As the day wore on, Maurin’s condition worsened. At last Rarn sent Har and Worrel out to gather wallas roots for an herbal concoction that she hoped would bring the fever down. Meanwhile, she and Alethia made do as best they could with cloths soaked in cold tea.
It was a good walk to the hill where Jordet had said the wallas grew, but they made good time. The trees around Jordet’s cottage were younger than the enormous growths whose leaves and branches so completely blocked the sunlight in the Wyrwood. Frequently they passed small openings, not quite large enough to call clearings, but, mindful of the urgency of their errand, they did not linger.
“There!” Worrel said suddenly, and pointed. Ahead of them the sun beat down on a hill, bare of trees but covered with a dense shrubbery of deep green, dotted with tiny, star-shaped yellow flowers. Har grinned and strode forward. In a few moments he was knee-deep in greenery, digging at the foot of a likely specimen.
“Take care not to bruise the roots,” Worrel called from lower down the hill.
“I will,” Har promised. He lifted the plant carefully and placed it in the bucket. Dusting his hands, he looked up and was surprised to find that his companion had vanished. “Worrel?”
“Here,” came the response, but it still took Har a moment to locate him. When he did, he realized what the problem was. The deep green foliage matched the color of the Wyrd’s tunic and cloak almost perfectly. Coupled with his short stature and brown fur, the Wyrd had only to step onto the shrub-covered hill to disappear almost completely. Har laughed. “Take care not to get lost!” he called down. “I doubt I could find you if you fell asleep.”
“Well, I doubt if I could miss you, even if you tried to hide,” the Wyrd retorted easily. Jordet had loaned Har replacements for the bedraggled finery in which he had arrived, and he was now attired in a tan costume that stood out strikingly against the dark colors of the hillside.
“How much of this does Rarn want?” Har asked.
“She gave us each a bucket; I suspect she wants them both filled,” Worrel replied. “Come, don’t waste time!”
Har climbed further up the hill. There was no breeze. It was hot in the sunshine, even after he discarded his cloak, and the drone of the insects among the wallas flowers was hypnotic. Once a wasp circled his head speculatively, but it soon departed for more profitable areas. The roots were not large, and filling the bucket took more time than Har had expected.
Straightening up from digging the last root, Har wiped his forehead and looked around for Worrel. At that moment the Wyrd’s voice cut across the drowsy atmosphere of the hill from behind and above him. “Har!”
Automatically Har’s head jerked in that direction. As it moved, something swished by his ear and hit the ground in front of him with a solid thunk. Simultaneously he heard the twang of the Wyrd’s bowstring.
For a moment Har stood frozen, staring at the foot-long dagger buried halfway to its hilt in the sandy soil of the hillside. Then he turned, and was just in time to see Worrel leaping down the hill, bow in hand and another arrow already nocked. At the edge of the woods, the shrubs and lower branches of the young trees were waving in unmistakable sign of the recent, hurried passage of some large animal or person.
Har immediately started toward the Wyrd, but he was hampered by the bushy wallas plants. By the time he reached the foot of the hill, Worrel had vanished. As Har stood indecisively, the Wyrd reappeared. “He is gone,” Worrel stated matter-of-factly.
“Why not follow?” Har demanded.
“First, he has a lead on us already,” the Wyrd replied. “Second, we must get these herbs back to Jordet and Rarn. And third, there are hoof marks ten feet further in. It would be folly to follow a horseman on foot.”
“Oh,” said Har, crestfallen.
“I think it would be wiser to return at once. And your ear is bleeding.”
Har raised a hand to his head and felt something sticky. Evidently he had not escaped completely scatheless. He shrugged; it could not be more than a scratch. He wiped it clean with his handkerchief and looked back to his companion. Worrel was already up on the hill, collecting the buckets of wallas root. As he returned, Har saw that the Wyrd had also retrieved the dagger. This he handed to Har with a single word, “Lithmern.”
“What else?” Har thrust the dagger grimly into his belt and the two started back toward Jordet’s cottage. In spite of the loaded buckets they carried, they made better time on the return journey. As they came within sight of the house, they saw to their relief that it looked as quiet and peaceful as when they had left.
Rarn met them at the door. “At last!” she exclaimed, and without ceremony took charge of their buckets. She already had a pot of water hanging over the fire, and after rinsing the dirt from the roots she tossed them whole into the boiling water. Soon the front room of the cottage was heavy with a thick, sweet odor that drove the others into the clean air outdoors.
“Ugh!” said Har, last to exit the cottage, as he waved away the last lingering traces of the aroma that had followed him. “I don’t envy Maurin one bit! It’s enough to make a man get well in self-defense.”
“You were quick enough about your picking,” Jordet commented from where he lounged against the stone wall.
“We had encouragement,” Worrel replied wryly. “A Lithmern knife thrower.”
“Here?” Tamsin asked incredulously. Worrel nodded.
Jordet gave the Wyrd a sharp look. “Continue,” he said.
Har drew the knife from his belt and handed it hilt first to Jordet, who examined it and passed it to Tamsin. “Someone threw this at me this morning. If Worrel hadn’t shouted, it would have gone through my head. He got away on a horse.”
“Unquestionably Lithmern work,” Jordet commented as he handed the knife to Tamsin. “It appears that one of you was followed from Glen Wilding.” He looked first at Tamsin and Worrel, then at Har.
“How could they know that we would send the Talisman on so quickly?” Worrel objected.
Har snorted. “With two parties leaving Glen Wilding within a few hours of each other, it would not be hard for anyone to guess.”
Worrel looked at him with disfavor. “No one can watch Glen Wilding without betraying himself,” he said. “We know the forest, and we do not leave our home unguarded. There was no sign of any watcher; Murn asked before we left.”
“No sign of a physical watcher, perhaps,” Jordet said quietly. “But should the Lithmern have a seer, a physical watch would be unnecessary. Such a one could know all your councils from a comfortable distance, and you would not be likely to guard against such a threat unsuspected.” He paused for a moment, considering.
“Fortunately, the posts of the Keepers of the Wards are protected against seeing spells,” Jordet went on. “If they have been using a seer to discover your plans, they cannot know much of what has passed since your arrival.”
“Seer or no seer, the Lithmern are not blind,” Tamsin pointed out. “If they have been watching closely enough to throw knives at Lord Har, they must know that Murn and Shallan left for Eveleth this morning.”
“True, but is it likely that they will believe we have sent the Talisman on with only two to guard it?” Jordet said. “They must think the Talisman is still here, or they would not have attacked Har.”
“You may be right,” Worrel admitted. “But in that case, what can we do?”
“If they discover their error, the Lithmern will go after Murn,” Jordet said. “We must convince them that the Talisman remains here and that Murn and Shallan are only messengers. If they are watching us with magic, I think I can foster that illusion. There may be some danger, but I think I can protect you until you leave for Brenn.”
“That may be sooner than you think,” broke in a voice from the direction of the cottage. Heads turned to find Alethia standing in the doorway. “Maurin has drunk Rarn’s potion and is resting. I had no notion anything could work so fast; the fever has left him already.”
“Wyrds are
healers as well as woodwise,” Jordet commented. “Their manner of magic is suited to it more than ours. When do you think Maurin will be able to travel?”
“It is too early to say,” Alethia replied. “Under normal circumstances, at least three days, but I have never worked with Rarn before, and it may be sooner. Is there need for haste, now that the Talisman is gone?”
It was Har who answered, explaining briefly his encounter of the morning and Jordet’s suspicions. Alethia nodded. “Yes, we must go soon, and I am eager to get home. But it would only delay us further if Maurin collapsed along the way.”
“I suppose so,” Jordet said with a worried frown, and on that unsatisfactory note the impromptu conference ended.
Chapter 9
MAURIN WAS MUCH BETTER the following morning, and demanded loudly to get up, but this Alethia and Rarn refused to allow. They were supported by Jordet, Har, and Tamsin, but it was Alethia’s persuasions that finally kept Maurin in bed. Rarn nodded in satisfaction at the progress of her patient and brewed more of her potions while Alethia sat with him, but it was not until the next afternoon that she grudgingly pronounced Maurin nearly well enough to travel.
The news was greeted with joy. It was too late in the day to set out for Brenn, but Alethia, Har, and Tamsin compensated by discussing at great length various improbable schemes for transporting the invalid in the greatest comfort, much to the dismay of the person in question. They were still talking when Jordet entered, frowning at a note he held.
“I am sorry to interrupt,” he began, “but I am afraid I have bad news.” He paused as if searching for words, then took a deep breath. “Brenn is under siege by the Lithmern, and I am recalled to Eveleth,” he said baldly. “A message arrived by swift a few minutes ago.” He handed the note to the nearest person, who happened to be Tamsin. The others crowded around the minstrel as he read aloud.
“Greetings, Keeper of the South Ward Jordet. Your services are now needed in Eveleth; come swiftly. Bring your cousins and companions as well, since Brenn is besieged by part of the Lithmern army and it is not possible for them to reach the city now. Leave at once. Prestemon, Captain, Queen’s Guard.”
“Under siege!” Alethia said when Tamsin had finished. “Let me see that. No, there must be some mistake!”
“Is there no way to get back to Brenn?” Har asked, turning toward Jordet.
“I do not know, but I do not think Prestemon would say such a thing if it were not true,” Jordet answered. “Brenn cannot be in any great danger as yet if it is surrounded by only a part of the Lithmern army. The Lithmern will not attack until the main army arrives, but you would almost certainly be captured if you attempted to gain the city.”
“When do you think the army will arrive?” Tamsin asked.
Jordet shrugged. “I know no more of the Lithmern troop dispositionss than you do. It could be days or weeks.”
“Or hours,” Har retorted. “Or never! Allie told me how anxious the Wyrds were that she go to Eveleth. Maybe this is a ruse to get her there.”
“The Shee do not need to use trickery, nor do the Wyrds,” said Worrel from the doorway. Har turned angrily, but the Wyrd continued easily, “Had we wished to, we could have told your sister we were going to Brenn and simply gone to Eveleth instead. I doubt that any of you knows the woods well enough to see the deception, and it is even easier to lose one’s bearing in the mountains.”
“Har, it’s true,” Alethia said, looking up. It was impossible to say whether she spoke of the note she held or of Worrel’s comments.
Har’s lips set in a stubborn line. “Then we should ride for Lacsmer and ask Lord Armin to send aid to Brenn.”
“He may still be in Brenn,” Alethia replied sharply. “It’s only been five days since the feast, and he was supposed to stay for a week.”
“We could still bring soldiers,” Har insisted. Alethia half-nodded, but Maurin spoke up for the first time.
“Brenn is well defended against a conventional siege, Har; you showed me the plans yourself before the lords Armin and Gahlon arrived. The city can hold for at least six weeks against the whole Lithmern army. But what can your soldiers, or Armin’s, do against magic? If the Lithmern had one Talisman of Noron’ri and a sorcerer who could use it, they may have others. I do not think this will be an ordinary war.”
Har looked stunned; the thought had plainly not occurred to him.
Alethia frowned and turned toward Jordet. “Would the Shee aid Brenn? They have held apart from Alkyra for so very long.”
“Cousin, I do not know,” Jordet replied slowly. “You have kin-right among us and can claim our aid, but the Queen’s Council exiled your mother for dealing with humans. Queen Iniscara might help, perhaps—I do not know her mind.” He shrugged. “You can but try.”
“What other choice have we?” Alethia said, and her brother was forced at last to agree.
So it was that the fourth morning after their arrival at the cottage found the travelers riding north into the mountains of the Shee. Jordet provided cloaks and provisions from a seemingly inexhaustible store, and the Wyrds had their mounts, as well as Jordet’s impressive white stallion, ready by first light.
All day they wound through the mountains, pausing now and then to drink from an icy stream fed by the melting snow at the top of the peaks. They camped that night in the open, beneath the stars. Rarn and Alethia insisted that Maurin rest, much as he was disinclined to do so, while Har and Tamsin helped Jordet and Worrel gather wood and care for the horses. After they had eaten, Tamsin brought out his melar and sang the ancient songs and ballads of Alkyra until the fire burned low.
The morning dawned cloudy and cold. After a hasty breakfast, they started off again. By midmorning they were riding through a bone-chilling drizzle that penetrated even the wool of their hooded cloaks. The terrain grew steeper and rockier as they went deeper into the mountains, and the endless drizzle made the narrow paths slippery. Alethia found herself envying the ponies; they stepped surely no matter how slick the surface, and their shaggy coats shed water effortlessly.
The rain grew worse as they went on. The wind was also rising, and the mountains did not block it at all. Alethia gathered her sodden cloak more closely around her in a futile attempt to shut out some of the wind. She could vaguely see the figures of Tamsin and Har ahead of her, single file on the narrow trail. Although Jordet rode in the lead, he was easier to see because his white hair and the white horse he rode stood out against the dark background of the mountains and the rain.
Jordet waved the others to a halt and turned his horse easily up the steep slope of the mountain. Alethia watched in astonishment as the ghostly white figure and its rider faded above her. Har, directly in front of her, waved his arm and she obligingly rode closer.
“What is he doing?” Alethia shouted, trying to make herself heard over the wind. Har shook his head and leaned backward, and she repeated the question as loudly as she could.
“I don’t know,” Har shouted back. “Turn her head into the mountain.” It took Alethia a moment to make sense of this cryptic utterance, but when she did, she tugged at Alfand’s rein. The horse shifted slightly in compliance and Alethia found that the new position lessened the force of the driving rain. Further conversation was impossible, and Alethia could only sit and wait miserably for Jordet to return.
A few moments later Alethia saw a flash of white as Jordet reappeared beside Tamsin. It was impossible to hear what he said, but Tamsin nodded and dismounted. Leading his horse, he turned up the mountain and vanished from her sight almost immediately. Har followed in the same way, and Alethia rode forward.
As she reached the point where the others had turned off, she saw a steep path, barely visible on the rocky mountainside, forking out from the main trail on which they had been riding. Jordet was positioned at the fork to make sure that no one missed it. In the rain and with such uncertain footing it was obvious that the horses would have to be led, and with a little sigh Alethia dismounted
and began pulling Alfand upward.
It was hard work climbing against the wind and without what little shelter the mountainside had provided on the lower path. Ahead of her she saw Har disappearing among a tangled pile of huge boulders, and she hurried her horse as much as she was able to keep from losing him altogether. A moment later she, too, was among the rocks.
Alethia staggered for a moment as the wind she had been braced against was suddenly blocked. From her left came a merry whistle. Turning, she saw Har and Tamsin unsaddling their horses in the mouth of a large, shallow cave. Gratefully, she joined them. In a few minutes more, the entire company was gathered in the cave, wringing out their cloaks and unsaddling their horses.
“How did you know about this place?” Alethia asked Jordet.
The Shee grinned. “I’ve made enough trips through these mountains to learn where the good bolt-holes are!” he replied. “There are a lot of caves in this section of the Kathkari, though; it isn’t hard to find one if you know where to look.”
Rarn looked up. “So far, so good, but you’d be wise to think about finding some firewood so we can dry ourselves out. We haven’t any spare cloaks, and these are soaked. Not you,” she added as Maurin started to rise. “You’re wet enough now. I’ll not have you catching a chill on top of everything else!”
“Nay, we needn’t all go!” Jordet said hastily as Maurin scowled. “Come cousin!”
Har grinned, and the two men moved back out into the storm. The others set to work unpacking the blankets and rubbing down the horses and ponies with whatever dry scraps of cloth they could find. By the time Har and Jordet returned carrying armloads of twisted brush, the animals at least were tolerably comfortable.
“I am afraid it will take some time to get a fire going,” Jordet said, dumping an armload of glistening black branches at one side of the cave mouth. “The wood is rather wet,” he added unnecessarily.
“Well, can’t you use some of your magic to start it?” Alethia asked.