Ruins of Gorlan (21 page)

"Gilan, in an ideal world, I wouldn't put him at risk like this. But this isn't an ideal world. Everyone's going to have to play his part in this campaign,  even boys like Will. Morgarath is preparing for something big. Crowley's  agents have got wind that, on top of everything else, he's been in touch  with the Skandians."

"The Skandians? What for?"

Halt shrugged. " We don't know the details, but my bet is he's hoping to form an alliance    with them. They'll fight anyone for money. And apparently, they'll fight for anyone as well," he added, his distaste for mercenaries obvious in his voice. " The point is, we're shorthanded enough while Crowley tries    to raise the army. Normally, I wouldn't go after the Kalkara with a   force of less than five senior Rangers. But he simply can't spare them    for me. So I've had to settle for the two I trust most-you and Will. " Gilan grinned crookedly. " Well, thanks for that, anyway. " He was  touched by Halt's confidence. He still looked up to his old mentor. Most   of the Ranger Corps did." Besides, I thought that rusty old sword of  yours might come in handy if we run into those horrors," Halt said, The  Ranger Corps had chosen wisely when they allowed Gilan to continue his  training with the weapon. Although very few people knew it, Gilan was  one of the finest swordsmen in Araluen.

"As for Will," Halt continued, `don't sell him short. He's very resourceful. He's quick and brave and a   damn good shot already. Best of all, he thinks quickly. My real thinking  is that if we get on the trail of the Kalkara, we can send him for reinforcements. That'll help us and keep him out of harm's way. " Gilan  scratched his chin thoughtfully. Now that Halt had explained it, it   seemed the only logical course for them to take. He met the older man's  eyes and nodded his understanding of the situation. Then he turned to    organize his own kit, only to find that

Will had already repacked it and tied it to his saddle. He smiled at Halt.

"You're right," he said. " He does think for himself."

The three of them rode out a little while later, while the other Rangers were still  receiving their orders. Mobilizing the Araluen army would be no small     task, and it would be the Rangers' job to coordinate it, then be ready  to guide the individual forces from the fifty fiefs to their assembly point at the Plains of Uthal. With both Gilan and Halt assigned to searching for the Kalkara, other Rangers had to be tasked with coordinating the forces from their fiefs as well.

There was little said between the three companions as Halt led the way to the southwest. Even Will's natural curiosity was subdued by the magnitude of the task ahead of them. As they rode in silence, his mind's eye kept conjuring images of savage bearlike creatures with the features of apes-creatures that might well prove to be invincible, even for someone of Halt's skill.

Eventually, however, as monotony set in, the horrific images receded and he began to wonder what plan, if any, Halt had in mind. " Halt," he said, a little breathlessly, " where do you hope to find the Kalkara?" Halt looked at the serious young face beside him. They were traveling at the Rangers' forced march pace-forty minutes in the saddle, riding at a steady canter, then twenty minutes on foot, leading the horses and allowing them to travel unburdened, while the men ran at a steady trot.

Every four hours, they would pause for one hour's rest, when they ate a quick meal of dried meat, hard bread and fruit, then rolled into their cloaks to sleep.

They had been leading the horses for some time now and Halt judged that it was time to rest. He led Abelard off the road and into the shelter of a grove of trees. Will and Gilan followed, dropping the reins and allowing their horses to graze.

"The best way I can think of," Halt said, in answer to Will's question," is to start at their lair and see if they're in the vicinity."

"Do we know where that is?" Gilan asked." Best intelligence we have is that it's somewhere on the Solitary Plain, beyond the Stone Flutes. We'll scout around that area and see what we can find. If they're in the area, we should find that the odd sheep or goat is going missing from villages nearby. Although getting the villagers themselves to talk will be another matter. Plainspeople are a closemouthed bunch at the best of times."

"What's this Plain you're talking about?" Will asked, through a mouthful of hard bread. And what on earth is a Stone Flute?"

"The Solitary Plain is a vast flat area-very few trees, mainly covered in rock outcrops and long grass," Halt told him," The wind seems to always be blowing, no matter what time of year you go there. It's a dismal, depressing place and the Stone Flutes are the most dismal part of it."

"But what are…" Will began, but Halt had only paused briefly. " The Stone Flutes? Nobody really knows. They're a circle of standing stones built by the ancients, smack in the middle of the windiest part of the Plain." Nobody has ever worked out their original purpose but they're arranged in such a way that the wind is deflected around the circle, and through a series of holes in the stones themselves. They create a constant keening sound, although why anyone thought they sounded like flutes is beyond me. The sound is eerie and discordant and you can hear it from kilometers away. After a few minutes, it sets your teeth on edge-and it goes on and on for hours. " Will was silent. The thought of a dismal, windswept plain and stones that emitted a nonstop, keening wail seemed to take the last vestige of warmth from the late afternoon sun. He shivered involuntarily. Halt saw the movement and leaned forward to clap him on the shoulder encouragingly.

"Cheer up," he said. " Nothing's ever as bad as it sounds. Now let's get some rest. " They reached the outskirts of the Solitary Plain by noon the second day. Halt was right, Will thought, it was a vast, depressing place. The featureless ground stretched out before them for kilometer after kilometer, covered in tall, gray grass, made rank and dry by the constant wind.

The wind itself almost seemed to be a living presence. It rubbed on their nerves, blowing constantly and unvaryingly from the west, bending the tall grass before it as it swept across the flat ground of the Solitary Plain." Now you can see why they call it the Solitary Plain," Halt said to the two of them, reining Abelard in so they could come abreast of him. " When you ride out into this damned wind, you feel as if you're the only person left alive on earth. " It was true, Will thought. He felt small and insignificant against the emptiness of the Plain. And with the feeling of insignificance came an accompanying feeling of impotence. The wasteland they were riding across seemed to hint at the presence of arcane forces-forces far greater than his own capabilities. Even Gilan, normally cheerful and ebullient, seemed affected by the heavy, depressing atmosphere of the place. Only Halt seemed unchanged, remaining grim and taciturn as ever.

Gradually, as they rode, Will became aware of a disquieting sensation. Something was lurking, just outside the range of his conscious perception. Something that made him feel uneasy. He couldn't isolate it, couldn't even tell where it was coming from or what form it took. It was just there, ever present. He shifted in his saddle, standing in the stirrups to scan the featureless horizon in the hopes that he might see the source of it all. Halt noticed the movement." You've noticed them," he said. " It's the Stones' And now that Halt said it, Will realized that it had been a sound-so faint and so continuous that he couldn't isolate it as such-that had been creating the sense of unease in his mind, and the tight cramping of fear in the pit of his stomach. Or perhaps it was just that as Halt said it, they came into proper earshot of the Stone Flutes. Because now he could isolate it. It was an unmelodic series of musical notes, all being played at once but creating a harsh, discordant sound that jangled the nerves and unsettled the mind. His left hand crept unobtrusively to the hilt of his saxe knife as he rode, and he drew comfort from the solid, dependable touch of the weapon.

They rode on through the afternoon, never seeming to advance across the empty, featureless Plain. With each pace their horses took, the horizons behind and before them seemed to neither recede nor draw closer. It was as if they were marking time in an empty world. The constant keening sound of the Stone Flutes was with them all day, growing gradually stronger as they traveled. It was the only sign that they were making progress. The hours passed and the sound continued and Will found it no easier to bear. It wore at his nerves, keeping him constantly on edge. As the sun began to sink at the western rim, Halt reined Abelard in." We'll rest for the night," he announced. " It's almost impossible to maintain a constant course in the dark. Without any significant land features to set a course by, we could easily wind up going around in circles. " Gratefully, the others dismounted. Fit as they were, the hours spent at forced march pace had left them bone weary. Will began scouting around the few stunted bushes that grew on the Plain, searching for firewood. Halt, realizing what was in his mind, shook his head.

`No fire," he said. " We'd be visible for miles and we have no idea who might be watching. " Will paused, letting the small bundle he had gathered fall to the ground. " You mean the Kalkara?" he said. Halt shrugged." Them, or Plainspeople. We can't be sure that some of them aren't in league with the Kalkara. After all, living cheek by jowl with creatures like that, you might well end up cooperating with them, just to ensure your own safety. And we don't want them getting word that there are strangers on the Plain."

Gilan was unsaddling Blaze, his bay horse. He dropped the saddle to the ground and rubbed the horse down with a handful of the ever-present dry grass.

"You don't think we've been seen already?" he asked. Halt considered the question for a few seconds before answering.

"We might have been. There are just too many unknowns here-like where the Kalkara actually have their lair, whether or not the Plainspeople are their allies, whether or not any of them have seen us and reported our presence. But until

I know we have been seen, we'll assume we haven't. So, no fire."

Gilan nodded reluctantly. " You're right, of course," he said. " It's just I'd happily kill someone for a cup of coffee."

"Light a fire to brew it," Halt told him, " and you might end up having to do just that."

I
T WAS A COLD, CHEERLESS CAMP. TIRED FROM THE HARD PACE they had been keeping up, the Rangers ate a cold meal-bread, dried fruit and cold meat once more, washed down with cold water from their canteens. Will was beginning to hate the sight of the virtually tasteless hard rations they carried. Then Halt took the first watch as Will and Gilan rolled themselves into their cloaks and slept.

It wasn't the first rough camp that Will had endured since his training period began. But this was the first time there wasn't the slight comfort of a crackling fire, or at least a bed of warm coals, to sleep by. He slept fitfully, uncomfortable dreams chasing through his subconscious-dreams of fearful creatures, strange and terrifying things that stayed just outside his consciousness, but close enough to the surface that he felt their presence, and was unsettled by them.

He was almost glad when Halt shook him gently awake for his watch.

The wind was scudding clouds across the moon. The moaning song of the Stones was stronger than ever. Will felt a weariness of spirit and wondered if the Stones had been designed to wear people down like this. The long grass around them hissed a counterpoint to the far-off keening. Halt pointed to a spot in the heavens, indicating an angle of elevation for Will to remember.

"When the moon reaches that angle," he told the apprentice, " turn over the watch to Gilan. " Will nodded, rousing himself and standing to stretch his stiff muscles. He picked up his bow and quiver and walked to the bush Halt had selected as a vantage point. Rangers on watch never stayed in the open by the campsite but always moved away ten or twenty meters, and found a place of concealment. That way, strangers coming upon the campsite would be less likely to see them. It was one of the many skills Will had learned in his months of training.

He took two arrows from the quiver and held them between the fingers of his bow hand. He would hold them thus for the four hours of his watch. If he needed them, there would be no excessive movement as he took an arrow from his quiver-movement that might alert an attacker. Then he flipped the cowl of his cloak over his head so he would merge with the irregular shape of the bush. His head and eyes scanned from side to side as Halt had taught him, changing focus constantly, from close to the campsite and out to the dim horizon around them. That way, his vision would not become fixated on one distance and one area and he'd stand a better chance of seeing movement. From time to time, he turned slowly through a complete circle, scanning the entire ground around them, moving slowly to keep his own movement as imperceptible as possible.

The keening of the Stones and the hissing of wind through the grass formed a constant background. But he began to hear other noises as well-the rustling of small animals in the grass, and other, less explicable, sounds. With each one, his heart raced a little faster, wondering if this might be the Kalkara, creeping in on the sleeping figures of his friends. Once, he was convinced that he could hear the breath of a heavy animal. Fear rose up in him, clutching at his throat, until he realized that, with his senses tuned to the utmost degree, he could actually hear his companions breathing quietly in their sleep.

He knew that, from any more than five meters away, he would be virtually invisible to the human eye, thanks to the cloak, the shadows and the shape of the bush around him. But he wondered if the Kalkara depended on sight alone. Perhaps they had other senses that would tell them that there was an enemy concealed in the bush. Perhaps, even now, they were moving closer, concealed by the long shifting grass, ready to strike…His nerves, already stretched beyond endurance by the Stone Flutes' dismal song, urged him to spin around and identify the source of each new sound as he heard it. But he knew that to do so would be to reveal himself. He forced himself to move slowly, turning carefully until he faced the direction from which he thought the sound had come, assessing each new risk before discarding it.