The Shadow at the Gate (63 page)

“That’s torn it,” said Ronan. “They’re bound to sink. We’ll have to swim. Aim for the last boat on the left. Jute, can you swim?”

“Of course,” said Jute scornfully.

The hawk flapped by overhead.

“Hurry!” the bird called.

Jute plunged out into the water. A wave smacked him in the face and he sputtered and gasped. Several yards away, the skiff sank to the accompaniment of a chorus of yells and screams. The boys scattered from it, some swimming strongly and others paddling along like dogs. The boat was anchored further out than Jute had thought. Things like that always looked different from the shore. The hawk landed on the railing of the boat and settled his wings.

“Right,” said Ronan from somewhere nearby. “Over the side, but be careful not to tip it.”

Jute clambered up over the side of the boat. It lurched a bit, but not much, for it was a stout little boat with a wide beam and a deep keel, perfect for sailing the rough seas of the northern coast. Ronan followed him over and immediately drew his sword to dry it with some rags he found in the boat.

“At least we left the ghosts behind,” said Jute.

“Don’t worry,” said his ghost cheerfully. It was sitting on the railing beside him. “I’m still here. I thought I’d forgotten how to swim, but I just floated along. What a lovely day it is. The sun’s on the bright side, though, don’t you think?”

Soon there was a second ghost, as Lano and two other boys swam up and hauled themselves into the boat. Ronan frowned but did not say anything.

“Look,” said the hawk.

A figure stood on the shore. Darkness lay about him like a cloud that the sun could not pierce. Shadows hovered around him. The figure did not move but stared straight out at them. There was a distance of perhaps a hundred yards between them and the shore, but even this did not seem enough to Jute.

“Can’t we go?” he said nervously.

“We’re safe enough for now,” said the hawk, “though we shouldn’t stay here long. There’s no telling what else might turn up, and some servants of the Dark aren’t so bothered by the sea as others. But for the moment, we’re in no better spot. Well done, ghost.”

“Oh?” said the ghost, startled at being complimented again. “Thank you.”

“Have any of you ever sailed a boat before?”

The hawk looked around expectantly. It turned out that no one had ever sailed a boat before, though one of boys said his family lived next door to a fisherman who had drowned at sea many years ago.

“I’ve never sailed a boat,” said Ronan. He paused and looked out at the sea as if he saw something there that no one else did. “I’ve never been in a boat before, but I think I’ll be able to sail this one.”

“I daresay you’re right,” said the hawk.

And Ronan was able to sail the boat. He set about it unerringly, even though, as he had said, he had never sailed a boat before. There was an old sail, heavy with oil and veined with much stitching, rolled in a compartment below the tiller. He soon had this raised and flapping from the mast.

“Jute,” he said. “Pull up that rope there.”

“That’s the anchor you’re pulling up,” said his ghost helpfully. “No one knows who invented the anchor, but rest assured that I have my suspicions.”

Jute crawled out onto the prow and hauled up the rope, slimy and green with algae. This prompted his ghost to launch into a long-winded discussion of the health benefits of freshwater algae versus saltwater algae, but Jute paid no attention, although from the argument that ensued as he pulled up the rope, it sounded as if Lano’s ghost was outraged by the first ghost’s claim that saltwater algae was a key ingredient in many remedies for diseases such as indigestion, frostbite, and runny noses.

The anchor rope proved too heavy for Jute after he had taken in the slack, and Lano and the two other boys heaved along with him until the anchor came up. The boys seemed to have forgotten the fright of running down the lane of eucalyptus with the darkness behind them. They seemed to have even forgotten what still stood motionless on the shore, but the hawk did not once move his gaze from that figure.

The sail bellied with the wind and then snapped tight. Ronan eased the tiller over and the boat crept out across the bay. Behind them, the three other boats had gotten underway in various states of shouting and argument, but there was obviously on each craft at least one boy who knew enough of boats and sailing.

“They’ll follow us,” said Ronan. “I don’t have the heart to forbid them. If they turned about to shore now, I think I know what would happen to them.”

“No,” said the hawk. “And it matters little at this point. It isn’t as if we’re moving in secret, and it’ll be no great guess on the wihht’s part that we’re heading north. I’ll be less concerned with what that thing knows, the further north we get. The closer we get to Harlech, the more chance we have to move about freely and safely. There’s power in that land and it isn’t friendly to the Dark.”

“We’ll try along the coast as far as we can go. Averlay might be too far for this boat, but there are other towns closer.” Ronan fell silent for a while and then spoke again, more to himself than to anyone else. “There’s logic in how this moves, the push of the wind and the waves, and the feel of the tiller. It’s almost like riding a horse.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said the hawk. He paused and then spoke again, his voice quiet. “She doesn’t give gifts lightly.”

“No,” said Ronan, and his hand strayed to the necklace under his shirt.

They were out past the bay and sliding past the headland that formed the northern arm of the bay. A slow, easy swell was running and the wind blew steady from the west. One of the two other boys proved to be the lad who had caught a mouse while they had been running through the eucalyptus trees. He pulled the mouse out of his pocket and amused himself by dangling the poor creature by the tail over the sea.

“One shouldn’t play with one’s food,” said the hawk.

Abashed, the boy placed the mouse back in his pocket.

“Wait,” said the hawk. “That’s not a mouse.”

With a sneeze and a wriggle, the mouse vanished, and a fat little man sprawled on the bottom of the boat. The boys gave a yell of alarm.

“My word,” said one of the ghosts. “It’s a fat man.”

“Master Ablendan!” said the boy who had been playing with the mouse. “I didn’t realize what—”

“Blast and burn it all!” shouted Ablendan, rubbing his backside. “Twice a mouse in one week. It’s enough to make you weep!”

“I’m sorry, master,” said the boy, greatly frightened. He and the other boys shrank back from the angry little man.

“No matter,” said Ablendan. “No matter. You couldn’t have known, and I couldn’t unwind myself from that dratted spell until someone said out loud that I wasn’t a mouse. That picked the knot free. Thank you, sir.” This he addressed to the hawk.

“You’re welcome,” said the hawk.

“I hope there’re no more mice on this boat,” said Ronan. “We’re riding low enough as it is.”

“I shall loathe cats all my days,” said Ablendan. He heaved himself up to the rail and looked back toward the bay. The cliffs were disappearing from sight and the Stone Tower could no longer be seen.

“Well,” he said, sighing. “That’s the end of that.”

“What do you mean, sir?” said Lano timidly.

“Speak, wizard,” said the hawk. “There’s a story in your voice.”

“I mean, that’s the end of the school. Nio was not alone in his wickedness. The lads here know him, I’m sure, for he taught their class on the fundamentals of naming last year. I’m afraid that two of the other professors, Facen and Tosca, have proved to be his compatriots.”

There was a collective gasp from the boys, as Tosca had been popular with them, being the professor who taught most of the classes on animals and animal languages. Lano turned pale, for he was a great admirer of Tosca.

“They tricked us all. Facen called a meeting of the professors after you, master hawk, and your friends went up to rest. And then, when we were in the conference hall, he turned us all into mice, except for Stow and Perl.” Ablendan shuddered. “He turned them into cats. I saw Stow gobble down three mice before I had time to find the nearest hole in the wall. And Facen towering over us all like a giant, leering and laughing!”

“But, surely,” said Jute, horrified and yet fascinated as well, “surely this Stow fellow would’ve remembered who he was and what they were.”

“No,” said Ablendan sadly. “It’s difficult to keep one’s mind clear when shifting shape into an animal. It’s even more difficult when someone else turns you into an animal without a second’s warning. The transformation is overwhelming. All your thoughts are consumed with the basic instincts of whichever animal you’ve become. My mind for the first hour was entirely devoted to terror and cheese. Dreadful.”

Ablendan lapsed into gloomy silence and would not talk, but sat huddled against the railing of the boat, wrapped in his cloak. The ghosts pestered him with questions, which he did not answer. Ablendan’s mood prevailed over the three boys and they fell silent as well, lost in their own thoughts that, doubtless, concerned the Stone Tower and the life they had known there.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

HARLECH MUST WAIT

Levoreth and the wolves came down from the mountains in the hills of the Mearh Dun. She knew this land better than she knew her own face in a mirror. The hills were beloved and familiar. She had spent years ranging across them, but they were no comfort to her now. They were only a distraction and an ache.

The wolves went hunting early that morning.

Daylight is not for the hunt
, said the big wolf.
Daylight is for sleeping, but we run with you, Mistress. The pack is hungry and I scent meat close by. The little plains deer. Their flesh is sweet.

Go your way, Drythen Wulf
, said Levoreth.
Swallowfoot and I shall continue. But make haste with your hunt and hurry along our trail.

The wolf growled his assent, and the pack rushed away. They shone black and brown and gray and then were gone across the grasses and vanished from sight.

Wolves
, said Swallowfoot.

Levoreth laughed out loud. The first time in many hours.

We can’t all eat grass.
She patted the horse’s neck.

Her mind would not rest. Again, the voice of the sceadu whispered through her thoughts, just as it had first done in the mountain eyrie.

I serve another.

Who? Who was her enemy?

Levoreth examined her memory, sifting through hundreds of years. There had been innumerable faces of evil down through the ages. All the lords of darkness with their might and magic and malice brought to bear against the children of men. Their names and faces flickered through her thoughts. But there had never been any more powerful than the three sceadus. None save Nokhoron Nozhan himself. But he slept in Daghoron. The sceadus had been his most dreadful creation. His supreme mockery of life.

I serve another.

She would have to enlist aid. At once. Lord Lannaslech in Harlech. And then? Who else would be trustworthy and not compromised by the Dark? Owain Gawinn in Hearne, of course. He was a sensible man, and though he was hampered by his allegiance and responsibility to that fool of a regent, he might prove clever enough to handle Botrell. But who else besides Harlech and Owain Gawinn? The dukes of Dolan, Thule, and Hull were capable men of good families. Levoreth sighed at the thought of Hennen Callas. She would not want his blood on her hands and be the making of his widow.

But the preservation of Tormay was more important than considerations of widows and orphans. Still, she would leave that to Lannaslech. He and the other lords of Harlech could easily ride to their neighboring dukes and explain. If Harlech and Hearne rode to war, then all of Tormay would follow suit.

Except for Harth, of course. The self-styled king of Harth was not a charitable fellow and it was doubtful whether he had ever forgiven the rest of Tormay for not coming quickly to his aid so many years ago, when Sond Sondlon had sought to overthrow the kingdom of Harth. Not that that reluctance had been any of Levoreth’s doing.

They topped the last hill and the Scarpe Plain lay once again before them. The sun was mounting up over the Mountains of Morn in the east. The plain stretched out under the light and everywhere there was the scent of heather and the trill of birds. Swallowfoot’s hooves drummed on the turf. The wind whipped the horse’s mane back. Levoreth half-closed her eyes, dreaming in the morning sun.

How I wish I could return to Dolan. That nothing had happened. Go home.

And she thought of the cemetery behind the church in Andolan. Sunlight and roses and my old love sleeping in the earth. But I think I shall never again rest beside the headstone there. Levoreth shook her head at the thought, and the wind tangled her hair and Swallowfoot’s mane until they were one and the same.

I hope the boy is safe. To think, the Wind has been born anew. The hawk will know what to do. The hawk will keep him safe until he grows into who he is meant to be. But I must call Tormay to war.