Across the Face of the World (18 page)

'What?' Leith started with surprise, and began to blush before he could settle himself. Love?

Of course I love Hal, it's just that. . .

'No, don't answer me out loud, not now, not yet. Wait until you know the answer for certain.

Then give the answer to each other.'

Hal said nothing, an unreadable expression on his face.

The big man put a burly arm around each boy's shoulder and drew them together. 'You're going t' have to answer that question some time, boys. The most important question of all, is that. It lies at the root of everything. See that you find an answer. Make sure that it is the right one.'

It was midmorning before they were ready to leave. To Leith some¬thing indefinable hung under the shadowed eaves of the House on Watch Hill. Probably the Realm of Fire, he thought, only half-mockingly.

The vulture-like figure of Kroptur emerged just as they mounted their horses. Just like the Sorcerer of Magic Mountain, Leith thought wonderingly. As if he wasn't confused enough, Kroptur chose just that moment to wink at him.

The Watcher stood in front of the assembled group and spoke in a commanding voice: 'I have done all I can for you. Now I will go inside and pray, and I will not cease prayin' until I hear that you are dead, or that Faltha is once again safe from the lust of the Destroyer. I will delay you no longer.'

Kroptur stood tall, all traces of a stoop gone, raised his right hand in a farewell blessing, and on his fingers many-faceted rings flashed with fire. The Sorcerer of Magic Mountain, beyond any shadow of doubt. 'Fuir af Himmin! Go with the blessing of the Most High!' he called after them, as they shook the reins of their horses, then turned and made their way towards the dark forest eaves of Watch Hill.

MJOLKBRIDGE

THE PATH THE COMPANY took on their way down Watch Hill was not the one they had taken on their way up. Judging the chance of recognition on the Westway too great this close to Vapnatak, they decided to head east, taking a seldom-used path through the forest, one which would bring them to the North Road and the Little Melg River a few miles north of the walled town.

Leith turned from the receding figure of Kroptur and glanced around him. The forest seemed to breathe cold air at them, and under its eaves lurked a perpetual twilight. Southern outlier of the Great North Woods, these ancient trees stood defiantly on a slope too steep to have warranted the woodsman's axe. Ancient, brooding trees.

'Who was that man?' Leith asked his brother. 'I've never heard of him, yet here he is living in riches only a few miles away from the Vale.'

'Kroptur is a Watcher like Kurr,' replied the Haufuth, over¬hearing the conversation.

'Certainly he is wealthy, but I wouldn't say he lives in riches. He has very little to do with anyone in these parts, apparently, and is considered to be a recluse by his neigh¬bours.

Obviously, the children of the Vale have another theory to explain Kroptur of Watch Hill'

'He is more than a Watcher,' Kurr added. 'He is what we Watchers call a Cerner - a seer in the modern tongue. I have known him a long time. A real man of the North March, boy. He is my elder in the Watch, of the highest rank.'

'A seer?' interrupted Leith. 'Is that part of the Realm of Fire? If it's true, how come we weren't taught it?' He turned to the Haufuth for support. In Kroptur's house, under the spell of the deep, rich voice, the Realm of Fire had seemed close around them. Even here, amongst the ancient trees, the Fiery Realm seemed a possibility, but the power of Kroptur's words faded as they rode. Miracles, magic, illusion. Just the words of a strange old man.

'There is little magical about him, boy,' insisted the old farmer with a trace of asperity. 'He is old and wise, knowing from experi¬ence how unexpected events can bring out the best in good people. He believes that good people are better equipped to deal with the hardness of life than are bad people. He does not see into the future like a true prophet, if there are any such left in the world. Shrewdness and common sense give him insight into the hearts of those he encounters. If that's magic, then he's magical.'

'That's not quite how he explained it,' muttered Leith. He did not see into my heart.

'Sounds more like wishful thinking to me,' the Haufuth commented. 'Still, I was impressed with what he had to say this morning.'

'He has great faith in the memory of the Most High,' Kurr continued, 'so he believes that our journey will ultimately be successful. I'm not so sure myself. I think the Most High has forgotten about Faltha. What would a few peasants on horseback mean to him?' The old farmer laughed grimly. 'I'm not a mystic like my master, who seems to see more of the Realm of Fire than he does of the real world. Comes of spending all his time in that house of his, gazing out over the affairs of the North March like some demigod. I'm not saying that the Most High himself is only a fable. I've heard foolish talk like that, and I'll have none of it. But it's my guess that we'll make our own future, with precious little divine assistance. Still, it is encouraging to have the confi¬dence of someone like Kroptur. And his messengers may do some good.'

A few minutes later the Company emerged from under the firs and pines of the Great North Wood. Before them was the narrow valley of the Little Melg, and to their right stood the town of Vapnatak. Tufts of sodden grass poked here and there through the thin snow cover, which seemed to have melted somewhat overnight as a warmer breeze from the south brought fine weather. In the flat mile that stretched between them and the North Road lay paddocks which normally held sheep, but which were devoid of stock at this time of year. Beyond the road, hidden behind a single hedgeline, lay the Little Melg River. Beyond that again lay a series of low, tree-cloaked limestone ridges stretching towards the horizon.

Kurr glanced up at the sun, now well above the hills and shining on the walled town just to the south.

'Time to make a dash for it, before the road gets too busy,' he said.

The travellers picked their way over a low gorse fence, then cantered quietly across the gently sloping paddock, being careful where possible to keep cover between themselves and the town on their right. They reached the road and scurried across, appar¬ently without being seen. On the opposite side of the road they found a gap in the high hedge, and made their way through a stand of oak and willow trees down to the river.

'The water will be cold,' the old farmer called over his shoulder. 'Don't dally in the river!'

Kurr spurred his reluctant horse across the narrow, stony stream, Stella clinging to his back like a burr in his britches. Halfway across he reined in his mount and waited for the others. As he waited, he observed their horsemanship. The big headman seemed competent enough, but would obviously never make an agile rider. Hal was surprisingly adept at manoeuvring his mount, in spite of his clumsy left side and the encumbrance of his younger brother pressing close in behind him. Shaking his head, the farmer tried not to think of how these people might cope with the journey in front of them.

Low, misty clouds began to blow in from the south, moisture drawn inland from the sea. The small Company made their way up the bank on the far side of the river, then trotted hurriedly across the open fields. On their right the Westway snaked towards them, curving north then west as it emerged from the Water-gate of Vapnatak. Kurr led them slightly north of west to avoid being seen from the road, although few people appeared to be abroad on this winter's morning.

A hundred feet of gentle climbing and the horses were at the top of the first of a series of broken ridges. They did not pause, dipping immediately into White Forks Valley and leaving the Little Melg, and their little world, behind.

By midmorning the mount of the Bhmdwan leader was lame, hobbling painfully along the road. In spite of their obvious hurry, the raiders dismounted and clustered around the stricken animal, concern on their faces and in their voices. While they were not watching, Mahnum turned and twisted, ignoring the agony in his ribs, until he could see Indrett, similarly strapped to another horse. She was looking at him! She smiled! She was all right! Well, maybe not all right, he thought as he looked at her injuries. When we get out of this, then she'll be all right.

But the eye contact worked on his battered body in a way no medicine could.

After a few minutes of puzzled conversation, the riders remounted, only to stop again after a further hour's riding, dismounting this time in a belt of trees beside a river, a large river if Mahnum was any judge. He could hear it flowing away to the right, out of his sight. It has to be the Mjolk, he reasoned. No other river this big around here. But we've been riding for days

- how can this be the Mjolk? Unless . . . unless this is the Westway! He began to piece together the fragments he had seen since Midwinter's Day: cobbled road, waving grasses, pine trees, large river. This has to be the Westway. But why? If they're taking us back east to Bhrudwo, why go this way in the middle of winter? It still hurt his head to think.

At the end of this second short delay, the riders set off once more.

Ahead the lead mount entered the water, then stumbled, its leg collapsing under it. Mahnum heard a cry and a splash as the rider fell into the stony river. Then came a confusion of sounds: a horse squealing in obvious distress, angry voices shouting, more splashing and curses from the direction of the river. Then the noise ceased, and for a minute low voices hissed in urgent discussion. Finally some kind of agreement was reached, and the steed on which Mahnum was an unwilling passenger was coaxed down to the water's edge, the beast acting skittish as they passed an obvi¬ously distressed horse lying on its side, its right foreleg bent at an impossible angle. For a moment the Trader felt a twinge of regret, but it passed as he remembered the horrors of Favony and the terror of what had been done to Indrett. The beatings. The fire. The screams. The smell of death. He would never forget what he had seen; he would do all he could to save others - and himself - from such a fate. He cursed the Bhrudwans under his breath for all they had done, and blessed a sharp stone and the name of Cowyn the Hunter.

In the background two riders clattered across a wooden bridge. Hearing this, Mahnum breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the final piece of his puzzle fell into place. Things are turning a little in my favour. The enemy has been slowed down, and that sound tells me exactly where we are.

The five travellers, with Kurr in the lead, spent the rest of the day trailing up and down ridges that cut at right angles across their path. Progressing at no more than walking pace, they kept the Westway well to their right. Just before suppertime it began to rain, a steady drizzle from the sea.

Finally they surmounted a last ridge and looked out over a wide plain in the hazy half-darkness of twilight. To their right the Louthwaite Fens spread southwards towards the horizon. A hundred feet below them the Westway wound around the base of the ridge and struck out across the northern corner of the wetlands. In the murky distance a large river wound lazily through the marshy lands: the Mjolkelva, or Milk River as it was known to foreigners, which rose far away in the Jawbone Mountains and travelled hundreds of leagues to the sea, draining much of northern Firanes. Leith had heard much about this river, particularly from the fish¬ermen of Varec Beach, but had never before seen it. His eyes followed the path of the river upstream through a broad valley to the grey horizon. At some point in the rain-softened distance the Westway seemed to merge with the river.

'Tomorrow we must risk the road,' Kurr said, turning to the others. 'We must begin to make haste, and the chances of anyone recognising us on this side of the Downs are slim. Today's travel was slow of necessity. I wanted to give the horses time to get used to their riders before we try them at more than a walk, and I was worried that we might exhaust them prematurely by pushing them too hard over the treacherous limestone ridges. But by now the Bhrudwans are possibly four days' ride ahead of us. We will take a night's rest here, then we will ride!'

Gratefully Leith eased himself off his horse. Like most of the other Vale children, he had ridden around the village on Salopa, the horse kept by the Loulea Village Council. But riding for a whole day was another matter entirely. His arm and leg muscles ached horribly, and he considered himself fortunate that his lower back was numb. He never would have guessed that merely sitting on a horse would be so exhausting. But, sore as he was, he was better off than the Haufuth, who lay on the ground, twitching uncontrollably as his back spasmed. Leith and Hal took turns rubbing the big man's back, trying to ease his pain.

Each of the Company took water from a flask, and set about eating a little bread and honey.

While they ate the drizzle slack¬ened, then stopped. As the veil lifted, the Fells could be seen on the horizon ahead of them, their snow-covered summits gleaming in the pale sunset. A day closer, a day more forbidding. Behind their stern slopes, Leith knew, lay Breidhan Moor and the Company's likely path.

The next morning they picked their way carefully down the slope to the Westway. The horses clattered on to the empty road, grateful to be away from boggy fields. The old farmer pulled his woollen hat down over his ears, turned up the collar of his coat, then motioned to the others to do likewise. He then wheeled his horse around and, spurring it on, began to ride swiftly up the road. For a moment the others did not react, apart from the Haufuth, who groaned as he knuckled the small of his back, seeking to lessen the agony. Then they, too, urged their mounts forward.

During the afternoon the wind came in from the north and rolled the low clouds away, exposing a pale blue sky streaked by wispy horsetails. The north wind continued to blow in from the forest-cloaked Noyan Hills to the left, cutting through their protec¬tive clothes and chilling their hands and faces. The road beneath them was stone and gravel tightly packed, and it made a straight course through the marshes. It appeared to be a significant engin¬eering feat warranting regular and heavy traffic, but apart from the occasional stone fence and farm gate there was no sign of human habitation. Although they were still close to Vapnatak, humanity seemed to have been swallowed up in the wildness of the land¬scape.