The Shadow at the Gate (58 page)

“Pity we don’t have a pole and a line,” said Jute.

They came to a road an hour after they forded the river. It was more like a carter’s track, being just two worn ruts in the grass. It led north and south.

“The coast road,” said Ronan. “I can smell the sea.”

The others could not, and the hawk eyed him thoughtfully for a while but did not say anything. Being on the coast road put Severan in excellent spirits. He was familiar with the surrounding lands, for he had spent many years in the northern coast duchies.

“You’re from Harlech, aren’t you?” said Jute.

“Originally.” Severan shrugged. “I have an old house there. I told you before, didn’t I? It belonged to my father and his before him. High on the headlands past Lannaslech. More of a cottage than a proper house. It looks down upon the sea. I daresay it would make an excellent hideaway for you, eh?”

“Perhaps,” said the hawk. “We shall see.”

“A house,” said Jute. “That sounds wonderful. I’ve always wanted to live in house.”

“Thule, however, is where I spent more years. It’s similar to Harlech in many ways. Neither has any real cities, just villages and small towns. The duke of Thule himself lives in a simple house out in the countryside. He’s a good man, and famous for his hospitality.”

“But it was the Stone Tower that brought you to Thule, wasn’t it?” said the hawk. “Learning and magic and the pursuit of words?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’ve never seen this Stone Tower,” said Ronan. “I’ve never seen it, though I suppose there’s little in any duchy of Tormay I haven’t seen.”

“Of course you haven’t seen it,” said Severan. “The Stone Tower’s hidden by powerful warding spells. Those who get too close and who have no business there find themselves turned about and heading south if they meant to go north or caught in bogs or walking right off cliffs. It’s not a place easily found.”

Severan discoursed at length and with great enthusiasm about the Stone Tower. The others listened as they walked along the road, though it was doubtful the hawk listened much, as he spent most of his time flying overhead. When he was not flying, he perched on Jute’s shoulder with his head tucked underneath his wing.

“One of the fellows two years senior to me, name of Feldmoru, discovered the third word for oak one day while reading Petersilie’s
A Summer in Dolan
. Petersilie’s writings were considered light stuff. After all, the book is a recounting of a summer he once spent in Dolan. Lots of detail of walks and suppers at country inns and some hilarious descriptions of the folks he met. There’s a superb bit about a gravedigger and an infestation of gophers.”

“Then why was the book at the Stone Tower in the first place?” asked Ronan.

“Because of who Petersilie was, don’t you know,” said Severan.

“No, I don’t know.”

“You don’t? Petersilie used to be the court wizard in Hearne. Hundreds of years ago. Back when it actually meant something. It was always considered odd that he had written something as frivolous as
A Summer in Dolan
. Until Feldmoru came along. Tall fellow with a drippy nose. I remember him well. And his nose. It made a dreadful noise when he blew it.”

“Get on with the story,” said the hawk. He had been napping on Jute’s shoulder, but Severan’s voice had woken him.

“It was the names of the people he wrote about, see? Petersilie made up names for them, on the surface because he was much too polite to use actual names, but he was using words from one of the older languages. If he was discussing a shepherd, he would have hidden
sceap
, which is the word for sheep, in the fellow’s name. Ansceap or Torsceapan or something like that. People are still analyzing that book and finding hidden words.”

“That isn’t much of a story,” said Jute. “A proper story should have hideous creatures and horrible secrets, and a clever thief. Oh, and descriptions of lots of tasty meals.”

“Nonsense,” said Severan. “It’s a wonderful story.”

Jute had something more to say but was stopped by a shout from Ronan. He had quickened his pace in order to avoid Severan’s discourse on
A Summer in Dolan
and was farther up the road now, at the top of a hill.

“The sea!” he called.

They hurried up the rise after him. Past the sloping fields before them, bounded by the jagged line of cliffs that marked the edge of the land, was the sea. It was a shining line of light. They could hear the rolling boom of the surf and the faint, thin calls of the gulls. And everywhere there was the salt-smell of the sea.

“Yes, well, that’s certainly the sea,” said Severan. “It’s cold and nasty in these parts. Only fools and fishermen venture out on it—though, down through the years, quite a few wizards have sailed west from the Stone Tower.”

Ronan, who had begun to scowl at these words, looked interested.

“What were they searching for?” he said.

“Oh, many things. The end of the world, new lands, a place untouched by the Dark. Some of them were trying to find the anbeorun of the sea. But who knows what they really thought to find? Perhaps only a lost word? No one’s ever returned.”

The road drew closer to the cliffs. As they walked along, they could see the waves below. There was a freshness in the air that was more than mere purity and light. Jute’s heart was glad within him and he watched the flight of the gulls as they swooped and dove across the face of the cliffs.

He loved it here.

Who?
said Jute in his mind.

The hawk’s eye gleamed in the sunlight.

He who was before you. He often said that the meeting of water, sky, and earth along these coasts was a thing of mystery and beauty, and here in the cold of winter, that mystery became slow and still and clear to sight. He said it reminded him of an older place, when he had been young and that he no longer remembered with such clarity.

I wish we could stop and go fishing. Climb down to the bottom of the cliffs. There must be crabs down there. We could catch them.

“Off the road, quick!” said Ronan.

“What? Why?”

“Get off the road! Is there a way to say it clearer?”

They tumbled off the road and into the bushes beside the road.

“What is it?” said Severan. “Ouch. I fear I’ve chosen a briar to hide myself in.”

“Hush,” said Ronan. “Someone’s coming along the road behind us.”

“I hear it,” said the hawk. “A horse and rider, I think.”

When the source of the sound came into view, it was a horse-drawn cart. An old woman sat on the seat behind the horse, reins in her hands.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Severan.

He immediately bounded up from his hiding place and called to the carter.

“Hi, there! I say, stop!”

“What are you doing?” said Ronan.

“It’s all right. I know her.”

The carter reined her horse in. Severan scrambled up to the road, his face beaming.

“It’s Cyrnel, isn’t it?” said Severan. He ducked a quick bow.

“Aye, that’s me,” said the woman on the cart, looking at him warily. She fingered a loop of braided leather around her neck. “And you are?”

“Oh, er, my name’s Severan. Do you, I mean, don’t you remember me?”

“Sorry, friend.”

“I was a student at the tower. You used to deliver vegetables there.”

The woman’s face eased into a smile. Her hand released its hold on her necklace.

“And still do. The students come and go at the tower, but I trot old Apple up there once a week with goods from our farm. The tower’s where I’m headed now. If you’re going that way, I’ll take you along.”

“Oh? Thank you. My friends and I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.”

“Your friends?”

The woman smiled when Ronan and Jute emerged from the bushes. She eyed the hawk perched on Jute’s shoulder but said nothing.

“We were hiding,” said Severan, turning a little red. “We weren’t sure who was coming along the road. There are strange things about these days.”

“Oh, I never worry too much,” said Cyrnel. “If someone was foolish enough to rob me, why, they’d have the whole of the Stone Tower after them. They like their food, they do. Climb up.”

As the cart seat was only wide enough for the woman herself, they climbed up into the back of the cart and found themselves spots among the sacks and chests and casks.

“Careful where you sit,” said Cyrnel. “There are eggs in the forward chest. Help yourself to the sack by your knee, boy. It’s full of plums.”

They bounced along the road, resting in the back of the cart. It smelled of vegetables and the rich, warm scent of fresh milk. Jute could feel something like cabbages in the sack underneath him. He bit into a plum and juice ran down his chin.

“She doesn’t remember me,” said Severan.

“You don’t say?” said Ronan. He winked at Jute.

Severan blushed. In front of them, they could hear Cyrnel whistling and clucking to the horse every now and then. A fine sparkle of dust hung in the air behind them, kicked up by the horse and the cartwheels.

“She delivered food to the Stone Tower when I was student there,” said Severan. “Wheat for our bread, eggs, cheese, milk, fresh vegetables. She and her father would come in his cart. This is probably the same cart. She was just a girl back then. Braids and bare feet and freckles on her nose.”

“She’s going to the Stone Tower now,” said the hawk.

“Er, yes.”

“I’ve nothing against wizards,” said the hawk, “other than the fact that they aren’t always dependable. Quite a few of them have gone over to the Dark, haven’t they? I don’t recall discussing a stop at the Stone Tower. Harlech it was. We agreed on that. North to Harlech.”

“We’re still going north,” said Severan. “I can’t help it if the tower’s on the way. A hot dinner, proper beds, a roof over our heads for the night. That’s nothing to sneeze at, if I may say so.”

“Oh, please, let’s,” said Jute. A proper bed sounded marvelous to him.

“I’m not interested in any of your reasons,” said the hawk. “I like my dinners warm, if you understand what I mean. The best of beds for me is a tree branch, and the sky’s always been my roof. All right, all right, Jute. You needn’t make such a face. One night and no more than one night. I’ll not rest easy until we’ve passed into Harlech, and even there I reserve the right to be uneasy whenever I want to.”

“I must say,” said Severan, “that it would be good to hear an explanation of your comment on wizards and the Dark, master hawk. Wizards are not so easily ensnared.”

“Do you think Scuadimnes was the only wizard who fell into darkness?” said the hawk. “He was the only one who found fame with his evil deeds, for it is no little thing to have destroyed the monarchy of Hearne and the university. But there have been others. I think you know one yourself. And how long ago was it, Severan, that your friend Nio began his descent into darkness? When did it begin and why did you not know? It is a quiet thing that cannot be seen. Knowledge alone is not a safeguard against such a fate.”

Severan shut his mouth unhappily at that and did not answer. After a while, the hawk flew away from the cart in long, lazy strokes, claiming that the bumpiness of the ride was making him sick to his stomach. The cart descended down into a small valley. The half circle of a bay shone in the morning sunlight. Across the valley, the slopes mounted up to a ridge that fell off into the sea on one end in cliffs and angled away into forested hills on the other. Down in the bay, several boats were at anchor, bobbing in the swell.

“There’s the tower,” said Severan.

“Where?” said Jute. “I don’t see anything.”

Severan pointed. “At the foot of the ridge, where the curve of the bay comes around to the cliffs.”

Jute still did not see anything that looked like a tower. All he saw was the cliff on the other side of the valley. Slabs of stone angled away from it, looking as if they would fall at any moment. A greenish mass covered the cliff here and there, looking like a strange waterfall of vegetation flowing down from the top.

“I still don’t see anything,” said Jute.

Severan smiled. “I’d be surprised if you did.”

“I can see it clear enough,” said the hawk, who had rejoined them on the cart a while ago. “It’s very tumbled down for such a famous place.”

“It’s rather old,” said Severan a bit huffily.

“Plums,” said Ronan, “don’t suffice for lunch.” He tossed a pit over the side and reached for another plum.

The cart had reached the floor of the valley. It was warmer now, sheltered by the slopes on either side and the dense, wooded hills to the east. The shore was close there. The surf hissed up onto the rocks and then retreated, leaving behind gleaming foam and long, ropy strands of glistening, purple seaweed. They rolled down a lane of eucalyptus trees. The air was rich with their perfume. The tall trunks rose around them like columns in a stately hall. The cartwheels swished through the leaves on the track. And then the trees were gone and they were under the shadow of the cliff.