The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (18 page)

Fondor gave them clothes to change into, and when they were done they looked like highwaymen.

"Here is the fourth member of your company," Fondor said, nodding to Samul. "Three of you are believed dead, so no one will be looking for you, but if you're caught, better to fight to the death, for if Menwyn Wills learns you are alive, he will know that we be-lieved you, Lord Carl, and not Vast."In a moment they were led out a gate and were riding into the now-graying morning. Overhead the sky began to change to blue, and twice Carl noticed Samul Renne turn his gaze up, his eyes glistening.

"Do you think he told the truth?" Lady Beatrice noticed herself in a mirror, every wrinkle around her eyes standing out in high relief. She tried to smooth away the pain, but with only partial success.

"It is difficult to say; certainly Dease was there, and when one looks back one wonders why."Lady Beatrice could see that Fondor was as troubled as she. "Perhaps he had tried to force Dease into helping him escape and when Dease wouldn't…"Fondor shrugged. "It would not really be like him. Samul was never known to be vindictive."Lady Beatrice nodded. The alternative, however, was harder to accept: that Dease had conspired to murder Toren, was to be the murderer, in fact. And where was Dease now but off with Toren somewhere? The thought chilled her.

"Is Toren in danger?" she asked numbly.

Fondor shook his head. "I don't think so. They were to murder him because he was trying to make peace with the Wills. Toren is at war with the Wills, now. Unlike Beldor, Dease was not acting out of malice, I don't think. But where have they gone, Dease and Toren?"Lady Beatrice handed him a hastily scrawled note.

"It doesn't say much. What does this mean,'…there are more important battles to be fought.'?"Lady Beatrice shook her head. "Sorcerers," she said, her voice harsh, "All this talk of things from the past, servants of Death." She looked at Fondor helplessly, and shrugged.

"I hope he knows what he's doing.""And I for one would feel better if Dease were not with him. Dease… ," she said sadly. Lady Beatrice touched fingers to her brow. "I would have said that Dease loved Toren. They were always very close. But they were rivals for a certain lady's affections, though Toren might not have known it…"This silenced Fondor for a long moment, a crease appearing in the center of his heavy brow. "I had not thought of that." His scowl darkened. "Let us pray that Dease was not so inspired. Toren would never for a moment suspect it, for he is as innocent of this rivalry as a baby of his brother's."

They came down from the high valley, wending their way among trees that cast long, serpentine shadows across the slope. With the sun beginning to drop toward the western hills, even Tarn's shadow was worthy of a giant.

It had been an uneventful day. No minions of Hafydd had caught them, and they had encountered no one as they made their way across the lands of the Dubrell. Wolfson told them that his peo-ple had dwelt in this area long ago, but the incursions from the bor-derlands had driven them all away. Only the border patrol still lived there, and they moved constantly, never spending two nights in the same place. They were wary, Wolfson said, never knowing when they might be attacked by the unnamed horrors that slipped out of the borderlands.

An hour before dusk they found the bottom of the hillside and would have made better time had they not been so tired. Tarn felt as though he could sleep in the saddle, and he noticed Fynnol slumping down, his eyelids slowly drifting closed.

A wolf howled in the distance. Tarn barely noted the sound, but then he realized Alaan and Crowheart where whispering, suddenly very alert. Tarn snapped awake, blood pounding through his veins.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Wolves," the giant said, striding up beside him. "Some of my people are nearby. They patrol the border." Gesturing to Alaan to slow his pace, Wolfson walked out ahead, shafts of sunlight falling across his path.

A wolf appeared before him, then another. His own pack gath-ered around him, their hackles up, growling. Wolfson spoke firmly to them, and they wagged their tails and licked his hands.

A birdcall Tarn did not recognize echoed through the wood, and Wolfson put a hand up to his mouth and answered in kind. A mo-ment later the bushes parted, and two of Wolfson's people stepped out of the wood. They cast wary glances toward the mounted men, but Wolfson went forward, his palms out, speaking their rapid, heavily accented dialect.

The giants met in a small clearing, talking surprisingly softly for men so large. Much nodding of heads, then one of the giants pointed, and Wolfson came trotting back to his companions.

"Come," he said, "there has been a nichmear hunting here these last two nights. Come quickly before it grows dark!"Tam did not know what a nichmear was, but he dug heels into his horse's sides and followed the others. The giants were trotting along now, covering ground more quickly than Tam would have thought possible. They did not seem to tire, and Tam guessed they might keep up such a pace for half a day or more.

They trotted along through the shadows and low shafts of light, branches swatting them as they passed. The bars of sunlight sud-denly faded, as though someone had snuffed a candle, the sun hav-ing fallen behind the western hills. Twilight drifted through the trees like smoke.

Just before darkness fell, and the stars sprang to light, the com-panions broke out of the trees to find a ruin of tumbled stone, much overgrown, but one section of wall had obviously been re-paired; and it was there the giants led them. One of the Dubrell dropped his pack and weapons and climbed over the wall, clearly knowing where to find purchase for feet and hands. A moment later the oak doors swung open, and they entered. In the falling darkness Tarn could see they were enclosed within a thick stone wall, roughly square and maybe twenty-five paces across. Two shed roofs had been built against the stone, one enclosed by a fence and clearly for horses, the other covering a hearth set in the wall. Four sets of stairs led up to ramparts with a rough parapet. One giant went directly up to the ramparts and walked a slow circle, staring into the gathering darkness.

Tarn dropped down onto the packed dirt and weeds that made up the floor of the place. Realizing how tired the little Vale-man was, Crowheart took Fynnol's mount. Horses were soon rubbed down and watered. Two of the giants took scythes that hung in the rafters and went out into the clearing, coming back shortly with a small mow of grass between them. The horses munched happily on this, though Tarn thought they were skittish and wary.

A fire was kindled in the hearth, and men and giants were soon eating dinner—rabbits and partridge they'd killed earlier. Benches—tree trunks with one side flattened by an adze—were arranged around the hearth, and the Dubrell and their guests threw themselves down on them. Fynnol lay on his back with his knees drawn up and was immediately asleep.

"You came a distance at a good pace,Wolfson," the giant named Beln said.

The three giants, who called themselves sentries, were all young, or so Tarn thought. He found it difficult to judge the ages of these giants partly because their faces were hidden by thick beards, and their voices were all dungeon deep.

"There is no time to waste," Alaan answered.

The three sentries glanced at each other, then one of them asked, "What's this we've heard of men forcing the north pass?"Wolfson was slicing onions, his eyes watering. "We put them to rights," he said. "I don't think they'll follow us farther."58^"Don't be so certain, Wolfson," Alaan said. "Hafydd's servants are more afraid of him than of us.""Hafydd… Who is that?" one of the giants asked. He was the one who smiled often. Tarn had divided them up thus: the one who smiled, named Pounder; the vigilant one, Beln (he kept jogging up onto the ramparts to search the darkness); and the sullen one, whom they called Teke. He sat a little apart from the others and said little.

"A sorcerer," Alaan said. "One you don't want to meet.""What is it you are hunting here?" Tarn asked.

"A nichmear," Pounder said. "Though it is the nichmear that will be hunting us." He looked up at the sky. "The smoke and the smell of cooking should draw it. The pack will start to howl when it arrives."Tarn bent over and retrieved his bow and quiver. He strung the bow quickly.

"Don't worry," the giant said. "Only one's ever made it over the wall.""But what is this thing?" Tarn said.

"Nichmear," Wolfson said. " 'Nightmare' in the tongue of men. It is a massive thing. Two-legged, but with the horns of a bull. It has a tail that cuts like a whip and claws that can tear through mail." His face became strained and anxious. "It is thrice your height, or very nearly, and would take the lot of you and smash you against the wall with one swipe of its claws. It comes out of the twilight, and is never abroad by day, and is the more frightening for it. We have killed one once before, and wounded others, always at heavy cost." He looked around the small group of giants. "One of us will be dead before morning if the nichmear comes.""You hadn't us to help you before," Cynddl said.

This caused the giants to turn away or back to their work, not quite hiding their smiles.

"I think you will find that Cynddl is not boasting," Alaan said. "They have fought the servants of Death before… and won."A howl carried over the wall, and the giants all stopped, sud-denly alert.

"Eat up, now," Pounder said. "Death has no servant more ter-rible than this."Tam was too nervous to eat much, but forced a few mouth-fuls down. They were all up on the ramparts in no time, armed with whatever weapons they carried. Pounder hefted a great iron ball on the end of a thick oaken handle. In the hands of a giant it would shatter bones—it would break rock, he was sure. The giants didn't seem much interested in bows or arrows, though they leaned spears against the wall, and some of these were for throwing. They also kept a pile of good-sized stones, and Tam guessed these were to crush whoever might attack from below.

The wall of their small keep was not high, about three times Tarn's height—the same height Wolfson had given to the nichmear. Tam hoped the giant had been merely trying to scare him with his description.

Beyond the ruins of what once had been a fair-sized keep was a broad meadow, which ran off to the south out of sight in the dark. On the other three sides a forest stood, nearer in some places than others. Tam could make out little in the cool light of the stars and the thin crescent of moon.

Wolves darted along the border of the wood, dodging in and out of shadow. Tam nocked an arrow and tested the pull of his bow. They were all silent, giants and men—listening. Tam could feel the sweat on his hands and worried that his bowstring might slip off his fingers. Fynnol and Cynddl were to one side of him, both with their bows ready. Beyond them stood Alaan and Wolfson, and the three giants waited to Tarn's left.

"Will the pack attack this thing?" Tam whispered.

In the faint light he saw Wolfson shake his head. "They're afraid of it, and you'll soon see why."A small breeze moved Tarn's hair, and he almost jumped. The cracking of wood sounded somewhere out in the dark, and Tam raised his bow.

"It's still some way off," Beln said." 'Tis the single thing we can be thankful for when it comes to the nichmear: they know nothing of stealth.""It isn't really so big as you claimed, I assume?" Fynnol said.

" 'Tis every bit as big, but in the dark, of course, it looks bigger.""Of course," Fynnol said. "Don't we all?" Small clouds sailed across the dark ocean of sky, passing before the waning moon, throwing shadows down on the meadow and the half-fallen walls of the keep. Tam began to see movement in every shadow. The giants posted themselves on the four corners of the keep, but left the outsiders facing south as it was the most likely place of attack, they said. Tam felt vulnerable the moment the gi-ants were gone. There was something comforting about having four men the size of Slighthand standing beside you. And only the giants had fought these things before.

"Is that something?" Fynnol whispered, and pointed out into the darkness.

A cloud had passed before the moon a moment before, and the shadows spread out like pools of water.

Tam strained to see into the darkness—like staring into the night river.

"It is your imagination," Alaan whispered.

"I think Fynnol is right," Crowheart said. He pointed at the tallest section of wall. "There. Do you see."The horses began to mill around in their small enclosure, whin-nying nervously.

Tarn's eyes began to water from staring into the dark. There was something there, he was almost sure of it. A darker place in the shadow. Alaan called Wolfson. The giant came pounding along the ramparts.

The cloud blew off then, and the faint light grew, spreading over the ruins. The dark shape seemed to take on an outline.

"River save us!" Fynnol whispered.

It was immense and coming at great speed. Its feet, pounding on the earth, could be heard now; a deep drumming that shook the stone beneath their feet. Alaan cursed. He raised his bow and drew back an arrow. The others did the same.

Wolfson came up beside them, and called urgently to the oth-ers, who all converged on the center of the south wall.

Run! Tarn's brain screamed. He struggled against his desire to flee, muscles in his legs and arms twitching. Run!

Fynnol fired an arrow at the "thing" converging on them. And then it was near, a blur of pumping limbs.

Tarn let his arrow fly then, but he miscalculated the speed of the thing, which seemed to have materialized out of darkness. A glimpse of horns, a malevolent face, then it lowered its head and smashed into the gates below. Tam was thrown off his feet and would have fallen to the yard below, but Wolfson caught his shoulder and dragged him up.

The sound of splintering wood, the scream of iron hinges wrenched out of shape. Pounding like hooves on a barn floor, and the thing was in the yard below, casting its gaze around and snort-ing like a bull.

It spotted the horses and charged the enclosure. Alaan's mount, Bris, leapt over the fence first, and the others scrambled to follow, knocking each other down in their panic. The nichmear smashed through the fence, pinning a screaming horse to the wall. As it thrashed and fought the shed roof collapsed, burying gored horse and monster both. Pounder had run around the wall and jumped down on the fallen roof. Lifting his hammer, he smashed it down on the shingles, splinters of wood flying up all around. The crea-ture howled and stood up, throwing the roof and Pounder off. The giant landed on his side on the hard-packed dirt, and struggled to his knees, dazed.

The creature looked around, extricating itself from the ruin of the horse pen by breaking away the roof with its claws. In the harsh darkness Tam could not make it out clearly—lethal-looking horns on a massive head, shoulders muscled like a bulls. It tore its legs free of the debris and spun around, tail snapping like a whip.

Struggling to gain his feet, Pounder faltered and fell to his hands and knees. Beln leapt down from the wall and put himself between the monster and his companion as Tam and the others rained ar-rows down on the creature.

"Shoot at its face!" Alaan cried.

Tam pulled an arrow back to his shoulder and let it fly, aiming at what he hoped was an eye. The creature bellowed and put an arm up to protect its face. Beln had dragged Pounder to his feet, and the two of them stumbled toward the stair. But the creature ig-nored them, bounding straight across the yard toward the men on the wall.

Tam and the others kept firing, but the creature did not slow. It swept the two Dubrell aside with one backhanded swipe and threw itself at the stone wall, using the debris from the gate as a step.

"It is after the outlanders!" one of the giants shouted.

Alaan cursed. Tam fired a last arrow at the horns he saw rising from below and drew his sword. Claws scraped up onto the stone of the ramparts, and Tam swung at what he hoped was the crea-ture's hand. But it was quicker than he and snatched its limb away. Grasping Tam by the ankle, it threw him off the ledge so that he slid down the creature's back, barely missing being gored.

It is afterAlaan,Tam realized.

He fell hard on the ground, driving his knees into his chest. His sword lay a few feet away, and Tam rolled and snatched it up, de-spite being shaken and hurt. On the parapet above, Tam could see shapes jumping aside as the creature tried to bull its way up onto the ledge.

Tam jumped up onto the fallen gate, which lay at an angle, still connected at a top corner by one hinge, bent impossibly out of shape. The gate shuddered and heaved beneath him as the creature struggled to climb up against the resistance of the men above. Tak-ing no time to think, Tam drove the point of his sword into the back of the creature's leg joint. It howled so loudly that Tam was frozen for a second. When he tried to pull his sword free he found it lodged. The creature swung a clawed hand at him, and Tam dived off the swaying gate just as the beast came tumbling down, tearing the gate away from its last hinge.