Daughter of Regals (18 page)

But the quiet of Grimmerdhore was not as
impenetrable as it had first appeared. From time to time, strange hoarse birds
screeched forlornly. Black squirrels raced overhead. And frequently the
Bloodguard heard frightened animals scuttling away from the company through the
underbrush.

Still, the way became easier. The woods
spread out within the perimeter of the brambles: the path broadened as if the
trees were guarding it less closely; and animal trails wove back and forth
around it. As a result, the company was able to resume its formation, with the
Lords and Korik riding on the path and the other Bloodguard moving through the
trees around them. Here the Ranyhyn went more quickly, almost at a trot; and
the company moved straight in towards the heart of Grimmerdhore.

They rode as if they were passing through
a reverie — the shaded and sombre musings of the
Forest
— until
after dark. Except for Lord Hyrim’s groans whenever he caught his balance, they
travelled in silence, warding against something in the woods which might hear
them. And even when he groaned, Hyrim gave no sign that he wished to stop or
rest. He was caught up in Grimmerdhore’s mood. But Korik finally halted the
company. The darkest facets of the night seemed to flourish under the trees;
and though the Ranyhyn were still able to make their way, the Bloodguard could
not see well enough to avoid any ambush which might lie ahead. Yet he felt an
odd reluctance when he gave the command to settle the company for the night in
a small open glade. He did not like to remain at the mercy of the
Forest
.

In Grimmerdhore the night was proof
against the swarms of fireflies that hovered and darted through the woods. They
blinked and danced like beacons for the myriad denizens of the dark — they flew
around in a brave enchanting display — but they were effectless, made nothing
else visible. When the Lords went to sleep on a flat mossy rock, and the Blood
guard. spread out over the glade to stand watch, their security was marred by
the fireflies. Those lights stiffened the darkness, walled it up. They drew the
attention of the Bloodguard, and so helped to conceal everything else At last,
Korik and his comrades were forced to watch with their eyes closed — to rely on
hearing, and smell, and the touch of the ground under their bare feet.

The next morning at the first
night-thinning of dawn they resumed their progress. At first, Lord Hyrim was
inclined to talk, as if he wished to dispel the enshrouding gloom. For a
pretext, he took his horsemanship: he claimed in defiance of his obvious
difficulties that it had improved. On that and related subjects he rambled
through the dawn as if the rest of the company were listening to him
spellbound. But gradually his speech became frayed like his robe, and as the
sun rose he faltered into silence. Despite the sunlight, Grimmerdhore’s mood
was darkening around them; and he could no longer pretend he did not feel it.

As they approached the heart of the
Forest
, they were
drawing closer to the source of Grimmerdhore’s inarticulate Ire.

By
noon
, the mood of
the
Forest
dominated
everything. Even the familiar creatures of the woods had fallen into a silence
of their own: no bird-calls, no chattering or scurrying, no noise of life
lifted itself up against the prevailing dumb passion of the trees. Instead, something.
new came into the air — something musky and. mephitic. It irritated Korik’s
nostrils like the smell of burning blood, made him want to jerk his head aside
as if to avoid a blow. Lord Shetra barked softly, ‘Wolves!’ and he knew that
she was right. Their spoor hung in the air as if there were a great pack
running just ahead of the Ranyhyn.

The smell troubled Brabha. He shook his
mane, shorted angrily. But when Korik asked the old Ranyhyn if the wolves were
nearby, Brabha indicated with a toss of his head that they were not. Then Korik
urged the company ahead until it was moving as fast as Lord Hyrim’s inept seat
permitted.

Throughout the afternoon, they thrust
constantly deeper into Grimmerdhore’s distress. After a time, the reek of the
wolves stopped growing, and as a result it lost some of its immediacy. But the
mood of the trees suffered no such diminution. Rather, the company seemed to be
riding into a deepening sea of emotion. Though the lingering consciousness of
Grimmerdhore had been reduced to hebetude by time and the ancient slaughter of
the
One
Forest
, it was
slowly taking heat, mounting toward outrage. In the evening, the breeze
stiffened, lifted up the murmurous language of the trees and gave it a tone of
execration — as if Grimmerdhore were struggling against slumber, against the
inflexibility of wood and the chains of old time, to utter a root-deep hatred.
When the riders stopped for the night, the darkness, and the smell of the
wolves, and the strangled howl of the trees clung to them. And there were no
fireflies.

Korik gauged that they were halfway
through the
Forest
.

‘But all in all,’ Lord Hyrim said in a
tone of hollow cheer, ‘we have been fortunate. Grimmerdhore is dismayed in good
sooth. Yet it is in my heart that this dismay is not the pain of the Despiser’s
presence. It is not his armies which lie before us, but rather some other
instance of his malice.’

‘And by that we are made fortunate?’
Shetra asked tightly.

‘Of a surety.’ Hyrim tried to summon his
wonted playfulness; but his tone failed. ‘We are but two Lords and fifteen
Bloodguard. Against an army we are doomed. But perhaps we will suffice to flee
this smaller ill.’

In response, the stiff Lord glowered at
him without speaking; but her heart was elsewhere.

She and Hyrim lay down, attempted to
sleep. But the mood of the
Forest
grew, seemed. now to gain virulence with
each passing moment. Both Lords had given up rest and were on their feet
staring into the dark with the Bloodguard when the first glimmer of light
appeared north of them.

As they watched it, transfixed, the light
became stronger and sharper, spread a hot orange glow through the trees. And
with every brighter surge of glow, the
Forest
increased
its silent cry of horror, outrage.

‘Fire!’ Lord Shetra gritted fiercely. ‘By
the Seven! A fire has been set. In Grimmerdhore!’

— Call the Ranyhyn Korik commanded. Strike
camp. Take formation. We must shun this peril.

Gasping, ‘
Melenkurion abatha!
’
Lord Hyrim ran toward his mount. An instinctive energy possessed him, and he
struggled without help onto the back of the Ranyhyn. Clutching his staff,
knotting his other hand in the mane of the horse, he turned toward the fire.

Lord Shetra followed him in an instant.
She vaulted onto her Ranyhyn, sprang forward, plunged through the underbrush
after Hyrim.

— Halt them! Korik shouted. I will have
no more Kevins. The mission must not fail!

He leaped astride Brabha and galloped
after the Lords. But he saw through the fire lit woods that he would not catch
them in time. Shetra rode well; and the Ranyhyn bearing Hyrim displayed fine
skill by keeping him in his seat.

Korik shouted after them, commanding them
to stop with all the metal of his personal strength.

Lord Hyrim made no response. He crashed
through the woods as if he were oblivious to caution. But Lord Shetra wheeled
her Ranyhyn once. Immediately, Korik reached her side. Sill and Runnik flashed
past in pursuit of Hyrim.

‘The mission is in our hands,’ Korik
snapped to Shetra. ‘We must flee this peril.’

‘And let Grimmerdhore burn?’ she almost
shrieked. ‘We would cease to be Lords!’

Slapping the Ranyhyn with her heels, she
raced after Hyrim and his pursuers.

Korik followed her with the other
Bloodguard. He demanded the best speed Brabha could manage through the trees.
Ahead of him, Lord Hyrim crested the hill and dropped out of sight, dashing
straight into the glow of the fire. But he was no longer alone. Sill had joined
him, and Runnik was only one stride behind.

Moments later, Korik topped the hill with
Shetra, Cerrin, and the other Bloodguard galloping beside him. Before them was
a wide, almost treeless valley shaped like a bowl. The fire raged in its
bottom. And around the conflagration capered a score of black forms.

Ur-viles.

They were burning a huge Gilden.

As the company charged down the hillside, Korik
could hear the surrounding
Forest
’s choked effort to scream.

He bent low over Brabha’s neck, urged the
Ranyhyn faster. Ahead, he picked out the loremaster of the ur-viles. It whirled
its tapering iron stave and slapped power in a black liquid at the tree. At
each new burst of fire, it slavered gleefully. But when it saw the approaching
company, it barked a command at the other ur-viles. The whole group dropped its
rapacious dance and sprinted away to the north.

Lord Hyrim ignored them. He went right to
the fire, tumbled from the back of his mount. When he hit the ground, he fell,
then rolled and bounced up again. Standing almost in the blaze, he held his
staff over his head with both hands and began shouting words of power.

The next moment, Shetra rushed past him
after the fleeing ur-viles. Like an angry hawk, she swooped across the bottom
of the valley and started up the northern slope. Korik and the other Bloodguard
hurried behind her as she closed on her prey.

At a sharp call from the loremaster, the
ur-viles turned to fight. Instantly, they formed their close fighting wedge,
with the loremaster at the point. In this formation, they could focus all their
combined power through the loremaster’s stave. As Lord Shetra attacked, the
wedge lashed out at her. Her Ranyhyn jumped aside to avoid the loremaster’s
black thrust; and momentum carried her past the wedge.

Before the ur-viles could react, Korik
sprang from Brabha’s back. He dove over the Loremaster, crashed like a
battering-ram into the centre of the wedge. Pren, Tull, and three more
Bloodguard followed him; and their force scattered the ur-viles, breaking the
concentration of the wedge.

But these attacks still left the
loremaster untouched. While Shetra wheeled back to the battle, the loremaster
threw power into the air with its stave and gave a raw barking cry like a
signal. As he fought, Korik looked about him for hidden enemies.

Then Lord Shetra charged again. Holding
her staff by one end, she chopped savagely at the loremaster. It caught her
blow with its stave; but without the wedge behind it, it could not match her.
With a hot blue burst of force her staff split the iron stave. The loremaster
fell, crushed by the backlash of the concussion.

During the blast, Korik received an
urgent call from Sill. He completed his last blow, then left the remaining
ur-viles to the abundant strength of his comrades and spun away to look around
the valley.

Down at the bottom of the bowl, Lord
Hyrim was laboring strenuously to save the Gilden. In a voice shrill with
strain, he summoned the Earthpower to his aid. And he was making progress. In
answer to his invocations, water bubbled up from the grass around the tree —
already it was deep enough to touch his ankles — and the fire gradually
sloughed away from the broad limbs, dropped down as if the tree were shrugging
off of cloak of flame.

Still, the process was hard, slow. Hyrim
sounded exhausted, and he had not subdued a quarter of the blaze.

But that was not the meaning of Sill’s
shout. After one brief glance at Hyrim, Korik saw the other peril.

There were wolves standing shoulder to
shoulder around the entire rim of the valley.

They were poised and silent, gazing
intently down into the bowl: their eyes reflected the fire, so that the valley
seemed ringed by a thousand red pairs of waiting fireflies. But even as Korik
scanned them, took a rough estimate of their numbers, the leader of the pack
threw back its head and gave a long high yipping howl.

Brabha returned a furious neigh, as if he
were answering a challenge.

It affected the wolves like a tantara. At
once, they broke into a hungry growl that pulsed in the air like the turmoil of
seas. And they started down into the valley at a slow walk.

— A trap, Cerrin said. We have been
snared.

Korik called to Lord Shetra, then bounded
onto Brabha’s back and pelted down the hillside toward the tree. The rest of
the company followed him instantly. As he reached the fire, he ordered the
Bloodguard into a defensive formation around him. To Lord Hyrim, he shouted, ‘Come!’

Hyrim did not turn his head. With sweat
running down his cheeks and a wide intensity like obsession in his eyes, he
kept working for the tree: he invoked water as if he were heaving it out of the
ground by main force of will, vitalized the tree’s resistance to flame, and now
pulled at the fire itself, drawing it slowly tongue by tongue, away from the
branches. But through the slow beats of the
lillianrill
chant he wove
for the Gilden, he hissed to Korik, ‘It must be saved!’