The Blue Sword (24 page)

“I am Kentarre,” she said. “Forgive the abruptness of my arrival.”

“The filanon,” breathed Senay, standing stiffly at Harry’s side.

“The who?” muttered Harry; and then to the tall woman, “You have just proven to us that we need to post sentries, even to eat a mouthful of bread. We thought ourselves alone here, and our haste to our own ends has made us careless.”

“Sentries, I think, would not have stopped me, and you see—” and Kentarre held up her bow—“I come in peace to you, for I cannot notch an arrow before any of your people might stop me.”

She spoke Hill-speech, but her accent was curious, and the inflections were not predictable. Harry found she had to listen closely to be sure she heard correctly, for she was not that accustomed to the Hill tongue herself. Perhaps it was her attention that caught the unspoken “
even
” before “I cannot notch an arrow,” and she smiled faintly. Kentarre stood quite still, smiling in return. Narknon came to sit, in her watch-cat disguise, at Harry’s feet. She gave Kentarre one of her long clear-eyed looks and then, without moving, began to purr.

One mark in your favor, thought Harry, for Narknon’s judgment is usually pretty good. “What do you wish of us?” she said.

Kentarre said, “We have heard, even in our high Hilltops, where we talk often to the clouds but rarely to strangers, that she has come who carries the Lady Aerin’s sword into battle once more; and we thought that we might seek her, for our mothers’ mothers’ mothers followed her long ago, when Gonturan first came to Damar in the hands of the wizard Luthe. So we made ready for a long journey; and then we found that Gonturan, and the sol who carries her, were coming to us; and so we waited. Three weeks we have waited, as we were told; and you are here; and we would pledge to you.” In the last sentence Kentarre’s lofty tone left her, and she looked, quickly and anxiously, into Harry’s face, and color rose to her cheekbones.

Harry was doing some rapid calculations. Three weeks ago she had sat in a stone hall and eaten breakfast with a tall thin man who had told her that he had no clear-cut fortune for her, but that she should do what she felt she must do.

Harry met Kentarre’s gaze a little ruefully. “If you knew so well when we would be here, perhaps you know also how pitifully few we are and how heedless an errand we pursue. But we would welcome your help in holding the Northerners back for what time we may, if such is also your desire.”

The last finger of the hand holding the bow gently spun one of the blue beads on its wire; and Harry thought that Kentarre was not so much older than herself. “Indeed, we do wish it. And if any of us remain afterward, we will follow you back to your king, whom we have not seen for generations, for in this thing perhaps all of what there is left of the old Damar must come together, if any of it is to survive.”

Harry nodded, thinking that perhaps Kentarre’s people would be convinced to go without her when the time came, for Corlath was likelier to be pleased to see them without his mutineer in their midst; but such thoughts were superfluous till they found out if any of their number would survive a meeting with the Northerners. Kentarre turned and stepped briskly back into the woods.

“The filanon,” Senay murmured again.

“The which?” Harry said.

“Filanon,” she repeated. “People of the trees. They are archers like none else; it is said they speak to their arrows, which will turn corners or leap obstacles to please them. They are legends now; even my people, who live so near their forests, have believed that they no longer exist, even if the old tales are true, and once the filanon, with their blue-hung bows, did live high in the mountains where no one else went.” She paused a moment, and added, “Very rarely one of us has found one of the blue beads; they are thought to be lucky. My father has one that his father found when he was a little boy. He was wearing it the day the gursh—boar—gored him, and he said that it would have had him in the belly, and killed him, if the blue bead had not turned the beast at the last.”

Jack said, “Tell me, Captain, do you always take in the loose wanderers you find in the woods if they offer to fall in with you?”

Harry smiled. “Only when they tell stories that I like. Three weeks ago I was talking to a … wise man who told me that … things would happen to me. I am inclined to believe that this is one of them. Besides, Narknon likes her.”

Jack nodded. “I prefer to believe you. Although I have my doubts about your tabby’s value as a judge of character.” He blinked at her once or twice. “You’re different, you know, than you were when you still lived with us Outlanders. Something deeper than the sunburn.” He said this, knowing its truth, curious to see its effect upon the young woman he had once known, had once watched staring at the Darian desert.

Harry looked at him, and Jack was sure she knew exactly what was passing through his mind. “I
am
different. But the difference is a something riding me as I ride Sungold.” She looked wry.

Jack chuckled. “My dear, you are merely learning about command responsibility. If you were mine, I’d promote you.”

They finished their noon meal without seeing anything more of Kentarre; but as they mounted, many of them looking nervously around for more tall archers to burst from the bushes upon them, the materialization suddenly took place. Kentarre stood before Harry with a dark-haired man at her elbow; he carried a bow too, but among the blue beads at its grip was one apple-green one; and his tunic was dun-colored. Then Harry without turning her head saw that the path was lined with archers; she nodded blandly as if she had expected them to appear like this—which in fact she rather had—and moved Tsornin off. Kentarre and the man fell in with her and Jack and Senay and Terim, and the rest of the archers followed after the last horses had passed. Kentarre walked with as free and swinging a pace as Sungold.

There were about a hundred of her new troop, Harry found, when they stopped again. With them were about twenty hunting-cats: bigger-boned, with broader flatter skulls than Narknon’s, and more variety of color than Harry had seen among Corlath’s beasts. Narknon herself kept carefully at Harry’s heels: even the indomitable Narknon seemed to feel discretion was the better part of valor when faced with twenty of her own kind, and each of them a third larger than herself.

Harry and her company found a little rock bowl, sheltered from the northwest wind that had begun to blow that afternoon, and all of them clustered in it, around several small fires. The archers unstrung their bows and murmured to or over their arrows, and the others watched them surreptitiously. Bows seemed as outlandish to the sword-bearers as feathers on one of their horses. Jack’s men felt absently for revolvers that weren’t on their hips.

At dawn they set off again, and now Harry felt that she rode into her dream; perhaps she would wake up yet and find herself in the king’s tent, with unknown words on her lips and Corlath’s hands on her shoulders, and pity in his eyes. They rode, the archers striding long-legged behind them, up a narrow trail into the mountain peaks; up the dark unwelcoming slopes to the border of the North. The cold thin air bit at their throats, and the sun was seen as scattered falls of light through the leaves. The ground underfoot was shaly, but Tsornin never stumbled; his ears were hard forward and his feet were set firmly. Harry tapped her fingernail on the big blue stone in the hilt of Gonturan and thought of a song she’d sung as a child; the tune fluttered through her mind, but she couldn’t quite catch the words. It made her feel isolated, as though her childhood hadn’t really happened—or at least hadn’t happened as she remembered it. Perhaps she’d always lived in the Hills; she’d seen Sungold foaled, and she had been the one first to put a saddle on his young back, and had trained him to rear and strike as a warhorse. Her stomach felt funny.

They reached Ritger’s Gap, the Madamer Gate, before sunset, spilling out across the little plateau that lay behind it, with trees at its back and only bare rock rising around it to the mountaintop, a few bowlengths above them. There was a long shallow cave to one side, where the mountain peak bent back on itself, and low trees protected much of the face of it. “We’ll sleep in something resembling shelter tonight,” said Jack cheerfully. “At least as long as the wind doesn’t veer around and decide to spit at us from the south.”

Harry was listening to the northern breeze; it sneered at her. “It won’t,” she said.

Jack cocked an eyebrow at her, but she said no more about it. The plateau was loud with the panting of men and horses; they had hurried to arrive, just as her dream had told her they would, or must; the last hour, men and horses had had to scramble up, side by side. Harry leaned against Sungold’s shoulder, grateful for the animal solidity of him; he turned his head to chew gently on her sleeve till she petted him. After a minute of staring around her she slowly followed Narknon as the cat paced up to the Gap itself and stared into the valley beyond. Even Narknon seemed subdued, but perhaps it was the day’s hard miles.

Two riders abreast could pass the narrow space in the rock, perhaps, but their knees would touch. On this side of the Gap, the plateau sloped up to the shoulders of the narrow cleft and down the other side, where men and clever-footed horses might climb. Harry stared through, and became conscious of Sungold’s warm breath on the back of her neck. Narknon leaped down from her perch beside the cleft, turned her back on it, and began to wash. Harry stood in the Gap itself, and leaned against the spot Narknon had vacated. A pebbly slope dropped down away from her to a scrub-covered valley between the mountain’s arms; there was a lower valley wall on the far side, but it fell away into foothills. Harry felt her sight reaching away, into the harsh plain beyond the dun-colored valley and scattering of low sharp hills; and on the edge of the plain she saw a haze that eddied and drifted, like a tide coming in, exploring the shore before it, reaching out to stroke the little hills before it swept over them.

Harry turned and went back to her company. She said to no one in particular, “They will be here tomorrow.”

It was a silent camp that night; everyone seemed almost superstitiously afraid to polish a dagger one last time in too obvious a fashion; much quiet checking of equipment went on, but it was a shadowy sort of motion. No one met another’s eyes and there was no bright ring of metal on metal. Even footfalls were muffled.

Jack’s bay gelding Draco and Harry’s Sungold had become friends over the days of carrying their riders side by side. The Outlander horses were always set out on a picket line while the Hill horses wandered where they would, never far from the human campsite; and Sungold and Draco stood nose to nose often, murmuring to each other perhaps about the weather and the footing of the day past; perhaps about the eccentricities and preoccupations of their riders. Tonight they stood near together with their heads facing the same way—watching us, Harry thought, looking back at them; or watching that awful northwest wind. Sungold flicked one ear back, then forward again, and stamped. Draco turned his head to blow thoughtfully at his companion, and then they both settled down for a nap, one hind leg slack, their eyes dim and unfocused. Harry watched enviously. The north wind gibbered.

“Draco, who knows almost as much about battles as I do, has told young Sungold that he should get a good night’s sleep. I, world-weary warrior that I am—that’s hard to say after too many hours in the saddle—am about to say the same thing to you, my brilliant young Captain.”

Harry sighed. “Do stop calling me Captain. Carrying Gonturan is enough; and she’s not
your
legend.”

“You’ll get used to it, Captain,” said Jack. “Would you deny me one small amusement? Don’t answer that. Go to sleep.”

“Perhaps if I could stand on three legs and let my eyes glaze over, it would help,” she replied. “I do not feel like sleeping and I … dread dreaming.”

“Hmm,” said Jack. “Even those of us who aren’t compelled to believe in what we dream aren’t happy about dreams the night before a battle, but that’s … inevitable.”

Harry nodded, then got up to unroll her blanket and dutifully laid herself down on it. Narknon couldn’t settle either; she paced around the fire, wandered over to touch noses with Sungold, returned, lay down, paced some more. “I’ll send Kentarre and her people into the woods on either side of the Gap, looking down on the valley; we can all mob together here—and see what comes.”

“Splendid,” said Jack from his blanket, as he pulled off his boots. “I couldn’t arrange it better myself.”

Harry gave a breathless little laugh. “There isn’t much to be organized, my wise friend. Even I know that.”

Jack nodded. “You could send us through that crack in the rock two at a time, to get cut in pieces; I would then object. But you aren’t going to. Go to sleep, General.” Harry grunted.

Harry’s eyes stayed open, and saw the cloud come across the moon, and heard the whine of the north wind pick up as the clouds strangled the moonlight. She heard the stamp of a horse from the picket line, and an indeterminate mumble from an uneasy sleeper; and Narknon, who had finally decided to make the best of it by going to sleep, snored faintly with her head on Harry’s breast. And beyond these things she heard … other things. She had set no sentries, for she knew, as she knew the Northerners would face them tomorrow, that they were not necessary. It was a small piece of good fortune that every one of her small company might have the chance of sleep the night before the battle, and it would be foolish not to accept any good fortune she was offered. But as she lay awake and solitary she heard the stamp of hooves not shod with iron, the shifting of the bulk of riding-animals that were not horses, the sleeping snores of riders that were not human. Then her mind drifted for a few almost peaceful minutes; but she heard a rustle, and as her drowsy mind slowly recognized the rustle as a tent flap closing she heard Corlath’s voice say sharply, “Tomorrow.” She sat up in shock; Narknon slithered off her shoulder and rearranged herself on the ground. Around her were the small dead-looking heaps of her friends and followers, the red embers of campfires, the absolute blackness of the curve of rock and the shifting blackness that was the edge of the trees. She turned her head and could faintly see the silhouette of horse legs, and she heard the ring of iron on a kicked rock. Jack was breathing deeply; his face was turned away from the dying fire glow, and she could not see his expression; she even wondered if he were feigning sleep as a good example for her. She looked at Narknon, stretched out beside her; her head was now over Harry’s knees. There was no doubt that she was sincerely asleep. Her whiskers twitched, and she muttered low in her throat.