Godslayer (41 page)

"Uru-Alat!" Dani felt sick. "
That's
Darkhaven?"

The scale of it was unimaginable. For as far as the eye could see, the Vale was encircled by a massive wall, broken by watchtowers. It vanished somewhere behind them, blocked by the swell of the slope, reemerging to encompass a small wood of stunted trees. A broad, well-trodden path led from the larder-cavern to the rear gates of the fortress itself. It was huge; impossibly huge, a hulking edifice blotting out a vast segment of the night sky. Here and there, starlight glinted on polished armor; Fjeltroll, patrolling the gates.

"Aye," Uncle Thulu said. "I don't suppose they're likely to let us in for the asking. Any thoughts, lad?"

Dani stared across the Vale. He could make out the Gorgantus River by the gleam of its tainted water. Other lower structures squatted alongside it, lit within by a sullen glow. He could smell smoke, thick and acrid in the air. "What are those?"

"Forges, I think. For making weapons and armor."

"Do you reckon they're guarded by night?"

"Hard to say." Thulu shook his head. "They're not in use or we'd hear the clamor. But the fires are still stoked, so they're likely not unattended. It's a long scramble, and there are guards on the wall, too."

"Aye, but they're looking outward, not inward. If we don't make any sound, move slowly, and keep to the shadow, they'll not spot us. It's the armor that gives them away. At least it would get us closer." Dani studied the fortress. Darkhaven loomed, solid and mocking, seemingly impenetrable. He wished he knew more about such matters. "There has to be another entrance
somewhere
, doesn't there?"

"I don't know." Uncle Thulu laid one hand on Dani's shoulder. "But truth be told. I've no better ideas. This time, lad, the choice is yours."

Dani nodded, touching the clay vial at his throat for reassurance. "We can't stay here forever. Let's try. We'll make for the river and follow it."

It was a nerve-racking journey. They emerged from the mouth of the cavern, abandoning the broad path to clamber down the mountain's slope where the shadows lay thickest. Both of them moved slowly, with infinite care. One slip of the foot, one dislodged pebble, and the Fjel would come to investigate.

If it had done nothing else, at least their long travail had prepared them for this moment. The inner slopes of the Gorgantus .Mountains were gentler than the unscalable crags that faced outward, no more difficult to traverse than the mountains of the northern territories. They had learned, laboring atop the rock-pile, how to place their feet with the utmost care, how little pressure it took to shift a loose stone. Their night vision was honed by their time in the tunnels.

Once they reached level ground, it was another matter. Atop the incline to their right, they could see the curving shoulder of the encircling wall. The distant spark of torches burned in the watchtowers. Dani pointed silently toward the wood. Inching along the base of the slope, they made toward it. From time to time, the low tones of Fjeltroll drifted down from above.

The wood was foreboding, but the gnarled trees would provide cover and allow them to leave the wall. Dani breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when they reached the outskirts. Tangled branches, barren of leaves, beckoned in welcome. He entered their shadow and stepped onto the hoarfrosted beech-mast, grimacing as it crackled faintly beneath his feet.

Uncle Thulu grabbed his arm, pointing.

Dani froze and squinted at the trees.

There, a short distance into the wood; a ragged nest. There were others beyond it, many others. He thought of the dark cloud that had winged toward them on the plains, so vast it cast a shadow, and his heart rose into his throat.

Uncle Thulu pointed toward the left.

There was nowhere else to go. Step by step, they edged sidelong around the wood. The trick was to do it slowly, lowering their weight gradually with each step until the warmth of their bare soles melted the hoarfrost and prevented it from crackling. It seemed to take forever, and with each step Dani feared the woods would stir to life. He imagined a beady eye in every shadow, a glossy black wing in every glimmer of starlight on a frosted branch. He kept an anxious eye on the sky, fearing to .see the pale light of dawn encroaching.

It seemed like hours before they had covered enough ground to put the wood between them and the wall. They backed away from it, away from the danger of sleeping ravens and waking Fjeltroll, and made for the river.

Here was open territory, unguarded. They crossed it as swiftly as they dared. The Gorgantus River cut a broad, unnatural swath through the Vale. Once, it had flowed southward down the Defile, where only a trickle remained. Lord Satoris had diverted it to serve his purposes, but it flowed low and sluggish, resentful despite untold ages at being deprived of its natural course.

And for other reasons.

They crouched on the bank, staring at the water. It looked black in the starlight, moving in slow eddies, thick as oil. An odor arose from it; salt-sweet and coppery.

"Do you reckon we can drink it?" Dani whispered.

Uncle Thulu licked his parched lips. "
I
wouldn't." He glanced at Dani. "You mean for us to get in that filth, lad?"

"Aye." He touched the flask, steeling his resolve. "The banks will hide us."

"So be it." Thulu slid down the bank.

Dani followed, landing waist deep in the tainted water. Cold mud squelched between his toes. Here, at least, they would be invisible to any watching sentries; merely a small disturbance on the river's oily surface. Lowering their heads, shivering against the water's chill, they began to make their way downstream. For all their efforts at caution, they slipped and slid, until they were wet, mud-smeared, and bedraggled, all the supplies they carried spoiled by the tainted water.

The sky
was
beginning to pale by the time they reached the buildings where the forges were housed: not dawn, not yet, but the stars were growing faint and the unalleviated blackness between them was giving way to a deep charcoal. And other obstacles, too, forced them to halt. Ahead of them on the river, a strange structure moved: a mighty wheel, turning steadily, water streaming from its broad paddles. Beyond it lay the low array of buildings; furnaces and forges, and a ramshackle structure that seemed to have been erected in haste. Despite the fact, it was the site of the greatest activity. Smoke poured from it, dim figures moving in its midst, going to and fro.

For the first time since the tunnels, Dani knew despair.

"What do you suppose that is?" Thulu whispered, leaning on the muddy bank. He sniffed the air. "Smells like… like a
meal
!"

"I don't know." Dani murmured. With an effort, he stilled his chattering teeth and studied the buildings. The nearest one seemed the most abandoned. He nodded at it. "We'll make for there. It may be we can find a place to hide."

"Aye, lad." Thulu extricated himself from the sucking mud. "Come on."

It was hard to move, cold as he was. Dani took his uncle's strong hand, bracing his feet against the bank and hauling himself out of the river. They shook themselves, wringing the foul water from their clothes. There was nothing to be done about the mud.

The entire place was wreathed in smoke. It did, Dani realized, smell like a meal; like roasting flesh, at once greasy and savory. His belly rumbled. Attempting to lead the way, he found himself stumbling.

"Hey!" A figure emerged from the smoke, soot-blackened and filthy, with unkempt hair and wild, red-rimmed eyes. It clutched a haunch of meat. "Lord Vorax says it's done enough for Fjel," it said in the common tongue, freeing one smeared hand to point. "Hurry we've got to get it all moved!"

Tensed for flight, Dani stared in bewilderment as the figure—man or woman, he could not tell beneath the grime—beckoned impatiently. The slow realization dawned on him that in the dark, covered in filth as they were, no one could tell a Yarru from an Ellyl. He exchanged a glance with his uncle.

"You heard him, lad." Thulu wiped his forearm over his face, leaving a muddy smear that further obscured his features. "Lord Vorax said to hurry!"

Dani nodded his understanding. Keeping their heads low, they plunged into the billowing smoke to follow the beckoning madling.

Darkhaven had invited them inside after all.

The army of Darkhaven assembled at dawn.

Tanaros scanned the scene before him with a seasoned eye. What he saw pleased him. Tens of thousands of Fjel were arrayed in orderly ranks, awaiting his command. They were eager, but contained. Vorax's Staccians, five hundred strong, were mounted and ready.

There was chaos in the rearguard where the supply-wagons were still being loaded, but he trusted Vorax would see all was in order. Beside him sat Ushahin Dreamspinner astride his blood-bay stallion, the leather case containing the Helm of Shadows wrapped in his arms.

Together, they waited.

The orange rim of the sun rose above the easternmost peaks of the Gorgantus Mountains to meet the enshrouding cloud cover above the Vale of Gorgantum, and the sound of Ellylon horns rent the air, uttering their silvery summons. The ranks stirred. Tanaros raised one gauntleted hand.

They waited.

A distant Tordenstem roared, then another.

Haomane's Allies were withdrawing.

Tanaros clenched his hand into a fist, and Hyrgolf bawled an order to the Fjel maintaining the Defile Gate. The bar was lifted. Two teams of Fjel put their backs into the task, and the massive doors, depicting the Battle of Neherinach, creaked slowly open.

"To war!" Tanaros shouted.

The long column began its descent into the Defile.

Speros of Haimhault, the architect of Darkhaven's defense, was acutely aware that he was little more than baggage.

For all their unwieldy composition, the myriad companies of Haomane's Allies executed their withdrawal with a disturbing precision Dawn broke, the horns sounded, and they were on the move.

Much of it, loath though he was to admit it, was due to Aracus Altorus. Somehow, he managed to be
everywhere
on the field; conferring with the Lord of the Rivenlost, with the Pelmaran Regents, with Duke Bornin of Seahold, with whoever commanded the knights of Vedasia and the company of Dwarfs. He was tireless. Everywhere Speros looked, there he was; a red-gold needle, stitching the army together with the thread of his will.

It was an orderly withdrawal. Companies of infantry—Midlanders, Dwarfs, Free Fishermen, Arduan archers, Pelmarans—marched stolidly, trampling the plains grass. The mounted companies—the Borderguard of Curonan, the Vedasian knights, the Host of the Rivenlost—rode at a sedate jog.

Speros rode with them, watched by his minders, the Ellyl Peldras and the Arduan woman Fianna. He was glad to be astride Ghost, whose snapping teeth kept the others at bay. He thought more than once of turning her head and fleeing, giving her free rein across the plains. No mount here could catch her, unless it was Malthus'. But if he did, it would give Haomane's Allies cause to break their bargain.

So he went with them, casting glances over his shoulder as he rode.