The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (13 page)

"Then we will await them here," the giant said, "where they may come at their leisure."&%x^>"How far to this draw?" Alaan asked.

"Only a little distance," the giant said. "Less than a stone's throw."Alaan was quiet a moment, and Tam could almost feel him weighing the different options. "Here," he said, "help me with this stone."Tam could just make out the dark forms of Alaan and Wolfson bending over a large boulder. They broke it free of the ground and sent it trundling down the slope, the sound of shattering branches following as it went. Curses were heard below as men scurried to get clear of the boulder bearing down on them out of the darkness.

"Go back!" Alaan called. "Go back while you still live!" Then quietly to the others he said, "There. Now there is no doubt what they face. They will not be such damn fools as to come up this way. Fynnol, stay here with Rabal and watch. Shout if you need us. Everyone else follow Wolfson. We shall see this draw."The stars shone a meager light down beneath the trees, and the men stumbled over rocks and roots as they followed Wolfson's great shadow through the wood. Tam started as the giant's small pack of wolves appeared out of the night, gamboling around their master. But then they must have caught the scent of the men below, and they slunk along silently, growling low.

"Here," Wolfson whispered.

Tam could see little—shadows overlaid by shadows—and all shapes seemed strange. The ground under his feet was soft with grass and mosses, and a wind whispered up the hillside, carrying the scent of pine and spruce, the fecund floor of the forest. An area of greater darkness yawed open like the mouth of the wood. Per-haps this was Wolfson's draw.

"But I can see nothing," Cynddl complained.

"My wolves will warn us of their approach," the giant said, "if we don't hear them stumbling and gasping up the draw."Tam crouched, an arrow ready. He tried to quiet his breathing so that he might hear the slightest sound. The leaves battered to-

gether, and a hollow breeze hissed through the wood. An owl hooted three times, and far off he heard a wolf howl.

And then the sound of a rock rolling, thumping over other stones, before coming to rest. A muttered curse.

Tarn pulled back his bowstring a little, feeling it bite into his cal-loused fingers. A smell stung his nostrils—like metal being forged.

He heard the others sniffing the air. A dull light seemed to seep up from among the underwood below. Faintly, trees and bushes were illuminated. He drew his bowstring back, aiming down the narrow draw. Certainly someone would appear with a torch… but what he saw did not seem to be torchlight.

A dim, glowing snake of silver wound around the roots a half dozen paces below. And then another. It seemed to branch and flow upward, like molten metal.

"Quicksilver!" Alaan cursed. "Up into the trees!" He turned and in three steps had thrown himself up into the crook of an oak. He did not stop there but scrambled frantically higher, shaking the branches as he went.

Tarn stood for a moment, entranced, as the quicksilver wove in and out among the rocks and roots, it branched and swirled and joined again.

Cynddl grabbed Tarn's arm and pulled him nearly off balance.

"Do as Alaan says!" the story finder hissed.

Even giant Wolfson dragged himself up into a tree. Tam and Cynddl followed suit, just as a snake of quicksilver seemed to dart at Tarn's boot. It went after the wolves then, who watched it, mys-tified. It touched the paw of one and the wolf leapt back, howling in pain. The pack was off then, tearing into the dark, snakes of sil-ver coiling through the wood after them.

Men came pounding up the draw, swords at the ready. Tam saw they were careful not to step on the strands of silver that twisted around their feet.

An arrow flashed, and one man staggered, plunging a hand into the quicksilver trying to balance. He screamed like he'd thrust his hand into molten iron. Up he leapt, but it was too late. The quick-silver spread up his arm, and he danced in a circle, screaming.

Tarn shot the man coldly in the throat, and he fell back, tum-bling slowly over and over down the long slope.

It was over in a trice. Arrows shot out of the trees, and the dozen men were quickly driven back. Scrambling to avoid arrows, men stepped into the quicksilver, and the wood echoed with their screams.

The cold heat of the quicksilver soon dissipated, and Alaan swung down from his branch, boots thumping onto the forest floor.

"Quickly!" he whispered, "before they regroup. We must be gone!"Tam stumbled off into the darkness after the traveler, glancing back every few feet, fearing that a silent tendril of quicksilver chased him. That it would coil around his leg and drag him down, screaming.

Jamm was not healing. His cough had grown worse, and he la-bored terribly to breathe. The heat of his fever could be felt at a dis-tance, and his face was an unnatural orange-crimson.

He's going to die. That's what Carl thought. The little thief was going to cough himself to death or simply drown in the fluids gur-gling and bubbling in his fouled lungs.

Carl watched helplessly as Jamm endured another spasm of coughing, bent double on the hard ground. They had found a spring concealed in a grove of willows that stood like an island in fields of ripening oats. It was not a good place to hide during the daylight hours, for if anyone approached, there was nowhere for them to go but into the wheatfield, but Jamm could not go a step farther. Carl tried to keep watch all around, but it was difficult, for the fields were small and bordered by thick hedgerows and trees. It would not be difficult for a company of armed men to approach, unseen until it was too late.

They were hungry, too. No amount of springwater would fill the void in Carl's stomach. He found himself eyeing the green oats and wondering if he could eat them and if they would provide sus-tenance. Carl's stomach growled loudly.

The day, Carl noted for the first time, was very fine. Just past high summer, warm but with a breeze from the west. If not for the hedgerows, they would have been surrounded by an undulating sea of soft green. A few errant clouds sailed slowly across the blue, casting small islands of shade on the lands below.

Carl heard someone talking, then the squeak of an axle, the hol-low thumping of hooves. Jamm stopped coughing then and perked up, listening.

"Someone comes!" he said, and tried to suppress a cough.

Carl bent to try to lift his guide but the little man was bent by another spasm of coughing.

"Go!" Jamm managed, gasping. "Leave me."Carl looked over his shoulder. He could still hear the sound of someone approaching—a voice… muttering.

"I'll help you up, Jamm. We'll lie in the grainfield until they're gone. Come."But Jamm succumbed to his coughing—almost retching, the at-tack was so violent. Before Carl could decide what to do, a man ap-peared, coming up a path through the willows. He was leading a small horse that drew behind it a battered old cart. Seeing Carl, he raised a hand and waved, then took off his straw hat and wiped his forehead with a shirtsleeve. Carl waved tentatively back. He glanced down at his red-faced companion, who was surely not fit to be moved.

The stranger bore a load of rough-sawn oak in short lengths. A box of tools perched on top, mallet handles and spokeshaves pro-truding. The man brought the horse to a stop and stood staring from Jamm to Carl.

"Help me get him into the back of the cart," the man said. "My wife is a healer."Jamm didn't protest as he was loaded aboard, but Carl thought he felt light as a child, as though his flesh were melting away. The man filled a wooden bucket and let his horse drink, then led them down from the willow grove. He seemed to take a circuitous route, and paused once behind a shielding hedge while some farm labor-ers passed in the distance.

" 'Tis a terrible sickness your friend has," the man said, shaking his head.

"Yes," Carl agreed.

"Has he had it long?"

"Just over a day."

The man took off his hat and wiped his brow again, his face creased and troubled. Carl guessed he was a man coming to the end of his fifth decade, his hair thinning, manner quiet and thoughtful. His skin was stained by hours in the sun, and his hands were large-knuckled and calloused, his forearms thick. He was a tradesman, clearly. A woodworker of some kind.

Carl had the feeling that the man was not quiet just because he was in the company of strangers, but that he spoke little to others—despite the muttering Carl had heard. Complaining, it had sounded like. The complaints of an aggrieved man. Even so their benefactor did not offer his name, nor did he ask Carl's or any other question that Carl would have expected under such circumstances.

It was nearly evening when they arrived at the man's home. His wife came out the door to greet him—she was delicate and sad-eyed, frail with disappointment. Her fair hair was graying—ashes and snow—and her hands were thin-boned and worn from work.

"Man's sick," the stranger pronounced, and his wife hurried around to the back of the cart.

She took one look at Jamm, and said, "Bear him in, Thon. We'll put him in the back room. No—in the attic over the woodshed."Carl and Thon carried Jamm up a narrow stair to a white-washed room beneath the eaves. His limp form was laid on a bed, where he was instantly seized by another fit of coughing,The woman put a hand to Jamm's forehead, then lightly touched the dark bruises and cuts on his face. Gently she peeled his shirt away from his sweating torso to reveal more bruises.

"Who beat him like this?" she said softly.

Carl looked warily from man to woman. They would turn them over to the Renne in an instant once it was learned who they were—or worse, to Vast.

"Soldiers," Carl said. "Drunken soldiers."The woman turned to her husband. "I will need cold water from the well and cloths. We must bring his fever down. Boil waterwillow bark in my small pan."The man went off, his boots almost silent on the stairs.

"Open the window, would you?" she said. "A breeze will help. Poor man. His ribs are cracked or broken,and bile has collected in his lungs."Thon returned with a bucket of well water and cloths. The woman soaked a cloth and gently bathed all of Jamm's wounds and bruises. One cloth she folded neatly and laid across his forehead, a single large towel was soaked and laid over his torso. The window opposite was opened, and a breeze swirled softly through the room.

"We don't know how to thank you," Carl said, as the husband retreated down the stairs again. "We were just traveling across the Isle when the soldiers found us.""We know who you are," the woman said, gently washing Jamm's neck. She didn't look up as she said this, but perched on the bed's edge, her face serious and sad. "You needn't fear any-thing from us. We won't give you away to the Renne or their cursed allies."But she did not say his name, nor offer her own.

Carl lowered himself stiffly into a straight-backed chair. The rush seat felt like the softest down cushion.

"Go downstairs," the woman said. "My husband will get you some supper and warm water to wash in. You needn't fear for your friend. He is safe. We have common cause, you and I. We will keep you from harm if we can."Carl was not sure what purpose would be served by sitting at Jamm's bedside, so he dragged himself up and went down the steep stair, leaning heavily against the wall. He was so drained by their ^83ordeal that he could have lain down on the stairs and gone to sleep. These people might plan to turn them in for the reward, but at that moment he did not care. Let him just have some food and rest.

Thon knelt before the hearth, stirring a small pot. A large iron kettle hung from a hook over the flames, the scent of herbs and lamb permeating the air. The room, though not unpleasant, was modest. A hearth, a table and chairs, some once-elegant furniture, now covered in cheap fabrics. A bureau, a bookcase, half-full, a footstool. A sideboard held a set of very fine dishes, though they were chipped and faded. Newly made candles hung by their wicks from a beam, and the sun made swimming squares of light as it fil-tered through thick, nearly opaque glass.

Thon stopped his stirring and ladled stew into a bowl for Carl. He took a seat at the table. The spoon he was given was silver and monogrammed with the letter L. Eating in silence, he continued to regard the room. Two portraits hung on the end wall; one of a cor-pulent nobleman, the other of the same man and his family—wife and seven children. Carl glanced at the man stirring a pot over the hearth. There was indeed some resemblance in the high brow, the dissatisfied mouth.

Thon's wife came lightly down the stairs and favored Carl with a wan smile, then went to the hearth, straining the waterwillow bark into a cup. She disappeared up the stairs again.

Thon wiped his hands on a square of cotton and crossed toward the door.

"Must see to the horse," he said, and was gone. Carl heard the hollow clatter of wood being piled, then the squeak of the axle. In a few moments Thon returned. He washed his hands and face in warm water, then ladled himself some stew. He placed a half loaf of bread on a board on the table, along with a much-sharpened knife. With fresh butter it was a great treat.

Thon's wife descended the stair again, washed her hands, and joined them at the table, where dutiful Thon brought her food and cutlery.

"He's sleeping, now," she said. "He needs that more than food.

It is a wonder he's alive—a beating like that! He won't be fit to travel for a few days, but then we'll arrange to get you back to the eastern shore, into the protection of Lord Menwyn or the Prince of Innes." She bobbed her head toward Lord Carl. "We are not alone, here," she went on. "There are others of us who suffered under the Renne." She let her gaze come to rest on her silent husband. "Our families were stripped of their property and positions when the Renne invaded. And we're reduced to this…" She waved a hand at the room around her. "We thought all our hopes had been an-swered when Lord Menwyn Wills and the Prince of Innes crossed the canal—but we were betrayed. Some traitor had alerted the Renne and they came with an army to drive Lord Menwyn away! How I hope that spy is found and his head—"A silent rebuke from her husband stopped her. "Excuse my out-burst, but both our families have suffered greatly these many years. We have a right to our bitterness.""We haven't done so badly," Thon said mildly, as he buttered a piece of bread. "Many lives are worse than ours. We've not been blessed with children. That is my only regret.""If you aspire to nothing, you will achieve nothing," the woman snapped.

Thon did not look at her. "Want little, and you shall have all you need," he answered softly.

His wife glowered at him, then returned to her meal, perhaps unwilling to pursue this argument before a guest. But Carl sensed it was an old feud. He glanced at the paintings on the wall. It oc-curred to him that the dissatisfied nobleman in the painting was her forbear, not Thon's.

Under the ministrations of Lady Languile, as she preferred to be called, Jamm recovered quickly. Carl was frightened the entire time he was there and kept cautioning husband and wife to say nothing to anyone—not even to their confederates who were also loyal to the Wills. There was nothing he feared more than word getting back to the Prince of Innes that Carl A'denne was alive on the Isle of Battle. How would Lady Languile feel to know that the cursed traitor of the invasion was sleeping beneath her eaves, and she was hiding him from the very man who would take his life—the Duke of Vast.

From outside they could hear the sharp sound of Thon's spoke-shave as he fashioned a wheel. The man worked tirelessly and with-out complaint. Carl was beginning to think he felt some joy in his occupation.

"What will we do when I am well enough to travel?" Jamm whispered. Carl had pulled the straight-backed chair close to Jamm's bed. A warm breeze hissed in the leaves outside, and sun-light dappled the floor and wall.

"I don't know," Carl answered quietly. "We'll have to slip away and hope that nothing comes of it. After all, who are they going to go to? The Renne? They are supporters of the Wills. I worry a lit-tle about their confederates—whomever they might be.""Let us hope that they will simply be mystified when they find us gone. The trouble will be getting away from Lady Languile. She is never far afield, it seems.""True. We might have to go out by night, though how we will get down that rickety old stairway, I don't know.""We'll go out the window," Jamm said. "Leave it to me. In a few days. I'm almost well enough to travel. We owe these people that. I'm sure I would've perished without—"The sounds of a horse cut off Jamm's speech. Carl jumped up and, standing well back from the window,looked out. Through the leaves he could see a wagon driven by two men entering the quad-rangle made up of Thon's house and outbuildings.

"Who is it?"

"Two men in a wagon. Local people I would guess."Thon put down his tools and strode out to greet the visitors, shaking hands with each in turn.

Carl went closer to the window, hoping to hear what was said. The whispering of the wind in the leaves made it hard to distin-guish the men's words.

"They've been hereabout, Thon," one of the men said, "looking into people's houses, offering a reward. A considerable reward. Someone'll get wind of them here and turn them in, sure.""I don't let them outside the house by day, Hain.""Someone'll see them in a window, then. Or the Duke's men will come upon you unexpected and find them in your house. Then it will be you and them going headless.""I'll take any risk to rid this island of the Renne.""You're a brave man, Thon. None of us doubt that. But still, they're at risk here, and so are you. We can move them, one stage at a time. It's all arranged. Day after tomorrow we'll have them in a boat on the river and upstream to the eastern shore. That's safest for you and them, and you know it.""I'll have to ask the missus if he's well enough to travel.""Tell her he won't have to take a step. It's all arranged. If you give us some hay to cover them with, they'll be safe as houses. Here, give me a hand to unload this oak. It's got a few knots you'll have to cut around, but the grain is tight as any you'll see."Carl looked over at Jamm. "Shall we go out the back window and run for it?"Jamm shook his head. "I'm not well enough to travel on foot— not yet." Despair appeared in his eyes. "You could, though.""I'm not leaving you behind.""You're a fool, Carl A'denne … a loyal fool."When Thon came for them, Jamm could not descend the stair unaided. His fever was gone, and the rasping in his lungs greatly diminished, but he was not well.

"He's not ready for this journey," Thon's wife argued. "He needs more time to recover.""We can't afford to keep him here any longer. Hain's right. 'Tis only a matter of time until they're found here."Against the healer's protests Jamm was lifted onto a bed of hay in the back of the cart. Carl took his place beside him, and the two of them were covered in hay, the dried grasses rustling and settling over them. A golden light filtered down through the hay, and Carl could almost make out Jamm through the crumpled stems. The cart set off, jouncing down the lane to the road, the hay moving and swishing around them as it settled. The sun beat down on the cov-ering of hay and soon had Carl sweating, the heat almost unbear-able. When they passed beneath the shade of a long row of trees Carl heaved a sigh.