WayFarer (24 page)

Finally, Elcon climbed out of the wagon and led the sweating Anusians. Their hooves slid in the wet snow as they forged ahead. Spring had not yet claimed the high places of Maegrad Ceid. A wintery sky glowered, dismal and gray. As they reached the pass, the advance contingent halted, and the Anusians slid to a stop. Elcon frowned. A thick blanket of new snow lay over all. Eathnor rode into the lead, scouting for any signs of ambush from vagrant road agents. His whistle signaled that all was well, and Elcon returned to his seat on the wagon box. He set off behind the advance contingent with wheels slicing through the bed of snow and Weilton bringing up the rear. So as not to disturb great drifts piled against the up-thrust peaks, the group kept silent. Elcon, his face stinging as wind tore at him with icy fingers, huddled in his wool cloak. The Anusians never wavered, tossing dark manes as they kept to the road.

Descending from the passes posed a new challenge. Elcon braked the wagon often to prevent it from running away. His muscles ached long before the road leveled to relieve them. A valley of surpassing beauty rewarded his efforts, a place where silvery waterfalls threaded sheer cliffs, grasses waved, and bright streams wended.

The road pitched upward and bent around the shoulder of a peak. Elcon’s spirits lifted, but sorrow also gripped him at the first glimpse of Torindan floating above distant mists.

****

“Lof Shraen, I think this search of yours ill-advised.”

Sword Rivenn, its edges honed to sharpness, glinted in the light from the window of Elcon’s outer chamber. He lowered the ancient blade and faced Craelin, who sat before the fire. Craelin’s head tilted in an uncompromising manner but weariness lined his face. Elcon spoke in quiet tones. “So it may prove, but I will not sit by and do nothing while Freaer rebuilds his strength.”

“Send another.”

“
I
must go. I’m the one who sent Emmerich away. I’ll ask him to return.”

A look of reservation settled over Craelin’s face. “Then allow me to accompany you.”

“The guardians need your guidance. I will be safe enough with Weilton. Eathnor accompanies me as well.”

“Lof Shraen, will you not take Guaron to tend your mounts?”

“The wingabeast keeper must remain at Torindan. Freaer will soon return and, when injured in battle, wingabeasts respond best to Guaron’s care.”

Craelin cast a doubtful look at Elcon. “I cannot hide my mislike of this quest. You’re not even certain where to find Emmerich. The rumors that he dwells within the kaba wilderness could be wrong. You might endure the Vale of Shadows for nothing.”

“I have to try.”

“You could be sighted by welke riders in the skies near Torindan.”

“I’ll travel at first by land. I must go, Craelin. This may be a fool’s errand, but I can’t do nothing. Unless the DawnKing fulfills prophecy, Torindan will fall.”

Craelin’s eyes lit. “You claim him as DawnKing after all?”

“I claim him.”

“You’ve had a change of heart.”

Elcon sheathed Sword Rivenn. “I must have guessed it all along. Who else can he be? But he frightened me, for he read my heart and mind. And so I ignored the truth and banished him out of cowardice. I need to find him and ask forgiveness if it is not too late.”

Craelin’s face softened. “I’ll tell Weilton and Eathnor to ready themselves. When do you depart?”

“I see no reason to delay.” Craelin rose and bowed before leaving. Outside the window in the inner garden flitlings chased through early flower bushes where once he’d walked with Aewen.

He swept a glance about his outer chamber with its blue velvet, carven wood, and gilt edgings. He’d abandon such finery for the dim kaba
forest, eat waybread, and drink stale water. He’d even given up his feather tick for a bed of forest duff and count it all gain if he could but find Emmerich. His pride and fear had kept him from admitting until now that even the Lof Shraen
of Faeraven and son of Rivenn, could not save Elderland, Faeraven or even himself without the DawnKing of prophecy.

22

Grace

Weilton turned in the saddle. “Eathnor suggests we make camp in the meadow ahead, Lof Shraen.”

Since venturing into the kaba forest, they’d spent each night in a place clear of tree branches and other perches where a jaggercat might wait to spring. At the thought, Elcon tilted his head and scanned the canopy arching overhead. Nothing lurked there. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand. “As Eathnor wishes. I’ll not question the guidance of one who grew up tracking in these woods.” If Eathnor wanted to stop for the night although much remained of daylight, he had a sound reason.

“We should reach the Vale of Shadows on the morrow. Let us rest this night as much as we can.” Elcon’s pulse tripped, but he kept his voice calm.

Weilton stiffened. “Did something move?” He pointed. “Just there!”

Elcon stared into the forest shadows. “I don’t see anything.”

Weilton shook his head with a faint smile. “This forest unnerves me.” Elcon made no argument. It bothered him, too.

They broke free of the trees into lowering mists that splintered the feeble light into shafts. A breeze stirred seeding grasses and ruffled wildflowers. A rill tumbled over rocks—a glimpse of silver soon hidden by forest darkness. The shadow of a nameless peak towering above the canopy already crept into the meadow.

Weilton unsaddled and groomed the wingabeasts, then turned them loose to graze and drink clear water. Eathnor netted for gillyfish, tender-fleshed morsels peculiar to these western streams. Elcon joined Eathnor on the banks of the rill. Trees
shushed
in the background and the rushing water sang its own melody. Small white fish flicked through the clear water but didn’t often escape Eathnor’s net.

The Vale of Shadows lay in the heart of the kaba forest on the border of Rivenn and Westerland. Elcon had seen it far below, mist-shrouded and mysterious, on his few journeys to Westerland. Tales warned madness would take those who wandered under the boughs of its ancient forest, for it lay under an enchantment. Even so, rumor held that Shraen Brael dwelt within the vale on the banks of Weild Aenor.

They ate fish and greenings with waybread, a warm meal taken with good companions around a campfire. The tension in Elcon’s shoulders eased and his eyelids drooped. When a dark shape moved into the meadow, only Eathnor’s sudden stillness alerted him to danger.

Eathnor held up a hand in warning, his face tense. The wingabeasts had stopped grazing and held in stillness. A large bruin, its nose quivering, lumbered out of the forest and across the rill. Eathnor snatched his hunting knife from its sheath. Weilton notched an arrow to his bow. The bruin halted short of the fire circle, raised a heavy head, and scented the air.

“Stay down. Back away. Move with care.” Eathnor’s low voice steadied Elcon. “Perhaps the beast will feed on our scraps and leave.”

Elcon shifted toward his sword, which rested against Raeld’s saddle. Why hadn’t he kept his weapon closer? Weilton crept toward Elcon, his sword drawn. Eathnor retreated also, taking short steps. The bruin bawled at them and swung toward the remains of their meal. The wind shifted, and smoke swirled toward the bruin. The beast halted, and then started toward the wingabeasts.

Eathnor’s Roaem shrilled and reared. More wingabeasts screamed. Wings unfurled. Hooves thudded. Bawling, the bruin rose to its full height. Elcon held his breath as the brawny creature swayed, claws distended. At last the bruin dropped and swung to snatch a morsel of fish. Eathnor whistled, and
Roaem settled onto four legs. The wingabeasts still pranced with nostrils flared and flexed their wings but did not lift into the air.

The bruin swallowed the last portion of fish and snuffled about in the dirt. Finding no more scraps, it loped across the meadow with coat rippling, to disappear beneath the understory.

Eathnor cut through the grass to the place the bruin had vanished, and Weilton moved in front of Elcon.

Remembering to breathe, Elcon took another step, and his hand closed on Sword Rivenn’s hilt. He drew the blade from its sheath and waited in silence. Although he strained to hear, the bruin seemed to have vanished.

Weilton relaxed his posture, and Elcon placed his sword once more in its sheath but kept the weapon at his side.

Eathnor joined them. “Sleep near the fire this night for safety’s sake.” He moved off toward the wingabeasts.

Elcon took him at his word, making his bed as close to the fire as smoke and heat allowed. After the day’s events, he thought he’d not slumber but the flames blurred before his eyes and he wandered into uneasy dreams. At intervals he started awake but eased at the sight of a dim outline waiting and watching at fire’s edge with weapon drawn.

He woke to birdsong and a dew-drenched meadow bathed in early light. It seemed impossible that danger could lurk in such a place, at least until high branches shook at the edge of the forest. Elcon’s heart thumped. In a flurry of feathers a pair of white birds burst from the trees to weave across the meadow in ungainly flight, their long tail feathers streaming behind.

“Kairocs.” Eathnor’s voice, close at hand, made Elcon jump. “They nest in tall trees.”

“I’ve heard of such creatures and even watched their flight from Raeld’s back, but I’ve never seen them so close before.”

“They’re magnificent.”

“Mother refused to eat them, saying they were too beautiful to sacrifice.”

Eathnor smiled. “Crobok tastes better anyway.”

They broke camp and scaled a long ridge as the trees shrank and finally disappeared altogether. Elcon rode single-file between Eathnor and Weilton along a rotting spine of rock that plummeted on either side but gave views across Elderland in all directions. Northward, the kabas yielded to hills rolling through cleared farmland. The White Feather wound through green grass as it flowed toward Maer Ibris. Farther east the ice-clad peaks of Maegrad Ceid pushed upward, and then rank upon rank of hills covered in kabas unfolded toward Torindan. The stronghold of Rivenn lifted out of the forest to stand in relief against its encircling peaks. The bright ribbon that was the south branch of Weild Aenor unfurled through the kaba forest to mark the border of Sloewood and Merboth where grass-covered plateaus thrust above the trees. Due west the forest canopy stretched in patterns of green and smoke gray all the way to the tidelands. The distant luster of stone in the direction of Cobbleford Castle stirred an ache within Elcon.

At the top of the ridge Eathnor waited for Elcon and Weilton to reach him. “Trackers keep the path clear to this point, but we’ll not find the way easy from here on.” He tilted his head. “Have we traveled far enough from Torindan to avoid being sighted by welke riders? It would be easiest to fly.” He shrugged. “There’s no way to avoid a chance discovery if we fly, but that’s less likely this far from Torindan. It’s worth the risk.” He dismounted and peered from the edge downward into a sea of mist. “I don’t know if we will find Emmerich below, but I have to seek him even into the Vale of Shadows.”

Elcon moved away from the edge. He and his companions ate waybread and cheese in haste while the wingabeasts plucked at the scant grass bold enough to seed in such thin soil.

Elcon launched Raeld into a glide above the misty valley, and the wingabeast descended into a broad spiral. The wind of their passing buffeted Elcon, and he turned his face aside to breathe. The mists that clung shredded away as the kaba canopy closed them in. The shaggy bark of looming trees gleamed purple-red against their emerald leaves and the pale fronds of dragon-tongue ferns beneath them. Raeld’s hooves touched the humus in a soft landing. Weilton landed Baeltor, and Eathnor brought down Roaem. As they searched around and above them for possible threats none spoke.

At Weilton’s nod, Eathnor led them toward a lighter patch of forest to the west. Elcon strained to see in the dimness, although it was near midday. They emerged onto moss-covered rocks that narrowed and deepened the river channel. Wavery light reflecting from the sliding water blinded Elcon in unexpected radiance.

No sign of animal life imprinted itself here. No fish broke the surface. Birds did not flit through the trees. But insects crawled about and swarms of biting flies drove them back from the water’s edge.

Eathnor waited for them on Roaem, his eyes shining pale in the forest shadows. “Since Emmerich is said to live along the banks of Weild Aenor, we should fly its length.”

“Let us do so, then.” Elcon’s voice sounded sharp to his own ears. “I mislike lingering in this dreary place.” He did not add that a heavy cloud of sorrow hung over him or that he sensed something watching them from the shadows.

Without a word, Weilton dismounted and moved farther into the forest, leaving Baeltor to follow.

“What are you doing?” Eathnor called after him, but Weilton made no answer.

Eathnor slid to the ground and grasped Weilton by the shoulders. “Did you not hear me?”

Confusion came over Weilton’s face, and he pushed at Eathnor’s hands.

“Answer me.” Eathnor gave him a small shake.

Weilton broke away from Eathnor. “What are you doing? There’s no need to manhandle me.”

“I’m sorry.” Eathnor stepped back. “I feared for you.”

Weilton’s brows drew together. “I—I’m not quite certain why. I thought—I thought—are we not to look for Emmerich?”

Elcon nodded. “Yes, we’re to look for Emmerich but along Weild Aenor.”

Weilton frowned. “I must have misunderstood.” He mounted Baeltor and rejoined them as if nothing unusual had happened. Elcon was in no mood to puzzle out the small mystery, not when they could be close to finding Emmerich. He sat taller in the saddle. “Come, let’s search before dark.”

They circled upward and leveled just above the water. Despite twice flying the river’s length, however, they found nothing.

“Maybe we can see more from higher in the air.” Elcon reasoned, but even a vantage point just above the trees brought them no success.