Sorcerer's Son (19 page)

Cray unrolled the map, which he had been wearing like a huge and unwieldy pendant on a thong about his neck. ‘“The swamp is swampy,” he said, peering at the parchment. “This is the only major river, but there’s a lot of water still ahead of us. But the road is shown as unbroken all the way to the other side.” He grinned at his companion. “And we can always turn back if it becomes impassable.”

Sepwin grimaced. “If we turn back, I might take you up on that raft idea.” He pulled himself up onto his horse. “I’m ready.”

The sun soon dried their wet clothing, and Cray was able to slip the chain harnesses back into place over the quilting on his legs. His saddlebags, made of oiled leather., had scarcely been penetrated by their brief exposure to the river, and so the rest of his gear was virtually dry. The two ducks hanging from his saddle had shed water as if they were alive. Late in the afternoon, Cray and Sepwin stopped to build a fire and enjoy the birds for their evening meal.

“No trees this time,” said Sepwin, looking around nervously. “Shouldn’t we keep going until we find one for our shelter?”

“I don’t think we will,” replied Cray. “I haven’t seen a tree in a good while, except for a couple growing right out of the water, and I won’t spend my night bailing out the tent, thank you.”

“What will we do then?”

“We don’t need a tree, though it would make things simpler.” He tossed the last of the duck bones aside, stood up, and walked over to where Gallant, tethered to a low bush, was peacefully cropping the coarse swamp grass. The animal nickered softly at his approach, and he stroked its neck and face, crooning softly. Then he dipped into one of the saddlebags and found a kerchief. He folded it into a bandage and tied it over Gallant’s face as a blindfold. “Use that eye patch that you don’t need here in the swamp,” he said to Sepwin, “and do as I am doing to your own mount.”

Sepwin obeyed, and while he stood by his blindfolded horse, he watched Cray climb into his own saddle and lean forward, stretching both arms out over Gallant’s head. Spiders crept from his sleeves then and spun their strands, anchoring at their master’s limbs and leaping to the ground on either side of Gallant’s unseeing eyes, playing thread from their descending bodies. Soon two parallel sets of ribbons had formed from Cray’s arms, and the spiders had begun to climb back up, swiftly weaving cross strands till the webwork was nigh opaque. Cray peeled the web from himself then, letting it settle upon Gallant’s head, and he eased backward in the saddle. The spiders followed his movements, spinning from the saddle now and returning to his arms when sheets of webbing hung from that. Cray guided the final webwork to fall upon his horse’s rump and then he slipped off over the tail. Gallant stood still, covered with a close-fitting tent of spidersilk.

“Your horse’s turn now,” said Cray, and he mounted that animal.

“Must you sit there and let them spin all over you?” asked Sepwin. “Can’t they just spin directly on the horses themselves, as they did on the inside of last night’s shelter?”

Cray nodded. “They could. But horses are skittish beasts. How would you like to feel a score of spiders crawling over your skin?”

Sepwin backed off. “No. No.” He watched the tent-making process repeated on his own mount, and after a time he said, “You’re not going to do the same thing for the two of us, are you?”

“I could,” said Cray, “but somehow I don’t think you’d care to spend the night quite so closely draped in spiderwebs. The horses won’t mind—to them the webs are just blankets, but to you

” He smiled. “Well, the webs are just blankets, you know.”

“Isn’t there some other way?”

“Don’t worry.”

When he was done with Sepwin’s horse, Cray took up his sword and shield, which he had removed from Gallant’s saddle before the web-making. He thrust the sword point-first into the ground, and a body’s length away, he hammered the shield into the ground, also point-first. The ground was soft enough to yield to them but hard enough that they remained upright, and he braced them with stones to insure that they would not tip over. Then he marked a perimeter about them with other stones and set his spiders free upon that frame. Soon they had fashioned a small tent, with the sword and shield as its supports and the perimeter stones anchoring their silk to the ground. The tent was large enough for two people to crawl inside and lie down.

“Not quite as roomy as last night,” said Cray, “but at least we won’t have to share it with the horses.”

“You’re sure they’ll be all right?” Sepwin asked. “Those webs are so close-fitting

might not an insect be able to bite through to flesh without actually passing through the weave?”

“Not those webs. And now I think we should enter our own armor; I can hear the buzzing already.”

Sepwin clutched at his own arms and looked about. “I wonder how big they are.”

“I don’t think I care to find out. Come on.”

In the morning, Sepwin peered at the map. “How much farther does this swamp go on?”

Cray traced the road with one finger. “I think we’re about here now, which means another day or two. The end of the swamp isn’t clearly marked, but there’s a town over here, and surely that’s beyond the swamp.”

Sepwin sighed. “Well, now we know why your father took the northern route.”

“Oh, we’re halfway through. We can last another two days, can’t we, Master Feldar?”

Sepwin mounted his horse. About its feet, like a scatter of gray dust, lay the remains of the spidersilk netting; at Cray’s touch it had fallen apart, freeing the animal, which appeared unperturbed by the night’s shelter. “I only wish I knew,” said Sepwin, “if the worst was behind us.”

“I suspect every human being would wish to know that,” Cray said, climbing onto Gallant’s back. “And since we have no way of acquiring that knowledge, let us assume it. I don’t feel in any mood to spend my time worrying about the future.” He grinned at his companion. “I’m sure you’ll worry enough for both of us.”

The morning passed uneventfully, the road alternately dry and mucky; occasionally the horses splashed through water to their knees. It was in one of these stretches, where the exact location of the road was unclear, although it could be seen to continue some distance ahead in a drier condition, that Gallant tossed its head, whinnied loudly, and began to thrash. Cray perceived immediately that his mount was stuck in the mud that lay beneath the water. He turned in the saddle and shouted for Sepwin, who lagged a dozen strides behind, to stop. Even as he did so, he realized that he and Gallant were sinking.

“What’s happening?” cried Sepwin.

“We’re stuck! Stay where you are and keep your horse calm. I’m sending you spiders—use their silk as a rope to pull us out!” As if throwing invisible stones, his hands shot out, and spiders poured from his sleeves, struck the water, and danced lightly over the surface, laying down silk behind them. Some stayed by Gallant, weaving a net about the horse, and the rest raced for Sepwin, swarmed up his mount’s legs and began to fashion a net about both steed and rider. Sepwin shuddered once as they arrived, but he had no time for more than that, for his shying horse required every scrap of his attention; he soothed the animal at last when the spiders had done and had gathered to rest upon his shoulders, like dark snowflakes. He moaned softly but did not try to brush them off.

“I can’t pull you both out!” Sepwin said. “You weigh too much—you’ll pull us in instead!”

“I’ll come first,” said Cray. Already the water was at his thighs, and he could feel the muck beneath, sucking at his feet. He slipped into the water as flat and gently as possible, clutching the filmy spider strands with both hands and crossing his ankles over them. His lifeline sagged under his weight and the weight of his chain, and he shouted, “Move back!” just before water filled his mouth. A moment later, as Sepwin obeyed, the silken rope drew taut, rising a handsbreadth above the surface. Cray shook the water from his eyes, spat, and breathed deep; then he began to crawl, slowly, his body almost completely immersed. Gallant, sinking, pulled the rope that was anchored to it ever deeper; the horse had ceased to whinny now, and to struggle, but its terrified panting carried across the water like the breath of a blacksmith’s bellows. Cray heard it when his ears cleared the surface, and though the time after that seemed to stretch endlessly for him, it was actually only a few moments until he was able to stand up beside Sepwin’s mount. The water was at his knees in that spot, but there were rocks beneath his feet, hard and unyielding. He turned to look at Gallant and saw only the horse’s head and neck projecting above the water.

“We’ll never get him out,” said Sepwin.

“I won’t let him die! Get off your horse—you can’t use your own strength from up there!” He touched the spidersilk webbing that encompassed his companion’s steed, and where his flesh passed, the silk parted, freeing Sepwin’s legs and enabling him to dismount. The spiders leaped from his shoulders to the horse then, to spin again and repair their netting.

“Come now, pull with me,” said Cray, and he grasped the silken line just in front of Sepwin’s horse. Sepwin joined him, tugging and urging his horse backward in the water. “Come now, we can do it,” Cray gasped. “He’s just a dead weight, not working against us. Pull!”

“We’re not strong enough,” moaned Sepwin.

“Your horse has pulled a plow through stony earth. She can do this! Back, plowhorse, back!” Gritting his teeth, Cray added every fragment of his strength to the horse’s effort.

“We’ll never do it,” gasped Sepwin, his voice harsh and strained.

“Pull!”

So gradual was their success that they did not realize it until Gallant began to thrash. The horse stumbled then, as the muck gave it up, and stood muddy and shivering upon the rocks beside its master.

Cray let go the silken rope and threw his arms around his horse’s neck, stroking and murmuring to it until the shivering ceased and its breath settled down to a semblance of normalcy.

“We’ll have to stop now,” said Cray. “He needs a rest and a good rubdown. Poor Gallant—you’ll be all right, old fellow, I promise.”

“I could use a rest, too,” said Sepwin, leaning against his own steed. Sweat was rolling down his face and neck, and his arms were shaking with the effort he had expended.

“Yes, yes, all of us.” Cray laid a hand on Sepwin’s horse, and all the spiders skittered to his dripping sleeve.

“Let’s find a dry piece of road and set up a camp.” He pulled his sword from its sheath. Mud clung to the pommel, and he rinsed it in the water at his knees. Then, using the blade as a staff, he tested the hidden ground all around, found rocks to walk safely upon, and led his horse a long and circuitous route toward the nearest visible section of the road. Sepwin followed almost precisely in his footsteps.

They staggered out of the water, horses and humans, dripping, muddy, exhausted. Sepwin collapsed upon the dry ground, but Cray pulled up some handfuls of dry grass and began to rub his horse down with them.

“Where do you find the strength for that?” Sepwin muttered. “It must be magical.”

“I wish it were,” said Cray, and doggedly he rubbed on, until Gallant was dry. Then he leaned against the animal and closed his eyes. When he felt himself slipping, his legs giving way, he shook his head sharply and straightened. Sepwin was asleep curled in a patch of grass; his horse stood beside him, nibbling at his green mattress. Cray wanted to lie down, too, but he did not. The sun was still high, but if he slept they might be caught unprepared by night. With heavy limbs, he took up his sword and shield and set them as tent posts on either side of his sleeping friend. He set the spiders to spinning then, and they spun the tent with a human being already inside. He blindfolded the horses next, and made their shelters, and at last he was free to strip off his clothes and chain and to lie down beside Sepwin and sleep.

He awoke to find his mother’s face looking down at him from one wall of the tent. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes. Gray light filtered through the dense webbing. “Is it morning?” he asked her.

“Late afternoon,” she said, “and cloudy where you are. I saw that you were safe and decided not to wake you. I saw water danger in the tapestry. What happened?”

Briefly, he told her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Someone shall hear about this. I asked for a good map; I did not expect one that neglected the dangers of the road.”

Cray stretched, yawning. “Would a demon of the air have seen such danger from above?”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps not.”

“And I really should have known better than to walk right into the water without a thought. I shan’t do that again, I promise you.”

“I hope not.” She sighed softly. “Oh, my son, the journey is not so easy as you thought it would be.”

He grinned. “I’m learning a great deal, Mother. And think of the stories I’ll have to tell to the lord of the East March. Surely he’ll look favorably upon me for not being turned back by these things.”

“There will be adventures enough, I’m sure, after you are a knight, Cray. Adventures and to spare.”

“Yes,” he said, and he lay back, interlacing his hands beneath his head. “Just think, Mother

someday a troubadour like Lorien might set my adventures to music. How wonderful that would be!”

“Wonderful indeed, Cray. And the adventures set to music might be considerably more wonderful than the adventures really were.”

He tilted his head to look at her. “Are you saying that troubadours tend to exaggerate the deeds they sing of?”

“Lorien admitted as much to me.”

Cray chuckled quietly. “Well, Mother, I never did believe that one man could slay a dozen lions single-handed.”

“Lesser things than that.”

He nodded. “But I shall have to do great things if I want songs composed about me. Those are the only kind that ever become songs. Great accomplishments and great failures. I know which of those two I’d select.”

“I suggest you start small, my son.”

“I have, Mother. I have. And now I must leave you to catch our dinner before the sun sets.”

“Of course,” she said, and her image faded from the web.