The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (36 page)

"Ah, Sister" he said. "You disappoint me. Sainth put up almost as good a fight… before I cut him down" He raised his blade, a faint smile appearing.

Elise stumbled forward, barely able to raise her sword two-handed. She felt the memories inside her, body memories of bat-tles and individual combat. Many lifetimes of warfare. A deep breath and she opened the gate, letting the memories surge to the surface of her consciousness. Without Sianon, Elise Wills would not survive this day. A rage came over her, a bloodlust. She felt her grip tighten on the hilt of her sword, though she had not willed it. The rage was beyond her understanding, like a poison coursing through her veins, like acid. It focused her mind as though she saw the world through the keyhole of this hatred. Everything else was cast aside. There was only the battle. The chance for revenge.

The rage was molten in her veins, the world reduced to her brother, standing over her with a sword. But he savored the moment too long. She drove the broken point of her blade into the stone, shivering the rock. There was a cistern below them, unknown to Caibre. It exploded like dust ignited in a granary. Caibre stumbled, his stroke falling wide. The tower lurched and crumbled, tumbling into ruin, bringing down the cur-tain wall below. Sianon fell among the battering stones. Darkness…And then the ripple of water.

Tam circled to the right of the wall of fire, trying to see through the flames and smoke, all the while glancing over his shoulder where riders would appear, and disappear, horses running wild. A dark silhouette materialized out of the smoke—a black-robed guard. Without hesitation, Tam went at him with all the fury he could muster—there was no place for half measures in battle. The fight was brutal and surprisingly short, the guard going down after Tam slashed his knee, then put his blade through a gap in the guard's mail and into his throat. He went back to circling the fire, trying to see what happened beyond. Shadows and dark shapes would ap-pear faintly in the flame—apparitions, Tam thought, only clouds of billowing dark smoke.

He kept hoping beyond hope that there would be a gap in the flames that would let him through.

Hafydd loomed out of the murk, standing over someone prostrate on the ground. The knight lifted his sword high, and Elise stepped forward and drove the point of her blade into Hafydd's shoulder, rending the iron rings. Hafydd stumbled, half-falling over Alaan.

Elise jerked her blade free, then just barely dodged a blow, as Hafydd spun and slashed at her face.

Alaan rolled to his feet, shaking his head. Without a word, Alaan began to circle away to Hafydd's left, Elise to his right, staying as far apart as possible.

"You've stopped taunting, Brother," Alaan said. "Can you not catch your breath?" He feinted toward Hafydd's head, and Elise cut toward his leg. But Hafydd was equal to it, dodging aside, al-most catching Elise with the tip of his flaming sword.

Hafydd stamped his foot, and a column of flame jetted up from the ground, blinding Elise. She leapt back and to one side as Hafydd's blade slashed through the air a few inches from her throat.

Dense smoke rolled over the field, blinding Elise for a moment. Hafydd was there… then he was not. She crouched low, sword ready, turning this way and that, expecting the flaming blade to strike out of the smoke. A figure appeared and she stopped her blade before it severed Alaan's arm. He flinched, then realized it was her. They turned back to back, each guarding before them and to their right.

"I don't know how he broke my spell," Elise said, her eyed dart-ing this way and that, trying to peel back the dark haze.

"He was ready for us," Alaan answered. "More prepared than we were for him.""We need to escape the fire ring," Elise said.

"Not with our lives we won't. Either we kill Hafydd, or we die here—"Fire blossomed to her left, rising up to the height of a man. They sidled quickly away.

"Where is he?" Elise whispered. "Why is he waiting?"A shroud of smoke wafted over them, as dark as night. Elise could hear Alaan coughing. They pressed back to back, not want-ing to lose each other, and to her horror, Elise felt desire course through her. She stumbled and scrambled back up, staggering away from Alaan. She drove the feelings down—her own brother! Repelled, she pushed back the rage, the consuming hatred… and then she was alone… Elise Wills, standing on a seething field of battle, stalked by a sorcerer. She did not know which way to turn, what to do.

"Alaan! she called out. "Alaan?"Flame swept out of the darkness, burning into Elise's side. She fell into the smouldering grass, her sword gone, and a smothering pall swept over her.

For an instant the smoke thinned, and Tarn saw Hafydd standing over a figure, who was trying to rise.

And then the smoke en-veloped them again.

"Elise?" he whispered. "Elise!"Tam drew his sword and was about to charge the wall of flame, when something caught his eye. He thought it was a trick of smoke and poor light, but then it appeared again—among the fighting men and riderless horses—a small child walking uncertainly through the madness. He spotted Tam and turned toward him. For a second the smoke washed over the child, and Tam saw a horse-men ride through,swinging down with his sword, but a second later the child emerged, unscathed.

"Llya… ," Tam said. He ran, smoke burning his lungs, and reached the child in a few strides. "Llya!

Where is Baore?" Tam asked.

"He waits by the river." The boy held up something—an arrow laid across his small hands.

"It must go into his eye," he said in his child's voice. "You can-not miss."For a second Tam didn't understand, but then he snatched the arrow, set it in place and drew back his bowstring. He stared into the whirling clouds, his eyes watering from the smoke and fire and heat. Figures appeared—unrecognizable silhouettes. Alaan he thought, and waited. How would he ever put an arrow in a man's eye through this? Even on a clear day with the target standing still such a shot would be nearly impossible. Like shooting a coin at thirty paces.

Hafydd appeared in the smoke, like a shadow, his blade raised. Tam couldn't tell if he faced away or toward him. It can't be done, he thought. Not one time in a thousand. And then he felt a small hand reach up and come to rest on his hip, the touch both fragile and reassuring.

"The river carried you here for a purpose," Llya said.

Tam drew the arrow back a further inch and let it fly at the shadow. The smoke billowed over again,swallowing everything.

Tam lowered his bow. "I missed," he said, the words almost a sob. "There was no shot."The wind backed and buried them in caustic smoke and ash, so that Tam crouched down and tried to protect the child, drawing him near in the burning darkness.

The smoke rolled aside again, and two figures appeared—Elise with her arm over Alaan's shoulder,leaning on him heavily. Her eyes were closed and her face twisted in pain.

Tam went quickly forward and put an arm around her, helping Alaan to bear her up. A dozen steps, and they lowered her into the little creek, where the water ran around her. She nodded her thanks, eyes shut tight and jaw clenched. She held a hand to her side, and Tam realized blood seeped between her fingers.

"Elise!" Tam cried, and crouched in the water, reaching out to pull her hand away.

She leaned her face into the crook of his neck, wet with sweat and tears.

"You must bring your brother," Tam heard Llya say. "Your father vowed long ago that Death would have none of you. I re-member."There was no answer. Tam could see Alaan. He had fallen down by the stream's edge and gasped for breath.

"Sainth…" Llya said, his child's voice urgent.

"Cynddl?" Alaan called. "Fynnol? Can you help me?"Alaan and Fynnol set off, but Tarn remained, holding Elise, her face, bruised and bleeding and slick with tears. Cynddl came and stood guard over them, though he looked near to collapse.

Tarn felt Elise take his hand and press it to her soft breast. "I must go into the river, Tam," she said. "You cannot follow."She kissed him once, then let him go. She slipped beneath the surface, and Tam saw something ghostly in the waters. It fooled the eye with its speed, passed swiftly through the shallows, and was lost to sight.

Cynddl dropped to his knees in the shallows. Reaching out, Tam put a hand on the Fael's shoulder. He tried to speak, but no words would come.

"It's over," Cynddl rasped finally. "Hafydd is dead."Alaan and Fynnol appeared out of the smoke, dragging the black-robed Hafydd. They dumped him unceremoniously into the creek, splashing Tam and Cynddl. The body sank into the shallow water, mouth slack, the shaft of an arrow still protruding from one eye.

"Pull up his mail," Alaan said, bending over the fallen sorcerer and tearing at his clothes. He and Fynnol pulled the armor up under the dead man's armpits and Alaan took his sword and drove it through the body's chest. Even Tam was horrified. With all his weight, Alaan pressed the blade down until it pinned Hafydd to the creek bottom.

"Caibre might go back into the river," Alaan said, dropping down on the bank and wiping a hand over his smoke-stained face. "But Hafydd goes onto the pyre."Hafydd's corpse went rigid suddenly, the back arching. Fynnol scrambled up, snatching a sword off the ground. A milky fluid ap-peared to ooze from the sorcerer's pores. It swirled off down-stream—taking a vaguely human shape—then it too was gone.

Something caught Tarn's eye, and he looked up and started. One of Hafydd's black clad guards sat on a horse, staring down at his former master. When he saw Tarn's reaction he held out a hand, palm out.

"He's dead," Alaan said to the ominous rider. "If you lay down your arms, you will be treated with mercy."The guard continued to stare, his face unreadable, then turned his horse and disappeared into the smoke. The sounds of battle were dying away. A riderless horse thundered out the murk and was gone just as quickly. Men began to limp by, toward the river, and the smoke thinned.

Tam realized that morning had dawned without him noticing. Above the smoke and dust it might even have been a clear day. Alaan asked Tarn's help, and they tumbled the body of Hafydd out onto the shore, limp and ashen. A small pool of water formed around the corpse. Alaan rummaged the body like a thief, but took only a dagger in a sheath.

"He's dead?" Fynnol asked. "Truly dead?""Yes," Alaan said softly. "The nagar has fled into the river. We'll burn the corpse to ash. This time there will be no reprieve."Tam collapsed on the riverbank, feeling a sob well up inside. But he forced himself to breathe and swallowed it down.

A company of riders appeared, all in soiled Renne blue. A double-swan banner fluttered in a new breeze.

"I'm told that Hafydd is dead?" said a large man, as smoke-stained as the rest. He lifted a helm from his head and hung it from his saddle.

Alaan gestured to the corpse. "And who are you, sir?""Fondor Renne," the man said, then nodded to another rider. "My cousin, Lord Kel. If you killed the sorcerer we are deeply in your debt."Alaan shook his head. "The arrow wasn't mine." He glanced over at Tam, then Cynddl. "One of you, I expect?""We all played our part," Tam said. He looked down at the child who had gravitated toward Fynnol and stood leaning against the small Valeman with a familiarity that only children could conjure with their chosen protectors. "Llya found the arrow…" He glanced up at the Renne noblemen and thought that they did not need to know more about the boy who had become the voice of a river.

Men-at-arms began to converge on the place—to see the dead sorcerer. They were battered,exhausted, a look of horror in their eyes. They emerged out of the thinning smoke like spectres, quiet as the dead. A second group of riders appeared. These wore the purple of the House of Innes—a livery Tam could not see without a flash of apprehension.

"Is that Prince Michael?" Fondor said, a little surprised.

"Lord Fondor," the young Prince said. "I'm thankful to see you unharmed." He nodded graciously to Lord Kel, then looked over at the others. "Alaan? You look like you have walked through fire.""And so I have, my Prince," Alaan said. "We have managed to kill Hafydd for you, though it would never have been done without Lady Elise.""And where is she?" the Prince asked quickly.

"She has gone to tend a wound. I don't think you will see her again this day.""But she will recover?""So we hope."Fondor was gazing over at the prince's party. "Samul?""I don't believe this is Renne land," Samul said quickly.

"No," Fondor said softly. "These are the estates of the House of Innes. You have only the Prince to answer to, here.""Samul Renne has permission to travel my lands freely. To set-tle here, if he wishes. Without him and Jamm and Carl and Pwyll, I should never have survived to take back my father's army.""Pwyll!" Alaan said. "Where is he?""He was wounded—burned, in combat with Hafydd.""Where?""In the shade of the trees." Prince Michael pointed.

Alaan scrambled up. "I must see to him." Alaan turned to the others. "I haven't even asked if any of you are hurt?"All were injured in minor ways, but all shook their heads. On such a day a broken arm would be considered good fortune.

Alaan looked from one Valemen to the other. "We owe a great debt to you, Cynddl, and to you northerners. This was not your war, yet you have been in the center of it from the beginning.""It was no one's war," Fynnol said. "It was just the echo of a struggle that began before history. A feud over… what I still don't understand. A child, perhaps. A sorcerer who succumbed to mad-ness. A spell that contained that madness." He shook his head. "Perhaps it is about a swan that did not want to die." He looked up at the story finder. "Maybe you will make sense of it, Cynddl. And put it all into a story.""There isn't one story," Cynddl said. "There are myriad tales to be told, all different and puzzling. It is vain to ask them to make sense. Rath taught me that: just tell the tales. They will speak for themselves."

The day was spent separating the wounded from the fallen. All through the morning boats plied back and forth over the river carrying the wounded to the healers and returning those who were beyond the healers' skill. A great pyre was built for the dead beside the river, and silent companies of the living carried their fallen brothers there. Orlem Slighthand was not there to be mourned, but his friends made a small ceremony by the river, and Cynddl told a story of Slighthand and his home in the hid-den lands. The massive sword, rescued by Elise, was claimed by A'brgail as a relic of his order, for it was Slighthand and Kilydd who had secretly formed the Knights of the Vow so many years before.

"Elise should have been here," Fynnol said to Tarn. "It was Elise he loved and followed, even more than Alaan.""It was Sianon he loved," Tarn said, "and she's gone."A cloud of sooty terns wheeled and dived into the river, bobbing up and taking once more to the air to call mournfully. The sun was over the other shore now, its light glittering on the dancing river.

Boats passed back and forth with news and families looking for their loved ones. The pyre was soaked in oil and lit, the smoke streaming straight up for some hundred feet, then drifting south on a high wind.

Tam thought he should feel lucky to be alive, but he felt noth-ing at all. Sounds seemed to echo hollowly from some distant place, and even his thoughts seemed not quite his own, surfacing ran-domly and often going nowhere. He and his companions walked up the bank a little, where they stripped off their smoky clothes and dived into the river. Tam floated there, on his back, cradled by the cool water, the summer sun caressing his face.

"Is it over?" Fynnol asked after an age of silence. "I mean re-ally over?" The little Valeman floated a few feet away, his eyes closed.

"Caibre has returned to the river," Cynddl said, "and Alaan took an ancient dagger from Hafydd's body—a smeagh, I would guess—then burned the corpse. The Wills and the Renne have met in battle and the usurper, Menwyn, is dead." He paused. "And a child returned from the shadow kingdom—returned as no one ever has before. If Alaan can repair the spell, then I think we can say it is over … at least over for our lifetimes."They drifted like that for a time, listening to their own quiet breathing and the distant crying of the terns. Alaan appeared on the bank and called to them, and they swam reluctantly ashore.

"How fares Pwyll?" Cynddl asked.

"Well enough. He tried to fight Hafydd on his own." Alaan shook his head. "Of all people he should have known better. He's with the healers, now.""Where are we going?" Fynnol wondered.

"Across the river. I want to go see the Fael. They sent word that Eber is there, and he doesn't yet know that Llya is safe.""And how will you explain what happened? That the child he knows is gone, replaced with a…" Fynnol let the sentence die, and glanced at Alaan, afraid that he had offered offense.

Alaan didn't seem to notice. "I will tell him the truth; Wyrr went back into the waters but his memories remain." Alaan shook his head. "Llya was never born for an ordinary life, poor child. I don't know what will become of him."Tarn pointed to the crowds converging on the far shore. Pavil-ions were being raised. It looked like a fair. "What goes on?""The Renne are gathering—to celebrate a victory, I would guess.""How can any celebrate this?" Fynnol asked, waving a hand to-ward the still burning pyre. "Thousands lost their lives this day— thousands, from all sides. If any won, I don't know who it was.""The survivors won," Alaan said, then reached out and put a hand on the little Valeman's shoulders. "You, Fynnol Lowell." But then the smile disappeared. "But we have all been delivered from Mea'chi and Hafydd. Few will ever know or understand, but the living have cause to celebrate."A large boat was waiting to carry them across the river. The girl, Sianon, and Llya waited there under the eye of a kindly Renne guard. She squinted and blocked the sun with a hand, but Tarn had yet to hear her utter a single word. Perhaps the now-vocal Llya would have to teach her the hand speech.

Prince Michael of Innes, Carl A'denne, and several Renne no-blemen stood by, all still smoke-stained and grim. They didn't look like men who had won a war.

"There is a rumor," Prince Michael said, "that one of the men from the wildlands shot the arrow that brought down Hafydd.""It was Tarn," Fynnol said, making a little mock bow toward his cousin.

Prince Michael did smile then. "The river didn't bring you so far without purpose," he said.

"Why did you venture so far south?" Fondor Renne asked.

"We agreed to take Cynddl a fortnight's journey down the river," Fynnol said, "in exchange for horses, but we got… lost.""Lost on the river?" Fondor said, and he and the other Renne laughed as though Fynnol made a joke. "Prince Michael tells us that you have fought many battles against Hafydd and his guards." He made a little bow to them. "You will always be welcome among the Renne.""And in my home as well," the Prince said. "My estates are quite reduced, but I think I can still make you comfortable."They thanked the noblemen and settled aboard the boat. The watermen set out for the distant shore, angling up the river. A little breeze swept down the channel, and Tam closed his eyes and imag-ined that it carried some scent of home, of the mountains and the hay fields. He wondered what his grandfather would be doing in the late afternoon. Walking out to gauge the growth in the orchard, perhaps, or checking on his prized bees.

He could see the people thronging the bank and hear music being played. Banners and streamers fluttered in the breeze, and costumed men walked like herons on high stilts. There was an at-mosphere of holiday in the air.

"It seems like another world," Baore said, staring. "Like some-place in the hidden lands that knows nothing of our troubles.""There has been pain enough," Llya said softly. "Let there be joy for a while."The men in the boat all shifted in their seats, glancing at the boy. It seemed this new Llya would be as disturbing as the old—though in a different way.

Tam noticed three women walking along the bank, one not twenty years of age. They wore dark gowns and black scarves over their hair—widows. They went so slowly, as though time had changed its pace for them, while behind all was chaos and color. The young woman turned her gaze out over the water and Tam imagined that their eyes met, hers soft with tears.

He remembered the man-at-arms they'd found floating in the river with Tarn's arrow in his chest. It seemed like so long ago, and so distant. Did his widow bear her grief with such dignity? Tam thought of all the men he had killed—so many he'd lost all count. He'd fired hundreds of arrows at distant faces, never knowing if they brought a man down or missed their marks. He remembered the final river, an ink-gray artery running through the twilight. How many men had he sent into the darkness, and how long would they haunt his dreams?

He shook his head and looked away, realizing that he would have to brave his dreams because he was desperate for sleep. The Fael encampment was subdued. They were making preparations to have their archers return, for a company had crossed the river with Fondor Renne. Hardly enough to turn the tide of a battle, but welcomed all the same. The Fael had given up their long held neutrality in the wars of men, and Tam wasn't sure that was a good thing.

As they were in the company of Cynddl, they weren't required to explain themselves or what they wanted, and Nann, the elder, strode quickly down to greet them. Tam still thought her the most un-Fael-like woman he had ever seen: practical and sober where the others were exotic and filled with mirth and mischief.

"Send word to Eber," Nann said to a man standing nearby. "Tell him his son is safe." She crouched before she greeted anyone and gazed a moment at the two small children.

"And who are you, child?" she said to the girl.

"This is Sianon," Llya said softly, causing Nann's eyes to grow wide. "She came out of the dark land and doesn't speak.""And you do, I see," Nann said, glancing up at Alaan.

"It's a long story," he said in answer.

Nann stood slowly, looking a little unsteady on her feet. "I see there is much to tell. Come, let us find Eber and remake his broken heart."The Fael did not look at them as they once had—like intrud-ers—but smiled and nodded to the strangers as they passed. There was palpable relief that Cynddl had survived. They did not want to lose their most gifted story finder and heir of Rath. A young woman brought him a bouquet of white flowers, which Cynddl re-ceived graciously.

"White flowers," Fynnol said. "Does white signify love or per-haps that you owe that young lady money?"Cynddl smiled, his ancient face showing its true youth. "Red signifies love, but we would never give red flowers after a battle where much blood was shed. White flowers are often given to a story finder because they signify high purpose and contemplation.""They will bring you wild roses, Fynnol,"Tam said, "signifying no purpose and thoughtlessness.""Would you leave the wit to me, Cousin?" Fynnol said. "I have kindly left the heroics to you and try never to walk on your turf.""Is that what you do in the north?" Alaan asked, his mood lift-ing. "Neatly divide your areas of endeavor?""Yes, Baore gets feats of silent strength and loyalty; Cynddl 'high purpose and contemplation,' as you've heard; wit and the ad-miration of women are my province; and Tarn, obviously, gets hero-ics, like the slaying of sorcerers and such.""Who does the common work?" Nann asked, "like hunting and cooking and gathering firewood?""Cynddl!" the Valemen all said at once, and laughed.

"And after he's cooked supper, and cleaned all the dishes," Fyn-nol said, "if we're satisfied with his efforts, we let him tell a story."Eber appeared from behind a tent, striding toward them as fast as his ancient legs would go. Tears immediately appeared, and Llya sprinted forward and threw his arms around his father's neck. For a long moment they remained motionless, Eber crouching with his arms wrapped around the small boy, his eyes tightly closed, tears glittering in his beard like frost on snow.

"I thought I'd lost you," Eber said at last, his voice breaking a little.

"No, Father," Llya said, his face still buried in his father's beard. "I knew just where I was."Eber's eyes sprang open. Unwrapping his sons arms from around his neck, he gazed into the boy's serious face.

"Llya," he whispered, "you spoke…"The boy nodded. "The whisperer in the river did it.""He gave you your voice… ?"Alaan crouched down so that he was on the same height as Eber and his son. "Llya made a bargain with Wyrr—a temporary bargain. Wyrr went back into the river, but he left Llya with a voice."Eber could not hide his horror. He gripped his son by the shoulders and gazed into his eyes. "He's gone?"he said to the child. "The whisperer is gone?"Llya nodded. "Yes, but he left his stories in my head."Eber looked confused.

"Memories, I think he means," Alaan said, his voice full of concern.

"But he is only a child," Eber said. "The memories of a sorcerer were never meant for him!""No, they weren't, but I think they'll fade in time." Alaan's gaze came to rest upon Llya. "I'm sure they are a jumble to him, with-out meaning. From my own experience I know that imposing order on them is not easily done. I think a child will just forget them."Eber clasped his son close. "Why did this have to happen to you?""We had to trick the soul eater and get the jewel back," Llya said, as though explaining something to another child. "Alaan had his part, and Elise hers, and I had mine. And then I made a special arrow by putting it in the river, and Tarn used it to kill Hafydd, who is also called Caibre, and that is how we won the war."Tarn laughed at this outpouring, unable to stop himself. "It is as good an explanation as you will find, until Cynddl turns his hand to it, I suppose. But even his story will not have more charm.""You all look fatigued beyond measure," Nann said.

"I think we're more hungry than tired," Cynddl said. He looked down at the girl child. "And this child must eat and drink, and find her voice."She still squinted at the light and looked more than a little ap-prehensive. Tarn wondered what the girl was thinking. Did she re-member anything from all the long years she had spent inside Death's kingdom? Could she tell them, at last, what lay beyond the gate?

/ will go into the river, Tarn thought. He'd learned that much on this journey. There would be no dark gate for him; his story would be added to the river's.

A high, squeaking sound pierced the air, and Kai appeared, wheeled by the silent Ufrra, a boy walking at his side. Unlike the others who had traveled to the Isle of Waiting, this trio looked un-harmed, almost refreshed.

"Kilydd!" Alaan exclaimed. "It must have been you who brought everyone home.""It was I.We were hiding on the bank and saw Toren Renne and Eber, and all those you left behind. We loaded them all into our boat, and I still don't understand how, but we returned here more quickly than I would have thought possible.""The river has many branches, my friend, and no two the same.""So it is said."The two men joined hands, their eyes meeting for a moment.

Tarn couldn't imagine what they were thinking, these two an-cient men, their memories stretching back into another age of the world. What journeys these two had shared!

"And where is Slighthand?" Kai asked suddenly, looking around.

"Gone," Alaan said softly. "Into the river at last."Kai touched the fingers of one hand to his forehead. "I tore him from his quiet life to go seeking you in the Stillwater. It was my doing.""Orlem was a warrior, Kilydd. He chose this cause. And who better than Slighthand knew the dangers?

He had served Caibre and Sianon, then was the companion of Sainth's travels for many years.""Yes, he understood the dangers…" Kai's voice trailed off. "But he has gone into danger so many times and returned un-harmed.""Even Slighthand's luck had to run out," Alaan said. "Don't blame yourself. Certainly Orlem wouldn't blame you, Kilydd, I'm sure of that."The man in the barrow looked up at Alaan. "I am Kilydd no more. Kai, they call me in this age. No one remains who saw the armies of Sianon and Caibre and lived through all the years of this age while the children of Wyrr slept in the river. I am alone.""And for this you should be honored. If I have my way you will be an outcast no more, Kai."Three riders in Renne blue came into the camp, accompanied by Fael guards. They were led to Alaan,where they dismounted and bowed.