The Silver Sun (8 page)

“Those two are farther to the north now, even at a footpace,” he grumbled. “And the only reason the lordsmen haven't come after us is because they can't believe we would be such fools."

They returned to the Forest for a sound night's sleep, then traveled northward for a few days within its shelter. Oak and beech trees began to give way to pine and fir. Hal felt more secure from lordsmen now, and ready to search for Corin once more. It was reaping time at the isolated cottages of the Waste. Hal and Alan found that their help was welcomed at the hot, dusty work, and they were paid as generously as the struggling landholders could afford. But no one had any word of a blond boy or his bald, blacksmith father.

For days they traveled northward on the Waste, returning to the Forest only to sleep or hunt. As they went on, the holdings of cottagers grew fewer and farther between, and the land grew wilder and more lonely, until at length there came a day when they saw no living creatures except rabbits and sparrows. It was a strange land they traveled now, not much changed by the passing of time, for everywhere were signs of ancient dwellers—cairns, strange mounds and earthworks, and standing stones raised like monstrous fangs toward the sky. Hal's gray eyes gleamed as he regarded the great gray stones, but Alan shivered in their shadows. He was a native of the gentle green southlands, and he felt naked and exposed in this high, windy place.

“Ages ago, this was Forest,” Hal said. “All of Isle was Forest, the soul and dwelling of the Lady Mother. Small dark people roamed from grassy glade to glade and fed their animals on acorn mast. But iron-armed men came, who wanted to make themselves a great nation, so they felled the trees with their iron axes and turned the ground with their iron tools, and raised great stones to their dead and their gods, and piled mounds of dirt for their timber towers, and circles of dirt for their timber battle walls.... Season after season they made war, and played at love and valor. And season after season the sea winds blew, and the sea rains fell, until all the rich earth was blown and washed from the land, and only rocky waste remained. This was long ago, long before the invaders came from the east, long before any Kings ruled in Laueroc or Eburacon or the north. Those iron-sworded newcomers moved on to become the Kings we remember in legend, and the small dark folk came out of the Forest to reclaim their wasted land."

“How in the world can you know?” Alan exclaimed.

Hal could not answer. “Dreams,” he said at last. “And there come some now.” He pointed. The ancient tribes of Romany."

The Gypsies flowed darkly toward them over the Waste, ragged folk and shaggy beasts all in one rippling mass. Hal and Alan sat quietly on their horses as the band surrounded them. A ring of sober, dark-eyed faces looked up: solemn black-braided children in stammel frocks; stocky ponies; old crones with tame ravens on their shoulders; short, frowning men with shepherd's staffs and small stone-tipped darts in hand. No one made a sound; even the sheep were silent. Alan felt his flesh crawl at the thought of a dart in his back.

“
Laifrita thae, mirdas arle
,” Hal greeted them with curbed excitement in his voice. ["Greetings to you, people of the earth."]

The staring circle gasped, then stirred into movement and welcoming smiles. A chieftain stepped forward, his rank marked by the broad metal collar that arced around his neck, shining like a crescent moon.

“Welcome, Mireldeyn,” he said. “Welcome, Elwyndas."

They ate with the Gypsies, and shared the warmth of their campfire against the chill sea breeze. Hal spoke their strange language, and talked late into the night with the oldest men and women. Alan, who could converse with the others only in their broken dialect, was nevertheless much attended to. He was surprised to find that the Gypsies, horse experts that they were, had a high opinion of Alfie. “He is not handsome, nay,” they agreed with him, “but he has much heart.” As for Arundel, their dialect failed them, and they could only say, gesturing, that he was
elwedeyn
. When Alan signaled his noncomprehension, they shook their heads hopelessly, and sank back into the shelter of their dark faces around the fire.

“What are those names they called us?” Alan asked Hal in a whisper when everyone had settled for the night.

“Man-spirit, friend of the wind, some such....” Hal stirred irritably. “I'm not sure."

“Never mind. What did you talk about all night?"

“They have seen a pair that I think are Corin and the smith.” Hal cut short Alan's delighted response. “But we must be more careful. The talk of the Rough Road is that Lord Gar has set a fine price in gold on our heads."

After that, they kept to the Forest when they could. But the going was hard. This rocky northern land was scarred with shelving jumbles of rock, and sometimes thick with brambles. Often they were obliged to use the Rough Road that traversed the Waste from Whitewater to Rodsen. A few times they met travelers, and inquired about Corin to no avail. Some nights they shared the fires of Gypsy bands. But the dark tribesmen had no further news of the smith and his boy.

The day after a night with the Gypsies, just after noon, Hal and Alan were startled to hear hoofbeats approaching them from behind. They took cover in a copse atop a small rise until the rider came into view. It was one of their hosts of the night before, galloping hard on his sturdy pony.

With faces full of foreboding, they rode out to meet him. He spoke rapidly to Hal in his own language. Hal touched his hand in gesture of thanks, and the man sent his pony quickly back the way he had come. Hal spun Arundel and set off at full speed toward the rise, with Alfie clattering after. Once over the crest, he changed direction, then pulled up behind a ridge of rock.

“Some time after we left this morning,” he explained, “strangers came to the Gypsy camp, describing us and offering gold for news of us. Ten rough-looking men, mounted, with bows. Likely they are close by us, right now. The Gypsies told them nothing, of course, but if they are not fools they will have followed our friend. I hope he comes to no harm."

“Bounty hunters,” muttered Alan. He felt suddenly quite uncomfortable. He was used to thinking of sword-fighting as an unavoidable part of life in these hard times, but he did not relish the thought of ducking arrows.

“We must get to more open ground,” continued Hal, “where they cannot stalk us."

They moved gently off, glancing over their shoulders. “I fled before,” Hal added, “to draw the chase on us. But it's no use running now; we could blunder straight into them. We must make them show themselves and then outrun them, if we like."

Threading their way cautiously among the rocks and thickets, they proceeded in what they hoped was the direction of a clearing. At last they came to a windswept space, which they carefully surveyed. Then they touched heels to the horses’ sides and sped across the barren expanse, heading for a lonely clump of trees near the center. To their relief, they reached it without incident.

“There!” Hal exclaimed. “We might as well spend the afternoon here as anywhere else. Only to the south can they come near being within bowshot. They will set an ambush to the north, but they will see that we do not intend to move, and they will be forced to rush us from the south."

“They could split up,” grumbled Alan. He was not nearly as well pleased as Hal with their situation.

“I think they will not. They fear our swords, and probably they do not trust each other. We might as well sit down."

Arundel lifted his head and snorted at the distant thickets to the north.

“
Allo
,” Hal told him. “Very well, Arundel. I know they are there."

Letting the horses graze, Hal and Alan sat in the shade, leaning against the tree trunks, facing away from each other so as to watch the largest portion of ground. The afternoon crept slowly by, and the sun grew low.

Alan broke the long silence. “What will they do when dark comes?"

Hal shook his head. “They cannot afford to wait. They might surprise us, but we might also slip away from them. They will make their move soon."

Even as he spoke the distant brush stirred. The two vaulted to their saddles. But instead of rushing away as Alan expected him to, Hal tarried, dancing Arundel slowly northward, until the last of the hunters had broken cover. Then he grunted in satisfaction. “All ten of them,” he said. “Let's go."

They sprang into a gallop. But the foremost men were now within bowshot, and stopped to take aim. Alan whistled and cursed Hal's boldness as an arrow grazed his ear with its honed metal head; warm blood trickled down his neck. They were almost out of range when Hal gave a moan. A lucky shot had hit Arundel in the foreleg. The arrow passed neatly between the bones, then stuck.

Even though wounded, Arundel still ran faster than the ponylike beasts behind them. But Hal knew that every step added to his injury. They burst into the wall of thickets at the edge of the clearing, and plunged through a labyrinth of rocks, copses and undergrowth. Hal sighed with relief when they came to another clearing. A gentle rise faced them. Halfway up was a long outcropping of rock screened with bushes and stunted trees. At the crown of the rise was one of the ancient barrows or cairns, a large one, ringed by upright stones.

“This will do,” called Hal as they pulled up behind the natural stone barrier. “Keep the horses behind the tallest cover, Alan, and see what you can do for Arun."

He grabbed his bow and arrows from his blanketroll, and ran to a position behind the stone ledge just as their pursuers broke into the open and sent a shower of arrows into their cover. Hal aimed his first arrow at the apparent leader, and the man yelped as his arm was pinned to his side. Hal's next shot tumbled a man from his horse, shot through the heart, and his next arrow parted one's hair.

The hunters stopped abruptly and looked at each other. They had not known that their quarry possessed a bow, and especially not such a powerful and accurate one. Though they were nine bows against one, he had shelter and they had none, and they were being picked off in the open like birds on a branch. Even as they paused, another of their number fell from his mount with a scream. They retreated hastily to the thickets from which they had come.

“Two down,” sighed Hal. “How is Arundel, Alan?"

Alan had not enjoyed working while arrows whistled overhead, landed underfoot and rattled in the branches of the copse that sheltered him. Nevertheless, be had removed the arrow from Arundel's leg and dressed the wound. He brought Hal a bunch of arrows he had gathered from the outlaw assault.

“The wound is not bad,” he reported. “The shaft passed between muscle and bone, hurting little but the skin. Still, he should not run on it, or carry weight."

Hal nodded, frowning. “Have I ever so many arrows,” he muttered, “I can only shoot them one at a time. It will soon be dark. They must rush us, and we have nothing to set our backs against. They are four against one. We need some help."

Alan snorted at the understatement. “There is nothing to help us on this Waste except the crying birds and the little rabbits. I fear we must trust in our own luck, which has been a bit overstrained, lately."

The bounty hunters left their cover and ranged themselves in the open, just out of bowshot. Each one carried a freshly cut staff, long and stout, usable either as a blunt-headed lance or as a cudgel. The leader's arm was bandaged, and his face did not look friendly.

Hal looked at them and swallowed, as if he were swallowing his pride. Then he raised his head at an angle and called out in a clear, carrying voice: “
0 lian dos elys liedendes, on dalyn Veran de rangrin priende than shalder
.” ["Oh spirits of those who once lived, a son of Veran from peril prays your aid."]

As if from very far away, as if from the heart of the earth, a low voice replied: “
Al holme, Mireldeyn
.” ["We come, Mireldeyn."] As if from the dome of the sky, and very far away, a gray voice called, “
Al holme, Mireldeyn
."

“What is it, Hal?” Alan whispered, frozen. His hair prickled.

“Friends,” Hal replied.

“
Holmé a eln!
” ["Come to us!"] spoke the low voice. Alan could not tell from what direction it came. It seemed to fill the world. But Hal started walking up the gentle slope, toward the barrow and the ring of standing stones. Alan and the horses followed him. From behind them came terrified screams. Alan stopped in spite of himself.

“They are not being harmed,” Hal said. “Look."

Alan forced himself to turn. In the failing light he could see the men running, stumbling, falling in blind terror, getting up to run again. From what they ran he could not tell, unless it was the same nameless fear which he felt choking his own mind, so that his eyes saw black and his legs felt numb. The cries of the bounty hunters faded into the distance.

Hal turned and continued up the rise. Arundel and Alfie followed him. As he was calmly passed by his own horse, Alan's pride was stung, and somehow he willed his reluctant legs to move. He drew abreast of Hal and felt the focus of the fear, ahead of them, at the barrow. They walked closer; Alan moved like a blind man, step by slow step. Then his legs stopped. They wanted to turn and run. He kept them still, but he could not force them to go on. He could not see. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. With great difficulty, he moved it.

“Hal,” he whispered, “help me."

He felt Hal take his hand, and with that touch warmth moved through the frozen blood in his veins. “Come on, brother,” Hal said gently, and Alan walked on. He met the fear; he walked through it; and it melted away before him. Then a feeling of comfort and friendliness filled his heart, and the darkness left his eyes, and he found that he was within the circle of standing stones. That which had been a forbidding fear was now a protecting embrace which welcomed him in. Hal hugged him.