The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (4 page)

The draw narrowed around them, gray-brown ramparts of stone jutting up to either side. The path was no longer straight, but &^&S>curved and turned back and forth, as though cut by a meandering river. Horses and men bobbed up the path, the sound of shod hooves echoing off the walls.

Alaan stopped, and called down, "Tarn? Cynddl? Can you stop them at the bottom of the narrows for a time?" He took two deep breaths. "Hold them back as best you can, but try to keep yourself out of sight, so they don't know if you're there or not. The moment they think you're gone, they'll rush up the slope.""Go on," Tarn called. "Leave these men to us."Tarn and Cynddl hid themselves as best they could at the bot-tom of the narrow section, stepping out every minute or so to loose an arrow at the figures below. Tarn could see them running between boulders, hiding themselves for a moment, then dashing to the next place of safety. There was little chance that they would be hit at this distance, but Tam and Cynddl were excellent archers and kept their pursuers fearful, for they never missed by much.

Cynddl leaned out from behind the stone wall, gazing down the draw. His whole manner was catlike, Tarn thought, poised to pounce or run. The story finder dressed as he had when they trav-eled down the river—in Fael clothing, though the colors were mute—greens and browns.

He stepped out into the opening, sent an arrow hissing down the draw, then jumped back behind the wall of stone.

"How long do you think we should stay here?" Tarn wondered.

Cynddl glanced up the narrow path between towering stone walls. "I don't know. How long would it take them to reach the crest?"Tarn shrugged. He sent an arrow down the draw, narrowly missing a man who dived behind a pile of stone. "We've almost reached a juncture here. If these men get any closer, we'll start hit-ting them." Tarn glanced up the cleft behind. "They'll almost cer-tainly try to rush us, or we'll pick them off one at a time.""Yes, that makes sense," Cynddl said. "Once they've worked their way up to that little stand of pines, we should turn and run."Tarn was surprised at how patient they were, considering that the men making their way up the draw certainly meant to kill them. When they left the Vale he would never have expected that, in a short while, he would be so composed under attack. But since leav-ing the Vale his life had been in danger more times than he cared to count. Passing through the crucible had changed him.

Crows, perched on narrow ledges above, began to caw and flut-ter their wings.

Fynnol appeared, running. "Come up now, as quick as you can." He didn't await an answer, but turned and dashed back up the way he'd come.

"Your cousin had a sword in hand," Cynddl observed.

Tam nodded. Both he and the story finder stepped out into the opening and fired at men leaping behind rocks and bushes. With-out a word, they turned and sped up the draw. The slope was steep, and they were soon gasping for breath, forcing themselves to go on. The walls of the cut snaked up, then suddenly opened. Tam glanced up and saw the others not far off, the crest hovering just above them. They appeared to be waiting, though their attention was focused upward, and all bore arms.

When Tam finally caught up with the others they barely glanced his way, keeping their gazes on the crest. A massive man stood there, as large as Orlem, an enormous bow in his hands. Another, just as large, walked up beside him, bearing a staff that looked like it had once been the trunk of a substantial tree. The two near giants stared down on the smaller men below, their faces set and hard.

"My eyes are playing tricks?"Tam said, barely able to gather his breath.

"No, they're the Dubrell: Orlem's people," Alaan said softly.

"There are more like Slighthand?""There is only one Slighthand, but this is the race from which he sprang.""What do they want?" Cynddl asked. "We're about to have Hafydd's spies on our backs.""Yes, we're caught between the hammer and the anvil. The Dubrell want us to go back, but we cannot. I'd hoped to cross their lands before they became aware of us. They don't look kindly on outsiders.""That isn't particularly comforting," Fynnol whispered, rock-ing from one foot to the other, an arrow drawn and ready to shoot. "If we stay here, we're going to be fighting a company with more than double our number. Can you not speak with these giants?""They don't speak with outsiders. They just drive them off."Fynnol kept glancing nervously down the draw. Around them a small army of agitated crows cawed, their dark eyes glittering in the dull light.

The giants above wore roughly woven cloaks of gray, and leg-gings bound with leather thongs. Their hair and beards were earthy brown and long, faces turned to leather by wind and sun. There was so little expression in those faces that Tarn thought they looked like statues.

Crowheart pointed to the left. "Can we move the horses there, behind those rocks? Archers will kill them all in a moment if we don't do something to protect them."Alaan continued to stare at the giants above. "Move them slowly. Don't meet the eyes of the men above and do nothing they might take as threatening.""If we can get into the cover of some rocks here," Tarn said, "we might drive Hafydd's guards back. We have the advantage of our position.""Which was my plan," Alaan said, "before the Dubrell ap-peared. If only we'd brought Orlem…"The crows began a raucous chorus, bouncing up and down where they perched on rocks and stunted trees. At the narrowing of the draw, the birds on ledges bent down and scolded something below.

"They're coming," Alaan said. "Everyone turn around slowly."The traveler nocked an arrow as he faced the men appearing down the rise.

Alaan let fly at the first men erupting from the fissure in the stone. He missed by a handbreadth, his arrow shattering on the stone. The men dropped down but still came on. Some of them bore round shields, and the others collected behind them. The angle of the ground made the shields doubly effective, for they hid more of the man than they would on level ground. Tarn and the others poured arrows down the draw, but these were less effective than they should have been. If they could have used their horses, they would soon have been away, but the giants at their backs held them fast.

"There are only two of the big men," Fynnol whispered to Alaan. "Perhaps we should rush them?""No, they have allies you've not yet seen.""Then we're about to engage Hafydd's men at close quarters," Cynddl said, "and there are still ten of them and only five of us."Crows began to fall on the men, battering them with their wings, stabbing at their eyes with sharp beaks. The company fal-tered but did not stop.

Tarn cast his bow aside and drew his blade. Here was a fight he did not relish, even more so as their backs were vulnerable to these hostile giants.

Something gray hurtled past Tarn, followed by another. He was knocked aside, and when he scrambled up, a pack of wolves was swarming over the men coming up the draw. The men fell back, trying to defend themselves with swords and shields. But there were twenty wolves, large and fearless, snapping and snarling as they dove at the men from all directions, even as the crows fell on them out of the sky. The wolves clamped onto limbs with their great fangs and refused to be dislodged.

"Don't fire any arrows!" Alaan warned, as Fynnol raised his bow. "These wolves belong to the Dubrell."Crowheart and Cynddl went to the suddenly skittish horses.

They might never have seen wolves before, but they knew a threat when they met one. Tarn saw that Crowheart quickly calmed them. They almost seemed to gather behind him, as though he were their protector.

Hafydd's men were as disciplined as Tam expected. They didn't break and run, but formed a tight circle, back-to-back, and made their way down the draw, fending off the marauding wolves as best they could. The men were much bitten and torn by the time they reached the bottom of the draw, and though they bared their teeth and shouted at the wolves, Tam could see how fright-ened they were.

The sound of the wolves snarling and howling echoed up the narrow draw, then silence. The wolves reappeared, padding back toward Tam and the others, their heads held low. They eyed the strangers and growled, baring bloody fangs. Some were wounded or bloodied from their battle, and Tam thought he had seldom seen a sight so frightening. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He lifted his sword.

"Offer no harm to these animals unless they attack," Alaan cau-tioned. "They're all but sacred to the Dubrell; as valued than their own children."But Alaan's hope that they would not be forced to fight was clearly vain. The wolves came directly toward them, their eyes un-wavering and filled with malice. Their growling and snarling grew louder as they drew near.

When only a few paces off, Crowheart walked out, putting him-self between the wolves and his companions. His sword was back in its sheath, and his posture indicated a man at ease—not one who feared he might be torn apart in a moment. Softly he spoke to the pack, and the wolves raised their heads, perking up their ears as though they'd met a friend. They circled about the outlandish fig-ure, sniffing him, then licking his hands. All the while he kept speaking to them in a soft warm voice, the words too quiet for Tam to make out.

Slowly Tam turned his head to find the giants above him con-

versing in whispers. One of them called out, and the wolves reluc-tantly tore themselves away from Crowheart. They loped up to their masters, where they circled about, wagging their gray tails like dogs.

Rabal's crow army washed out of the cleft in the rocks, rising up like a blot on the clouds. A few of the black birds detached them-selves from the vanguard and flew to Crowheart, landing on his shoulder and outstretched wrist. There they cawed defiantly and preened themselves with nervous movements.

Tarn tried to calm his breathing. The wolves, with their bloody muzzles, suddenly seemed like pets, when a moment before they'd been tearing into the flesh of armed men. Several of the wolves were wounded and limping. The giants crouched down and exam-ined the hurts, their faces grave and filled with concern. One of the giants stood and performed a head count. He set off down the draw, Tarn and the others making way for him.

He stalked down the slope, his great arms swinging like tree branches in a gale. In a moment he was crouched over something on the ground. He bore up a bundle of gray fur, carrying the wounded animal up the draw.

He passed the strangers without even a glance. The wolf he bore was panting too quickly, and bleeding from a wound in its side.

The giant turned at the top of the draw, where all the wolves gathered around him. He looked back at Alaan and his compan-ions, his manner angry and grief-filled and fierce.

"Go back," he said in a strange accent. "You cannot pass through these lands. Go back while you still live.""I can heal their animal," Crowheart whispered to Alaan.

Alaan stepped forward, his manner respectful but not cowed. "We have not come here to bring you trouble," Alaan said. "And we are deeply sorry for any that we have brought. But Crowheart can heal your wolf, for he has this gift, given to him long ago by a sorcerer."Rabal glanced at Alaan as though he were about to protest, but he kept his peace.

￡%^ The grieving giant laid his wounded animal upon the sparse brown grass and spoke with his companion, their voices so deep they seemed to rumble up from some tunnel into the earth.

"Who are you?" one of the giants asked, his voice drum deep.

He addressed Crowheart, but it was Alaan who answered. "He is a healer," Alaan said. "Rabal Crowheart is his name."The larger of the Dubrell crouched, stroking his dying wolf. He peered at Alaan a moment.

"We know you," the giant said, long, deep vowels tumbling slowly out of a cavernous chest. "The whist is your servant.""Jac is no man's servant, but he follows me all the same.""He is a bird of ill omen and not welcome here." The giant glanced over at Crowheart, whose minions still preened themselves upon his outstretched arm. "But if the crow keeper can heal Arddu, we will be in your debt." He turned and spoke with his companion in what, Tam realized, was not so much a different language as an almost impenetrable accent.

"Bring your horses," the giant said. "It is not far."The giant took up the wounded beast and led the way down the mountain. Only one carried a sword—a blade as great as Orlem's— the other wore a long knife on his belt. Tam guessed that men this large did not worry much about enemies.

The Dubrell set a pace that the men found difficult to follow, and they were soon back in the saddle, pressing their horses on, for the great stride of the giants ate up the furlongs. Presently they were down among the trees again, the forest growing more dense.

"Look," Cynddl said, his eyes turned up to the trees that tow-ered overhead, their boles a dozen feet broad. "These are spruce— but unlike any I have seen before. Giant spruce!" And then he stopped as a vista opened up before him: a broad valley, hazy and green, at its center a turquoise lake. The story finder pointed. "It is the forest cloud: the alollynda tree!"Above the fabric of green, stood the round crowns of several trees that seemed to float over the surrounding forest. They were spring-green against the dark color of the conifers.

"There must be twenty of them!" Cynddl said. "There can't be a stand so large in all the land between the mountains."Tarn did not quite understand the status of the alollynda among the Fael. Certainly it was not a sacred tree, as the silveroak had once been to men, but the wanderers prized it above all others. Its wood was coveted for faellutes and other musical instruments. Even the smallest, most simple object made of alollynda was ac-corded the highest value among the Fael. Aliel had told Tarn that when an alollynda was cut down wandering companies of Fael would gather and spend days preparing for the event. Three alol-lynda saplings would be planted according to ancient teachings, though fewer and fewer of these had survived over the years. No one knew why. The alollynda had all but disappeared from the land between the mountains, only a few still standing in the most remote places, or on slopes where they could never be felled without being dashed to splinters.