The River of Shadows (60 page)

“Pazel,” said Neda in Mzithrini, “tell the Tholjassan to drive this man away. He will bring us all to grief.”

“I can see by the woman’s face what she wishes,” said Vadu. “Do not send me off! I tell you I mean to survive, but there is more: I wish to see my people, my country, survive. Do you understand what I have witnessed, what I have done? And in another year or two the horror must end, for all the Blades will have melted. Our insanity will lift, and Bali Adro can start to heal the world it has profaned. I live for that day. I cannot bear to see the harm renewed by something even worse. I rode out to help, not hinder you.”

Hercól studied him carefully. “Then ride, and be welcome,” he said at last, “but guard your soul, man of Masalym. It is not free yet.”

As the track moved away from the river it grew into something like a proper road, running between fields neatly laid out, and sturdy brick farmhouses with smoke rising from their chimneys. They rode faster here; the smallest of the hunting dogs had to be picked up and carried. At midday they did not pause for a meal but ate riding; Olik had advised them to cross the open farmland as swiftly as possible, and to rest where the track entered the riverbank forest called the Ragwood, where the trees would hide them. Pazel found it hard to imagine anyone watching from the Chalice of the Maî. But there were nearer peaks and, for all he knew, villages scattered among them, watching the curious procession along the valley floor.

In the hottest hour of the day they rode through a plain of tall red grass, dotted by great solitary trees and swarming with a kind of hopping insect that rose in clouds at their approach with a sound like sizzling meat. The horses shied and the
sicuñas
growled. Pazel did not understand their distress until one of the insects landed on his arm. It jumped away instantly, but as it did so he felt a shock, like the kind the ironwork on the
Chathrand
could give you during an electrical storm.

“
Chúun-
crickets,” said Bolutu. “We have them in Istolym as well. By autumn there will be millions, and they will have sucked all the sap from the chúun-grass, and those little shocks you feel will set it all ablaze.”

“What happens then?” asked Pazel.

“They all die,” said Bolutu, “and the plain burns down to stubble—only those great oaks can live through the blaze. Then there are no more crickets until their eggs hatch underground the next summer. It is the way of things. They flourish, they perish, they return.”

The company rode on, and the little shocks were many before they left the chúun-grass behind. An hour later they reached Garal Crossing, where the Coast Road bisected their own. The surface of the Coast Road was heavily rutted and dusty, as though some great host had passed over it, but on their own road the signs of passage were few. By the time they reached the Ragwood the horses were winded, and the
sicuñas
lifted their paws and licked at them unhappily. Pazel saw Jalantri dismount quickly and hurry to Neda’s horse before she could do the same. “Your blisters,” he said, reaching for her boot.

“They are nothing,” said Neda quickly, drawing her foot away.

“Not so. I saw them when you dressed. Come, I’ll treat them before you—”

“Jalantri,” said Vispek softly, “your sister will ask for aid when she requires it.”

Jalantri looked at the ground, abashed. Then he noticed Pazel watching and swept past him, tugging his horse by the bit.

“These animals need water,” said Vadu to Hercól. “We will take them down to the Maî and let them wade. Come, my
Masalyndar
.”

The dlömic soldiers went eagerly with Vadu. Cayer Vispek watched them carefully, then turned to Hercól. “They think much of him,” he said. “He must have had some merit as a commander, once. But I fear they may scheme in private.”

Hercól nodded slowly. “That is likely, Cayer. But not, I think, if you go with them.”

Vispek looked rather amused. “Come, Jalantri,” he said at last. The two men rose and started down to the river’s edge.

“Are we to warm no food before nightfall?” asked Ibjen.

“My lad,” said Hercól, smiling in turn, “we may warm no food before we reach the shores of Ilvaspar. Go with the
sfvantskor
s, Ibjen—that will make their errand less obvious to Vadu.”

A short distance away, Neda sat and pulled off her boots. She gestured at the departing dlömu. “He is just boy,” she said. “Not fighter, no good for anything. Why he coming?”

“Because Prince Olik wants him to,” said Thasha, bending low to comb the dust from her hair, “and Ibjen’s sworn to do whatever the prince asks, to regain his trust. Everything short of fighting, I mean. Anyway, Ibjen’s not useless. He’s an excellent swimmer.”

Neda looked at her wryly. “Good. Swimming on mountain-top. Very helpful.”

“There’s a lake up there,” said Thasha, “and another river beyond it.”

Neda said nothing. Pazel sat down close to her. So familiar, and so strange: Neda rubbing her sore feet. Huge, hard feet, but still hers, still his sister’s. In their native tongue, Pazel said, “Olik trusts him. That’s the real reason he’s along.”

Neda answered in Mzithrini. “More than he trusts the soldiers, you mean? Well, that is something. If they desert us, we’ll still need a dlömu to talk to the villagers.”

“Tell me something,” said Pazel. “Why did you join this hunt? The three of you, I mean?”

“That should be obvious,” said Neda. “The prince gave us our liberty, and we didn’t want to lose it again. We thought of staying in the Masalym, but it is no place for human beings. And we still could not take the
Chathrand
.”

“Is that the only reason? Your only reason?”

Neda looked at him, and he knew she would admit to nothing more.

“Why won’t you talk to me in Ormali?” he said.

Neda’s face was clouded. “The language of Ormael is Arquali, now,” she said. “You know what happens when the Empire takes a prize. It’s been almost six years since the invasion. Give it twelve, and everything will be in Arquali. Laws, trade, school-books. Children will be whipped by their teachers if they speak the old tongue.”

“It won’t go that far,” said Pazel.

“Says the boy from the Arquali ship, with the Arquali friends, the Arquali girl he worships, even though her father—” Neda broke off, her eyes blazing at him. “I don’t live in the past,” she said.

The Ragwood was long and somewhat empty, the underbrush thinned out by grazing animals. They passed through it swiftly, grateful for the shade and the cover. They saw a few dlömu cutting lumber in a clearing, a herd of milk-white buffalo wallowing in a pond. Then Big Skip gave a start that nearly toppled him from his horse. He pointed: naked figures, human figures, were running crouched through the trees. The dogs raced toward them, baying. Wild with terror, the figures made for the deeper woods. A few of the soldiers laughed, but fell silent when they glanced at Vadu.

“Yes,” said the counselor, “there are still
tol-chenni
in our Inner Dominion. They raid crops, steal chickens. But they are dying fast.”

“Your dogs look mighty used to chasing ’em,” said Big Skip.

Vadu shrugged. “A dog will chase any animal that runs.”

They did not stop again in the Ragwood, but the sun was setting nonetheless before they reached its far end. Just beyond the last trees a smaller river poured into the Maî, cutting straight across their path. It was spanned by a battered wooden bridge. A stone fortress rose on the near side, and as they drew close, soldiers with torches began to emerge. They were known to their comrades and greeted with some affection. But like all dlömu they could not help but stare at the humans.

“His Highness sent a scout ahead of you,” said their commanding officer. “We know you ride in haste. We have no
sicuñas
here, but you’re to leave any horse that’s lagging and take one of ours in its stead.”

“My own suffers,” said Vadu. “I had ground to make up, and rode him hard. But I count nearly twenty of you—why so many, Captain, here at the Maîbranch? Half should be guarding Thistle Chase.”

“Counselor, where have you been?” said the other. “Thistle was abandoned before Midwinter’s Day. The farmers had had enough of raids.”

“
Tol-chenni
raids?” asked Ibjen.

The soldiers laughed uneasily.
“Tol-chenni!”
said their captain. “You think our countrymen would take fright at
them
? No, boy, I’m speaking of hrathmog warriors. Barrel-chested, long-limbed brutes, sleek-furred, teeth like knives. They’re getting bold, Counselor Vadu. They’ve been seen walking right out in the open, on this plain. They’ve slaughtered animals, poisoned wells. And they killed old Standru and burned his house and holdings, away there across the Maî. His kin had moved closer to Masalym already; they’d heard the night drums and the caterwauling. But Standru wouldn’t go. He said his land was part of the Dominion and he’d been born there, and wouldn’t leave it to hrathmogs.”

“They put his head on a stake,” said another soldier. “And when they saw it, the last families south of the Maîbranch locked up their homes and fled.”

Vadu looked from one soldier to the next. “Do you mean that Masalym’s Dominion … ends
here
?”

“Unless the city can spare enough men to hold the Chase,” said the officer, “but even then I doubt the farmers would return.”

“Captain,” said Hercól, “did no other riders—other human beings—pass over this bridge?”

The officer looked doubtfully at Hercól.

“Answer him!” snapped Vadu. “He is a natural being like yourself.”

“No one has passed this way,” said the captain. “No one crosses the bridge anymore, save the brave few who still ride out hunting, and they do not go far. I do not think the hrathmogs will challenge a group of your size, but you must post watches all the same.”

They brought Vadu a fresh horse, and the company continued. Vadu was clearly shaken by the news. Pazel wondered if it was the cursed Blade or the countless problems in Masalym itself that had kept him from knowing what had befallen his city’s territories.

Ensyl, who was riding for a spell with the tarboys, looked up at the mountain ahead. “If they didn’t use the road, how did they get up there?” she asked. “But of course, we don’t even know who
is
there. If Arunis somehow learned what Ildraquin can do—”

“Then he’ll have sent Fulbreech alone,” said Pazel, “and we’ll have played right into his hands, and probably won’t ever catch him. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening. If Arunis wanted us to chase after Fulbreech, he wouldn’t have sent him that far away.”

“Why not?” said Neeps.

“Because we might not have believed he could have traveled so far,” said Pazel. “Olik himself said it couldn’t be done. No, if Arunis wanted us to chase after Fulbreech, he’d have sent the rotter just far enough away to entice us, and given him a fast horse so he could stay ahead.”

“Then why in Pitfire are they just sitting up there?” Neeps asked.

“If luck’s with us?” said Pazel. “Because Arunis thinks he’s safe, and has crept into some shack or cave to keep up his experiments with the Nilstone.”

Ensyl laughed grimly. “If luck is with us,” she said.

They rode on. Ensyl wanted to know about their time in the Conservatory, and the tarboys related a version of the tale, interrupting and correcting each other, and succeeded in becoming irritable again. But as they grumbled to a conclusion, a thought struck Pazel with an electric jolt.

“Pitfire,” he said, “I’ve got it, I understand. Neeps, what’s
wrong
with us?” He spurred the horse faster, catching up with Thasha and Hercól. “The idiot,” he said. “Arunis’
tol-chenni
, the one he took from the lab. He’s going to use the idiot to control the Stone.”

They all looked at him, startled. “Why do you say so?” asked Myett, who was riding on Hercól’s shoulder.

“The birdwatchers—the physicians in the asylum—they were upset when he took that particular
tol-chenni
. They said he was special—”

“By the Night Gods!” Hercól exploded. “I am the fool in question! I should wear motley in a circus tent! The technicians said he was
blind to danger
. That he would swallow nails, walk off a cliff or into a fireplace.”

Thasha raised a hand to her cheek. “
Aya Rin
. He’s fearless. Unnaturally fearless.”

“And the Nilstone kills through fear,” said Pazel, “but it won’t kill that
tol-chenni
, will it? Arunis doesn’t have to control the Nilstone anymore. He’s found a puppet to do it for him. That’s what he was trying to do all along, with those men he drove to suicide. Once he gets control of the idiot’s mind—”

“He’s won,” said Ensyl.

Hercól’s face darkened. “He will have won only when all those who oppose him lie dead and cold.”

And Pazel thought:
Arunis would agree with you there
.

On they went into the darkness—slowly, with no lamps lit. Then the moon began to shine over the eastern hills, and by its light they quickened their pace. They moved through smaller woods, crossed other streams, passed the wreckage of country homes looted and abandoned. The night remained warm and hazy at first, but some three hours beyond the Ragwood they climbed the first foothill onto a plateau of leathery grass and small wizened conifers, and here a chill wind was blowing. They broke out heavier coats. Off to their left the Maî rumbled softly in its gorge.

“There’s shelter ahead, Stanapeth,” said Alyash, drawing up beside Hercól. He was pointing to a spot a few miles above them: a bluff where three buildings shone in the moonlight. Two were ruined, but the third, a barn maybe, appeared intact.

Hercól nodded. “If they are empty, we might sleep there,” he said. “Let us go and find out.”

Up they climbed, the horses stumbling over the ruts and stones. The buildings were all that was left of yet another farm: the buildings, and many acres of hacked-off stumps the remains of an orchard or a woodlot. The soldiers fanned cautiously through the farmyard, stalked through the ruined home and storehouse with halberds leveled. They met with no worse than bats and a pair of foxes, but they posted watches at the perimeter all the same.