Feynard (22 page)

Kevin
eyed the ravine unhappily. His stomach tied itself in knots at the prospect.

Snatcher brought the party to a halt about twenty feet from the edge of Küshar Ravine
, where an outcropping concealed them from the bridge. With his back resting against a boulder and his feet planted firmly on solid rock, it would have taken heavy lifting equipment to uproot Kevin. But now he could look out upon the ravine, and not feel as though he was going to tumble into it. A trifling trick of the mind, but it worked.

The Lurk nodded at him. “Nervous?”

“I don’t have wings, Snatcher–and I hate heights. Just look at Alliathiune, standing right there on the edge. Ooh, it gives me a right turn just to watch her!”

The Dryad, enjoying the view,
twisted her long tresses up so that she could clip them in place with a split wooden clip–no doubt, Kevin thought, because of the strong winds sweeping across this exposed section. His cloak, clasped close to his throat due to the blustery chill, swirled and snapped about his heels like a dog on a leash. Kevin could not imagine owning such a mane of hair. His own curls caused him enough grief.

“Kê!”
The Lurk barked out a laugh. “That I would not do either.”

“Even you, Snatcher?”

“Do you think physical size mitigates such fears, good Kevin? Perhaps I shall merely fall faster than you.”

Kevin
chuckled. “I find it hard to believe you fear anything, Snatcher. You seem indestructible. Oh, is that the moon Sulä? I have not seen it before.”

“Crescent Sulä, indeed.
The blue moon. Does astronomy interest you, good outlander?”

“I was never able to remain outdoors in the evening to study the stars,” he said, allowing one of the X’gäthi to fasten a rope about his waist. “But the subject fascinates me. You speak of Thäunïon-Farätha–the time of the Conjunction of suns
. Why is that important? How often does it occur? I see only one sun in the sky. A very orange sun.”

“That is Indomalion, the secondary sun, which is perceptibly dimmer than Gärlion, its primary. Many Forest-dwellers believe that Gärlion feeds on Indomalion. Now we are in the Leaven season, at which time one sees only Indomalion. Towards Budding
season, Gärlion also becomes visible, low against the horizon, making the lighttimes longer, hotter, and much brighter. Thäunïon-Farätha is the time of endless lighttime, a moon of nought but light.”

A binary star system,
Kevin thought, trying hard to think back to what he knew about orbital mechanics. Unfortunately, it was not a subject he had paid particularly close attention to, although he did recall something about figure-of-eight orbits and other eccentric possibilities. A time of nothing but light was theoretically feasible. Did that mean there were other planets out there? Could Feynard’s suns be seen from Earth?

“Are you ready, good
Kevin?”

“Pardon?”

“Where have you disappeared to in your thoughts?”

“Ah
… never mind. Where are we going?”

The Lurk gestured. “Around that corner, along the wall of Küshar Ravine.”

Kevin mopped his forehead. “I feel sick already.”

Zephyr said, “You are tethered to two X’gäthi, who will guard against any mistake in your footing. For your part, I enjoin you to concentrate on nought but the t
rail directly before your feet. We shall pass within a stone’s throw of the Faun outpost. Silence is paramount.”

“I’ll do my best
.”

“Good.” Zephyr touched his shoulder with his muzzle. “Bravely said. You are not alone amongst these staunch companions.”

Kevin gaped after him. Why had he thought it necessary to make this point? He had previously seen the X’gäthi more as servants than as companions. Did the Unicorn not share this view?

A game-track struck off
the ledge, hanging as though by its fingernails to the sheer cliffs of Küshar Ravine. Snatcher could not pass directly along it, but had to turn himself sideways and move handhold by handhold, while the smaller Human, the X’gäthi, and the Dryad proceeded in single file in the main. To Kevin’s surprise, Zephyr appeared to be the most sure-footed of them all, totting along as though the half-mile drop to the ravine floor at his left flank did not exist–but for him, it was only by exercise of his utmost willpower that he was able to keep his eyes from straying to the silvery thread of a river almost hidden in the depths, and his mind from yielding to the perverse attraction of that empty immensity.

His nostrils tickled unbearably, full of rich and evocative scents he had no words for, he suddenly realised–had the Forest, or the Unicorn’s magic, healed
his sense of smell, too? Was that the smell of the oldest part of the Forest, directly across the ravine? He begged himself inwardly not to sneeze, not to sneeze …

By interminable degrees, from narrow ledge to trail to ledge again, the party gained upon the Bridge of Storms until at last they passed beneath its shadow, and gathered in a narrow culvert beneath the buttress anchoring the overarching span deep in the bedrock. Snatcher scratched his back like a cat agains
t one of the immense buttresses while he waited for the others to catch up.

“Good Zephyr,” he whispered, “
ready your magic. Softly now. Here is a delicate but passable climb up to a clump of boulders some five or six yards off the main trail. We will gather there, as close as possible behind the Unicorn. Zephyr first for the magic, then me, followed by the outlander and his X’gäthi, and then Akê-Akê, Alliathiune, and the balance of our dark protectors. Once Zephyr gives the signal, we shall break quickly but silently–
silently
–for the bridge. I and the X’gäthi shall protect the rear. Agreed?”

Kevin
nodded. He was soaked through and through with the stinking sweat of fear and suffering from sharp cramps in his bowels, but he had made it along that perilous track without mistake or sound. He was absurdly proud of himself.

Whatever Zephyr had planned, it worked, for shortly an excited babbling
arose from the guard post and several squads of Fauns raced off in the wrong direction–but after that, things went disastrously wrong. As Kevin, Zephyr and several X’gäthi rounded the main bridge supports, they came nose-to-nose with three startled Fauns. Their cries were brutally interrupted by X’gäthi blades, but the cat was out of the bag. A knot of Fauns came running from the centre of the bridge, where they had been admiring the view, while their compatriots reversed course and came charging up the road, brandishing fierce, curved swords, and pausing to loose shafts from their deadly longbows.

Then all became confused for
Kevin. To his right, he saw Akê-Akê scoop up a bow and quiver, which he slung across his back while he pillaged the bodies for arrows. The X’gäthi swept him into a run, shielding him with their bodies, while Zephyr voiced a fearsome bray that gathered force like thunder and detonated amongst the leading Fauns, blasting them off the bridge. Here the architecture worked for them, for those pursuing from the rear were temporarily unsighted by the substantial guardrails either side of the span, and so it was left to their fellows on the bridge to face the onrushing X’gäthi. Roaring his challenge in a stunning blast of sound, the Lurk hurtled past him as though shot from a catapult, making at least twice Kevin’s speed and still accelerating, bearing down on the Fauns like a juggernaut. They scattered with cries of fright, some even dropping their weapons in their haste to escape. The Lurks’ huge club helped them on their way. It was like watching a whirlwind wreak its swathe of destruction. Screaming bodies pitched over the guardrails or were pulverised where they stood; what the Lurk missed, the X’gäthi did not. The carnage was unspeakable, a passage bought in blood.

But
the company came under fire from both directions now. Those Fauns further along the bridge had enough time to aim and take fire. Shafts skittered along the stone, tufted upon Snatcher’s shoulder, sprouted miraculously in the throat of one of the X’gäthi. Something hummed past Kevin’s head from the rear, Zephyr was scored along his right flank, and then pinned in his right haunch from behind.

“Faster!” bellowed Snatcher, clearing the remaining Fauns with a
sweeping blow of his club. “We’re nearly out of range!”

Kevin
glanced back over his shoulder. Akê-Akê returned the Faun fire with his own deadly shafts, for they were thickly bunched behind and difficult to miss. He stood mid-span, untouched and untroubled by the shafts flying thickly about him, as though driven to prove by his courage–or lack of sense–the mettle and measure of his oath to serve them, even to the killing of his own kind. Dark heads bobbed as the Fauns broke and scrambled for cover in a sudden rush.

Swiftly back now came the Lurk, interposing his bulk between his companions and the last stray arrows. At his command Akê-Akê back
ed up, loosing shafts at over-curious heads back there to stay thoughts of pursuit. Thus they passed over the Bridge of Storms, and the Fauns did not dare give chase.

But they were one less in number.

*  *  *  *

“It is well,” Zephyr said, around the campfire that
evening, for they had stopped in the shelter of a dense copse of gloamingbark trees a little ways into the forest to take stock of their situation, “that we turn our thoughts to this last and least known part of the Old Forest, with the Bridge of Storms thus safely traversed.”

“May the bones of your brother rest forever in the
Häll’a X’gäthyärll
,” added the Dryad, casting a respectful glance at the ever-stolid X’gäthi.

“You honour us, as in our service we are honoured,” came the soft reply, from the one
Kevin had learned to recognise acted as their spokesman. “He perished as a true warrior in the ecstasy of battle.”

Kevin
shook his head at this quintessentially X’gäthi turn of phrase. They were far too fatalistic for his liking!

“Are you recovered, good Zephyr?”

“My rump throbs as though licked by flames,” said he, with a self-deprecating smile, “but Unicorns do not sit after the manner of two-legged creatures. It is a bearable affliction, albeit embarrassing.”

Alliathiune chuckled. “Good Unicorn, they must have considered your handsome posterior an irresistible target.”

Everyone laughed at this, especially when Akê-Akê muttered something about how little attraction Zephyr’s rump held in his estimation.

“And the good Lurk,” she pressed on, “our mighty pincushion? How fare your wounds?”

“My thick hide stopped the worst of their barbs, good Dryad, but there is one, loosed by a valiant Faun not three feet before me, which has penetrated to the shoulder-joint and there snapped off. I cannot grasp what remains, and fear the tip is deeply embedded.”

“Why did you not mention this earlier?”

“We Lurks are taught from birth to endure pain stoically.”

The Dryad
sprang to her feet and marched over to the hulking Lurk.

“Time to duck,” said Zephyr, wincing in anticipation.

“What is it about males that you must
endure
pain when help and healing is close at hand? You know what you are, Snatcher?” Alliathiune shook her tiny forefinger under his nose, which was out of her reach even though he was sitting down. Even his outstretched feet stood taller than she did. “Stubborn, that’s what you are! Worse than that pig-headed one-horn and yes, more stubborn even than the good outlander, who must fall unconscious of the marsh fever before requesting my aid! You’re as stubborn as a geriatric donkey with hearing difficulties! In the future, will you
kindly
speak up when in need? It irritates me more than a whole swarm of grimflies to know that we’ve made camp and finished dinner, and you’ve just been sitting there like a great lump suffering in silence!”

The sight of a four-foot-nothing slip of a girl telling off a creature many times her size was enough to make Zephyr hoot with laughter. Alliathiune was ever one to speak her mind. Even the X’gäthi
smiled–briefly.

The Unicorn piped up, “Beware, good Dryad, that the
giant swamp dweller does not mistake your voice for the buzzing of a grimfly and swat you accordingly.”

With icy dignity, she ignored his comment. “Bring that shoulder down here, noble Lurk, for I cannot attend what I cannot reach.”

Kevin watched them idly, thinking that behind Alliathiune’s asperity and hot words lay care and concern for the welfare of her companions.

He considered the red sack and sighed. Should he peek within? Or rather–phobia spoke too loudly as yet–he should study that tome on wizardry. One day
, one of these accidents might not have beneficial results. His eyes flickered guiltily to Akê-Akê, recalling how a mortal belly wound had closed up before his incredulous eyes. Without some modicum of control over these strange events, for which there must be some rational explanation, how could he ever hope to combat the Blight? How could he hope to move from a liability to an asset? And he was loathe also to touch the Key-Ring, for fear that its powers would lash out in an unpredictable fashion.

“You’re nothing but a wet blanket, Jenkins,” he muttered.