The Legacy of Gird (138 page)

"Lord, we had to do something."

"So. And you did what?"

"Loosened a stone beneath a child's foot; he fell, and required the healer. Such things are easy now, the way the mortals have burrowed into the stone. They have prepared their own doom, even as you, lord, said they would. We sapped more energy from the healer as he worked, and no one knew. He will sleep long, and waken tired and confused. It will give us a day, perhaps two."

"So . . . now, now at last we may act. True, the game has lasted just over a score of years—but for some of them it has been a lifetime."

A shiver of delight, hardly audible, disturbed the silence with the faint rustle of black robes. Eyes and teeth gleamed. They knew already which would go where, and do what. Immortal hatred burned in their eyes, immortal pride. Vengeance at last on the proud sinyi who had imprisoned them; vengeance at last on the mortals who had dared to meddle in immortal quarrels; vengeance on the foolish prince, and his more foolish followers. Through the stone itself, rotted from their malice, they moved in darkness and silence.

The guard on the eastern post saw the smoke dark against the first glow of dawn, and sent for Seri, who sent for the Rosemage. By then the light had strengthed; they had to squint against the glow of the rising sun. The Rosemage eyed the smoke columns and said nothing. Seri said, "That's all the way to the head of the canyon, lady. Duriya and Forli are up that far. . . ."

"And the others?"

"The caravan route, the upper valley. Probably the other part of it, where we've been pasturing the horse herd."

"And your assessment?"

Seri scowled. "If we had enemies, if someone wanted to cut us off from the east, that would do it."

"And if they wanted to move on us, they'd be coming down, from higher ground. Like a spring flood."

"But we don't know yet it
is
an enemy. Or who?"

"You smell trouble as clearly as I do, Seri." The Rosemage, in morning sunlight, looked like an image made of silver and ivory, her hair concealed in a shining helm. "And I, since our lord Luap is not qualified in this, at least, will take a troop up the canyon to see what it is."

"Not alone," Seri said.

"No—but if it is magery of some sort, I will know it. I will send word."

"If you can," Seri muttered. "
They
haven't, unless that smoke is their warning." She meant those who had chosen to live at the head of the canyon, carving their home where the seasonal waterfall could make a glittering curtain for its porch. And those who lived in that first valley along the caravan way.

"Perhaps that danger surprised them," the Rosemage said. "It won't surprise me." She strode away, to the entrance of the stair down to the great hall. Aris, ignored in this exchange, sucked his cheeks.

"She
is
a warrior," he said to Seri. It was half-plea, half excuse.

"She is," Seri said, "but she's a long stretch of her life from a war. As are we all."

"She's the best we have," Aris said. Then, with a look at the expression on her face, he added, "Barring you, of course."

Seri turned on him. "Me! Don't be ridiculous. Aside from grange maneuvers, I have never been in battle, or commanded; I have the training, yes, but that's all. What I know—what I feel—" She stopped, brooding away eastward toward the distant columns of smoke. "I could have, Ari—and I can't tell you how I know, but I'm right in this. It was my parrion, but no one wanted it, and I had to find my own way to it . . . and now, when I'm older than Gird was when he commanded, now our lives may depend on it. Because you're right, even though it is ridiculous: I am the best we have. Better than the Rosemage, because like Gird I know what I don't know."

Aris touched her arm. "Seri—it's all right. It will be all right. It could be a fire, some child careless in learning magery—"

"No. Three fires, the same day, almost the same time? Have you forgotten our talk yesterday? No, it's an attack, from whom or what we can't know. But we had best find out."

Far below, the clatter of horses' hooves echoed off rock walls, coming to them as a confused stutter. A thin shout and the sweet resonance of a horn call reached them: the Rosemage must have flown through the halls, he thought, and put a flame on someone, to be out and moving so quickly.

"Find me a replacement," Seri said. "She's our commander, but if she doesn't come back—" Aris made a warding sign without thinking; she scowled at him. "This is not a child's game, Aris. Hurry."

Whatever the Rosemage had said, as she passed through, had affected the mageborn as a stick would an anthill. Aris heard the noise before he was well down the stairs, and met half a dozen on the way up. One only had the armband of a trained lookout; that one he grabbed and held until the boy actually met his eyes. "Go up, and do whatever Seri tells you," he said. "You're on duty now." Then he himself went on down. He knew what she would want; he could start seeing to it. And he could prepare himself for the healing that would be necessary.

In the great hall, no one ran: it never occurred to anyone that running was possible. But Aris hurried, stretching his long legs, and then jogged steadily along the corridors, dodging those who tried to grab his sleeve and ask questions. He caught a glimpse of Luap, who was surrounded by a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms. He saw a sturdy yeoman, half-mage, whom Seri respected, and waved him over. "Seri'll be coming down," he said. "She'll explain; wait for her, but tell anyone she would want."

In the kitchens, the cooks were heading toward the lower entrance; Aris called them back. "We're going to need food," he said firmly. "We'll have people coming in; we'll have marching rations to prepare—"

"The Rosemage took all we had—" grumbled one.

"Then start making more. In case of wounded, I'll want broth and soup, and I'll need space at one hearth for a row of small kettles of herbs."

"Stinking stuff," said another cook. "We won't have that in here—"

"You will," said Aris firmly. "I can't heal everyone; we'll need poultices and draughts. I'll send in one of my prentices with the kettles." He smiled at them until they withdrew, grumbling, to their hearths and ovens. A moment later, a messenger bearing Luap's armband came in with the same orders, but found the cooks at work. "C-commendations, then," he said, looking around with obvious surprise. "The prince thought you might have been upset."

The head cook glanced at Aris and away. "What, then—does he think we've no common sense, to know what's needed?"

Aris walked swiftly to his own quarters. Jirith, his steadier apprentice, was laying out an assortment of healing herbs. "Good lass," Aris said. "I might have known you'd be at work."

"I wasn't sure where to do the steeping," she said. He could tell by the tension in her jaw that she was alarmed, but her voice stayed steady. "The lower kitchen is closer to the main entrance, but the upper one to the infirmary."

"The lower," Aris said. "We'll clear a storeroom for use down there, if we have many wounded. Gods grant we don't." His mind tossed up the things he remembered from Gird's war, when he had not yet known he could heal. As if it were yesterday, he saw those wounds, heard the groans and screams, smelled the rotting bodies before they could be decently buried. This time, he thought, I know what to do. This time it won't be the same.

The Rosemage swung into the saddle of her gray horse, hardly aware of the turmoil her passage through the stronghold had generated. She felt at once vindicated and elated; she had
warned
Luap that all was not well; she had felt something, and he had insisted it meant nothing, and now—now she would prove she was right. Behind her, other hooves clattered on the stone, other riders mounted . . . she did not look back; she gave them the trust that they would be ready when she gave the command.

Outside, sunlight had just reached the bottom of the cleft into which the lower entrance opened. She could smell the resinous pines, the damp earth, the living air that always seemed fresher than the air inside. She sniffed, but caught no hint of any smoke but that of the lower kitchen ovens, fragrant with baking bread.

Two hands of men . . . that was all she had. It would have taken much longer to muster a larger number, so had the settlement spread from its early years. Had they counted on that, whoever they were? Were the smoke columns warnings, lit by their own people, or triumphal, defiant acts of a victorious enemy? Two hands of men—enough for casual brigands, but—she nudged her horse, and rode forward, out into the sunlight—not for anything serious. And her instincts told her this was very serious indeed.

Outside, turning downstream to the main canyon, she did glance back. Two hands, mostly full mageborn, with the lances they used against mountain cats and brigands, with swords and bows as well. She unhooked her signal horn from her saddle, and put it to her lips. The sound rang off the stone, echoed crazily from the main canyon wall across from the mouth of their smaller one.

She wondered if that had been wise, though they had used horn signals for years. Whoever caused the smoke would know someone had noticed, that someone was coming. But they might have known anyway—it might hearten defenders, help drive off attackers. She didn't believe that, but she hoped it.

At the main canyon, she held up her hand and the others gathered around her. "We cannot surprise them," she said. "Speed is our chance to do some good. But if things go badly, someone must get back to warn the others." She looked around, gauging their reactions. None of these were old enough to have fought in Gird's war. Some had helped drive the brigands out of their holes above the Khartazh caravan route; others had traveled with the caravans east, and fought horse nomads. She hoped that would be enough. She settled on the youngest. "You, Tamin: you stay well behind, and if I fall, ride back as fast as you can to the stronghold."

His young face looked even younger with the effort to be solemn, to live up to this. The others too looked serious enough.

"We will ride first to the head of the canyon; that's the shorter way, but we'll leave Tamin at the caravan trailhead. That way he can't be cut off. We have no idea who this might be, or what, so stay alert." They nodded; she turned her horse, crossed the stream on the terrace dam, and made her way up the shadowed south side of the canyon. Coming down they might have to trample crops; going up she was careful to use the trailway.

If it had not been for the smoke columns—the one at the canyon head visible even from here—she would have enjoyed that ride. The trail, two horses wide and well-packed after years of use, required no great skill; her big gray muscled its way up the steeper sections with ease. A light wind sang in the pines, and swayed the grain as they rode past it. They passed the narrow openings of the other two side canyons running north, all three separated by ribs or fins of rock that seemed slender in comparison with the great block which lay over the stronghold. Yet each was broader than the length of Esea's Hall in Fin Panir. She peered up at the canyon entrances, a little higher than the trail in the main canyon. All looked normal there. Should she stop to look? No, they must find out what the smoke meant, first.

The trail lifted over a hump of rock, and the caravan trail snaked back, up the first switchback. Ahead, the trail to the head of the canyon wound around house-sized blocks of stone at the outfall of the upper valley before angling left to clear the base of the mountain that formed the valley's eastern wall. She could not see from here what caused the smoke; it had changed color as they rode, and now the thick column thinned to a faint stream of ash-gray. And from here, close under the steep slope, she could not see the smoke that must have come from the upper valley itself.

"Tam, you'll stay here. No—wait—go across the stream, where you can see anyone coming down the caravan trail. Give us a warning, if you do, then go back to the stronghold and warn the others."

He nodded, and reined his horse away from the others. The Rosemage watched as the horse picked its way carefully across the stream, here fast-running over a rocky bed. She remembered when all the canyon had been that way, only small deep pools interrupting the stream's noisy rush. Tam turned, on the other side, turned, looked far above them, where she could not see, and waved. She was proud of him; he remembered to make that wave a signal, to indicate that he'd looked and found nothing amiss. She waved back, and legged her horse on.

She felt the skin of her back prickle; more than sunlight made her neck itch, her skin feel tight all over. When she had first come into this empty land, so vast and strange, she had felt this way often. They were so few; the land could swallow them and not even notice. But years had dulled that feeling; she had become used to the solitude, the wide sky, the great canyons empty of everyone but themselves. Now she felt again as she had that first year, when every rock seemed to shelter an unknown menace.

As they moved from the shadow of the cliffs to the broken rock beyond, sweat began to trickle down her sides, under the mail. She could never see very far ahead, and worried more and more that they might be ambushed. But nothing stirred, and no strange sounds alarmed her. The trail was narrower; although it had been built wide enough for two horses abreast, it had not been maintained as well. The horses plodded on, steadily and quietly.

Beyond the broken rock, the foot of the valley wall narrowed the canyon again. The stream here gurgled pleasantly, narrow enough to step across in most places, edged with mint and a plant with starry golden flowers. The trail wound back and forth across the stream, hardly more than a footpath. The Rosemage stopped and turned in the saddle.

"We must leave the horses," she said. "We can't fight horseback up this way, and we dare not be trapped where we can't even turn—"

"They cleared a forecourt, like, below the fall," one of her troop said. "There's room to turn there."

"Yes, but not in between." She didn't like this, any of it. Leave the horses and they might be stolen, or spooked. Take them, and they could be attacked easily from above, with bows or even rolled stones. And why hadn't she thought to leave the horses with Tamin, back at the trail division? Now she would either have to leave someone else to guard them, which meant having only eight with her, or tie them and hope nothing happened. She had lost her wits, she thought angrily. It was hard to think, hard to make any decisions; she half wanted to turn around and ride back to the stronghold. She dismounted, ending both the internal and external discussion, and the others dismounted as well. "We'll tie the horses," she said. If something spooked them, sent them back down the canyon, it would at least warn Tamin.