Across the Face of the World (58 page)

Not without the drug! his mind shouted. Then the evil faces came for him as the air roared past, their rough hands pushing and pulling at him, dragging him down into the dark, wet abyss. For you, Mother! His last cry was swallowed up in death.

Phemanderac wasted no time watching the priest fall to his doom, but rose to meet the two guards. Powerful hands groped for him, but he danced away from them along the carven way, grab¬bing Leith and pulling him after. The Firanese youth collapsed on the ground, made dizzy by the sudden movement, leaving Phemanderac to face the guards.

The narrowness of the carven way prevented both men coming for him at once. The bigger of the two men lunged forward, sword in his left hand, confident in his ability to dispose of this foreigner. He chopped at the thin, naked frame, but it moved sideways with remarkable agility. Again he thrust forward; again his sword bit nothing but air. Now the guard began to work himself into a rage.

The second guard watched for a moment, then turned and set off at a dead run, meaning to go right around Helig Holth on the carven way and come up behind their prey.

The burly guard grasped the broadsword in both hands and swung powerfully, but somehow each time the gaunt figure managed to avoid it. The guard moved further forward, meaning to force Phemanderac over the edge into the abyss. At that moment Leith, who had lain prone on the ground, head thick with the semi-consciousness of the drug, tried to get to his feet and succeeded only in taking the legs out from under the unwitting guard, who fell on top of him.

The force of the impact knocked Leith senseless. The guard grabbed at the earth to keep from falling, but succeeded only in grasping hold of one of Leith's legs. In a moment they were both sliding towards the darkness, up from which came a wet, earthy smell.

Phemanderac snatched at one of the disappearing limbs, anything to prevent Leith from falling over the edge. For a moment he had an arm, but his grip loosened and the arm slipped away. With all his strength, he held on to the wrist. Now both figures hung part-way over the edge of the precipice, the weight of Leith and the huge guard slowly dragging Phemanderac closer to the hungry blackness. You have to let go, cried his mind, or all three of you will die!

Hold on! came a voice from somewhere deeper within. Hold on! For an instant, all three bodies teetered on the very edge, then Phemanderac sprang back on to the carven way as though he had been pushed. At first he thought he had let go of the others, then found he was still holding Leith, who hung over the brink. Quickly, he hauled the youth to the safety of the carven way. Leith's skin was torn where he had been held by the ankle, but there was no sign of the guard.

Phemanderac took Leith by the elbow and thrust him along the narrow path. The wide platform and the path that led away from Helig Holth were only twenty yards in front of them, but the journey seemed to take forever, with Phemanderac aware of the second guard rapidly approaching them from behind. As they finally made it to the platform, the clanging of many bells rang out from the walls and windows of Adunlok high above them.

THE ACOLYTE

THE LOW CLOUDS LIFTED and grey skies parted as the remnants of the Company set out on the last stage of their journey to Instruere. Steffi brooded quietly as they sought a passage across the unbridged river, the scene of their battle with the Bhrudwans. A thin column of steam came from her ochre-coloured crown; otherwise there was no sign of the destructive violence she could bring to bear on the Westway - and the Fodhram inhabitants for leagues around - whenever she chose.

During their first morning on the road back towards Instruere, Kurr cast a sharp eye over his charges. Something bothered him, something about the group that he could not put a name to, though he thought long and hard about it. At the front of the Company walked Farr and Perdu, looking oddly similar with their bandaged right forearms and hands. Both held swords in their left hands, blades levelled at the back of the bound figure they had risked so much to capture.

Silently, the old farmer acknowledged the bravery of these two grim-faced men, chance acquaintances found along their road.

Behind them, Indrett and Parlevaag battled their way along the narrow path. Kurr was keenly aware of how much their captivity had cost them. The woman from Loulea was hardly recognisable as the one he had seen beaming proudly on the night of the Midwinter Play. The flesh had melted away from her face, and those proud southern cheekbones now stood out from dreadfully gaunt features. The left side of her jaw had a yellow cast, as though bruised.

Various pale marks spoke of further wounds still healing. But her eyes carried the most pain: black-rimmed and hollow, brimming with loss.

Beside her the Fenni woman appeared less ill-used, but she too had suffered cruelly. Though it did not show, Kurr could sense how she felt - or rather how she did not feel. That great gap, that unfillable void, left within when that which is closest to the heart is taken away, was something the old farmer did not care to dwell on.

Stella walked by herself. She had said little since the death of Wira, and her eyes were dark wells of misery in her face. Her feel¬ings about the battle on the slopes of Steffi were locked up inside her with bonds drawn so tight that she gave Kurr the impression she could barely breathe.

Bringing up the rear came Hal, hobbling crab-like to compen¬sate for his crippled right side, giving no ground to his able-bodied companions. The boy seemed the least affected of all the Company by what had happened. Well, perhaps he is a little more sorrowful these days, but he ever was a serious lad. As always he kept his own counsel, speaking seldom.

Ah, that was it. The silence that had descended on the Company - the remnants of the Company, Kurr reminded himself - was beginning to affect him. The incessant chatter of the Haufuth, Leith's questions, Wira's gentle wit and ready laughter; all were missed on their present road.

The days that followed were warm and close and a bleary heat haze, uncharacteristic of early spring, hung over Withwestwa Wood. Kurr strode ahead of the group, his keen farmer's eyes alert for any trouble, though none was expected. Many Fodhram lived between Steffi and Vindstrop House, but these peaceable people were unlikely to bother them, especially given that Leader (who had turned out to be a sort of local king, Kurr was given to under¬stand) had supplied them with a letter of safe passage through Fodhram lands.

Eventually the Company straggled into Vindstrop House, thor¬oughly exhausted and bone-weary. Here they planned to pause only long enough to replenish their supplies at the Trading Post, to acquire food and summer clothing granted them from the generosity of Leader. It was partial payment, the Warden had told them, from a higher-than-expected return for the first furs of the season, and they were grateful for it.

On the morning after their arrival in the small trading settle¬ment, Kurr, Perdu and Farr sat together sharing a thoughtful break¬fast. Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, as brisk winds sent rain tumbling in from the far north. It served to remind the travellers that the season of changeable weather was upon them, as hail and sleet swept across the wooden buildings huddled together against the elbow of the Mossbank River. Not a day to be travelling.

'It's not snowing, but it might as well be,' said Perdu dolefully. 'I'm surprised you coastlanders can tolerate it.'

Kurr raised his eyebrows but did not reply, choosing instead to take another sip of hot broth.

'It gets very cold in the Vinkullen Hills,' Farr replied tersely. 'Or had you forgotten, after all this time?'

The adopted Fenni sighed. 'I have forgotten a lot of things, common sense not least among them. I ought now to be on my way home to the vidda to see my family and my clan chief.

But here I sit, in violation of my duty to the Fenni, preparing to head out into the sleet towards a city whose name I have forgotten about for many years. I am a fool.'

'Perhaps we're all fools,' the old farmer responded. 'Perhaps if we make it through the petty villages of Treika, and manage to sneak past the infamous Robbers of the Ramparts, and pick our way through the politics of Deuverre, we might make it to Instruere with our tale. But who will believe us?'

'Our pet Bhrudwan will persuade them.' Farr did not like this uncertain talk regarding their quest.

'I know about the Iron Door of the Outer Chamber,' said Kurr. 'We'll need more than a Bhrudwan to get past that. We'll need money or influence, or both, and lots of it.' He frowned as outside the hail beat even harder on the shuttered windows.

'Are you saying that we have to pay to deliver a warning to the Falthan council? How can this be?' Farr was incredulous.

'They won't know we have a warning for them, you see. To them we will be but one more in the long line of petitioners claiming this piece of land or part of that inheritance. Politics is the art of patience in Instruere, they say.'

'Why didn't you tell us this before?' demanded Farr, some of the old fire in his voice. 'If you are correct, what hope do we have?'

'I have contacts in the city, people who may be able to help us gain an audience with the council much more quickly than other¬wise would be the case.'

'Contacts?' Perdu said, puzzled. 'Forgive me, but what contact could a farmer from the uttermost end of Faltha have with the Great City?'

For a while Kurr sat and explained about the Watchers, voicing his hope that the organisation was still strong and with influence in Instruere - but keeping his doubts and fears to himself -

while outside the hail gave way to a cold rain.

They were interrupted by the two women, Indrett and Parlevaag. The woman from Loulea was noticeably pale, and Parlevaag seemed to be supporting her. They sat down heavily at the table.

'Indrett!' exclaimed Kurr. 'You look unwell! What's the matter?' 'I am unwell,' she croaked.

'Caught some sort of chill.' 'That settles it,' the farmer announced. We go no further until the weather clears and Indrett is feeling better. We've all been through a great deal - Indrett more than anyone - and we must take time to recover. No sense in rushing, anyway. It would be foolish to exhaust ourselves getting to Instruere and be in no state to press our request for an audience.'

'I want to wait for a few days,' Indrett said, the effort of talking stretching lines of pain across her hollow face. 'Perhaps we will hear news of Mahnum and Leith.'

Perhaps, thought Kurr. But probably not. It was bravely but foolishly done, plunging into the heart of Widuz in pursuit of a hoy who is likely to be dead. And now we struggle on without his Trader experience. The farmer counted in his head: Mahnum, Leith, Wira, the Haufuth.

How many more will we lose?

As Indrett sat glassy-eyed at the table, breathing thickly, Kurr reflected on the last few months. He remembered the Iskelwen of last autumn, and the night he had stayed with Mahnum's family as the vicious storm battered the house. How different those eyes across the table looked now - but, then again, his own were doubt¬less not unchanged. For her sake, they should remain here in Vindstrop House for many weeks, resting and recovering until she was fit enough to attempt the rest of the journey, a journey fully as far as they had already travelled.

But the Company could not wait. Already it had been a year or more since Mahnum had escaped from Andratan, and who among them knew how much longer they had to mobilise the armies of the Falthan kingdoms? Did Bhrudwo stand astride The Gap already, threatening Faltha with utter annihilation? Or - and this was his deepest fear - had Mahnum merely been deluded, and were they risking everything to travel across the world for no good reason?

Three days. That was as long as Kurr was prepared to wait. If Indrett was not ready to travel by then, she would remain behind in the care of the Fodhram, and the remainder of the Company would press on. The decision made, the old farmer relaxed and finished his broth.

After a short debate over what to do with their captive, the Company agreed to Kurr's suggestion. A special arrangement was made with the proprietor of the Trading Post, and an armed Fodhram guard kept constant watch on the imprisoned Bhrudwan. The proprietor had been told that the fierce-looking captive was a Firanese criminal about whom the travellers sought judgement from the Council of Faltha. While he did not look convinced by this tale, he took their money eagerly enough.

The men spent the next three days exploring the town, while the three women stayed indoors.

A light northerly drizzle continued to fall, robbed of its wintry bite by miles of travel over the warmth of the forest, but incessant enough to keep all but the hardiest of Fodhram off the churned-up streets. Farr, Perdu, Kurr and Hal kept their cloaks over their heads as they went from store¬front to storefront, admiring the wide range of goods available at this outpost, merchandise from the homely to the exotic.

A small grove of jack pines stood at the south end of town, beside which many of the old men spent their time watching the incoming and outgoing trade, reminiscing about the time when they ran the trapping trails or took on the forest unarmed save for a two-bladed axe. Many of the men, wizened and toothless, had tumplines attached to their waists and wore clothes suited to long overland journeys, as though they expected to be called off on a run, or were competing with each other to see who could be the most outrageous caricature of a Fodhram fur trader. Here the four men of the Company whiled away their afternoons, listening to the conversations and relaxing under the shelter of the trees. An assortment of wagons came past, most containing produce from outlying farms. The wagon drivers engaged the old men in good-natured banter, of which the Firanese understood little as it was conducted in the language of the Fodhram. But the laughter they understood, as they had sampled the humour of the Fodhram on the Southern Run.

On the afternoon of the third day, a brace of canoes pulled in to shore some distance to the left of the road, and six weary-looking Fodhram heaved their fur bales on to dry land. They saun¬tered over to where the old men stood, obviously pleased with themselves.