Across the Face of the World (33 page)

'Here is the home of some small animal, probably a vole. Underneath us, at the bottom of the snow blanket, the voles and the other small animals make tunnels. It is warmer down there, and they live there during the winter. They come out only occasionally, because the cold wind would quickly freeze them solid. Or the owls might catch them, or the foxes or the wolves.'

'Wolves? Here on the moors? Why have we not seen them?'

'They will avoid us because of Wisent. But have you not seen their tracks? The vidda is covered with animal tracks. Still, you have not yet learned to see as the Fenni see. Or perhaps you have eyes only for the tracks of your enemies?'

The Haufuth nodded wearily. He was beginning to forget what uncovered earth looked like.

Where were these Bhrudwans?

Hunger. Tiredness. Pain. Fear. Cold. Mahnum knew that a lethal combination of these factors was killing him. He had energy for little more than the raising of one foot and the placing of it in front of the other. At least the relentless questioning and torment from their captors had ceased, as everyone in the party, captor and captive alike, focused on survival. It seemed to Mahnum that the cold was now a part of his body, that ice shards had replaced his bones, that his flesh was turning to stone. The cruel deaths of hunger and cold beckoned him, and he did not have the will to resist their call.

Day after day they travelled across these white lands of winter on a summer road. The food the Bhrudwans had taken from those they had killed had all but run out, and with it disappeared their chances of surviving on the moors. Why don't they just kill us and get it over with? Mahnum wondered. More food for them, faster travel, a chance to get out of the moors alive. What drives them to keep their captives at the risk of losing their own lives?

What was so important about this secret weapon, this Right Hand? For the hundredth time the Trader turned these matters over in his mind. I wish I could live long enough to find out!

What now? Mahnum looked up from his musings. Something was wrong. They had come to a halt in the bowl of a wide, shallow valley, and the Bhrudwans, gaunt-faced and themselves obviously suffering the effects of hunger, began a discussion some distance away from their bound captives. In silent, weary agreement, the three prisoners sank to the ground. The Bhrudwans either didn't notice or were too preoccupied to rebuke them.

The discussion between the Bhrudwans soon became an argu¬ment, with menacing voices raised. Perhaps they are turning on their leader, Mahnum hoped wildly. Perhaps it is a mutiny!

Gestures were made in their direction as the argument continued unabated. Behind them the horses, by now mere rags of skin shrouding skele¬tons, stirred uneasily at the unfamiliar, unsettling sound of the open anger in their masters' voices. Finally a decision was made and, as the three captives watched in horror, the Bhrudwan warriors turned to face them, then eased their wickedly curving swords out of their sheaths. At a signal from their leader, the four grey-robed men began a deliberate walk in the direction of their helpless prisoners.

As the grim-faced Bhrudwans came towards them with swords drawn, the Trader deliberately turned his gaze away, his eyes moving past Parlevaag's frightened, wide-eyed visage and finding the battered face of his beloved Indrett. She couldn't find the strength to smile, but the warmth in her eyes was enough for Mahnum, and again he lost his heart to her. There they sat, drinking in the sight of each other like that very first night at the court of Rammr, as though the intervening years had dropped away, as though their bonds meant nothing, as though they were not about to die at the end of a sword. At this moment, at the end of everything, all he could think of was her, and about how it had all been worthwhile.

On the ninth day out from the Fenni camp the Company came to the end of Breidhan Moor.

As they crested a final ridge, they were confronted by the huge bulk of the first of The Brethren. The rolling hills of the moor were replaced by a depression that veered off to the right, funnelling down into a wide, deep defile. The tracks turned in that direction.

'This is the valley of the Thraell River,' Perdu exclaimed. 'The Westway can be found on the far bank of the river. But road and river both are buried under this cursed snow.'

'Look!' Farr said, pointing down into the valley. 'On the far slope. What are those black specks?'

Perdu scanned the valley ahead of them, hands shading his eyes. 'Wolves,' he replied eventually. 'They are stalking something -see, further to the right, at the bottom of the valley.

Something is lying on the snow.'

'It could be Mahnum and Indrett!' Kurr cried, voicing everyone's fear. 'We must do something!'

Perdu urged Wisent forward, and the Company pounded down the slope after him. It would be a near thing. On the far slope the wolves moved slowly, stalking their prey, as yet unaware of the commotion on the slope opposite. The Company threw them¬selves down towards the inert forms on the valley floor, straining every muscle for extra speed. Perdu and the aurochs began to draw away from the others. Perhaps he would get there before the wolves.

But the wolf pack had crept close to their prey. Perdu shouted to attract their attention, but the upvalley wind carried the noise away from the wolves, intent on nothing but their upcoming feast. Behind him the other travellers ran, falling over and picking them¬selves up again, lungs burning with the cold air. The Haufuth stopped, exhausted. Just in front of him Kurr had also come to a halt. Behind both of them Hal stood watching the race. They could do nothing.

Leith and Stella ran towards the bottom of the slope, side by side. Ahead of them the Storrsen brothers flung themselves forward. And now Perdu had almost arrived at the valley floor.

But it was too late. Ahead of them all, the snarling wolves pounced on the bodies lying on the snow. Five, ten, twenty seconds passed. Leith could not watch. Then Perdu and Wisent ran into the scene of death, and the huge animal scattered the wolves in every direction. They drew away up the opposite slope, reluctant to abandon their meal, yet knowing they could not attack the immensely powerful aurochs. Snarling and yapping, they watched as, one by one, the Company arrived to stare at the blood-stained snow. What was left of the wolves' prey lay dead. Leith counted. One, two, three, four. Four Bhrudwan horses.

'They can't be far ahead!' Perdu cried as the others gathered around the carnage. 'These horses haven't been dead long!'

'Perhaps the wolves killed them,' Leith commented.

The Fenni shook his head. 'No - we saw them lying on the snow before the wolves got them.'

By now Kurr had most of his breath back. 'What we don't know is how long they had been lying there before the wolves found them. The Bhrudwans may be miles away by now.'

'Not likely,' Perdu argued.

'Look here,' said Farr, pointing to one of the corpses. 'This wound is not fresh like the others.

A sword thrust, perhaps?'

'What does it mean?' two or three voices asked in chorus.

'It looks as if the Bhrudwans killed their own horses. Look, here's a similar wound on another horse.'

'But why would they do that?' Kurr asked, incredulous.

'Take a closer look,' Farr pressed. 'These animals are nothing more than skin and bone. I'm surprised they made it through the moors! But obviously they could go no further. My guess is that these horsemen could not stand the sight of their horses suffering agonisingly slow deaths. So they put them out of their misery.'

'You may have read it right,' Kurr growled. 'Maybe.'

Farr turned to the others. 'The blood is dry and hard on the older wounds. These horses have been dead many hours, perhaps since yesterday.'

'I don't know how they've done it,' the Haufuth remarked, 'but the Bhrudwans have kept ahead of us, even without the benefit of a guide, snowshoes or an aurochs. What sort of magic has sustained them?'

The elder Storrsen laughed. 'Not magic! Remember, we haven't used the snowshoes for the last three days. Like us, they would have had no trouble walking on such hardened snow.

They have kept up a strong pace; I hate to think what it will have done to their captives.'

Kurr turned to where Leith and Hal had been standing, but they were no longer there. He saw them some distance away, Hal with a comforting arm around Stella. Upset about the horses, most probably.

'We must rest,' the Haufuth said. 'The run down the hill has left me spent.' He sat down on his pack.

Farr threw a hand into the air in exasperation. 'We can't wait! We must go on!' No one replied.

His arm dropped to his side. 'Oh, what's the point? How can we ever catch them, a ragged bunch of old men, fat men, cripples and children? Give me half a dozen mountain men - we'd soon overhaul these Bhrudwans!

'See here,' he continued, earnestness in his voice, 'how much more of this can the children stand? Look over there - the girl is all in. Whoever thought to bring her along was misguided!

And look at Hal, the cripple. He says nothing, but he struggles to keep up. And the other boy.

He's afraid to wake up in the morning! What use will he be when we finally have the enemy in a corner? If we ever catch them.' He stabbed his stave into the snow, punc¬tuating his words.

'You seem to have forgotten the Valley of Respite,' Kurr muttered darkly, but Farr ignored him.

'I say it is time to send the weak home,' he concluded. 'Let them go back to the Fenni with our guide. Then the warriors can finish this business.'

No one replied. Hot anger deprived Kurr of speech for the moment. The Haufuth, cooler and more thoughtful, recognised the truth in what the mountain man had said. How could the weak, the old and the callow succeed against seasoned fighters like the Bhrudwans? He sighed. All he had were words.

'We're all here because we've had something taken from us: our friends, our family, our pride.

Strength alone will not get them back. We cannot hope to overwhelm these men by sheer force. But on old legs walks experience and wisdom, while on young legs walks enthusiasm and desire. If we persevere, these things may overcome mere strength.'

'Fine words,' Farr mocked, 'but they mean nothing.'

'We'll see,' came the reply. 'Now, enough. If you wish to go on ahead and assail your foes alone, so be it. Otherwise, we continue down the road set for us. But not yet!' he added. 'Not until we've had a rest!'

The rest turned into an overnight camp. The travellers moved some distance back up the near slope, wary of the wolves, and during the night could hear them snarling as they argued over the meat. By the morning little of the horses remained.

Leith rose early and went down towards the line of the stream to get some softer snow for melting into drinking water. As he began to dig through the crusty outer layer of hardened snow, he heard voices from the other side of a low ridge.

'Where did you get that?' said one voice.

'None of your business!' snapped the reply.

'Look, you know it's no good for you,' the first voice said. 'Couldn't you survive even a few days without it? I'm disappointed in you.'

'It's nothing!' the second voice protested. 'Just enough to see me right for the day, that's all I need!'

Leith closed his eyes. These voices sounded familiar ...

'What is that stuff, anyway?'

'Try some!'

'Agh! This is poison! Surely you did not bring this from home?'

'No, I got it from the Fenni. In exchange for my fur hat.'

'You fool!' came the stinging reply.

The Storrsen brothers! Leith remembered their bearskin hats, and realised that they had not been worn since the Torrelstrommen valley. But what were they talking about?

'You know what this does to you!' the rebuke continued. 'I suppose you refilled this flask at Windrise as well?'

No answer came, a mute acknowledgement.

'I thought you had overcome this, but I see I was mistaken. Give me the flask.'

'Leave me alone! I'm all right! I need something now that Father is dead - I'll get over it in a little while! Please, please leave me!'

'I don't want to fight you. But for all your fine words, you'll be no use to anyone if you keep drinking this. Give it up.'

Which voice belonged to which brother? Leith couldn't be sure. He began to edge around to the side of the ridge, hoping for a glimpse, but by the time he made it to where they had been talking, they were gone.

Later that afternoon Farr called for the others to stop. His hands were on his eyes, which streamed with tears. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but I can hardly see anything. My eyes hurt.'

Perdu shook his head. 'Mot would have prevented this,' he said. 'Now you will just have to rest your eyes.' He tore some fabric off one of his shirts and placed a blindfold around Farr's head. The man did not complain; rather, he looked ashamed. Perdu seated him on Wisent's back and for the next two days, until he regained his sight, Farr rode the lumbering beast.

Leith watched him as he sat there, unseeing. The others were all sure what it was that had temporarily blinded him, but Leith remembered the blindness of the Loulea village drunkard.

I think Fan has a drinking problem. That's all we need.

The days that followed were quiet, with no sign of the Bhrudwans. The line of the Westway dropped steeply down into the Thraell valley, a deep gash in the hill country which ran towards the south' east, eventually emptying into the Kljufa. On their right rose the ever-higher fence of Breidhan Moor, while to their left marched the huge, ponderous domes of The Brethren. It took three days to put the first of these hills behind them, only for it to be replaced by another just as large, then yet another. The snow cover grad-ually thinned, and on the eighth day in the Thraell valley, the Company came abruptly down through the snowline.

Behind them all was white and grey; ahead they could see colour again for the first time in weeks. There ran the Thraell River, unlocked from its icy prison, and to its left marched the Westway, not much more than a cutting in the skirts of The Brethren. And there, amid patches of snow and ice, grew grass for Wisent to eat, which he attacked with joy.