The Forge in the Forest (44 page)

elers came to one wide thicket they were startled when a stout white bird flew up almost in their faces with a sharp chattering cackle of rebuke. To their surprise it did not fly off altogether, but flapped heavily to the far side of the thicket and scuttled for cover. Roc cursed. Elof stooped readily for a stone as he had learned to do on the Marshlands, but it was already vanishing into the bushes. Ils blinked and squinted after it. "A snow-grouse, losing its winter plumage; they never fly far. Good to eat, for they live on willow, not pine which taints the flesh."

"That wouldn't have stopped me!" said Roc.

"Courage!" said Kermorvan. "Where there is one, even so close to the Ice, there will be others. The more so, as the snow is failing. Next time we shall be ready!" And indeed, at the next large clump of willow, in the shadow of a high boulder, they flushed some four or five of the birds. Into the midst of them hissed Elof s stone, and one dropped in a flurry of feathers. "Bravely cast!" Kermorvan cried, and the others echoed him. He clambered up the boulder and looked downriver. "And only a thousand paces or so southward there are trees!" he announced, springing lightly down. "Shelter and fuel! We have just enough time to reach them ere the light fades." The others groaned, but they knew he was right.

The march seemed endless, the twilight long and dreary, with the slushy snow caking around their boots, and when they came at last to the trees, a stand of windswept evergreens hunched above the snow, they found little enough comfort there. But it was something to be among life after so long in a dead realm, to squat in a snowless hollow of the riverbank and warm hands at the smoky little flames of a clay oven well hidden in the bank. And never, never, had anything tasted so good as broiled strips of grouse, and the broth they boiled from its tough meat for the morning. "Let us hope
it
foreshadows better times!" said Kermorvan, as they curled up against the warmth of the oven. "Sleep now, and I will take the first watch!" He smiled grimly at Elof. "May it be briefer than yours, and less disturbed!"

And indeed nothing worse came about them that night than a northwest wind whining among the trees, and brief flurries of sleet that were uncomfortable but not unendurable. When Roc, who had the last watch, woke them, they found the snow already melting in the rising sun. The day that followed was one of sunshine and showers, which seemed hardly any hindrance to them now, and though the land around was often marshy, they came among many more trees. Elof and Kermorvan cut themselves saplings and made crude birdbows which won them two more grouse, and, later, a large white hare; they smoked some of each as a reserve. Elof, too, discovered some of the marshland roots he remembered, swollen with the stored food that had let them live out the long winter and sprout again, and they carried some of these also. Desolate as it was, this land was kindlier than the eastern marches of the Ice. "Which should be no surprise," Kermorvan reflected over the next day's breakfast, "for it must all once have been the richest grainlands of southern Morvan."

"Hard to imagine!" said Roc. "This stark plain carpeted from east to west in green shoots, all yellow come harvest! How far south'd they stretch?"

"I do not know. So little lore of Morvan was preserved. I have seen rough views of Kermorvan the City, drawn from a failing memory and many times recopied, but the rest of the realm I know less of. I do know that the eastern boundary of the king's own lands was a range of mountains, less high than the Meneth Scahas; they marked the boundary with the lands of Morvannec, Morvan the Lesser, which was Korentyn's princedom. Over those mountains, if anywhere, the outcome of our quest should become clear."

Elof looked at the horizon, south and east. There were signs of the land rising a little, turning into rolling country, perhaps, which might eventually give way to low hills. But sight or sign of mountains there was none. He grinned at Kermorvan. "A long step, then. I'd no idea your ancestors were so mighty. We'd best be on our way."

A long step it was indeed, as the Chronicles record it, but a peaceful one. For though the lands they moved through bore the imprint of a cold hand, it seemed to be less strong this far south, as if the Ice had overreached itself in the drive to shatter Morvan. The earth was not as frozen in these lands as it was in Taoune'la, nor did that air of death and decay spread across them as it had in the Northland mountains. Spring here was a muted thing, but life flourished nonetheless, and it was life the travelers knew well, much like that of northern Nordeney; they were never again short of food for long. The snow-grouse were seldom far away, their plumage changing from pure white to black around the neck, behind their eyes two absurd tufts of bright scarlet with which they made much play in their spring rivalries. Great flights of geese and ducks settled upon every river and lakelet, and hares were common enough. And it was only a few days later that they came across a herd of large deer moving out onto the plain, of exactly the same kind that flourished in the Northlands; their coats were still in winter gray, and their antlers half grown and still in velvet.

"I wondered what that white brute preyed on," said Kermorvan thoughtfully. "Probably it had slept out the winter in its deep lair, and awakened to await their return. Other hunters will no doubt be doing the same; we had best be on our guard when the herds are near." At first, though, they encountered nothing save a pack of wolves, scrawny after the long winter, who were more interested in lame deer, hare and small rodents than men. When Kermorvan's bow brought down a young deer they circled and scurried about, but seemed glad enough to squabble over the stripped carcass and leave the travelers in peace by their fire some way off.

But just after dark, as the first of the Iceglow climbed up the sky, there came a mighty outcry of yelping and snarling, and a deep gurgling growl that no wolf ever made. The travelers sprang up and drew their weapons, lest whatever had appeared should turn on them. Silence fell, was as suddenly broken by the pop and crunch of bones, and then a strange beating, swishing sound, the thud of something falling nearer them. Kermorvan caught up a blazing brand from the fire and strode forward, the others close behind; then he stopped so suddenly they barged into him. A patch of bloodsoaked mud showed where the deer's carcass had lain, but it was there no longer. Neither were the wolves. There were drag marks in the mud, but they went only a few feet and the grass around was unbent. Kermorvan moved the flame about, and they saw in the mud, still oozing, a single imprint longer than a man's foot, a great tridentine talon.

"There, by the bank!" cried Ils. Kermorvan cursed and swung the torch high, and they all saw what she had glimpsed in the darkness. The remains of the deer, much mangled, lay by the riverbank, at the foot of a low rocky outcrop. Atop this, hissing like quenched iron from gaping jaws, perched a dragon. It flared its wings and reared up at them, short legs tucked in against the serpentine body, the long head outthrust and spitting. But it was a young beast, quarter the size of the ones Elof had first seen, and not yet come to its flame. When Kermorvan advanced on it menacingly it spat at him again, then ducked its head to seize the ragged remains of the deer, threshed clumsily aloft and wavered away into the night to find some quieter place to enjoy its scavenging.

"A good thing it was no larger!" said Kermorvan, shaken. He tossed the brand back on the fire, and glared at the cold glow in the northern sky. "A fond farewell from the Ice!"

In that he spoke more truly than he knew. From that night on they were no more troubled by strange creatures. As night followed night, and the lands grew warmer, the pale light of those bitter ramparts sank and dwindled beneath the horizon, growing ever fainter until they saw it no more. And it is set down in the Chronicles that many long years were yet to pass ere any of them set eyes on their great adversary once more.

The deer, and another they took the next day, gave them a good store of meat, which was as well; they encountered no more herds as they walked further to the southeast,

following the rivers that ran like dark veins through the rising land. On the seventh day of their journey they drew at last into higher ground, a hilly country with many long stretches of evergreen forest. Though they viewed it at first with deep suspicion, it seemed younger and more sparse than Tapiau'la-an-Aithen, and like the Northland forests it wholly lacked that oppressive air of watchfulness. Larger creatures were still scarce here, but there were more birds. Jays screamed, black woodpeckers drummed, swifts shrilled over the treetops and swooped so low over clear ground that their wingtips hissed among the weeds; a thousand small flashes of life bounced and chirruped in spring feather through the woods. The sun shone more often now, and the rain, though often hard, released rich scents into the crisp air. Bare though the land was, after the desolations they had been through they felt they could wish for no better garden.

Food had given them back their strength, and only the cold remained to plague them. Yet though they strode ever higher among the hills it did not greatly increase, save when the wind blasted down upon them from the north, bringing sleet and stinging hail to send them leaping for the nearest large tree. They were content enough to find no worse adversary. Fire warmed them at evening, and they met the next day, the next hill, as they came to it. So it was that they were surprised one bright morning as they left a large area of woodland flanking a chain of broad waterfalls to find that they were already high among the lower slopes of the mountains they sought, and that the peaks stood clear above them now.

"Such as they are!" said Roc scornfully. "Hardly mountains at all, are they?"

"Lower than our western ranges," agreed Kermorvan unhappily. "And they run northwest from here; they must meet the Ice eventually. A poor barrier!"

Roc shook his head dolefully. "Might've just flowed down around the far side!"

"I doubt that," observed Elof. "It had to make a great effort to swallow Morvan; nowhere in the Westlands did it come so far south. And to pass round these mountains might be a greater effort yet. They are older than our mountains, I think, and more worn, blunt as old teeth. But they may well be wider." As they climbed higher, finding peak behind peak, and came at last to the mouth of a likely pass, they saw that he was right. Broad as that pass was, with a river at its heart, they could not make out its end; it snaked away among the peaks into the blue distance.

"They gain from being lower," said Ils. "There is snow here, but
it is
melting as summer comes. There are fewer snowcaps for the Ice to seize on."

"That is some hope, at least," said Kermorvan. "But Korentyn did not speak idly. Morvannec was small, its lands thinly peopled and half wild; it could not long withstand any determined onslaught. Still, something may yet endure. And so must we!"

The snowy grassland that flanked the river grew sparse as it climbed the flanks of the pass, and still thinner till at last it dwindled to bare earth. For the first three days they saw no life at all, beyond small birds. The snows that had faded on the plains still fell at times, not heavily, but enough to make them use the firewood they had carried from the hills more rapidly than they wished. Elof wondered if their food would last; it was little enough they had now, yet among their other hardships it made the vital difference. He could hardly bear the thought of going hungry again. On the morning of the fourth day, when the opening of the pass had vanished behind them and a low crest limited the view before them, they were surprised to see movement on the riverbank ahead, black specks drifting through the snow-speckled grass. At once they dropped from sight behind stones and scrub; whatever was about up here should be approached with caution. As Elof and the others sidled closer, keeping behind a huge boulder entangled in willow scrub, he saw that they were beasts, large and four-legged in shape, not unlike small wisants with immensely shaggy black coats; but their short horns, curving low and close to the sides of the blunt heads, suggested sheep or goats.

Kermervan smiled to Ils. "Some old friends of ours, I think, lady? Among your folk I had occasion to guard a herd or two. Worthy beasts, save to the nose."

She exclaimed in surprise. "
Velek Ilmarinen
! Musk-oxen! Now why…" She glanced quickly around the barren slopes above, and along the pass to the crest.

Kermorvan was still watching the herd. "There is little point in stalking them, I fear; they are cunning and quick, and would not fall easily to two mere birdbows. Elof's hammer might do, but it would be hard to get close enough. Ils, what say you?" Then he sensed her unease. "My lady?" At once he too was scanning the heights, alert and tense.

She shook her head grimly. "There is nothing there for you to read, Lord of Men."

Kermorvan evidently noticed the unusual title she gave him, and the dark tones in which she spoke it. His own were guarded, but alert. "Yet there is for you, lady?"

"For what it matters, yes; such signs as we place upon our mountain paths and pastures, that our eyes alone can read, even in what is darkness to you. None clearer, though, than those beasts; where they are, so also were the duergar. They are descended from our herds."

"Here? Your folk dwell here?" Elof looked around him with wonder; Roc also, but with more of apprehension.

Ils shrugged. "The signs are ancient. Only traces remain. And the herds are gone wild. See!" She stood up from behind the rock. A long muzzle lifted, lip curled and nostrils flared to taste the air; another looked up, its shaggy coat twitching nervously, and then long horns tossed in warning. Ils went stumping quite slowly and casually toward the herd, and suddenly they were wheeling about in bellowing disorder and bounding off across the meager grass with a goatish skip that belied their bulk. Out of reach they halted, by a wider patch of willow, snorting, suspicious, pawing the ground in threat. "You see?" Ils tossed back over her shoulder to the others. "These have not seen my folk in many a generation. Why do you linger back there? You may walk these lands without fear, now, and forget whose they once were." And without another word she stalked on.