Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (7 page)

They rode all that day in silence and haste, for the road was still wide and they could trot or gallop upon much of it. The sun burned brightly while they rode — but by the time it dipped and they stopped to camp for the night, clouds had gathered again to hide it.

“Such is always the way in the mountains,” said Albern. “Summer takes far longer to reach the Greatrocks than the lowlands.”

Still, it was not quite cold enough that they regretted their lack of tents. They laid their bedrolls upon the ground and fetched provisions from their packs. Jordel had seen to it that they were well-stocked — yet still he rationed their meals, for now their road would be much longer than he had thought.

“My lady,” said Albern. “I never learned your name.”

“I am Loren of the family Nelda.” She smiled. “Well met, and I apologize for our earlier lack of courtesy.”

“Current circumstances make it easy to forgive,” said Albern. “But now we have more time for pleasantries.”

“And I am Jordel, of the family Adair. This is Annis of the family Yerrin, and Gem of Cabrus.”

“Of the family Noctis,” said Gem. “I know at least that much of my parents.”

Jordel bowed. “As you say.”

“Well met, all of you. And I heard from your earlier words that this one is Xain.” Albern nodded at the wizard, now lying on the ground near their camp, wrists and ankles bound. Xain looked back in anger, one eye almost pure red with blood.

“He is,” said Jordel. “And even if I were not still afraid of pursuit, I would say to post a guard for his sake. It is of great importance that the wizard not be allowed to flee.”

“I would have suggested it in any case,” said Albern. “For there are dangers in the mountains, too, besides those who may chase us. Wolves and bears, and darker things further on.”

“What cheery news.” Gem stared into the dark with discomfort.

“Fear not, little master,” said Albern, jostling his shoulder. “We shall keep you safe from crawlers in the night. I will stand first watch, if you allow it.”

“I would thank you,” said Jordel. “For we rode hard on the road to Strapa, and one night’s rest has not yet cured our fatigue.”

“Tis settled, then,” said Albern. “A good night to you all, and hopes for a fair morning!”

Albern left, climbing atop a nearby mound to watch. He laid the across his knees, then pulled out some food and started to eat.
 

Loren studied Jordel in surprise, for he had let Albern take watch without question. A great show of trust — and yet she remembered how Jordel had taken her own measure almost from the moment they met in Cabrus. He had trusted her implicitly from then on, though it had taken her far longer to return his faith. He seemed to make up his mind about a person in moments. And though at first he had been wary of Albern in the bowery, he must have seen something to convince him of the man’s honesty since.

“Though we did not choose this road, I am glad we are upon it,” she said across the fire. “The mountain pass may be uncertain, but I feel more hopeful now than I did at the prospect of riding the Westerly Road.”

“I, too, feel less need to peer over my shoulder,” said Jordel. “Yet still I fear what such a delay might bring. But our path is set, with no looking back.”

They supped, then swaddled into their bedrolls for sleep.

So began their trek through the Greatrocks. For some days the journey was strenuous, even if uneventful. Albern did not wake them the first night to trade watches. In the morning he said, “I have had many years’ good rest in Strapa, and my wits are sharper when not fat with sleep.” But on the next night and every night thereafter, he traded watches with Loren and Jordel.
 

Whether riding or walking, the bowyer moved with a vigor that the rest of them found infectious. He spoke with them all in turn and laughed often. His cheer did much to raise their mood, which had been somber on the road to Strapa. He would sometimes sing, most often in the mornings; his voice rang clear on the dawn air, echoing back from the surrounding mountains.

They left the foothills on the second day and entered the mountains proper. The path grew steeper and narrow, just wide enough for four horses abreast. But they rode single file, for Albern told them that the edges were not to be trusted.

“This road was built for trade and travel. Not for war. The king never strengthened it so that an army might march — for soldiers moving from north to south would take the Westerly Road.”

“Which king built it?” said Gem.

“That I do not know,” said Albern. “It has been here as long as anyone can remember, and I have found no tales of its making.”

Loren looked at Jordel with interest, but he shook his head. “I never learned either. Indeed, few write of the Greatrocks. They are Selvan’s western border against Dorsea, and not many scholars believe they serve any other purpose.”

“They are not just a border,” said Albern. “They are a world unto themselves, with laws decreed by no king.”

Jordel and Albern would trade words when the party rested. Always Jordel would ask how far they had come, and how much farther they had to go. Albern would draw crude maps in the dirt, show him the many coming twists and turns, then advise him of the best route. Jordel listened more than he spoke, and always accepted Albern’s suggestions. At first Loren would sit and listen, but soon abandoned the meetings for their dreadful boredom.

Xain became little more than luggage in Loren’s mind. Upon the road to Strapa, when his attack was still fresh with its horror, she had thought of little besides. But now there were mountains to catch her eye, Albern’s songs, and the narrow path to study. Xain’s presence grew less fearful, and she watched dispassionately whenever Jordel would move him from mount to ground. Still she often caught Annis eyeing the wizard, her gaze always anxious.

Yet when Xain did not haunt her, Annis often looked at Albern with interest. After a few days she finally ventured to say, “Tell me, bowyer. Were you ever a soldier?”

Albern looked at Annis in surprise. “Why, yes. For many years in my youth I marched with the Ruby Crowns.”

“A mercenary?” Her voice bubbled with hushed enthusiasm, as though Albern had told Annis a great secret that she ought not know. “You must have traveled far.”

“Far enough, and yet I saw little,” he said with a shrug. “I have fought in battles as far east as Hedgemond and as far south as Idris. A frigid place that is, I tell you.”

“Some mercenary captains would stay in our manor on the High King’s seat, from time to time,” said Annis. “My sisters would always flutter about to hear stories, but they said I was too young.”

“Most likely they were right, for I know the sort of stories mercenary captains tell,” said Albern with a snort.

“What of mercenaries themselves?” Anniss leaned forward, smiling. “You must have a fair few tales.”

So Albern told his stories whenever they broke from riding. He would recount brief tales during the midday meal, then longer ones when they camped for the night, always while Annis and Gem watched him wide eyes and, often, open mouths.
 

At first Loren did not pay much attention, for she was not overly fond of sellswords. They worked for coin, which she found distasteful, and their trade was death, which she found abhorrent. But Albern dwelt little on such things. Most often he told them of jokes shared with his brothers in the company, or described great cities seen in his travels. He seemed as averse to the battles as Loren, for he mentioned them only in passing, or when required by the story.

Soon she sat by the fire, rapt as Annis and Gem whenever Albern spoke. Her heart burned with lust for far-off lands. Many places and strange things she had seen since leaving the Birchwood, yet Loren had never seen anything half so magnificent as the places in Albern’s stories.
 

“I would see such sights,” Loren said one night when their guide had finished yet another tale. She said it quietly, scarcely more than a murmur — she had not meant to say it aloud. But when they all looked at her with interest, she lifted her head and continued. “I wish to see them. I have often dreamed of great cities and far-off kingdoms. You have seen them all, and more sights I never imagined. I have little to hold me in any one place. And when I can, I shall see these places you speak of.”

“I hope to give you that chance,” said Jordel, giving Loren a firm look. “Our duties will carry us to many of the nine lands. Of that you need not fear.”

Loren blushed, for in her excitement she had nearly forgotten the Mystic, and how she was pledged to his service. But she did not regret it, for she sensed he was right. Jordel was not a man of Selvan, but of all the kingdoms at once, and by his side Loren would see more than she ever could alone.

“Travel and see what you will,” said Albern. “I will not deny I have many fond memories of the nine lands. But such memories shine brighter than the places themselves. Often I could hardly see the city for fear I would die in a coming battle, else my wits were muddled by wine and ale. Only looking back does it seem so golden.”

“I would suffer much discomfort now for such fond memories to my later years,” Loren said. “Seems a fair trade.”

“Fair enough indeed.” Albern smiled. “But now we rest.”

After four days the pass dove back down the mountainside, curving upon itself as it had during their climb. Weather grew fairer, and the wide river valley sprawled before them in a stunning tapestry of green. The river ran clear, cutting through wide fields of grass and small clusters of trees, like a string of sapphires laid upon a sheet of fine green satin with emeralds sewn into the cloth.
 

Clouds cleared as they reached the valley floor near the end of the day, and the party basked in the sun.
 

Loren threw her cloak back over her shoulders. Jordel caught her attention with a sharp cough. She met his eyes, and he dipped them to her belt. Loren looked down to see her dagger in plain sight. Quickly she yanked the left half of her cloak forward to cover the weapon. Thankfully Albern took no notice.

That was careless
.
I must never forget that I carry a great danger.

Loren wondered what made her keep the weapon, for it offered little help if she would not use it. But something would not let her throw it away. It had been the first thing she stole as the Nightblade. More than that, it felt part of her now. The dagger had saved her from certain doom more than once. She would not repay that service by casting it aside.

They had but one day to enjoy the lush valley, for the pass climbed again on the next. Albern took it, though the valley floor carried on straight and out of sight.

“Why can we not keep on this way?” Gem asked. “I like the wide ground far better than the narrow path in the clouds.”

“Oh, this road looks fair enough,” said Albern. “But soon another mountain will block it. The journey around would cost us several days, while the pass runs straight.”

“Then let us take it,” said Jordel. “And we should hasten. I have enjoyed the sun as much as anyone, but fear it makes us lazy.”

They alternated between walking and trotting. It lent them little speed, but they could not push the horses faster, for the ground was steep and rocky. The weather soured again, as if to punish them for leaving the valley floor.
 

Rain abated before nightfall, and Albern found them a cleft in the mountainside to keep them dry if it started again. The storm had stopped, but the night was still cold.
 

Loren had the first watch, and spent it damp and miserable in the cleft’s mouth, too far from the fire to dry out. She looked back in anger at Xain — bound but warm near the flames — then saw his body shivering and twitching, not from the cold. His eyes were free from blood now, but they rolled about in their sockets. He shivered and tugged at his bonds, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Loren turned her back, no longer envious.

Loren woke Albern the second both moons appeared above the mountains, and slept so near the fire she feared waking aflame.

They were lucky to have taken shelter, for rain indeed fell through the night, and the next day wetter than the last. The third day rained hardest, and Gem began to sniff and sneeze with a cold. Worse yet, their horses had trouble picking their way on the path. Midnight was a fine steed and sure-footed, and Albern’s bay must have been used to the mountains, but Jordel’s great charger was heavy and the children’s plowhorse unsure. Every time they began to slide, Loren’s heart would stop, and she pictured them pitching out over the path’s edge. For safety they rode as close to the mountain as possible.