The Way Into Chaos (18 page)

“And yet they don’t understand why you sent us away.”

“Because I didn’t want you to be here when the Evening People arrived!”

Laoni glanced to her left. “That’s what they can’t believe.”
 

“That’s because they don’t know anything about the Evening People. Do people really think I wanted to parade my wife and children in front of them as though my life was yet another performance for them to enjoy? To have them stare greedily at us, and talk to us as though we were children, and...” Moorlin Stillwater was listening to this conversation, and who knew how many more of his retinue, too. Tejohn needed to say exactly the right thing, or his wife and children would be suspects forever. “Laoni. You are my wife and the mother of my children. You are the woman I love. I’m not going to put you on a stage in front of those arrogant dogs as if you were the happy sequel to
that Fire-taken song.
”

He thought he could see her relax slightly. Had he said the right thing? He hoped so.
 

“Be careful,” she said.
 

Tejohn nearly said,
I already tried to throw myself out of a flying cart,
but he bit the words back. “I will be. Look after our skirmishers. Tell them about me.”
 

Her mouth twisted then, as though the pain and misery she’d been holding in were suddenly too much for her. Moorlin Stillwater took her place before the mirror as she began to cry.
 

“My Tyr Treygar,” he said. “Are things really so grim that we should send our loved ones into the frontier?”
 

But Tejohn wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. “You know as much as I do. Maybe more. Make what preparations you believe to be wise.” Then he broke the connection.
 

His wife and children would be safe on the far side of the Straim, serpents or no. Safer. He hoped. Great Way, his hands were shaking.

Now to his duty to the king. He spoke Challry Grimwood’s name.

It took some time for a servant to summon him, but Tejohn knew he would not yet be abed. The Grimwood lands lay to the north and west of the capital, and of all the holdings near the throne, Tyr Grimwood was the only one he would call a friend.
 

Challry had no time for pleasantries. Yes, the beasts were attacking Grimwood lands, driving farmers and fishermen into his holdfast. The attacks seemed to be without strategy, and Grimwood’s soldiers had taken to hunting the beasts like animals, without much success.
 

No, he had not heard anything from Beddalin Hole, Stormfast, or Long Ridge, nor did he know what had happened to the men stationed there. The conversation was interrupted on Challry’s end by a messenger with urgent news, and Tejohn said his farewells to an empty mirror.
 

Next he spoke Linder Holvos’s name and received a reply almost immediately. He was Tyr of the city of Rivershelf and all the flood lands around it. Yes, he told Tejohn, the beasts had invaded, carrying off everyone they didn’t tear apart and devour. The attacks on his lands--and on the lands of the Redmudds to the west--were intensifying. Linder’s own niece had been bitten and carried away.
 

As with Challry, he’d had no word from Beddalin Hole, Long Ridge, or Stormfast. He also had no time to talk. He wished Tejohn a long journey upon The Way, then broke the connection.

Tejohn went to his room and lay on his cot. Second Rivershelf had been stationed at Stormfast, and Second Ironwood at Long Ridge. If those soldiers had fled the fall of Peradain, they would have returned to the tyrs who pledged them.
 

What he had only feared to be true was as good as confirmed. The king’s spears had been wiped out. Tejohn pulled the blanket up to his chin, thinking that Lar Italga was king of a single spear. What a heartrending song that would make.

Just as Tejohn thought sleep would never come, it did.
 

He awoke with a start. The sun had not yet risen. Good. He gathered his kit and took an extra blanket from his room, then went down to the great hall to break his fast. The king, dressed in armor, was already there, feasting and jesting with the soldiers. Tejohn scowled at the king’s new helm; it was steel, yes, but the red plume at the top was ridiculous.
 

Tejohn ate in silence, taking his fill. He watched as Mister Farrabell and Doctor Eelhook entered, both looking slightly lost, and ate mechanically from the platters they were given.
 

Shortly after sunrise, it was time to go. They climbed into the cart, and, as the driver tied himself into place, the king gestured toward a number of other tethers on the railings. Tejohn felt a surge of relief as he tied himself into place. The captain, Reglis Singalan, and a skirmisher mounted their spears on the side of the cart.
 

“My tyr,” Reglis said, “I present Arla Grimfield, archer and scout.”
 

She was about Tejohn’s age, in her mid forties, with long ropy muscles and a blunt, puggish face. Her nose was crooked and her chin was scarred, but her eyes were bright and wide like someone who had spent her life far from the safety of stone walls. “Grimfield? Any relation to the Grimwoods?”

“Cousins, my tyr. My people fought the empire longer and harder than the Grimwoods did, so when we surrendered, there were too few of us to make a tyrship. Of course,” she added hastily, “that was a long time ago. Grimfields are a Fifth Festival clan; even then we were a small one. We’re mostly miners and seed farmers now.”

“Why did you become a king’s spear?” Tejohn asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“King’s bow, if you would, my Tyr. I was raised in these mountains in a traveling mining camp. My brothers and cousins were servants to a wandering scholar looking for silver. Dig here. Dig there. Set up a forge. Tear it down. One day, the mine flooded. The water that gushed out had terrible...
things
in it, and I knew no one was coming skyside from there. We kids marched out of the mountains into the nearest town below. I didn’t like turning the mill wheel or tanning hides, so I did what I had to do to buy my bowstring. I’ve spent my whole life scouting these mountains and traveling the Sweeps.”

Tejohn nodded at her. “Strap yourself in.”

The driver, of course, stood at the back of the cart. Lar sat on the bench in front of him, just beside the grunt’s body, which the servants had loaded into the back. Tejohn took the spot directly beside the king. Doctor Eelhook sat in front of Tejohn and Reglis beside her. The front bench stayed empty; Arla stood at the rail, apparently too anxious to settle down. The scholar and the king both wore quivers of iron-tipped darts.

The food was packed at the front, but of course with the scholar along, they would not need to carry water. Packed beside Tejohn were the weapons and few tools they might need--hatchet, rope, blankets.
 

A line of spears stood at attention to see them off. Cazia Freewell broke through the crowd and leaned over the railing to embrace the king. “Timu?” he asked her.
 

“Not awake yet,” she answered.
 

“Tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She nodded and stepped away. From just behind her, Vilavivianna stepped forward. Tejohn didn’t recognize her at first in her woolen hat and quilted jacket.
 

“My betrothed,” Lar said kindly. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I have. But tell me, what will happen to me if you are killed?”

“I can’t answer that. I’m sorry.”

“You are the king,” she said. “Command these men to send me back to my people if you do not return from this mission.”
 

“If I do not return,” Lar said, his voice low but still kind, “no command I give will have any force.”

The foreign princess didn’t like that, but there was nothing for her to say.

Ranlin Gerrit approached. “My king,” he said to Lar. Then he turned to Tejohn. “My friend. Safe travels to you both.”
 

Lar smiled. “Thank you, commander. Driver, ascend.”

“Yes, my king,” Wimnel said, and the cart floated off the stones of the yard. Tejohn looked down at the men, knowing he would probably never see any of them again. Still, Reglis and Arla aboard, the number of King Lar’s spears had doubled since last night, and he’d added half as many bows. That was a trend he’d like to see continued.

As they rose, the front of the cart dipped to counter the headwind. They rose higher, passing over the hall, the commander’s tower, and finally the northern wall, headed deeper into Samsit Pass.
 

After rounding the first bend, Arla turned around. “This is the place. Up this way.” She pointed toward a cleft in the rock. The driver turned toward the peaks and started toward them, cutting west into the mountains.

Tejohn’s stomach suddenly felt tight. “What is this?” he called over the wind. He laid his hand on his knife. “We are going to the Sweeps.”

“It’s all right, my tyr,” Lar said. “I agreed to this route while you were busy with other things.”

“My tyr,” Arla said to him, her gaze turning several times to the dagger he had not yet drawn. “The northern end of Samsit Pass is narrow, and the winds are tricky. It’s fine for marching, but carts tend to smash against the rocks like rafts in a white rapids. This route will take us through two long high valleys to a safer entrance to the Sweeps.”
 

She sounded quite reasonable and Lar seemed content with the plan. Tejohn moved his hand away from his knife.

They rose up through the cleft into the first valley. Tejohn was startled by how stark and beautiful it was. There was clear blue water below, with a few scrub pines growing along the edge, and black rock cliffs that looked as though a giant had carved out this valley with two mighty blows with an axe. At least, that’s how Tejohn imagined it, by the blurry colors he could see.

They moved slowly through the valley though they were on a pleasure cruise. The lake below had to be terribly deep and cold.
 

Lar said, “Looks almost good enough to dive into, doesn’t it, my tyr?”

Tejohn recognized a joke when he heard one, but he had no idea how to play along, so he said the obvious thing, “I’d like to double knot your tether now, my king.”

Lar laughed. Arla turned back toward them. “You wouldn’t want to swim in that water, my king. Yes, it’s fresh at this end of the Barrier, not salty, but it’s cold enough to kill you. Besides, it has merfolk in it.”

“I thought merfolk were a myth,” Doctor Eelhook said.
 

“Pft.” Arla didn’t think much of that. “Camp near the water’s edge and you’ll learn different. One tried to drag my baby brother into the depths, but my father changed its mind with a spade. Their flesh is light and flaky if you don’t overcook it.”

It took most of the morning, but eventually, the cart came to the source of the lake, a waterfall only a bit higher than the southern walls of Fort Samsit. They passed over it and entered the next valley. The water here was shallower and moved more quickly, and the pines grew farther apart. Tejohn looked over the rail, hoping to see some sign of fish people.
 

“Doctor Eelhook,” the king said, “ready a dart.”

That startled everyone. The king was looking at something on the cliffs above, but the black disk above the cart blocked Tejohn’s view. He leaned down, practically to the king’s shoulder, and saw it.
 

It was another one of those Fire-taken birds, watching them from a cliff above. This time, Tejohn was almost close enough to get a decent look at it. Its head was the dark brown of well-tanned leather, and its chest was eggshell white with speckles on the upper left breast. Its talons were intimidating, at least the size of the blade of Tejohn’s new spear, and its beak looked to be even longer than the sword at his hip.
 

Arla whistled in amazement. “Well, hello there, stranger.”

“I don’t want to see that thing get above us,” Tejohn said.

“We can’t go higher, my Tyr,” the driver sounded nervous. “The winds—”

“Let’s not worry too much yet,” Lar said. “It’s just watching us.”

“It’s a predator, my king,” Arla said. “And it’s big enough to carry one of us off.”
 

“But will it bother with an entire cart?”
 

Arla untied her tether and fetched her bow from the back of the cart. “My king, if you give me something to hold on to, my bow and I will ride atop this disk.” She jerked her thumb upward at the black-painted wood above her. She was close enough to touch it but she didn’t. Tejohn understood her reluctance.

“Can’t,” the driver said. “I’m sorry, my king, but we can’t put anything on top of the disk. We’d drop out of the sky.”

Lar laughed. “That’s an awfully fussy flight spell you have there, isn’t it?”
 

“I’m sorry, my king.” The driver sounded resentful. “I’m sure the scholars are...” His voice trailed off. Of course, the scholars were not going to do anything to improve the flight spell. A month ago, the Scholars’ Tower was probably filled with people studying it; they were all dead now.

The bird watched them fly the length of the valley. Tejohn wished he had his spear in hand. The king had a plan and the conviction to see it through, but all would come to nothing if this thing moved against them while they were vulnerable in the sky.
 

“Scout,” Tejohn said. “Do you see any others?”

“No, my tyr. Just the one.”
 

He looked over the rail of the cart at the huge raptor. It was far away now but still seemed to be watching them.
 

The driver was watching the bird, too. “Watch where we’re flying, Mister Farrabell,” Tejohn said. The man jumped as if poked with a stick, then immediately started to gain altitude. The valley ahead of them continued to rise, and the valley floor became rockier. The stream wound this way and that, splashing among jagged rocks.

“There goes our blessing,” Lar said, his voice sounding slightly odd. Tejohn turned back to see the raptor launch itself from its perch. Great Way, it was a formidable thing. Let it keep to the Sweeps, stealing okshim from herders, or snatching merfolk from the lakes. The king took a dart from his quiver. “What do you think, shield bearer? Should I kill it?”