The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (5 page)

The giants stopped often to look at the ground, reading animal prints,Tam guessed. They did not speak much, but kept their heads up, their eyes darting here and there, aware of all that transpired around them.

"Who are these people?" Tarn asked Alaan, as they rode near each other.

Alaan glanced at the massive men who led them, then seemed to decide that it was all right to speak. "The Dubrell are the re-mains of a race that prospered long ago, though even at their height their numbers were not large. There are only two areas I know of where they still dwell; unfortunately, one of these lies on the short-est path to the place we're going. I'd hoped we might slip through before they were aware of us. They're not a warlike people, but are suspicious of outsiders, whom they encounter very infrequently. We are thought to be bringers of bad luck—you heard what they said about my whist.""You have been here before," Tarn said.

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"Yes. Once. I explored the route we follow now, thinking that I might come this way one day. They were not so lucky then—to catch me in a draw with enemies at my back . I eluded them. Ap-parently they haven't forgotten, however." Alaan glanced thought-fully down the slope to the giants making their way through the widely spaced trees. His handsome face was thinner now, pale and slightly aged, though his dark beard was still neatly trimmed, his traveler's clothes a little too well tailored.

Alaan went on. "Orlem told me that he wandered up onto a mountain—centuries ago—because he'd heard a story that other Dubrell had disappeared there; Dubrell who knew the ways of the wildlands and the mountains. He went searching to see what had become of them, but instead found himself wandering in strange lands, much as happened to you on the River Wynnd. He walked into the beginnings of a war in the land between the mountains. A company of armed men, beating the countryside for conscripts, came across him, and he was taken into the army against his will. But his size and strength, as well as his unexpected talent for war, brought him to the attention of Caibre, whom he served for many years—before he fell under the spell of Sianon." Alaan glanced back at Tarn, who had been staring at him, as though he could come to some understanding of this enigma who called himself Alaan.

"But Orlem became your friend," Tarn said.

"He was the friend of Sainth, not Alaan."The sun sank behind the mountain, and a long shadow washed down the slope, catching them like a returning tide. Dusk flooded among the trees, and they were soon squinting into the shadows, trying to see their way. But as the giant had said, it was not far.

What Tarn first thought was a cliff turned out to be a stone wall, and set into it, a large gate. One of the giants whistled an odd pat-tern and overhead was heard the scraping of wood on stone. A square of light appeared high up in the wall, and a few moments later they heard a deep thud inside, and one of the massive doors cracked open. The giant pulled it wide so that it screeched on its hinges. The wolf pack bid their masters good-bye, and disappeared into the night. Inside, a dark courtyard could be seen, lit only by a single lantern, a candle burning within.

"There is room for your horses in our stable," the giant said. "If some of you will follow me. The healer should go with Wolfson."Alaan and Rabal followed Wolfson up a stone stairway, leaving their companions to tend the horses.

The giant took the candle lantern off its hook and led them into the stable, which was occupied by a few large draft horses. The companions soon had their own horses stripped of saddles and gear, rubbed down, and fed and watered. Tarn thought that their horses would not likely see such comfortable housing again until they returned to the land between the mountains. After a fortnight in the wilds, such a stable might look like a comfortable inn to him and his companions as well.

"Come with me, now," the giant said, waving at the door. "I am Stonehand.""I'm Tarn, and this is my cousin, Fynnol, and our friend Cynddl, who is a story finder."The giant appraised Cynddl with his large, surprisingly kindly eyes.

"We will take our supper soon," Stonehand said. "If your friend can heal Arddu, then you shall share our meal.""And if he can't?" Fynnol asked quickly.

"That is not for me to decide."They went up the stairs and through a tall door made of oak planks thicker than Tarn's hand was broad.

A small entry hall opened up before them, the woodwork rough but the feel of the place homey. They shed their mail and boots there, leaning weapons against a wall. After a hard day of travel and the excite-ment and fear of their contest with Hafydd's guards, the smell of cooking food lifted Tarn's spirits.

Light spilled out of a door onto the plank floor, polished from years of use. Stonehand led them through the door, and inside they found a good-sized chamber, well lit by candles and a fire in an im-

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posing hearth. Cool mountain air flooded in the windows, for even in summer the nights were chill at this elevation. A few pieces of rustic furniture, of a size that made Tarn feel like a child again, were spread randomly about the room, and to one side stood a long, high table, with benches to either side.

A rough blanket had been spread before the fire and on this lay the wounded wolf, panting, mouth lolled open and wet with drool. Crowheart, Alaan, and the other giant knelt over it, Crowheart washing the wound with a damp cloth.

"He will live," Rabal reassured the giant, who was obviously much affected by the beast's suffering. "He will not be well for a few days, but he will live.""The blade sank into his gut," the giant said. "How can he live?""He will live," Alaan said. "If Rabal says he will be healed, he will be healed."The giant looked up at him. "Then he must be a sorcerer's pupil, for Arddu's blood loss alone would do for most animals.""Luck has smiled upon you today, for Crowheart was nearby," Alaan said.

"Luck… ?" the giant said disdainfully. "If not for you, Arddu would not have been wounded, for those men were your enemies, not ours."Alaan didn't answer, for surely the giant was right, Tarn thought.

Stonehand stood looking on, bent just a little to gaze down on the injured beast, the lines of his face deep with concern.

Crowheart began to sing or chant softly over the injured ani-mal. He stroked the slick fur around the wound and scratched gently behind the wolf's ears. The words he sang could not be made out, but their meaning could almost be grasped, though no quite.

Tarn had a moment to observe their hosts. They were like to Orlem Slighthand in size—Baore might have almost reached Stonehand's shoulder. Certainly they would be more than double Tarn's weight, and Tam was not a small man. Their bodies were thick and muscled, and a little round about the middle. They ap-peared to have been rather crudely carved compared to someone like Fynnol, who was slight of waist and wiry as a weasel. Their faces were half-hidden by beards, and thick hair flowed down to their shoulders. Although he would guess there was little vanity among these giants, their hair was clean, and their clothes, though worn and mended expertly here and there, had been recently laundered.

"I will be here all this night," Crowheart said. "Break your fast and leave me to my duties."Reluctantly, the giants gave way to Crowheart. Stonehand went to the hearth and took the lid from a blackened iron pot that hung from a hook. His companion retrieved bowls and plates from a cupboard and set the table. In a moment they were all seated, eat-ing a thick stew and chunks of dense bread. Stonehand rose to shut the windows, for the room was rapidly cooling.

The sound of howling wolves came to them through the glass, distant and eerie.

"Will you set a guard this night?""The pack will stand guard. The men who chased you today would be foolish to come here, but if they do, we'll know."The giants could have easily been brothers, but it turned out they weren't. It seemed they were reluctant to speak with the strangers, but every time they looked over at Crowheart and found their wolf still alive, their reticence softened a little.

"Are you the only two living here?" Alaan asked. "It seems a large keep.""There is a third here this night. He might show himself by and by," Stonehand said. "Others kept to the mountain this day to hold the strangers at bay. We're here for four full moons to watch the north pass." He gestured with a hand. "It is quiet duty, but needed all the same.""There is some threat from the lands to the north?" Alaan con-tinued.

The Dubrell glanced at each other, then Wolfson answered.

"You're the first in many a year. 'Tis the to the south that our lands are threatened."Stonehand glared at him, and Wolfson fell silent, applying him-self to his stew without looking up.

A door opened then, and an old man came in. If anything he was taller than the two giants present, even though he stooped a lit-tle under the weight of his years. White beard and hair made a great contrast to his sun-stained face and troubled blue eyes.

The old man stopped short when he saw the strangers gathered at the table, then his gaze took in Crowheart sitting by the injured wolf. Immediately he crossed to the animal, and Wolfson rose and went to where the old man crouched, stroking the wolf's head.

Wolfson began speaking in their strangely accented language, of which Tarn understood only a few words. It occurred to him then that if these giants were isolated enough to have developed such a thick accent, how did they learn to speak the common tongue as it was spoken in the land between the mountains?

The old man muttered a few words, then raised his eyes from the wolf to stare at Crowheart. After a moment, he got stiffly to his feet and walked over to the table. Stonehand stood up as the old man approached, his manner respectful. Alaan quickly followed suit, and the others did the same.

"This is Uamon, who dwells in this place," Wolfson said, and in-troduced the strangers, forgetting no one's name.

"Sit," the old man said. "Eat while your dinner is hot."Wolfson brought Uamon food and drink and seated him at the table's head.

Fynnol glanced over at Tam and raised an eyebrow, but Tarn didn't know who or what this old man was either.

The Dubrell had a few more words, then Uamon spoke.

"Where is it you travel?" he asked in a smoky voice.

"South," Alaan said, though Tam sensed he was reluctant to be their spokesman.

"South?" Uamon said. "Better you went some other way."There was an awkward silence.

"Our route lies south," Alaan said firmly.

Uamon dipped a spoon into his bowl, raising it to blow gently on a steaming chunk of lamb. He had a gentle aspect, this old giant, but there was also a sorrow about him, Tarn thought.

"Our people have trouble to the south," Uamon said. "It is my duty to ask what would take you there?""I seek someone who lives beyond your lands."Again Uamon sipped at his stew. "Beyond our borders you will find dark lands. Shadow lands. My people don't go there willingly. Of those few who have, only one returned.""We all have our duties," Alaan said. "Ours lead us south. If you will let us pass, we shall bother you no more.""I suppose if a man goes seeking Death, one cannot stop him, for Death can be found anywhere—even within this room." He glanced over at the wolf, who moaned quietly by the fire.

"But what of your companions? Do they understand where it is you go?""We have met Death's servants before," Fynnol said. "Once you have faced them, there is nothing left that will frighten you.""Do not be so sure of that. My people have long stood vigil over our southern border. Beasts have been seen there that were the stuff of nightmare." He shivered visibly. "What duties could take you to Death's kingdom, I wonder?"Alaan's reluctance to answer was obvious, but clearly he felt there was no choice. They must have free passage from the Dubrell. "We will not go there—not to the gate. Only into the bor-derlands.""Ah. Only into the borderlands," Uamon said softly. Still he concentrated on his food, not looking at Alaan. "I fear you do not understand what it is you do. Where it is you go.""I have been to the borderlands before," Alaan said.

Uamon's head lifted, his troubled blue eyes coming to rest on Alaan. "What do you seek there, if it is not Death?""I seek… knowledge.""Better to sit at the feet of a wise man.""No wise man is foolish enough to have learned what I wish to know," Alaan said, his voice growing testy. "Is it not enough that we are men of good character, and that we mean no harm to your peo-ple?

There are other races with their own struggles, their own trou-bles. We seek only to bring aid to our own people."Uamon gazed at Alaan a moment, while the other giants shifted uncomfortably on their benches. They did not think Alaan should speak to their elder so.

"It is not enough," Uamon said. "I must be assured that your duties will not bring greater suffering to my own people—for this could be done without it being your purpose. The lands to the south are a great mystery."Before Alaan could answer, a deep rumbling was heard. Tarn felt suddenly disoriented, as though he were falling. His soup slopped over onto the table, and he felt himself thrown violently back, then forward. And then it was calm, only a spray of sparks from the logs shifting in the fire.

"They happen more often now," Stonehand said, looking not at all surprised. "The earth is restless.""No," Alaan said. "A great spell is unraveling. A spell that walled Death into his kingdom and held two great lands apart. The earth tremors will grow worse. Even the mountains might not stand against them,and in the end Death will be released and overrun the world of the living."Uamon's spoon stopped as it traveled to his mouth, and his hand trembled visibly. He glanced over at Crowheart, then back to Alaan. "How do you know this?""Because I saw the chamber where the spell was made. I didn't realize what it was then, but now I know.

The spell is de-caying, and I seek the help of someone who might know how it could be repaired.""You know too much of sorcery," Uamon said quickly.

"I don't know enough," Alaan answered. "Will you let us pass through your lands?"Uamon stirred his spoon through his soup. "I will consider it,"he said, then rose from the table, disturbed by what he had learned. Stonehand and Wolfson lurched to their feet as the old man rose, and the others did the same. Uamon crossed the room without looking back, closing the door softly behind him.