The Dragon Revenant (34 page)

“Even if he doesn’t mean to betray us, how do I know the Hawks aren’t still using him? Couldn’t they make some sort of link with his mind and just follow him like a beacon?”

“They could, but they haven’t, my dubious dove. I scrutinized him most thoroughly and found naught.”

“You’re certain?”

“Certain? Certain, positive, convinced, and quite quite sure.” He paused in his work to look her over with shrewd eyes. “Jealous, are you?”

“Just what do you mean, you rotten elf?”

“Just what I said. Everywhere our Rhodry goes, there’s’ Gwin, gazing at him fondly and hanging on his every word and smile like a lover. And there’s Rhodry, who may or may not be flattered—but he doesn’t ask him to stop.”

For a moment Jill felt like hitting him, just for pointing out what she’d been trying not to see.

“I’d be jealous, too, if I were you,” Salamander went on, somewhat hastily. “I’m not belittling you, mind. But here, my sagacious sparrow, ponder this. It’s not Rhodry that Gwin’s in love with, but his own salvation. Ye gods, think of how he must feel! For the first time in his life, he has hope, he has a future, he has honor … of course he’s englamored. But he can’t understand that—Hawks are not trained in the subtleties of the mind, after all—so he gives our Rhodry all the credit and worships him.”

“Well, truly, I see your point. But …”

“It gripes your soul anyhow? Please don’t throw that peg at me, my turtledove. It’ll leave an ugly bruise.”

With the sixth dawn, the sun finally broke through the clouds. As the mist rolled back, they could see that not only did the trail they’d been following peter out into a ravine, but also that the archon’s road lay only half-a-mile downhill and to the west of their camp. After a brief argument, Jill agreed that they’d better take the road and make some speed. Just at noon the sky began to clear before a south-running wind. Although everyone’s mood began to clear along with it, and Jill was as glad as anyone at the prospect of getting dry, still she felt uneasy without their water-shield around them. When she trotted her horse up to the head of the line next to Salamander, she found him anxious as well.

“I’d hoped we could hide in the rain until we reached Pastedion, my turtledove, but such, alas, is not the case.”

“How close do you think our enemies are?”

For an answer he merely shrugged. Although the hills rose steep on their left hand, the road was winding level here along the hp of a canyon to their right. Some fifty yards down she could see the rush of white water among the trees.

“We’ll reach Pastedion on the morrow,” Salamander said abruptly. “If we reach it, that is. I feel danger like a stink around us.”

“So do I. I was thinking, if we could work with Gwin, maybe we could scry our enemies out.”

“I like that ‘we,’ my most magical magpie. Well, perhaps we could, but truly, I rather dread the idea. Opening a link to Gwin’s charming little mind will not be the most pleasant of experiences.”

“Neither would dying at the hands of the Hawks.”

“Um, well, truly. How clearly and succinctly you put things! We’ll see if we can talk him into it.”

“Well and good, then. We should stop for the noon meal soon and rest the horses. The poor beasts have been through an ordeal of their own this past eightnight or so.”

“True spoken, but I want to make another mile or so before we stop.” Salamander looked profoundly sly. “There’s somewhat I want you to see.”

They were traveling here through a huge, V-shaped valley, with the river churning at the bottom point of the V and their road clinging to the left side, about halfway up the hills. After some minutes Jill heard an odd sound ahead, like the buzzing of an enormous swarm of bees, which slowly grew louder and louder as they rode until it resolved itself into the pour of a waterfall. The road made one last twist and came, all of a sudden, clear of the V-shaped valley to end on a flat stretch of ground, the top of a cliff, while farther down on their right hand the canyon it had been bordering merely ended, as abruptly as if a giant had cut the cliff with a spade. Laced with rainbows the waterfall roared and thundered, plunging straight down thousands of feet to a long open valley far below. With a whoop that was half-fear, half-delight, Jill flung up her hand for a halt. Snorting and milling, the exhausted stock came to a stop and at last stood quiet enough to let Rhodry and Gwin ride up beside her. When she twisted round in the saddle, she could see half a hill behind her, the dome sliced through as if by that hypothetical giant’s knife. Across the valley, partly hidden by mists, rose its counterpart, sliced just as cleanly into another steep cliff. Beyond that hill she could see mountains rising into white-glinting peaks that marched off to the horizon.

“What made this valley?” she screamed at Salamander. “Dweomer?”

“Don’t know.” He yelled back. “The Wildfolk say ice did it, lots and lots of ice years and years ago, but that’s impossible.”

Screeching at each other over the thundering water-noise, they dismounted and rationed out the last of the grain to the riding mounts and pack animals while the extra horses had to make do with scruffy grass. Frightened though she was of possible pursuit, Jill decided that they simply had to give the stock a rest, because the only way down the cliff was a switchbacked trail, not more than four feet wide, hacked—and roughly—into the living rock. She hated thinking of the government slaves who’d been forced to cut that trail; some, no doubt, had died in the making.

Munching on a chunk of stale flatbread she walked over to the waterfall and stared down at the veil of mist floating as much as falling down to the valley floor. It fed the continuation of the north-south river they’d been following, which joined another, winding roughly east to west. The valley itself ran along this second river for miles—she could see neither end of it—and while there were trees clustered all along the rivers, the rest of the valley floor seemed to be the usual Bardekian grassland. At the moment, though, the grass was greening from the roots up, so that it seemed gold gauze lay over green silk all across the valley, and the trees were rain-washed glossy, like malachite beads in the sun. In a moment Salamander came over to join her. He pointed down at the trail and grinned.

“Hope you’re not afraid of heights!” he yelled.

She shook her head no to save her voice.

“Come with me,” he went on at the same high volume. “Somewhat else to show you.”

Back where the road emerged from the hills, the shoulder sloped gradually enough to allow them to scrabble up the shrubby grade and climb partway up the hill. As they moved slowly round to the valley view, they also angled away from the falls sufficiently to hear themselves talk again.

“Actually I wanted a private word with you,” Salamander said.

“I assumed that. Is Gwin cutting up rough about working with us?”

“I’m afraid so. Apparently he sees surrendering his will, even for the briefest of moments, as a grave defeat and insult. He’s not accusing us of insulting him, mind—rationally he knows he should help—but he finds the idea so revolting that I doubt if he’ll be able to do it.”

“That’s torn it, then! We’ll have to rely on the Wildfolk. They’ve been good about warning us so far.”

“Relying on the Wildfolk, my petite partridge, is one of the better ways to suffer a bitter disappointment.”

“Oh, of course, but there’s naught else to do.”

“Well, unfortunately, there is somewhat else, but I say unfortunate because it’s incredibly dangerous.” By then the steep climb was making him pant a little. “To me, that is, who’s the one who’d be doing it if we do it at all.”

“Scrying in a trance?”

“Worse than that. Flying. Like Aderyn.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Well, I just barely learned. That’s what makes it so dangerous.”

“Without you the rest of us are doomed. This is no time for cheap heroics.”

“Exactly what I’d hoped you’d say.”

They shared a grin and saved their breath for the climb. At last they came to the crest, some five hundred feet above the cliff edge, and could look down the long valley to the west. Jill swore aloud at still another marvel lying there, a lake about a mile across and so achingly blue that it looked like a piece of sky trapped among the trees. It was also circular, so perfectly so that again she thought of government slaves. Salamander waved an arm in its direction and assumed his portentous wizard’s voice.

“Behold the Navel of the World.”

“Ye gods, is that what the Bardekians call it? Why did they go to all the trouble to dig a pond like that?”

“They didn’t. It’s been here forever, or so the priests tell me. The Wildfolk say it was made by a huge stone that fell out of the sky after the aforementioned ice carved the valley. That’s what I mean about trusting the Wildfolk, my turtle-dove, or spirits in general. They mean well, but they have no wits. If they don’t know the truth about somewhat, they’ll make up a fantastic story just because they want to help their friends so badly.”

“I see. Well, dogs don’t have any wits either, but they bark loud enough when someone’s at your gate.”

“Now that is true spoken, and a sign of hope. And, as you say, there’s not a lot else we can do. When we’re making camp tonight, you and I shall ask our little friends to keep watch for us.”

“If we live to reach the valley floor. That trail frightens me.”

“I’ve ridden down it before, actually. You’ve got to trust the horses. They want to live as badly as we do, and they’re the ones with sure feet.”

“If you say so. And where’s Pastedion?”

“Just beyond the lake. If it weren’t so misty you could make it out, so we’re not too far from sanctuary. Unless we want to lame and founder these horses, once we reach the valley floor they’re going to have to take their leisure like lords for the rest of the day.”

After a few minutes more rest they set out, Jill riding at the head of the line, Rhodry next, then Gwin, and finally Salamander, taking the rear—and the dust that would make seeing difficult—because he knew the trail. Although Jill had to coax her horse onto the trail, once he started he settled down, as if in his dull equine way he realized that he’d be better off getting it over with, and the extra stock that she was leading came along steadily after him. The trail turned out to be a scant three feet wide except at the switchbacks, where it widened like the scour of a river’s bends to about eight feet across, just barely room enough for a clever horse to turn himself round. Occasionally the cliff face bulged out, forcing her to lie along her horse’s neck as they squeezed past, because leaning out and away would have been a dangerous maneuver indeed. Yet, so long as she didn’t look down over the edge, she found the going much easier than she’d expected.

At the bottom, where the trail widened into a proper road, heading off to join the river, there was a tall slab of stone covered with Bardekian writing. Jill went some yards past it, then paused her horses and turned in the saddle to watch the others, an understandable impulse that was something of a mistake. When she saw Rhodry coming down, with his horse apparently crawling like a fly on the cliff face, she felt honestly faint, sick to her stomach, and light-headed as she clung to her saddle peak and wondered what had ever possessed her to make a ride like that. She didn’t look again until all three of the men were safe and Rhodry was beside her.

“I couldn’t watch when you were riding down, my love,” he said. “But doing it myself wasn’t so bad.”

“I felt the same, truly. Salamander says we’re going to camp here for the rest of the day.”

“Good. Ye gods, this sun feels splendid.”

With a lazy grin he stretched in the saddle, turning his face to the sky with a real delight in the simple feel of the warmth. It was an elven gesture, and she realized more of the change in him, that losing his memory had stripped the perfect warlord away from his core of self in the same way that he’d throw off his armor after a battle. But what’s he going to do when he has to ride as cadvridoc again? she thought, and with the thought came a cold fear, a wondering if he were still the man that Aberwyn needed. When Gwin came riding over, she almost welcomed his interruption.

“Are we going to camp by the river?” Gwin was looking only at Rhodry. “They don’t get flooding up here.”

“We might as well, then.” Rhodry glanced her way. “What do you say, my love?”

“Sounds fine.”

When she happened to look at Gwin, their eyes met, and he arranged a hasty smile, but not quickly enough to cover an expression that she could only call murderous. I’m not the truly jealous one, am I? she thought. I’d best tell Salamander about this.

That night, just after sunset, in a suite of painted rooms in an inn some fifty miles downriver from Pastedion, the Hawkmaster was eating a meal of roast pork and spiced vegetables washed down with fine white wine. Crouched at his feet, Baruma gobbled the occasional scraps that the master threw his way. When a slice of pork fell beside him, he snatched at it only to find himself face-to-face with the wolf, growling soundlessly. This close Baruma could see that its eyes were only two glowing spheres of reddish light. He was so hungry that he would have fought a demon from the Third Hell for that bit of pork.

“Go away!” he snarled. “It’s mine!”

The wolf bared white fangs and lowered its ears.

“What?” the Hawkmaster turned in his chair. “What is that thing?”

“A wolf, master. It hates me. It follows me everywhere.”

“It’s not a real creature, you fool. Who sent it after you?”

“I don’t know.” Baruma thought hard, pushing his clouded mind to its limits. “An enemy.”

“I didn’t think it was a gift from a friend, no.” The master kicked him in the stomach, but only lightly. “How long ago did it appear?”

“Weeks. After I visited you in Valanth. You didn’t send it, then? I think I remember thinking you might have sent it.”

“No, I didn’t. Now isn’t this interesting? Did the Old One send it to spy on you?”

“He said he didn’t. He could have lied.”

“Just so. I think we’ll find out where it came from. Eat that food, but slowly. Keep its attention. Whoever ensouled it seems to have made it behave like a real animal. Let’s see how much.”