Shadow Magic (11 page)

“No; there are still two parties tracking them,” Grathwol said. “But I am afraid I have little hope for their success.”

“But surely they won’t all escape?”

Grathwol’s ears twitched. “At least one of them is badly wounded, so no doubt you are correct. But as long as even one survives to reach Lithra, we have not succeeded. That is why I wish to have you safe, and the Talisman in Eveleth, as soon as possible. I do not know what the Lithmern will do when they learn what has happened.”

Tamsin nodded. “I think I begin to see.”

“I suggest that you leave now,” Grathwol said with a piercing look at the minstrel. “It is nearly dawn, and at a comfortable pace you will barely reach the Kathkari by nightfall. These are your guides as far as the mountains: Worrel, Rarn, Anarmin, and Shallan.” He waved in the general direction of the archers, who nodded formally and stepped to their ponies as Grathwol called their names.

Worrel was young, and the thick mane of hair covering his head was a rich chestnut color. Rarn was rather tall for a Wyrd, with snapping brown eyes; her fur was a tan color, with streaks of darker brown in her mane, and brown ear-tufts. The third Wyrd, Anarmin, was a uniform dark brown in color; a few threads of silver sprinkled his ear-tufts, and Alethia found herself wondering whether that was the Wyrd counterpart of graying at the temples. Shallan’s fur was also dark, but his mane and ear-tufts had a reddish tinge. All four wore deep green cloaks and tunics, and the belt and quiver of the Wyrd archers.

“Murn will also accompany you,” Grathwol finished, and waved them toward their horses.

Tamsin bowed deeply to Grathwol, Alethia curtsied, and with that formal farewell they mounted and departed. Soon they were out of sight of the living buildings of Glen Wilding.

Har reined in abruptly as he broke through a clump of bushes near the edge of a clearing. Even at the slow pace they were keeping, Maurin’s horse nearly ran on top of Har’s. Fighting back an impulse to object furiously to Har’s carelessness, Maurin leaned forward in search of the cause. He saw the firepit in the center of the clearing at the same moment Har’s whisper floated back to him: “Someone’s camp. Seems deserted.”

“I’ll swing left,” Maurin said in a voice pitched to carry only as far as Har’s ears. He waited until he saw Har nod, then moved out to check the camp, thinking,
we shouldn’t have been so careless
—
if they
were
here, they must have heard us coming.

No Lithmern appeared, and after circling the perimeter of the camp, the two men tethered their horses to a nearby sapling and went to examine the clearing.

“They seem to have stopped here quite a while,” Maurin commented. “See, they tied their horses over there. Looks like there were a dozen or so.”

Har poked the dead ashes of the fire and looked up with an expression of chagrin on his face. “Maurin, we must have crossed another trail somewhere and followed the wrong one. These ashes are nearly a day old.”

“There can’t be
two
groups of horsemen traveling north and west through the Wyrwood,” Maurin said.

Har stood up and prowled impatiently about the clearing. “There must be. The Lithmern we’ve been chasing couldn’t have gotten this far in one night, no matter how hard they pushed their horses. We had better go back and see if we can pick up their trail before they get impossibly far ahead of us. We have no idea how much time we may have lost already.”

Maurin nodded reluctantly, and started back toward the horses. As he passed the edge of the clearing he detoured around a clump of bushes and stopped short. Behind him he heard Har exclaiming, “Maurin! Look here!”

“You come look here,” Maurin replied in a voice that sounded odd even to himself. Har came hurrying through the trees carrying an empty dagger sheath.

“I found this under that tree,” he said, gesturing vaguely back toward the clearing. “It’s Lithmern work, no doubt of it; maybe you weren’t far wrong after all.”

“I know I’m not wrong,” Maurin cut him off, and pointed. At his feet lay two pieces of cord and a woman’s spangled dancing slipper, the mate to the one they had found on the road the night of the kidnapping.

Har stared at it for a moment. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered under his breath.

“Neither do I, but there it is. We are on the right trail.” Maurin’s eyes flashed and he almost smiled.

With new energy, Har ducked back through the bushes toward the horses. Maurin meanwhile followed Alethia’s footprints for a short distance. He turned as Har came up behind him with their mounts.

“It’s a good clear track; we should make better time now,” he said briefly as he mounted his horse. Har nodded as they started off. They rode in silence, stopping now and then to examine the tracks more closely. They saw no traces of the Lithmern, which puzzled them greatly, but several times they found bits of lace or green net to assure them that they were still on Alethia’s trail.

They followed the trail for half an hour, moving as quickly as they could without risking a mistake. Then they were confronted by another clearing, the cold ashes of another fire, and more hoof prints. Maurin’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the scene. “This gets stranger and stranger. I begin to think these woods deserve their reputation.”

“That would really be all we need!” Har commented. “Aren’t Lithmern enough to worry about?” He dismounted for a moment to study the confused tracks. “There’s only one horseman this time. Well, come on; she’s not here.” He remounted and they continued, following the latest trail.

Gradually the trees grew denser, and they had to slow their pace slightly. A little later they stopped to rest their horses. Har had had the foresight to grab a water bottle as they left Styr Tel; this was now nearly empty, but there was enough left to wet their throats. They stood for a moment watching their horses as the animals munched hungrily on nearby bushes and low-hanging branches. “Makes me wish I were a horse,” Har commented.

Maurin sighed. “We had better get going if we are going to catch up to them,” he said, and started toward the horses. He had gone several paces when he heard Har’s strained voice behind him. “Maurin. Don’t move. There is a… a little brown person pointing an arrow at your head.”

By the time Har had finished his sentence, the warning was no longer necessary. A dozen furred archers had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, with drawn bows and very businesslike arrows. One motioned Maurin back toward Har, while another collected their horses. The remaining archers fanned out into a ring, well out of sword’s reach but within easy range for their own bows.
Wyrds,
Maurin thought, and wondered what had happened to Alethia.

One of the archers stepped forward. “Who are you, and what are your cities?” she demanded in faintly accented Kyrian.

“I am Har Tel’anh of Brenn, and this is my friend Maurin Atuval of the Traders,” Har said steadily.

“I see,” said the same Wyrd in a skeptical tone. She pondered for a moment, then raised her head and snapped several commands in a language Maurin did not recognize. Half the archers lowered their bows and slipped away among the trees.

Turning back to Maurin and Har, the Wyrd said, “You will come with us. If you are who and what you claim, you have nothing to fear.” She turned away.

Maurin and Har exchanged glances. One of the other Wyrds gestured with his bow. Maurin nodded, Har shrugged, and the two men remounted and started off through the forest, surrounded by Wyrds.

The small furred people had no trouble keeping pace with the tired horses. They rode in silence. Twice the humans heard a high call piping through the woods, and their guides answered in kind.

Nearly an hour and a half later, the Wyrds stopped outside a stand of trees. Their leader sent the piping summons ringing through the forest; a moment later the bushes rustled softly as yet another Wyrd appeared. He spoke briefly with the archers in the same unknown language, then turned to the two horsemen.

He looked toward Maurin first, a long, penetrating gaze. When he seemed satisfied at last, he turned to Har. A moment later he smiled and said something else to the archers, who nodded. He looked back at Har. “I told them you spoke the truth. You have the look of your sister, Har Tel’anh.”

“Alethia! How do you know about her? Where is she? Is she safe?” Har demanded. Maurin fought back the questions that rose to his own lips. Alethia was Har’s sister; he had the right to ask. Besides, there was no point in repeating what Har had just said.

“Your sister spent last night with us,” the Wyrd replied. “She is quite safe, for now at least. I think more detailed explanations can wait. Will you dismount, and let us see to your horses?”

A wave of relief swept Maurin as he swung out of the saddle, and he saw it mirrored in Har’s face. Somehow, he did not doubt the Wyrd’s words.

Har dismounted more slowly, and looked at the Wyrd. “I thank you for your hospitality toward my sister,” he said slowly. “But we still don’t know where this is, or who you are. And how did Alethia come to be here?”

“This is Glen Wilding, and I am Grathwol, Arkon of the Wyrds who live here,” said the Wyrd patiently, with a small smile. “Now, come and dine with me; I think we have much to talk of.”

Har still looked skeptical, but he followed Grathwol without further comment. Maurin trailed after, studying his surroundings with curiosity. The Wyrd led the two men to the great entry hall. He crossed it quickly and entered a smaller room off to one side, where a table was loaded with wild fruits, bread, honey, and several platters of cold venison. Grathwol seated himself at the head and motioned to Maurin and Har to take the two remaining seats.

As they ate, Grathwol told them in detail the story of Alethia’s kidnapping and escape, her meeting with Tamsin, and her second encounter with the Lithmern. When he reached the description of the Talisman of Noron’ri, Har leaned forward with an exclamation. “Could they have used that to travel two days journey from Brenn in one night?” he asked.

“Yes, and more,” Grathwol replied. “They used it to summon the mists that delayed your sister and Tamsin, and they counted on its power to hide their passage from us. They very nearly succeeded,” he added thoughtfully.

Har looked at Maurin triumphantly. “I
thought
the traces looked odd.”

Maurin nodded; it was all he was capable of. There were magicians in the south, in Kith Alunel and Rathane and some of the islands of the Melyranne sea, but on the rare occasions that they dealt with Traders, it was the Master Traders who saw them. He had never dealt with magic himself, and his tired brain was having trouble taking in the details of Grathwol’s tale of Wyrds and Lithmern and ancient magic.

Grathwol finished the tale with an explanation of where Alethia and Tamsin had gone and why. Har frowned.

“I can understand why Alethia wants to get home quickly,” he said, “but she should not travel alone. Can we catch up with her before your people turn north?”

“They left early this morning,” Grathwol replied. “You are only about two hours behind them; if you push your horses, you may arrive at the Ward-Keeper’s cottage today, though it will be after dark when you get there.”

“Our horses are tired,” Har said, “but I would like to try, if it pleases you to furnish a guide.”

“I can furnish you with guides, indeed, and more,” Grathwol said with a gleam of satisfaction. “Fresh horses are yours to command, as soon as you have rested.”

“Then we shall leave as soon as your preparations are completed,” Har said firmly. “It is no reflection on your hospitality, but I do not wish to lose more time.”

Grathwol smiled. “Of course.” He clapped his hands and gave a few brief orders to the servitor who appeared in response to this summons. As the Wyrd left, he turned back to the two men. “I thought we would find a use for those horses we captured! But finish your meal at your leisure; it will be a little time before they are ready.”

The two men nodded in agreement, yet in a surprisingly short time they were finished. Grathwol smiled to himself and signaled again. Another Wyrd appeared to lead Maurin and Har through the halls of Glen Wilding to the place where the fresh horses waited.

Without further ado, Maurin and Har bid Grathwol thanks and farewell, and made their way out into the forest once more. Two taciturn archers were already mounted on the ponies the Wyrd preferred. An instant more and the men were astride their horses. The Wyrd stood silently watching as for the second time that day, a party left Glen Wilding headed west toward the Kathkari.

F
OR THE EARLY PART
of the morning, Alethia rode at the back of the party with Worrel, with whom she was fast becoming friends. The two chatted easily for some time, except when Anarmin called for silence from the front of the column. Unfortunately, the track they rode was barely wide enough for two horses side by side, so when Worrel moved forward to take his turn with Rarn at the head of the party, Alethia moved back to her original position next to Tamsin.

The five Wyrds changed positions several more times during the morning. The ride was uneventful, though twice the party halted for some reason known only to their guides. Neither Alethia nor Tamsin saw or heard anything to indicate a dangerous presence or its passing, but they complied without argument to the dictates of their companions. When they came upon the fresh marks of huge claws six inches deep in the trail shortly after the second halt, their respect for the Wyrds’ advice increased enormously.

Around noon Rarn and Worrel, who were riding a little in advance of the rest, halted abruptly. They had not signaled for silence, so Tamsin rode forward. “What is it?” Tamsin asked with a worried frown as he and Alethia reached them. “More trouble?”

“No,” said a voice from behind him. Alethia turned to see that Anarmin had ridden up to them, and was dismounting. The Wyrd gave them a broad grin. “Not trouble. Lunch!”

Alethia laughed. Tamsin dismounted, but before he reached her to lift her from her horse, she kicked her feet free of the stirrups and slid to the ground unaided. The Wyrds were clearly accustomed to breaking their journey at this point, for their ponies walked quietly to a nearby bush as soon as their riders were down and waited patiently to be tethered. Beneath the bush, where only a torrential rain might reach it, lay a neat stack of firewood.