Across the Face of the World (16 page)

- but eventually the long climb and the sleepless nights caught up with him, and his eyes dropped to the ground in front of him. The rest of that night was a waking dream, with stables and smells, strange faces with names he did not catch, bowls of hot water, warm towels and a soft bed in a musty room with a high ceiling. The next morning Leith rose with the sun. On awakening he caught his breath, memory failing to remind him for a moment why he lay in a strange room. Absently he fingered the sheets: they were made of some soft, slippery fabric, not the rough cotton of home. To his left, on a three-legged stand, sat a bowl of steaming water, no doubt for him to wash in. Did his mother and father have such comforts? Instantly he felt a pang of guilt: why had he spent the night in selfish ease instead of riding through the dark¬ness in search of them? His mind told him he was being foolish. He was not the leader of this expedition; it had not been his deci¬sion to halt here. But no matter how hard he exercised his mind, the feeling of guilt would not leave him.

The youth washed away the remnants of sleep and towelled himself dry, then dressed quickly in yesterday's clothes. The room he had slept in was huge, the polished wooden floorboards partially covered by an ornate tasselled rug. In one corner an enormous dresser rose perhaps ten feet, though still falling a yard short of the ceiling. Apart from his bed, the basin stand and the dresser, the room was entirely bare; yet the impression it communicated was not one of poverty, but of austere wealth. Leith furrowed his brow. Perhaps it was in how the furniture was positioned, or maybe the attention to detail shown by the delicate carvings on the legs of the basin stand and the colours worked into the door of the dresser. He had never seen furniture like it. Who would spend so much time over bedroom furniture? And once someone had done so, why would they then consign it to what was obviously a spare room?

The bedroom opened into a long, narrow hallway. Leith looked along it to his right and counted six doors similar to his own, all closed; to his left the hall ended in a door which, judging by the amount of light filtering under it, led outside. Not knowing quite why, he closed his door quietly behind him and crept down the hall to the outside door, eased it open, then stepped into the morning light.

A small green lawn, completely cleared of snow, gave way to a narrow stony path which led upwards through the forest to the crown of Watch Hill. Finding himself a helpless victim of the desire to climb to high places, Leith scurried up the path. As he climbed, the trees gave way to low macrocarpa bushes and then to a small rocky promontory. The crown of Magic Mountain.

And it was just as he had always imagined it. The world was spread out beneath him like a crumpled blanket at the end of a picnic, patchwork on the plains and downs, hills thrown into sharp relief by the morning sun, dark forests brooding on the steeper slopes. To his left - to the west - lay the Vale of Loulea, smaller but more perfectly displayed than he had ever seen it from Swill Down or Bream Hill. Directly beneath him the forest spread towards the Vale, merging with the ordered fields just short of his home village. And there lay Loulea, houses tiny but distinguish¬able in the crisp morning light. The people were invisible at this distance, but probably getting on with the tasks of the day, having no doubt already forgotten about the funerals of Leith and his brother, the last chapter of the story of Mahnum's unfortunate family.

He swung left again - southwest - towards Swill Down. In his mind he ticked off the landmarks: Stibbourne Farm just over the brow of the hill, Seaspray Farm, Millford Farm, then the Down gave out to the Brookside Valley. Brookside where Lanka lived, the boy he had defeated in the Midwinter Play. Did he come to my funeral? Directly south the view was partly obscured by Garrison Hill, thinly forested like a middle-aged man not yet ready to admit to baldness. To the left again - now turning towards the east - lay the confused tangle of limestone ridges that separated the coastlands from Louthwaite Fens, the huge marsh that sat astride the lower reaches of the Mjolk River. Mist hung like hazy smoke in the folded valleys.

He recited the farms on the ridges: Lime Flats, Limedale, White Forks, Under The Wood Farm, Mudwise Farm. Next, almost due east, Vapnatak should have lain, but it was hidden by a spur of Watch Hill: a disappointment. The high wall and huge arched gates of the North March's biggest town would surely have looked impressive from this height. Never mind: to the northeast lay the upper valley of the Little Melg, which snaked across its narrow floodplain, accompanied by the North Road. Someone was up early, as testified to by a lazy spiral of smoke signifying a burn-off. Some farmer no doubt ridding his paddock of plough-wrecking tree stumps. Watch Ridge was to the north, thickly forested, hiding Greenwoods Hole and the strange limestone formations on the border of the Great North Woods. And there they were, on the horizon, outlined in black, a vast dark army marching across his field of vision. Now swinging towards the west again, Loulea Vale came back into view.

Spindlewood Farm, Blacksod, Falthwaite End, Poplar Alley, all backed by the bulk of Bream Hill, which separated Loulea Vale from the sea.

Now that he had completed the full sweep of the vista before him, he raised his eyes to the distant places he had avoided, perhaps without realising it. To the west, the sea. To the east, the Fells. The two features that determined the shape of the North March. The sea, some five leagues away, stretching into the unfathomable distance, glittering in the morning sun, beguiling, deceptive. The people of the North March were not sailors, and seldom ventured far from the shore. To them the sea was un¬familiar and frightening, something not to be trifled with. Adding to their fear was the legend of Astora, the Drowned City. It was said that somewhere off the coast, perhaps even opposite the mouth of Lime Brook, lay the ruins of a great city built by the First Men. The story told of a city on the Downs, high above the sea, the westernmost great settlement of the First Men; of how the cliffs gradually retreated, cutting back towards the city; of a series of great storms, each larger than the one before; and of a final cataclysmic night when the hillside collapsed and Astora slid into the sea. 'Just off Varec Beach,' the fishermen had told him, nodding fiercely; but every fishing village along the coast of northern Firanes made the same claim for their stretch of coast. 'Ah yes, but none of the others have the Westway finishing by their shores. Must mean something, must that.' Which was also true.

Other legends of the sea, probably equally fanciful, included a fierce race of men who lived on ice floes to the far north, and who had raided the North March centuries ago, forcing the farmers to take shelter in the dark northern woods; and a story about a giant sea-dragon washed ashore near the mouth of the Mjolk River. That last, at least, was possibly true. Leith had met an old man in Vapnatak who claimed to have seen a tentacle from the dragon that measured fifty feet.

But it was to the east his eyes finally turned, to the Fells, the mountain range that fenced the habitable coastlands from the fierce interior. Sharp-spiked mountains glittering in the sun, peaks separated from their foothills by low cloud. The Fells in turn were but the footsoldiers of the Jawbone Mountains, the spine of Firanes. For a measureless time he stood riveted to the spot, staring to the east without really seeing. Somewhere out there, alive or dead in the snowbound distance, were his parents. The Westway pointed towards the Fells, and so did their journey.

Hal, who had risen earlier, limped his way up the path to fetch Leith for breakfast. The morning meal turned out to be a sump¬tuous affair, pancakes and syrup, brought to the table by a maid¬servant. As the brothers began their breakfast, Kurr and the Haufuth came in from the next room, herded to the table by one of the most unusual-looking men Leith had ever seen.

Kroptur was tall even for a northlander, tall though he walked with a stoop: the men and women of the North March were consid¬ered of above-average height amongst Firanese, but even Kurr, one of the tallest men in the Vale, stood a head shorter than this strange-looking man. Tall and solidly built, but this on its own did not mark him down as odd. It was his face, his head: Leith could not stop looking at him. He had a long, narrow face, lined with age if not so old as Kurr's, with a wide moustache and thick, dark eyebrows - and was otherwise completely bald. Where his hair should have been, shiny skin reflected the morning sunlight.

All in all he gave the appearance of great physical power, for all his age, reminding Leith of the wrestlers he had seen the summer before last in the circus troupe that had passed through Vapnatak. Or perhaps, with those sharp eyes under beetling brows, more like a huge bird of prey. If he really is one of the Watchers, Leith thought, he certainly looks the part.

'The girl, she is a mistake,' Kroptur growled in a rough country voice as the three men took seats at the breakfast table. 'Admit it, y' fool farmer; you panicked.'

The farmer's eyes flashed in reply, but he held his tongue. Immediately the status of Kroptur was raised in Leith's mind. Whoever could talk to Kurr in such a manner without rebuke was a strong man indeed.

'It's still not too late to let 'er go. Leave her 'ere; I'll make sure she gits home.'

'And within days the whole of the North March will know about Leith and Hal,' replied the Haufuth.

'So? How will the horsemen hear about it? You goin' t' run after them shoutin' the news? It's miles ahead of you they are. Past Mjolkbridge, if not in the Fells already!'

'That's not the point, Master,' Kurr insisted. 'We've been warned of treachery and spies. We know that Rammr is infested with trai¬tors. What if they come to hear of it? What if there is a Bhrudwan agent down in the Firanese Court? Or even one in the town?' He jerked his thumb towards the eastern windows, where the sun glinted from the roofs of Vapnatak, partly visible round the spur of Watch Hill. 'Should our enemies hear that someone knows their plans, do you think they will just wander into Loulea and ask politely for news of their whereabouts?'

Kroptur stopped to consider this for a moment, scratching his moustache as he thought.

'Are ye sure she would talk?' he asked.

'Her mother has a ready tongue! We can't take the risk.'

'That mebbe so, but have y' taken thought as t' how much she'll slow you down out there in the Fells? That land is no place for those as without experience.'

'We won't be taking her that far,' replied the Haufuth. 'Hopefully we won't have to go that far ourselves. If we do, then we'll leave her in Windrise; surely the village headman there will look after her until we get back.'

'Another matter,' Kroptur continued, pressing them. 'How were you thinkin' to explain the sudden vanishment of three people? Don't you think the villagers down below may wonder a little?'

The Haufuth stood up, and spoke with deference. 'Stella was supposedly at my house to talk about announcing her betrothal to a local boy. My wife Merin will tell her parents that we refused her permission. She will say that Stella rose in anger and ran from the house. Kurr and I followed after her, worried about her state of mind. That will be the last anyone has seen of us. They will probably conclude we stumbled into Lime Brook or some such other misadventure.'

'Six deaths in a week,' Kurr growled under his breath. 'Never so many at once before. The village may not recover.'

The Haufuth looked squarely at the old farmer. 'The tally may yet be accurate,' he said dryly.

'Are you sure you won't come?' Kurr said, swinging round to face Kroptur. 'Your knowledge might be the thing which keeps us alive, and we could benefit from your strength. Will you not reconsider?'

'Ye know I cannot,' said Kroptur gently, and again the flames crackled in his voice. 'I am werebound t' this place as surely as the forest is to the hill; my roots go down deep. Far too late it is for me t' leave it now. You'll not need my strength, or my thinkin', such as it is, for what you face.' He looked up, momentarily star¬tled as the door opened and Stella walked in.

'Ah now, the girl,' he said. 'Come and sit down, lass. Have you some pancakes. A little syrup remains in th' bowl, despite your Haufuth's thievin' hands.'

The Haufuth went to laugh, but ended up looking just a little shamefaced.

Stella's eyes narrowed somewhat as she gazed at the speaker. In her weariness she had taken notice of very little last night. His tone she considered little more than patronising, his accent strange and his face downright ugly, but unaccountably she was in a good mood this morning, so she let it pass. On second thought, perhaps she did know why her mood was good. A night's sleep untroubled by dreams of Druin's jowlish face leering at her.

'So, here y' all are,' Kroptur said, quite unnecessarily in Stella's opinion. 'Five foolish travellers ready to risk everythin' for the sake

of their friends and family. How can such as that fail t' attract th' approbation of the Most High? Five daft travellers! Not the five I would have chosen, mind, but then, thankfully, I'm not the Most High, and the choice was not mine. For He has chosen ye, be sure of what I say.

Listen now as I tell you plain: He will add to your number those marked for this task, for you five are the fingers of a gatherin' hand. I'm tellin' you, so listen! You five are His chosen instrument t' bring salvation to Faltha, if ye prove equal t' the task.' His eyebrows knitted together into a fearsome scowl, a sight which did nothing to encourage Stella. Not the five I would have chosen? What does it have to do with you, old man?

The tall Watcher continued: 'I am utmost convinced that danger lies ahead. Hold on to this, now, what I'm tellin'. You do not go on a journey without hope; though I can't see the end of your adventures, or guarantee the safety of any one of you, I full believe you have a high chance of success. The Most High still has His compassionate eyes on poor old Faltha.

'Do not disremember the Watchers. They may prove helpful on your travels, if only as a fount of encouragement. Don't worry 'bout tryin' to seek them out. They will be watching, and are trained to spot the unusual, and that you are. Unless they have wholly forsaken their calling, they will find you and offer you succour. But be careful! Not everyone who offers you aid will turn out t' be your friend, and not everyone who opposes you will be your enemy. One thing I know, this from experience, so listen now as I tell you plain: you will meet both friend and foe unlocked for on the road appointed you. Keep your eyes open! Do not give up hope!'