The Heir of Night (47 page)

“The Nine preserve us all!” Nhairin cried in a hoarse, strained voice. “They have brought some sort of demon with them!”

27

A
thin, shrill wind had risen in the night and was blowing steadily from the north. It brought a cold dawn with it, creeping across the Gray Lands and around the Border Mark. The pillar of weathered stone had been standing long before the Derai ever came to the world of Haarth and the inscriptions on its surface were worn down by time. No one could read them anymore, just as no one knew who had placed the pillar there. It served now to mark the boundary of Derai influence and the end—or beginning—of the road that snaked south into low, rounded hills, toward the River lands.

The country was both lawless and desolate, but there were way stations all along the road’s length, established by the River merchants who traded with the Derai. The last—or first—of these was tucked into the low hills around the Border Mark and comprised little more than a wood pile and a ring of blackened fire stones. The dawn light, stealing into this camp, revealed a fire’s cold ashes; two great gray horses were tethered amongst the wind-stunted trees, with their saddles and a modest amount of equipment trussed into the branches overhead.

The riders were harder to detect. They were cloaked
in gray and sat as still as stone amidst the tree shadows, looking out toward the morning. The wind caught at their cloaks, but otherwise only their eyes seemed alive, snaring the sun’s light when it finally crept up and over the horizon. Its warmth was muted, veiled behind a baleful haze, and the horses moved uneasily, tossing up their heads. The cloaked figures stirred as well, standing up and stamping their feet against the morning chill. One walked to the edge of the camp and looked out over the Gray Lands while the other remained hooded in shadow, reverting to stillness while her companion quartered the plain with his eyes.

“Well,”
Jehane Mor said, using mindspeech so that no sound broke the night’s silence,
“what news does the dawn bring?”

“None out of the Gray Lands.”
Tarathan did not turn his head.
“I
can see nothing except a hawk, climbing high toward Jaransor. Yet, there is something stirring all the same
—
in the hills, and hidden behind the wind. I can feel it.”

He stared toward the dark bulk of the Jaransor hills and Jehane Mor’s gaze followed his.
“Jaransor,”
her mindvoice
murmured.
“Is it part of this?”

“I fear,”
Tarathan replied
,
“that it may be. The power that slumbers there is waking. I sense confusion and an ancient wrath burning in the land itself. It is slow as yet, but it is moving.”

The first sunlight touched the top of the hills, separating tor and outcrop from the shadows below.
“Dare we risk that power?”
Jehane Mor asked reflectively.
“Do we even need to? It may have nothing to do with our business here.”

Tarathan shook his head.
“It
does. Every time I seek for Malian and Kalan I am drawn to Jaransor, like a compass finding north. I suspect they have been lured into those hills, or driven. They may even be part of what is rousing there. But they are also in grave danger. The awareness of it presses in on me
—
and the danger is growing.”

“Are they caught up in what is happening there?”
Jehane
Mor was thoughtful.
“Or are they the catalyst, the pebble that has started the avalanche? They are Derai, after all, and Jaransor has little love for their kind.”

“The Madness?”
Tarathan frowned.
“Perhaps. But I don’t think Jaransor needs to wake for that particular curse to fall.”

Jehane Mor’s slim brows drew together.
“So where does this leave us? We could wait out the month here, in accordance with our agreement, then return quietly to Terebanth without shame or dishonor. That is one option.”

“It is.”
Tarathan turned back to the plain.
“There is something concealed behind this wind,”
he said again.
“But what?”
The wind riffled the braids of his chestnut hair.
“Is there another option?”

“Of course,”
she told him.
“The one that you prefer. We can follow your seeking into Jaransor and see what we find there.”

His lips curved in a brief, fierce smile.
“I do prefer that option. But what does the voice of caution advise?”

Jehane Mor’s answering smile was slight.
“That doing so will be extremely hazardous
—
and is not required by our herald’s oath.”

He turned, his eyes very dark in the early light.
“But are we willing to abandon Malian and Kalan to whatever fate has drawn them into Jaransor? Shall we do only what is required of us and no more?”

Her smile deepened.
“We never have before, that I can recall.”

“It is good,”
he said simply,
“that we are of one mind.”
A gleam from the rising sun caught in his hair and in his eyes, turning both to fire.
“But we should not ride blindly into whatever is brewing in Jaransor. First we must pinpoint Malian and Kalan’s location, if we can.”

Jehane Mor looked resigned.
“You intend seeking for them through the Gate of Dreams. Is that wise, given what we know of Jaransor?”

Tarathan shook his head.
“Almost certainly not, but we
need to find them quickly. And if what we have been taught is correct, Jaransor is one of the few places that exists both here and beyond the Gate of Dreams at one and the same time.”

“Which makes seeking the logical choice.”
Her gray-green eyes met his, grave and very level.
“But if Jaransor is indeed rousing, that could make the risk of using the Gate far greater. We know so little about Jaransor’s power, but what we do know is a litany of unpredictability, terror, and madness. It may very well overwhelm us both.”

“Jaransor is a danger,”
Tarathan agreed soberly,
“but one that may be lessened if only I pass beyond the Gate, while you hold your shield on the border between this plane and the dream realm.”
His glance swept the small, exposed campsite.
“It might be best, in any case, not to leave ourselves unprotected here.”

Jehane Mor’s look was still grave.
“If I remain on the border between realms that will also lessen the strength of my shielding once you pass the Gate. I should still be able to screen out unwanted scrutiny from the Swarm, but as for Jaransor itself…”
Her shrug left the outcome hanging.
“You will have to be wary.”

He grinned, then.
“When am I anything else? Besides, do we not have a destiny to fulfill? I do not believe that I am fated to die in Jaransor.”

She shook her head, glancing out over the brightening plain.
“Destinies may change, you know that as well as I. But we had best make haste, for neither the day nor Jaransor will wait for us.”

They ate quickly while the wind strengthened and grew colder, then saddled the horses and led them further into the trees.
“Best to stay out of sight of prying eyes, and be ready to leave quickly.”
Tarathan’s horse danced a little, scenting the wind, and he patted its neck. “Gently there, my brave-heart,” he said aloud. “Although you are quite right about this wind. I don’t like it either.”

“Nor I.”
Jehane Mor frowned, studying the sky.
“If it
were not too early in the year, I would swear that I smelt winter at its back.”

Tarathan nodded.
“There is snow behind it, which is even more reason to make haste.”
He spread his long cloak beneath the densest tree cover and lay down, his two swords naked across his breast. Jehane Mor sat cross-legged at his head, her eyes and face very calm within her gray hood.

“I am ready,”
she told him, her mindvoice calm.

“And I,”
he replied—and sent his spirit forth, past the Gate of Dreams and into Jaransor.

28

F
ar to the north, Malian stood with a hand on her horse’s rein, her face hidden by the curve of its neck while Kyr and Nhairin argued. Lira sat to one side with her hands lying loosely over her knees. Her bow was already slung over her shoulder, the quiver on her back was full, and two knives were sheathed beside her sword. Her normally lighthearted face was grim and she seemed removed from them, her mind fixed entirely on what lay ahead.

She already knows what she has to do, thought Malian, and leaves Kyr to argue with Nhairin, who does not.

It had been a long, long night since they first heard the terrible scream that Nhairin had identified as one of the demon creatures that hunted with the Swarm. Malian had felt Kalan’s shield slam up, surrounding them with the color and shape of night, a pattern comprised of leaves, stars, and the night breeze. None of the others seemed to notice it, although Malian had caught Nhairin looking at Kalan once or twice with a puzzled frown. They had all stayed awake for a long time, waiting to see if the demon would hunt out their trail. But whether because of Kalan’s shield, or simply through luck, no Swarm demon had appeared and eventually they took turns to sleep. Only Kalan had remained
awake all night; he had whispered to Malian that he was afraid that his shield would dissipate without his conscious will holding it in place.

Kyr had roused them before first light. “I would not have thought that a Swarm demon could have missed us,” he had said. “If that is what we heard. But the pursuit will be hard on our heels anyway, since both Lira and Lady Malian believe that they have already crossed the Telimbras.” He had paused, shaking his head. “Only speed and luck will save us now. The way Lira and I see that, Heir of Night, is that we must try and make some luck, while the rest of you flee as far and fast as possible.”

“What do you mean make some luck?” Nhairin had asked sharply.

Kyr had looked back at her, heavy browed. “Why, even the odds a little, slow them up with a few losses. Who knows, we may even persuade them to turn back.”

“What folly is this?” Nhairin had protested. “You know we are hopelessly outnumbered! What you are proposing is certain suicide, when our best hope, surely, is to stay together!”

Kyr had grabbed her by the arm then, pulling her away from the others, and they were still hissing at each other on the far side of the small plateau. Malian looked an enquiry at Kalan, but he only shook his head, either unable to hear or unwilling to reveal that he could, with Lira there. Malian sighed and led her horse over to the other guard.

“Is Nhairin right? Is it suicide?” she asked.

Lira shrugged. “It’s a fighting chance, to slow them down a bit, not to stop them. It’s true the risks are high, but it’s the only way, Lady Malian. If we stay together, as Nhairin suggests, we’ll all be caught together—sooner probably, rather than later. This way, there’s a better chance for the rest of you to escape.”

“I see,” said Malian, and she did see, all too clearly. Before she could say anything else, Kalan spoke quietly from behind her.

“So why does Nhairin advocate a different course?”

Lira shrugged. “She speaks out of her fear that she, on her own, will be unable to protect you. She doesn’t look at what she can do, even now, but sees only what her leg prevents her from doing.” The guard slid a sly smile at Malian. “That is not my wisdom, it is what the captain warned us of before we left. But I think that she saw truly. And this is no time for arguing. It is a time for doing.”

She is right, thought Malian, so now I must act as Heir of Night and settle the matter.

She led her horse over to Kyr and Nhairin, who both looked around at her in surprise. Kyr’s expression was grim and exasperated, while Nhairin looked both angry and upset.

“Nhairin,” said Malian, meeting the steward’s eyes squarely, “I don’t like what Kyr is suggesting any better than you do, but Asantir put him in command and we have to do as he says.”