The Eye of the Hunter (67 page)

Harder he pulled and harder, knowing that
something
was supposed to happen, but whatever it was, it
wasn’t
happening. Instead it was
defying
him.

RRRAAAWWWW!
he roared, angered beyond his limits—

—the mighty bellow echoing throughout the courtyards, crashing among the buildings and walls of the citadel—
RRRAAAWWWW!…RRRAAAWWWWW…RRRaaawwww…Rrraaawwww…awwww…www…

Spang!
snapped the anchoring rods supporting the cage of bars at the window, frame and all bursting outward, arcing down into the garden below, the Bear whirling and growling and biting at the now slack rope, the two-legs beside him hissing
“Urus! Urus!”
in his ear.

Above, Aravan whipped up and over the sill and into the room, drawing up his climbing rope after.

And on the walls, guards shouted—their own cries a confusion of echoes—and whirled about, peering outward into the moonlit ’scape, and inward at the courtyard below, unable to locate the source of the horrendous sound.

Barracks doors slammed open, and a clatter of running footsteps was heard, soldiers erupting into the bailey, their weapons in hand.

“Urus, change!” called Riatha in the Bear’s ear as the beast found the rope slack, lifeless, slain, and stopped growling.

The Bear looked at the two-legs, then sat on his rump. And a dark shimmering came upon him, and swiftly he
changed
, Urus emerging.

“Garn!” he cursed, remembering all, slipping out from the rope harness, Riatha hissing, “Quickly, we must hide.”

They scuttled behind the pedestal of the statue, Urus hauling in the rope and pulling the window bars to him, unfastening the line from the iron.

In the bailey, guards raced past, heading for the front of the building.

And in the room above, Aravan stepped to the bed, finding Gwylly and Faeril lying unconscious, their breathing shallow, each Waerling’s pulse rapid and thready.

The Elf looped the rope under Faeril’s arms and about
her chest, then picked the damman up and bore her to the window. Peering out, he could see warders racing past, running toward the front wall, as if expecting an attack, their shouts echoing in the sidecourt. Upon the ramparts, other warders stood, looking outward, seeking foe.

Momentarily the side yard cleared, and swiftly Aravan lowered Faeril down into the garden. In the darkness below, Riatha scurried to the damman’s side, taking loose the line, casting it free, Aravan snaking it up and in.

Moments later, down came Gwylly, and as soon as the buccan touched the ground, Aravan swung over the sill, pausing only long enough to pull the inside shutters to, then he slid down afterward. As Urus bore Gwylly to the base of the statue, Aravan flipped loose the grapnel from the window above and followed.

“I like this not,” said Riatha, raising her ear from Faeril’s breast, then feeling Gwylly’s pulse. “These Waerlinga are dying. We must get them to a safe place where we can treat them.”

As more guards rushed past the garden, the Elfess withdrew a packet from beneath her cloak, drawing out two gwynthyme mint leaves. She put one in her mouth, handing the other to Urus. “Here, chew but do not swallow. Spit the liquid into Gwylly’s mouth.”

As Urus followed her directions, Riatha did the same for Faeril, buccan and damman both reflexively swallowing.

“Now the pulp,” Riatha directed, placing the tiny cud inside Faeril’s cheek, Urus following her example, tucking the pulp into Gwylly’s.

“Now we must hie from here,” declared Riatha, “yet we cannot simply bear the Waerlinga in the open.”

“Under our cloaks, then,” suggested Aravan, “strapped to our backs. Urus with Gwylly, Faeril with me.”

Aravan rigged a rope harness, a simple boatswain’s chair, passing a line around each of Gwylly’s thighs and about his waist and chest, fixing the buccan’s rigging to Urus’s climbing harness. The unconscious Waerling was now borne by the Baeran much the same as a low-slung backpack, or as some Folk bore their babies. Turning to, Faeril, Aravan repeated the process, and Riatha aided him in strapping the damman onto his own back.

Throwing their cloaks over the Waerlinga, Urus and Aravan signified they were ready.

“Then let us away from here,” said Riatha. “In this confusion, I say we walk in the open.”

Urus nodded. “To the ramp and up and over the wall, then. Three ropes. Grapnels. Sliding down.”

Aravan grunted his agreement, fastening his scarf across his face, hiding his features, cinching on his climbing gloves, Urus and Riatha following his example.

And the three stepped forth from behind the pedestal.

Of a sudden, hindward shouted a voice.
“Shû ‘ammâl ta‘mil?”

Whirling about, the trio saw a gold-turbaned Man at the garden edge. Urus and Riatha started to reach for their weapons, but Aravan hissed,
“No!”
The Elf gestured widely at the garden, calling out,
“Fattish ‘ala a‘âdi, Jemadar.”

“Taiyib! Kammal!”

“Na’am yâ sîdi.”

As the Man strode on past, Aravan made a great show of searching the bushes, Riatha and Urus imitating his example. When the
jemadar
was beyond earshot, Aravan whispered to his two companions, “Continue to the far end of the garden, for he may look back. I told him we search for enemies.”

“I gathered as much,” rumbled Urus.

As soon as the Man vanished beyond the far corner, the trio left the garden and walked swiftly ’round the rear of the building and headed for the central ramp up to the battlements. Along the way, they passed several groups of soldiers hastening on errands of their own, and each time they steeled themselves for discovery. Yet none took notice of the trio hurrying through the pale moonlight.

Up the ramp they went and to the walls, now manned heavily, soldiers scanning the countryside. Even so, most were congregated near the corners, and the trio saw three open crenels nearby. Aravan looked at his companions and gestured, indicating which each would take, and they stepped to the openings.

Snapping open the tines on the grappling hooks, Riatha, Urus, and Aravan set the grapnels. Then, as if leaning out to look, they dropped the concealed ropes straight down.

Glancing at one another, “Hai!” called Aravan, and as one they leapt into the crenels and were over the wall and sliding down, sentries on the battlements gaping at the
three.
“Waugh!”
cried one in astonishment, then,
“Jemadar! A‘âdi!”

It was forty feet down, yet in a trice they were on the ground and running, dashing through the pale moonlight over the broken terrain, racing for the gully where were tied the horses, cries of alarm mingled with shouted orders coming from behind. They had run a hundred feet or so when the first arrow struck among the rocks to one side. None of the trio risked a glance behind, and onward they hurtled, yells and shouts following.

Now several arrows shattered into the ground nearby, some glancing away before them. And though the moonlight was pale, on they raced, trusting to Elven eyes and the eyes of a BearLord to see the way.

They came to a shallow fold. Here Urus stopped, crouching down, calling to Aravan. “The Waldana!” he shouted. “We cannot use them as shields.” But Aravan was already in the ditch, and like Urus, unbuckled his climbing harness to swing the Waerling into his arms.

Behind, Men slid down the ropes, coming in pursuit.

Up leapt Urus and Aravan, running again, bearing the Warrows before them to shield the Wee Ones from the hissing arrows. Swiftly they pounded beyond the range of an accurate cast, yet still shafts clattered about, the archers trusting to fortune to guide their missiles.

Riatha, racing ahead, came to the gulch, and her heart leapt into her throat, for she saw no horses! Left she looked, her eyes following the gully up slope.
There they are!

“This way!” she called, dashing uphill.

Now Urus and Aravan followed, each cradling an unconscious Warrow.

Behind, Men shouted and ran toward them, some stumbling and falling in their haste, not blessed with the vision of Elvenkind.

And then Riatha came riding up and out from the gulch, haling Aravan’s and Urus’s steeds trailing after. Holding the Warrows, up the two mounted, and crying,
“Yah! Yah!”
down into the gulch and away galloped the three, bearing their two precious burdens, outstripping the hue and cry.

* * *

After a short sprint through the gully, down its length and out, the three slowed, for the ground was rough, and
it would be disastrous for a horse to fall in this rocky land, to perhaps break a leg.

Yet soon they reached the road of the pass and increased their pace to a canter, heading into the mountains.

“We must stop and tend the Waerlinga,” called Riatha.

Aravan looked back toward Nizari. “Not immediately, Dara, for the Emir’s Men pursue.”

In the near distance they could see a troop of mounted horsemen come bursting out from the gate to thunder toward them.

Now did the trio kick their mounts to a gallop and race ahead in the shadow-wrapped defile.

And the hammering pursuit relentlessly followed.

* * *

Shattering echoes of pounding hooves shocked throughout the defile, the trio of steeds sounding as would a cavalry as they plunged headlong among the twisting turns, the silver Moon shedding light for the steeds to run by, though often they hurtled through pools of blackness.

In the lead Aravan rode with Faeril, Urus and Gwylly on his heels, Riatha coming last. Now and again the Elfess thought she could hear the sounds of riders behind, though among the reverberations she could not be certain.

A mile or more they galloped, perhaps two in all, before Aravan slowed his horse to a trot, calling back to the others, “We cannot keep up a full-running pace, else we will kill the horses. If any are to slay their steeds, let it be our pursuers.”

From the rear Riatha spoke: “I deem we are yet two leagues, nearly three, from the way to Stoke’s mosque, a ravine our guide seemed disinclined to enter. Mayhap those who follow will feel the same, can we reach it first.”

“Winds of Fortune,” rumbled Urus.

“Thy meaning?” asked Aravan.

“That Men pursue even though we ride where the Emir would have us go.”

“Winds of Fortune, indeed,” responded Aravan, “for we would deal with Stoke regardless of the Emir’s schemes.”

“Aye,” said Urus. “Would that the Bear had not roared; we would not likely be fleeing now.”

Riatha rode up beside Urus. “Mayhap, love, yet I ween that had the Bear not gotten angry, the bars would not have come down.”

On they rode—Urus cradling Gwylly, Aravan holding Faeril—the miles consumed by trotting steeds. Yet now from behind they of a certain could hear the clatter of following hooves. How near or far, they could not say, for the echoes strengthened and faded.

At last they came to the slot cleaving away to the left of the pass. But ere they entered, Urus halted his horse. Dismounting, he handed Gwylly up to Riatha, the unconscious buccan still swaddled with rope and attached to Urus’s loose climbing harness. Too, Urus handed over the reins of his horse to the Elfess. “Here, love, take Gwylly and my horse. I have yet one trick to play to shake off our pursuers.”

A stricken look washed over Riatha’s face, yet unquestioningly she took the buccan and the reins of the steed. “We will ride the gulch several furlongs and wait.
Vi chier ir, Urus.”

“And I, you,” he replied, softly touching her hand. “Now go.”

And the hooves of the followers clattered toward them.

Aravan leading, into the slot they rode and away from sight. Urus listened to the sound of the pursuers a moment, then stepped into the shadows of the notch.

* * *

[“Jemadar, we come to the haunted defile. Surely those we chase will not enter there.”]

[“Who knows, Kauwâs? Who knows? We know not even who it is we pursue…or what they were after in the citadel.”]

[“Aiee. I have just had a most calamitous thought, Jemadar,”]

[“And it is…]

[“If they were mad enough to attempt to invade the citadel, then they are mad enough to enter the haunted canyon.”]

In the moonlight, the Men riding after the
jemadar
and the
kauwâs
glanced uneasily at one another, whispers rippling down the column.

Yet onward they rode, coming at last to the dreadful notch. The
jemadar
reined to a halt, stopping the column, the
kauwâs
beside him nervously eyeing the ebon gape. The horses snorted and skitted in fear, and it was all the Men could do to control them. But above the clack of their own
steeds, the
jemadar
and
kauwâs
could hear the clattering echoes of riders moving up the gulch.

Grimly the
jemadar
gripped the reins of his dancing, frightened mount. The Man was preparing to speak, to issue orders. But in that very moment—

RRRAAAWWWW!
A horrendous sound split the air, slapping and echoing among the crags, and lumbering out from the notch came a huge, walking monster, arms raised up high to strike.

“Waugh!”
shrieked the
kauwâs
. [“Demon Afrit!”] Horses reared and belled in fear, bolting away, Men screaming, kicking the steeds for greater speed, pandemonium and panic reigning. Up the pass they galloped, down the pass as well, fleeing blindly, not caring which way they ran, only that they did so, for each knew that the dreaded
Afrit
was after him and him alone.

In moments they were gone.

The Bear dropped back down on all fours, having once again proven his might.

Then the Bear thought of Urus, and a dark shimmering came upon him.

* * *

Two furlongs or so had Urus walked within the gulch ere from above came the soft call of a crow, and he looked up to the east rim to see Aravan silhouetted against the dim sky. The Elf gestured to a wallbound ledge pitching steeply upward, running from the floor of the gorge to the lip above.

Up this path trudged the Baeran, entering camp just as Riatha, kneeling among rocks, placed a small pot of water to boil on a tiny tripod above a meager fire. And as the Man strode in, she stood and embraced him, clasping him tightly to her, and Urus kissed her gently.