin occupied one and waved Faanshi into the other. Behind Khamsin's chair was a tall mirror on a wooden stand, and Faanshi eyed her own reflection as she sat, wondering if she could convince herself to be less frightened than her image looked. "Yes, please. Thank you."

Khamsin leaned forward to the low table before her chair and poured tea into a porcelain cup, filling the air with a scent of cinnamon. "Take sugar and cream if you wish," she said, handing Faanshi the cup and gesturing to the other dishes on the table, a saucer of cubes of brown sugar, and a small porcelain pitcher of cream. "And I'm sure you must wonder why you're here."

Sugar and cream. Faanshi paused a moment, aware of her own surprise at such an invitation, which had been startling enough in Dolmerrath where such things were rare. Coming from her former master's wife, it was astonishing indeed. She took a single cube of sugar from the saucer, and as she watched it sink into her tea, she ventured, "I must admit to wondering why you've decided to be kind to me, akresha. You never were before, even when you knew I had magic. And I've already promised to use it for your cause. What more do you wish of me?"

A broad smile flashed across Khamsin's uncovered face, and that too was startling, for now Faanshi could begin to see traces of her great-aunt Ulima in the set of her features-and perhaps even her own mother. But then the smile faded, turning thoughtful. "Would you believe me, girl, if I told you that I simply wished to finally properly know you? There is much I would like to make amends for, before I can leave this land at last and take my children to Tantiulo to raise them in the land of my fathers."

"Mama's going to take us to see the great temple of Djashtet," Yselde proclaimed. Her brother was busily arranging blocks at her feet, but the girl stared at Faanshi now in open curiosity. "Are you going to come to Tantiulo with us? You're brown and you dress like Mama and you say akresha but you look like an elf too. Are you an elf?"

Her black brows lifting, Khamsin said, "Little bloom, it is impolite to badger our guest with questions."

Despite the admonition, there was a gleam of curiosity in the mother's eyes avid enough to match that in the eyes of the daughter, and Faanshi found herself drawing on a suspicion of what Julian or Rab might say if they were with her in the tent. "Even if they're questions for which you yourself seek answers?" she asked.

She kept her tone mild, all too conscious of the power this woman had once held over her-even if she disclaimed it now-not to mention the power she held now in general, greater than what she'd held in her husband's shadow. It would not do to anger a d.u.c.h.ess with impertinence, especially not when she traveled now under the protection of Khamsin and her followers.

Yet to her relief, the older woman laughed outright. "You've learned to think, girl, and you've learned to speak your mind. I'm pleased to see it. And so I'll freely admit that aside from what advantage your presence among us gives my little army-an advantage I count as considerable-I'm curious indeed to know what kind of person my sister's daughter has become. Do you count yourself one of the Hidden Ones now?"

Faanshi lifted her chin and silently prayed that the nervousness shooting through her would not make the teacup shake within her hand. "My magic comes from my elf father, and the elves gave me a home when humans would not. Including you. Lomhannor Hall was never my home. It was my jail."

Yselde's face darkened as she looked from one woman to the other, but her brother was still focused upon the colorful blocks. He stumbled as he tried the complex maneuver of standing up while picking up three blocks at once, and with a whimper, he fell sideways against his sister. Faanshi couldn't tell whether the older child understood what they were discussing, and let herself be relieved that Yselde grew too distracted by the need to help little Artir sit down again, so that he could more easily play with his toys.

"Just so," said the d.u.c.h.ess, inclining her head, and that too was a relief.

Faanshi paused with the teacup cradled in her hands, grateful for the warmth against her palms. It felt a little like her magic, while the tea itself was bracing, clearing her head. "Akresha, please don't mistake me, I am grateful for your consideration. But I've already agreed to heal for you and your followers. If that's your goal, you don't need to work any further to convince me. I will heal any who need it."

"And thus you uphold the ridah of compa.s.sion, which I expect befits a healer." Her dusky fingers steepled at her breast, Khamsin leaned back in her chair and stared back at her with frank and blatant interest. "But I wish to know you as my kinswoman Faanshi as well as the healer of the Hidden Ones. Your father's people have given you a home, but that home is now lost to you. What will you do once peace is won? Will you live with the elves? Will you perhaps marry one of them, or one of the human men who helped you win your freedom?"

That question was the very last she'd expected from the d.u.c.h.ess, and for a moment Faanshi was at a loss as to how to reply. The other woman had spoken of the ridah of truth, but there was also the ridah of wisdom to consider, and so she said quietly, "Akresha, I don't think I know or trust you well enough to speak of what lies within my heart." What lay there was for her alone, a brightness akin to her magic yet with a warmth all its own, flaring whenever Julian was near. She wasn't ready to discuss it even with him, much less anyone else. "And you speak as if you desire a hand in my choices."

Khamsin's lips curled again, this time in a wry grin. "Such discernment for one so young. Ulima taught you well. Yes, I'll say it freely-I would like to suggest that you think of going to Tantiulo when Nirrivy is its own land again. Your father may be of the Hidden Ones, but your mother was of the blood of Clan Sarazen." Once again the flash of her grin subsided, leaving behind earnest intent. "When I take my children back to the Clan, I will go to the great temple of Djashtet and ask the Crone of Night to carry my prayers of penitence to my sister's spirit-and to Ulima's. I think perhaps both their souls may listen to me more freely if you were beside me. And I know that you never saw Ulima again before she died."

Ulima. Her okinya, a word that still came far more easily to Faanshi's mind than the Adalonic great-aunt. The only person in Lomhannor Hall who had treated her with kindness, and whose last acts had led to her own freedom. Faanshi's sight blurred and her throat grew tight at the mention of her name, and she had to distract herself with drinking the rest of the tea in her cup before she could steady herself enough for a reply. "No," she whispered. "I did not."

"Then think about it. You need not decide now. There are plenty of other considerations which must occupy your thoughts first." Khamsin straightened in her chair, and as surely as if she'd pulled her korfi back into place, her expression shuttered. "We'll be on the move again in the morning, to make a push to the east. Two surgeons from Camden will be traveling with us, and I recommend you report to their tent for guidance on when and where your talents will be best deployed. Please relay to the akresha Alarrah that I suggest the same to her, if she's willing to work with human surgeons."

Faanshi couldn't pretend to know or understand the d.u.c.h.ess, not yet-but she understood the shift of her tone to one of dismissal, and that it was now time to take her leave. Setting her cup down, she nodded and rose. "I'll tell her." She paused, then added tentatively, "Thank you for the tea. And I'll think about what you've asked, and pray to Almighty Djashtet for Her counsel."

"I can ask nothing more. Thank you for coming to speak with me, Faanshi." The d.u.c.h.ess rose lithely from her chair and then stooped to lift her son into her arms. "And if you'll excuse us, I must now make sure my children settle down for sleep."

"Yes, akresha." Faanshi bowed and slipped out of the tent the way she'd come, but as she went she cast one last glance over her shoulder, enough to see Khamsin smiling more gently now at the children, even as Artir squirmed sleepily in her grasp. They were her blood kin, even as Alarrah was, and Faanshi wasn't sure how she felt about that. The child Yselde had had the right of it-she was elf, but she was also Tantiu.

And Khamsin could not have chosen a better way to remind her of that than to invoke the name of Ulima.

Faanshi meant to return to the tent she'd been given to share with Alarrah, Lady Ganniwer and the fire-mage Tembriel. But on her way Kestar fell into step beside her, and of all those she'd come to know since Julian had set her free, the man who'd once been a Hawk was easiest by far for her to gauge. And it meant, too, that she could see his troubled heart reflected in his face, as clearly as if she looked into a mirror.

"Good evening, Faanshi. How did your meeting with the d.u.c.h.ess go?" he asked.

She offered him a halfhearted smile, grateful that he matched his pace to hers. "The akresha Khamsin asked me to go to Tantiulo with her when Nirrivy is a nation again. She wants to pray for forgiveness in the temple of Djashtet, and she hopes that the spirits of my mother and my okinya may listen to her more freely with me at her side."

"That seems rather presumptuous of her," Kestar said with a grimace, before slanting her a chagrined look. "Will you go with her?"

"I haven't decided. I must pray for Djashtet's counsel and my own patience, since it would be foolish to choose now, when there's so much else that must be done first." Faanshi paused to stand aside as three young men in Nirrivan uniforms hurried past them, and as Kestar stopped beside her, she studied him. "You have much to decide too, I think."

Not quite meeting her eyes, Kestar gave a sheepish little laugh. "I'd thought my life had gotten strange enough before I found out I was the last known descendant of an elf prince who also just happened to possess a magic sword that's the only known thing that can kill the Anreulag. a.s.suming it still exists, which it might not-if the Bhandreid has any sense at all, she would have melted it down a long time ago. But we still have to go and check, don't we?"

"No pressure," Faanshi murmured.

"Ha! I'd say you've been taking notes from Cel, except you and I both know you have your own wit hiding behind that shy face of yours." Kestar finally looked at her then, a grin tugging at his mouth without quite making it to his eyes. "But the pressure's on you too. Everyone expects you to be the heroine of the revolution. Saint Faanshi. And I just wanted to say...if you need to speak of it, or even shout or throw things, though I can hardly imagine you shouting...you can talk to me."

Faanshi couldn't help but smile at that, more swiftly than she could remember smiling at anything in days. "I know, and it's a great comfort to know that if I must throw something, I'll have a friend to catch it."

"That is what we are? Friends?"

He looked vaguely startled to be putting the notion into words, and that didn't surprise her-after all, he'd spent most of his life serving an Order whose very function was to hunt users of magic like her. But then, most Hawks didn't see into the minds and souls of those they hunted, either.

There was brightness within her for Kestar, too, though it felt different from Julian's. Kestar's was the warmth of sunlight, pure and comforting, a blessing of Djashtet. The other man's was a sharper, keener fire, crackling in that same inner hearth that housed her power. She wanted to brandish it like a torch, and use it to peer into dark and unknown places-and for all that she was an untried maiden in many ways counted by the world, she knew enough of the counsel of her heart to tell the difference between the two.

"Were we children of the same father, I'd be honored to call you brother," she said. "But as it stands, I'm proud to call you friend. And if Marwyth tries to come and hurt you, I won't let her."

Kestar smiled a bit and ventured to hug her, as she'd hoped he might. Such contact was still a new and precious gift to Faanshi, and he was one of the few with whom she was brave enough to attempt it. Still, his eyes remained solemn. "I don't want to kill her, and I think maybe you're the only other person in this entire camp I can say that to, since you don't want to either."

Gravely Faanshi bobbed her head. "She's a G.o.ddess to the Hawks, and now they say that you must kill your G.o.ddess, that you're the only one who can. I know how I'd feel if they told me I had to kill the Lady of Time. Perhaps Djashtet..." She caught herself and then went on, "Or perhaps any other G.o.ds who smile upon us...perhaps they'll show us another way."

"Maybe," Kestar said. In his tone and in his face Faanshi saw the detriment as well as the virtue of having a friend whose thoughts and moods could so easily mirror her own-for she saw in him what she felt within herself. And she could give it no name but doubt.

"Julian, what is it?"

Nine-fingered Rab's presence at his side was, as always, a familiar bulwark. By habit, the younger man was walking on his left. But Julian hadn't yet gotten used to actually being able to see Rab there, particularly in lamplit semi-darkness, where he was little more than a nimble shadow in his peripheral vision-a shadow that, as it happened, stopped as soon as he did, and whose attention easily followed the path of his own.

"Ah, I see," Rab said, his brows arched, his drawl exquisitely bland.

"Whatever idea you've gotten into your head, keep it there," Julian said, sourly grateful for the excuse to snap his gaze away from the sight of Faanshi and Kestar in quiet conversation, farther up the row of tents.

"Are you suggesting I think you're jealous? I resent such impugning of my character. I couldn't possibly be harboring any such thoughts."

"Good, because I'm not."

"Far be it from me to conclude from that acidic scowl that you want to drive a knife through Vaa.r.s.en's innards." Rab gave him a stern and meaningful look, held it for effect, and then went on, "For G.o.ds' sakes, what's the problem? She doesn't look at him the same way she looks at you. Bed her and have done with it."

Rab was right; he was scowling, and it perturbed him deeply that the simple sight of Faanshi and the former Hawk in conversation was enough to provoke that. Julian spun on his heel, grabbing Rab by the elbow and pulling them back the way they'd come. Faanshi's hearing wasn't quite as sharp as that of her elven brethren, but he didn't want to risk the girl hearing them approach. "It's not that easy," he muttered as they went.