Yesterday's Kings (27 page)

“None whatsoever,” Eben said. “The gods picked you out and set you on your way; you’ve no choice save to go where they send you.”

“And if I disagree?” Cullyn glanced at Fey, who cropped rich grass beside Laurens’s bay and Eben’s black mule, and thought of mounting the stallion and crossing back across the river.

“Then the priest would doubtless find you,” Eben said. “Listen to me. You’re now proscribed as I am, or Laurens. Your only hope is to bring Abra back, or stay in Coim’na Drhu. You have no others. Do you understand?”

“I could live elsewhere,” Cullyn said. “I could build another cottage—if they burned mine down like yours.”

“And then they’d find you,” Eben replied.

“So I’ve no choice at all?” Cullyn asked.

“Save to accept your destiny,” Eben answered. “And I pray that all the gods bless you.”

It felt a heavy burden that he did not properly understand Syn’qui? Was that a blessing or a curse, or merely the ramblings of a mad old man? Save he did not think Eben mad. Indeed, in this unknown territory it seemed that Eben was his only hope of return to normality—if that still existed for him. For any of them. He stared across the river at the glow of the burning building and wondered where his life took him.

Eben interrupted his thoughts. “I doubt they’ll cross by night, so let’s rest. And be gone by dawn.”

“Should we not set a watch?” Laurens asked.

“No need. Do they attempt a crossing, I shall likely know.”

“Only likely?”

“Probably. And even if they do, all well the Durrym magic shall turn them around.”

“Can you not set wards?” Lauren asked.

“Not save you want both Durrym and priest to find us,” Eben returned. “For now, I’d prefer to stay anonymous. And if I set wards, then likely we’ll be noticed. Best a plain watch, eh?”

Laurens grunted, stroking his wounded side. “Then I’ll take the first watch.” He looked to Cullyn. “You the second. Then …”

Eben was already settling to sleep.

“Wake him before first light, eh?”

Cullyn nodded.

He slept a while, albeit uneasily, and then relieved
Lauren. He stood guard until the moon was going down, and then, yawning, woke Eben.

“What?” the wizard demanded irritably.

“Your watch,” Cullyn told him. “Until dawn.”

Eben snorted and rose. “What have I got myself into?”

Cullyn found his bed and sank gratefully into sleep.

I
T WAS A HIGH
, bright autumnal morning, the sun shining out of a clear blue sky across which birds darted. Squirrels watched them from the surrounding trees, and when Cullyn rose he saw sloe-eyed deer studying him from the margins of the woodland even as a big dog fox sniffed the air. He built the fire anew and set a kettle to boiling as he waited for Laurens to wake.

He went to find Eben—and found the ancient wizard slumped against a tree, his eyes closed and stentorian noises erupting from his mouth and nostrils.

Cullyn stared at him, anger stirring. Eben had refused to set wards about the camp and then fallen asleep on watch. He wondered just how much use magic really was as he nudged the snoring man. Eben stirred, muttering in his sleep. Cullyn shook him, and the old man woke.

“What is it?”

“You were supposed to be on watch.”

“Are we attacked?” Eben rose stiffly, rubbing at his eyes.

“No,” Cullyn said. “No thanks to you.”

“Then all’s well.” Eben shook his dirty robe. “Is it time for breakfast?”

Cullyn sighed and went to prepare the food. Eben
stretched and rose. Cullyn could not help but think of a mummified corpse rising from its tomb.

“Excellent.” Eben savored the odors of bacon and brewing tea. “Perhaps you’re not so useless.”

“I thought I was syn’qui.” Cullyn resented the old man’s sarcasm.

“That doesn’t mean you’re of any use,” Eben declared. “Only that you’re a focus of attention. I was syn’qui in my own way—which is why I chose to live alone … until you came along to deliver me all this aggravation.”

Cullyn ducked his head. “Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Eben returned cheerfully. “You’ve no more choice than I. But it does seem that you can make a decent breakfast. So shall we eat?”

Cullyn nodded and prepared the food as Eben woke Laurens, checking the wound and dressing it afresh as the morning air filled with the tantalising odor of bacon. The fox came closer and Eben absently took a slice from the pan and threw it to the animal. The fox snatched it up, swallowed, and sat watching them.

“This is a pleasant land,” Eben remarked. “Where else might you sit down to breakfast with a fox?”

“Save you spoke of the fey houses fighting,” Laurens said. “Is it so different?”

“Aye, there’s that.” Eben devoured bacon with gusto. “But perhaps the fey folk learned that from you Kandarians. They do live in concord with nature.”

“And the lion shall lie down with the lamb,” Laurens said. “And all shall be tranquility—so long as the Church approves.”

“And its followers observe its rules, yes,” Eben gave back. “The Church would rule, and set its own governance on kings and common folk.”

“And there’s no Church here?”

Eben shook his head. “The Durrym worship the old gods of tree and stone, of light and darkness.”

“Which is much akin to us,” Laurens said. “Bel, the light-bringer; Dasc, the moon goddess; Thyriam of the trees … Where’s the difference?”

“In thought,” Eben answered. “Kandarians think of their gods as allies, and the Church interprets the gods’ thoughts and therefore determines what they say: so that all the gods’ speaking comes from the Church.”

“And here?”

“They look at the land, and consider that not all the gods are benign. And choose which to follow and which to ignore.”

“Can we ignore the gods?”

“The Durrym do,” Eben said. “When it suits them.”

Cullyn swallowed his last mouthful of bacon, quickly, and said, “They’re coming across the river!”

Eben’s plate went scattering into the fire. The fox barked and darted away; the inquisitive deer fell back into the woodland.

Across the Alagordar, Per Fendur led his troop to the ford. He wore armor black under the flowing robe that covered the plates, a dark presence amongst the sparkling accoutrements of Lord Bartram’s men.

“You were on watch,” Laurens snarled. “What of your magic?”

“I fell asleep.” Eben stretched his arms, rubbed his back. “I suppose we’d best leave now.”

“So much for wizardry,” Laurens grunted.

“I never thought …” Eben shook his head. “What power does he command, that he can find us?”

Cullyn said, “I don’t know, but I think we’d best be on our way.”

Fendur was into the river now, Amadis at his side;
the squadron behind, armed with lances and bows. They came splashing across, bright water rising from the pounding hooves, the early sun glinting on their armor.

Cullyn helped Laurens mount the bay, saw Eben clamber astride his mule, and swung onto Fey’s saddle.

“Best we ride,” Eben shouted. “And fast!”

“Where’s your magic?” Cullyn asked. “Can you not halt them?”

“Lances and bows? No.” Eben dug his heels into the mule’s ribs and went off at a gallop.

T
HEY RODE HARD
toward the rising sun, charging through woodland that disgorged startled animals at their coming. Most were ordinary—such creatures as Cullyn had seen daily across the mysterious river—but others were different. He saw birds decked in such plumage as he’d never seen before, and strange animals. There was a creature that seemed all fangs and claws, shaped like a ferret but several times a ferret’s size, that stood ripping at the carcass of some kind of deer—save it wore more antlers than any deer he’d ever seen. And there were others. A creature that looked like a wolf, but sounded like a sheep; a vastly horned bull, or cow—they went by too quickly to tell—that watched them from the shadows and ducked its massive head and bellowed a mournful cry.

He paid them scant attention, intent only on following Eben and escaping Per Fendur.

Fey could easily have run ahead, but Eben’s mule was not so fast and Laurens rode uncomfortably, clutching at his saddle and his wound as he followed the silver-haired man ever deeper into Coim’na Drhu. Cullyn rode after, wondering where they went, and into what?

When he looked back, he could not see the pursuers. Trees stood in the way, great willows and alders giving way to drier woodland, beeches and oaks, birches and hazel, spreading in impossible confusion. Coim’na Drhu was a conundrum that he could not understand.

Then they came to a glade where massive oaks gave way to tall beeches, and beyond that a steep-sided valley, its walls descending to a wide meadow through which ran a stream from which white horses drank, and cropped the grass. There were around twenty of them, a stallion and his herd. Save they were not like any horses Cullyn had seen, for they all bore a spiraled horn growing from between their ears. Which lifted as the refugees emerged from the treeline.

The stallion shrilled a warning and ducked his horned head in challenge.

Eben reined in, halting his mule at the rim of the slope. Cullyn heard Fey whinny an answering challenge and fought the stallion to a halt. Laurens stared at the spectacle, clutching his wounded side.

“Unicorns,” Eben said. “Best be careful.”

“Of horses?” Laurens asked.

“Not just horses,” the old man returned. “Magical horses; fey animals. Are you virgin?”

Laurens laughed, shaking his head. “At my age? I’d hope not.”

“Nor I,” Eben replied, and looked to Cullyn. “And you?”

Cullyn thought of Elvira and shook his head.

“Then they’ll kill us if we approach.”

“Horses?” Laurens asked.

“Yes,” Eben gave back. “Do you understand nothing? We’ve come into a different world. The rules are not the same.”

“And Per Fendur is on our heels,” Laurens said.

“If we ride down there the unicorns will kill us. They’re savage beasts, the mares vicious as the stallions.”

“So we’re caught.” Laurens rubbed at his side. “Fendur and Amadis behind us, unicorns to the fore. What do we do?”

Eben said, “Either wait for them to finish grazing, or go around.”

Laurens grunted irritably. “We may not have time to wait.”

Cullyn glanced back and wondered if he saw the glint of mail and lance heads amongst the trees. He studied the valley—it was long and broad, and if they were to continue on the way Eben chose, they’d need to ride for leagues to pick up their path again.

“How long might they graze?”

Eben shrugged. “All day; a few more minutes. Who knows with unicorns? They’re unpredictable beasts.”

As if in confirmation, the stallion shrilled another challenge and trotted a little way toward them. His ivory horn tossed a warning as he stamped the ground. The mares and foals looked up and moved to join him, presenting a threatening wall of horns that spread across their path. Eben motioned that they withdraw back into the treeline. Cullyn looked back again, and this time was sure that he saw sunlight shining on armor.

“I think,” he said, “that we’ve not much time.”

Eben and Laurens followed his gaze, and the wizard cursed as the jingle of saddle trappings tinkled through the woods.

“Damn the priest!” Eben’s blue eyes narrowed irritably. “He’s even more talent than I thought.”

“Can you not use magic?” Laurens asked.

“Not here!” Eben glowered at the soldier as if Laurens were crazed. “We come clandestine, no? If I use magic, the Durrym will feel it, and come looking for us.”

“But we’re looking for them,” Cullyn said.

“Do you understand nothing?” Eben favored him with a stare that reddened his cheeks. “We’re looking for this damned girl, yes. But she’s taken by Lofantyl, who’s Dur’em Shahn. This”—he gestured at the landscape—“is the domain of the Dur’em Zheit. Who are in contest with Isydrian and his Shahn. Are we taken by the Zheit, Pyris could likely order us all slain for spite alone.”

“Why did I ever look to you for help?” Laurens muttered. “Better to have thrown ourselves on Bartram’s mercy.”