37
JERVOIS LANDING
After almost two weeks of travel Jack, Yr, Faraday and Timozel, plus assorted pigs, drew within sight of Jervois Landing on the River Nordra. All were footsore and weary and more than once tempers snapped and flared over trivial incidents.
They had travelled as inconspicuously as possible, skirting small villages and larger towns in the dark of night, sleeping during the day in whatever shelter they could find. Occasionally Yr had crept into a small hamlet, coming back with food to replenish their own dwindling supplies. Faraday did not ask how she had obtained the food, but gulped it down before whatever fire Jack would allow them.
The weather had become colder and more bitter. It snowed most days now, and for five days they had struggled through snowdrifts, their legs aching with the effort. Sometimes Timozel would lift Faraday on top of the mule, but the poor beast laboured so hard through the snow that Faraday soon leapt down again. All four wore blankets under their cloaks, and on those occasions when Jack thought it too dangerous to have a fire, they huddled together in the lee of a hill, or behind an outcrop of boulders, shivering in misery. Faraday kept her wooden bowl close by her, but she had little opportunity to study it and none whatsoever to use it. When Timozel asked where she had got it from, Faraday shrugged and inferred that Goodwife Renkin had given it to her. Over the past fortnight the sense of empowerment she’d felt when Raum bonded her to the Mother had gradually faded, although if she concentrated she thought she could still feel it somewhere deep within her. She hoped that when she tried she would be able to find her way back to the Sacred Grove through the Mother. The memory of that enchanted and powerful place remained with her, and she held it as a talisman against the cold and fatigue of the journey north. When she lay down to sleep she recalled the warmth and joy she had felt there, and it always comforted her enough to lull her into immediate sleep.
Timozel was becoming more dark and moody as the days went by. He shaved only rarely, and a light brown beard covered his cheeks. His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, and sometimes looked so sorely troubled that Faraday would ask what was wrong, if she could help. Timozel would smile at her, and her presence would lighten his eyes for a while, but the moment she moved away the dark mood crept over him again. In the week after leaving Fernbrake Lake Yr had shared his blankets two or three times, but Timozel seemed too wrapped in his own thoughts to spare energy for Yr, and after a while she spent most of their rest time huddled against Faraday’s back sharing her warmth with the girl.
Jervois Landing was a small trading town on the great elbow of the River Nordra known as Tailem Bend. From Jervois Landing the Nordra arched southwards. It was the spot where those of Borneheld’s troops who had not travelled the quicker route to Gorkenfort by sea disembarked from the river boat transports and massed to begin the long overland march northwards. Previously a sleepy town, with the preparations for war Jervois Landing had expanded into a bustling little metropolis, the pitched tents of soldiers expanding the stone town six-fold. The wharves were constantly crowded with river boats disembarking men, horses and supplies, and the streets of the town were packed with soldiers spending the last of their leisure time in whatever amusing manner presented itself. The locals were making a fortune.
Faraday and her three companions stood late one afternoon on the far bank of the Nordra, surveying the scene.
“I can smell a clean bed, linen sheets and a bath from here,” Faraday muttered.
Timozel turned and smiled at her. “And you shall have them, my Lady. Tonight we shall sleep in comfort, and in the morning I shall arrange transport for us with some of the troops travelling northwards to Gorkenfort. You will soon be reunited with Duke Borneheld.”
Guilt and self-loathing seared through Timozel every time he remembered how he had pledged his service to Gorgrael. His only hold on reason was to remind himself that so long as he was bound to Faraday then Gorgrael could not touch him. His devotion to the girl deepened and Timozel spent every waking moment ensuring that she was well cared for and her wishes were attended to as soon as possible. He knew that sometimes Jack and Yr regarded him strangely, but he ignored the Sentinels as much as he could. Faraday was his only protection against Gorgrael. If he was to survive to become the heroic commander of Artor’s vision, then it would be Faraday’s doing.
“How will we manage?” Faraday asked, worried. “We have no money, and nothing left to sell.” Timozel’s eyes drifted towards Jack’s pigs, but Jack glared at him. “What if we can’t arrange for horses and an escort?” Faraday continued. “I don’t think I can continue to walk north!”
Timozel took her hand. “Faraday,” he said gently. “You are betrothed to Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar. This may be the southernmost point of his territory, but every innkeeper and unit commander within five leagues of this place is going to trip over himself in his eagerness to please you. You will shortly be their Duchess—do you think they are going to ignore you? They’ll believe a single smile from you will ensure the success of their personal careers or businesses for the next ten years.”
Faraday laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. But, Timozel, how will they know that I am betrothed to Borneheld?”
Timozel held her left hand. “Faraday, look at this ring. Every soldier, every inhabitant of Ichtar, will recognise it. It will buy you instant respect. And,” his voice tightened, “if it doesn’t then I will personally make sure that you receive it the very next moment.”
“The youth is quite the man,” Yr quipped. “Less talk and more action would please me right this minute.”
“Yr,” Faraday murmured. “Timozel will do his best for all of us. Be quiet now.”
“There is a ferry a little further up the river on Tailem Bend itself,” Timozel pointed out, ignoring Yr. “If we hurry we can cross before dark.”
Jack frowned. “Wait. There is something I must say. Yr, you know that we are missing one of our number.” Yr nodded. There should be five Sentinels, but only four walked abroad. Where was the fifth? Jack turned to Faraday and Timozel, standing huddled together against the wind. “Faraday, Timozel. I am going to leave you here.” Jack smiled a little at Faraday’s cry of protest. “Faraday, Timozel and Yr can look after you well enough from this point, and there is no place for a pig herder in Gorkenfort. Timozel will be your Champion, Yr your maid. She can show you everything you will need to know as well as I can.” Faraday knew he was referring obliquely to what had happened at Fernbrake Lake. Jack turned to Yr. “Yr, I must look for the fifth. The Prophecy will be lost if I cannot find her. I will be lost if I cannot find her. We have come far enough together—and you know we will meet again.”
Yr blinked back tears, but nodded. She stepped forward and they hugged fiercely. “Travel well and safely, beloved one,” she whispered. “I will watch Faraday and guide her steps.”
“Remember,” Jack whispered for Yr’s ears alone. “What happens at Gorkenfort is critical. Make sure that Axis, Faraday and yourself survive. I care not whether Timozel walks out of there alive or lies buried forever beneath the mud of the battlefield.”
Yr nodded, then let Jack go, standing back, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Jack stepped over to Faraday and she hugged him almost as fiercely as Yr had. “Goodbye, sweet one,” Jack said, his voice choking a little. “Remember to be true, and remember that we will be true for you, as well. Go with our blessing to comfort you.” He paused, as if considering whether to say any more or not, but decided against it, pulling back and kissing Faraday gently on her cheek. He smiled into her eyes, his own friendly and affectionate. “Find peace, Faraday.”
Faraday sniffed, trying to hold back tears. “Will I see you again, Jack?”
“Yes, lovely lady, we will all meet again.” Jack kissed her gently once more, then let her go and stepped over to Timozel. He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Timozel gripped it. Snowflakes whirled in the air between them. “You only have Faraday’s best inte
rests at heart, Timozel. I know that, and I know you will do your best for her. Be true, Timozel.”
Timozel felt a pang of shame pierce his heart. Did the man somehow know of his pact with Gorgrael? He gritted his teeth; how could he? “I live for her, Sentinel. I will let no harm come her way.”
Jack nodded. It would have to do. “Then go in peace, boy. Gorkenfort will be a dangerous place. Protect her with all you have.”
“You can be sure that I will,” Timozel said tightly and dropped Jack’s hand.
“Then,” Jack said lightly to the women. “I will collect my pigs and be off. May the sun shine over all of us again one day.”
Faraday nodded, unable to speak, but Yr raised her hand in salute. “May we all find peace together in the light one day, Sentinel.”
Jack nodded, then he and his pigs were gone in the swirling snow.
Timozel watched the place he had disappeared for a moment, then he patted the mule standing patiently behind him. “We have no time to waste if we want to find shelter and a bed tonight,” he said shortly, “let’s be off.”
Timozel led them down to the ferry, the two women holding on to the straps of the mule’s packs to avoid being separated in the snowstorm. Both women, protected by the falling snow and the deep shadow of their hooded cloaks, cried a little. Most of the Sentinels had been separated for at least two thousand years, and, as they only felt whole when they were together, the parting was especially painful for Yr. Faraday, on the other hand, felt the loss of a valued companion, a man she had come to lean on for support over the past few weeks. Since her experiences at Fernbrake Lake, Faraday had let go her vague mistrust of the man. The Prophecy manipulated them all, and Jack was as much a victim as she. Faraday had lost her mother and the man she loved, and for a while Jack had begun to fill both roles. She knew she would miss him terribly over the coming months. How could she cope with Borneheld if Jack were not there? Faraday raised her chin and gritted her teeth. “Mother, aid me,” she whispered, and felt a small twinge of reassurance deep inside her. If they had a room tonight, Faraday vowed, she would use the sacred bowl.
The River Nordra was wide but slow where it bent its massive course southwards. Both traders and locals used the Tailem Bend ferry to travel from Ichtar into Skarabost, and some stayed to catch one of the river boats that plied their way to and from Carlon. The ferryman was just about to push the ferry out for the far bank and home when he saw the group of three struggling down the path cut deep in the Nordra’s bank. He cursed a little; he had wanted to push off early and get home to bed before this storm thickened any further. For a moment he considered pushing off regardless, but he saw the glint of steel at the hip of the tall man leading the mule, and relaxed his grip on the pole. He called out to his three assistants to wait. Best not to anger one of Borneheld’s captains.
The man led his mule down to the ferry and the ferryman’s eyes widened a little. The man wore the uniform, albeit a little tattered, of an Axe-Wielder, and the ferryman was a religious man. He made the sign of the Plough before the Axe-Wielder.
“Good sir, may I offer you passage across the river this evening? ’Tis cold and blustery, and I’m sure that you’re keen to reach your rooms this night.” The ferryman’s eyes widened a little further when he saw the two women follow the Axe-Wielder on to the ferry. They were both very beautiful, but the ferryman’s mouth curved just a little bit more appreciatively at the blonde wench as she walked past. Yr dipped her eyes coquettishly at the ferryman; it never hurt to turn a man’s mind from money to lust and she did not know how Timozel was going to pay the man once they reached the other side.
But the ferryman had no intention of waiting until they reached the other side before he saw his gold.
“My lord,” he grovelled at Timozel’s side, his stained teeth bared in a smile. “For yourself and the two lovely ladies ’tis only four marks for the journey across to Jervois Landing.” His smile faded a little and his face assumed a sad expression. “I am sorry that the price should be so dear, my lord, but it costs so much to hire decent help to work this ferry in such bad weather. I know you will understand.”
The ferryman was reassured by the smile that spread across Timozel’s face, but his reassurance disappeared as Timozel’s gloved hand seized his throat and half lifted him off his feet.
Timozel’s pleasant smile never wavered. “My good man, I can only assume that you do not recognise the Lady Faraday of Skarabost, betrothed to Duke Borneheld, and on her way to him at this moment for their wedding. Would you like me to pass on to Borneheld himself that you were churlish enough to demand payment from her as she hurried to meet her lord? And yours,” he added to drive the point home.
The ferryman’s eyes rolled in his head. Beautiful the girl might be, but he had never seen a less pretentious escort for what this Axe-Wielder claimed was Borneheld’s betrothed. And the girl was dressed in country worsted! “My wife dresses better than that girl, my lord,” he whispered, trying to put on a brave aspect in front of his assistants. “I hardly think she be the Duke’s betrothed.”
Faraday stepped forward, intending to show the man her ring, but before she managed to come close Timozel’s face twisted and his fingers gripped the man’s throat so tightly that the ferryman gave a strangled sound. His three assistants, all young lads, were kept well back by one fierce glare from Timozel.
“I’m sorry,” Timozel whispered so threateningly the ferryman thought he was dead. “I thought I heard you say that you didn’t believe me. You may even have insulted the lady by comparing her to your wife. I don’t like that, ferryman!”
Faraday stopped and gazed at Timozel in amazement.
The ferryman’s eyes bulged and he squeaked in fear. “I misunderstood, my lord! The passage is yours, free!”
Timozel dropped him and the man cowered on the deck of the ferry for a moment before scrambling away from Timozel as fast as he could on his hands and knees. “Pole, you witless idiots!” he yelped to his assistants. “Pole!”
The ferry began to move away from the river bank and Faraday turned to Timozel. “Timozel, was that much force necessary?”
Timozel turned to stare at her and Faraday stepped back at the look in his eyes. Timozel’s expression softened, but his voice remained hard. “No-one insults you before me and gets away with it. The man is lucky that he lives.”
“If this is what you do to win us passage across the Nordra, then I dread to think what you will do to win us a bed for the night,” Yr grumbled.
Yet, in the end, bed and a promise of transport was arranged more easily than any of them could have imagined. When the ferryman docked at the landing leading to the main street of Jervois Landing Timozel and the two women could not get off fast enough for his liking. He mouthed a curse as the Axe-Wielder strode by him, but he made sure his face was in shadow as he did it.
The main street was abuzz with activity even though dark had fallen. Faraday had arrived only just in time, since the last major contingent for Gorkenfort had arrived that morning and were due to pull out in two days. Faraday and Yr stuck close to Timozel’s side, avoiding the lewd suggestions that were thrown their way by the rough soldiers. Timozel’s back stiffened at the insults, but there was no way he could attack the entire street of soldiers passing by. He stopped one of the locals, a merchant by the cut and quality of his clothes. “Good man, is there an inn where we could rest close by?”
The merchant laughed. “Young man,” Timozel’s face stiffened, “there is no room to be had for gold or threat here tonight. Can’t you see about you? The place is crawling with troops.” He turned and grinned at Faraday and Yr. “Now, the young lasses might be able to find themselves somewhere warm for the night, if they’re prepared to work a little for it, but I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer the indignity and cold of a night in the streets.”
Faraday grabbed Timozel’s arm. “Tim! No! He does not realise who we are. I ask you not to lose your temper here!”
Ti
mozel’s mouth tightened so that his lips had almost completely disappeared, but he jerked his head and waved the man away. “Faraday, I do not know what we can do,” he began.
“Timozel?” A horseman hauled his mount to a sudden halt before them, “Timozel, is that you?”
Timozel stared for a moment at the man before he recognised him.
“Gautier!” Timozel said, relief relaxing his voice. He had met Borneheld’s lieutenant in Carlon when the Axe-Wielders were preparing to ride east to Tare and the Silent Woman Keep. They had struck up an easy acquaintance, even though Gautier had won Timozel’s best cloak from him at dice. At last fortune had favoured them; there was no-one save Borneheld himself who would hurry Faraday north faster than Gautier.
Gautier swung down from his horse, holding tightly to its reins as men surged past on their way to their overnight billets. Despite the cold he was wearing only his regulation brown leather uniform, his short cropped blond head bare to the wind. Light grey eyes in a sharp and narrow face made Gautier look constantly secretive, yet he was a man that few trusted with their own secrets. “Timozel! I’d heard you were dead! Word reached Carlon that you…oh, Artor!”
Gautier had finally caught sight of Faraday. “My lady!” he breathed, surprise softening his features somewhat. “How…what…who?”
Faraday forced a light laugh. She did not particularly like Gautier. She looked at Timozel, her eyes pleading with him silently to let her do the talking. “Timozel saved myself and my maid from the earthfall. We struggled free, and have been working our way north ever since. Hence our clothes,” she grimaced, fingering her dress. “We had to purchase our dresses from a peasant woman. Ah, Gautier,” and here goes my story on its first real test, she thought to herself, “after escaping death so narrowly I could not bear the thought of being separated from Borneheld any longer. I pleaded with Timozel to escort me north, instead of back to Carlon or Skarabost.” She shrugged prettily, flirting with Gautier, playing to the admiration in his eyes. “Surely you can understand that I wanted to be with my intended husband? Perhaps you can help?”