“Yes,” Snudge said through his teeth. “Why do you ask?”
Odall didn’t answer. He went into the croft, and after a few minutes came out with the saddle and harness that had belonged to the missing thief. The things should have been too heavy for one of his slight build to carry, but he flung pad and saddle onto the back of the mule as though they were weightless, expertly tightened the cinch, and shortened the stirrup leathers. “How splendid that I can go home in style! I’ve had a long foot-slog.”
When the mount was ready he picked up the ancient book, and as Snudge watched in fascinated horror, he tore off the cover with its moonstone disk and set it carefully on the rock Snudge had selected earlier as an anvil for his hammer. Then he opened one of the sigil sacks and took out a small oblong moonstone.
“See this? It’s name is Subtle Gateway, and it’s one of the Great Stones. Hold it tight, close your eyes, and say EMCHAY MO. Then tell it where you want to go. It will carry you anywhere in the world. If you should desire to take up to ten other persons with you, or three horses, or a boat up to four ells long, or a heap of goods equivalent to the weight of three horses, say EMCHAY ASINN. Clear enough?”
“No, it’s not, damn your eyes!” Snudge strove without success to overcome the paralysis. His feet seemed rooted to the ground. “I don’t want to use a Great Stone that’ll put me in deep thrall to the Lights!”
“Well, that’s as may be, and you do have a point. But the Source thinks you’ll need Subtle Gateway in order to carry out your bounden duty, so you’re obliged to take it. With luck, you may only have to use it a few times and the pain-debt will be not too onerous. When your duty’s fulfilled, we’ll show you how to drain the stone’s life, then get rid of it for you.”
“It should be destroyed now, and so should the rest of Darasilo’s Trove!
For God’s sake, Odall, why are you preventing me from ridding the world of these terrible things?“
“Easy, lad. Have no fear. These bags of sigils and the coverless book I’m taking will be destroyed, all right. But not just smashed to bits, as you planned to do. They’ll be disposed of in a manner that serves the Source and hastens the downfall of the evil Lights.”
Odall placed the sigil named Subtle Gateway on the book cover and vaulted onto the back of the mule. “Don’t forget now: EMCHAY MO and EMCHAY ASINN are the words that conjure its power. The words of activation are the same as those you used for Concealer. And be very sure to name yourself Snudge to the Light, rather than Deveron Austrey, just as you did before. As Ansel told you, Snudge is your name, and yet it’s not. And so you’re not as beholden to the Lights when using their sigils as are certain other persons I could mention.”
“But you haven’t explained—”
The Green Man nicked the reins and turned the mule in the direction that Mattis and the warrior troop had taken. Speaking over his shoulder, he said, “See that you move along to Tarn as soon as possible. Your duty lies there.” Odall and the mule vanished into thin air, and Snudge’s body came back under his control.
“Wait! Who is this Source? What’s he up to? How did he know how to find the sigils? They can’t be scried!”
True. But since sigils are a channel to the power of the Great Lights, the Lights may decide who shall oversee them. These were known about from long ages past, but were inaccessible until the two thieves removed them from Cola Palace. And of course we had to keep them safe from the Conjure-Queen as well.
The soft voice seemed to emanate from no particular direction, and was weighted with a profound sadness.
Snudge eyed Subtle Gateway and the torn book cover with loathing. “Curse you, Odall!” he shouted at the unseen speaker. “I’ll be no one’s cat’s-paw!”
Someone laughed, a melancholy sound. If you believe that, then see that you fulfil your duty to King Conrig—not blindly and without question, but only as best you can.
“I wasn’t talking about the king.” Snudge looked about in bewilderment.
When you’ve finished activating the Gateway, crush the moonstone medallion and the book cover. Tell Lord Stergos—no one else—what happened here today. He, not you, is the proper one to pass on news of the trove’s destruction to his brother Conrig.
Snudge felt his anger fade, leaving a mounting fear. “You’re not the Green Man. Who are you?”
I am the One Denied the Sky, the lowliest of the Likeminded, but despite that, designated to lead the New Conflict. Someday I hope I may tell you my tale. But that cannot happen until there is an ending.
“An… ending?”
Bespeak your young friend, Vra-Mattis. Have him inform the warriors that he has lost the trail of Scarth Saltbeck. They must all return to Elktor with you now.
“Do you intend to let Scarth escape? What happened to the other thief, Felmar, and the second book?”
Both wretched men had roles in the New Conflict. Felmar is dead and Scarth will not live much longer. You may also tell this to Lord Stergos. The second book need not concern you. Eventually, it will also be destroyed.
“What about Kilian Blackhorse? Is he also a participant in your Conflict?”
Yes. And so is Beynor ash Linndal of Moss, who has returned to this island to commit heinous sins. But ask me no more questions. Do the things I’ve requested of you, Snudge. You must, if it’s all to come right in the end. Otherwise the Pain-Eaters will triumph. Farewell.
He took off his gauntlet and pressed the carving of the tiny door to the disk with his bare hand. As before, the irascible inhuman voice boomed on the wind, asking what he wanted.
CAD AY’ANRUDAY?
“GO TUGA LUVKRO AN AY COMASH DOM.” May the Cold Light grant me power.
The pain was tentative as the terrible being asked who he was. KO AN SO?
He told the truth that was not the truth, praying that Ansel and the Source were right. “SNUDGE.”
An icy spear plunged into his breast, but stopped short of his heart. He endured, suffered, waited while the Great Light pondered his request to share power and pay the price. They were fickle beings, fond of deadly jests, as likely to slay a supplicant as to bestow their awful gifts. But once again, Snudge was one of the fortunate.
THASHINAH GAV. We accept.
“MO TENGALAH SHERUV.” Thank you.
He was struck down then, as before, only to come to his senses later with the memory of horror causing hot tears to pour from his eyes. The agony had been much more severe than that he experienced during the activation of Concealer. Giving thanks for his survival, he lay there until his face dried and the sound of hoof beats vibrating in the ground under his ear warned him that the others were returning.
He sat up. It was bright dawn, with the dark clouds all fled to the east. The small oblong carving glowed faintly green when he opened his clenched fist. The sigil was perforated, like Concealer, and fit easily on the same golden neckchain. He tucked the two stones away, feeling them warm and alive against the flesh of his chest. Then he got to his feet, took up the sledgehammer, and smote the book cover and its moonstone disk again and again, until they were so pulverized that no man could ever tell what they had been.
When Garon deemed the evening light too faint for safe travel, he called for the men behind him to halt. It was perhaps two hours until midnight. The clouds, tinctured faintly with crimson and violet, had lifted and the rain was over.
Kilian’s party had attained a flattish triangle of land covered with grass and alpine herbs, several acres in extent, that jutted out over the depths of the gorge like the prow of a rockbound ship. On two sides the dropoff was almost sheer; the third abutted the shoulder of a hulking mountain. Shrubs and a few gnarled pine trees had taken root among the large rocks closest to the path, and a ring of fire-blackened stones revealed that someone had previously used the place as a campsite.
“We’ll stop here,” the young Brother told the alchymist, after he and his pillion rider, Niavar, had dismounted. “Later on, it may get windier than we’d
like, but now that the rain has let up it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable. I grazed sheep in this little meadow betimes. With my dog keeping guard, I never lost one over the precipice, but it won’t be safe for the horses to graze free. We’ll tie them up by the trees and cut grass for them.“
Raldo, who had suffered some bad bumps earlier when his mount wrong-footed and he tumbled off, was appointed cook so he would not have to move about too much. Cleaton took charge of the horses, and Niavar was sent to a nearby cascade with a canvas bucket and leathern bottles for water. Garon and Kilian prowled the flower-dotted open area, cutting grass with their keen-bladed hunting knives and gathering whatever dead plant material might be coaxed into burning.
“If you look beyond this south-facing cliff,” Garon remarked to the alchymist, “you can see part of the way we’ve come. The lake is at the horizon. Double Waterfall is visible if you follow the course of the river back to the great rock cleft. The eroded section of trail where Raldo fell lies beyond that ridge of very dark rock.”
Kilian approached the edge of the precipice and scanned the striking panorama. “We’ve climbed very high today, but not traveled as far from the lake as I hoped. What do you estimate—seven or eight leagues?”
Garon shrugged. “Closer to five as the raven flies, I fear. The two near disasters slowed us considerably. It’s a miracle that Raldo’s bay didn’t slide down into the ravine when he misstepped. We’ll have to poultice the beast’s right front fetlock, but he’ll be fine. I wish I could say the same about Brother Butterball. The man must be a mass of bruises. By tomorrow, he’ll hardly be able to move.”
“It could be a problem,” Kilian said.
“We won’t have an easy time of it crossing into Didion. In some spots, we’ll have to climb on hands and knees, hoping the horses can follow along after us. A disabled man will find the going hard. If the track turns truly foul, we may have to leave our mounts behind altogether.”
“Mmm. Will we be able to find food?”
“I have a shortbow and arrows to take hares and marmot-squirrels. There are also plenty of snow cocks, although their flesh is sometimes unpalatable. Beyond the divide, where the climate is wetter and there are alpine bogs, there’ll be elk and red deer. We won’t starve.”
“What about creatures who would eat us?” The chiseled features of the alchymist wore an expression of academic curiosity.
“The great brown bear is all we have to fear, my lord. Tundra lions don’t live in the eastern Sinistrals, and the lynxes and wildcats are too shy to bother humans.” Garon paused, smiling dismissively. “Some say that small enclaves of Green Men make their homes in the mountains further to the west, and they may be the demons who give Roaring Gorge its fearful reputation. But I’ve never seen a trace of the little devils myself, nor has any member of my clan.”
“Well, I’ll give our route a careful scry as we proceed. And since we have attained an admirable vantage here, I believe I’ll attempt a cautious windsearch right now, seeing what lies ahead of us—and behind as well. The two Brothers coming from Gala to join us may already have set out along the gorge path.”
“I’ll take the grass you’ve cut to the horses,” Garon said. “It’ll be a while before Raldo gets supper ready. After I’ve gathered fuel for the fire, I’ll give him a hand.” He added Kilian’s sheaf to his own and meandered back to the camp.
The alchymist seated himself among a heap of lichen-scabbed rocks at the cliff-edge, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, and sent out the slenderest possible thread of windsight. It swept those portions of the gorge path ahead that were not obstructed by thick rock. The track continued to climb towards the jagged northern skyline. About two leagues beyond the camp was a vast tumble of slabs that they would have to negotiate in the morning. In one part of the rockfall, the way seemed totally impassable, but that might have been an illusion of perspective. Kilian devoutly hoped so.
When he could no longer scry the forward route, he turned his attention to the way they’d come. The sections visible to his mind’s eye were empty of both human and inhuman beings. Finally, he scrutinized the portion of the shepherd’s track they had not traversed, which skirted the lakehead and led to the Mountain Gate of Elktor.
Rain still fell on the city and the region east of it. No search parties were abroad outside the walls, and there was no unusual activity apparent within. The cottages and huts scattered among the nearby hills were shuttered and locked against the short summer night, their domestic animals safe in folds or byres.
Kilian extended his windsight further to the east, along a moorland track where mist obscured the countryside, and in time discovered a dilapidated hovel with a tiny plume of smoke coming from its roof opening. Two sleek mules were tethered outside of it. The stone walls made scrying the interior difficult, but he was able to discern two covered human forms lying asleep on the floor.
He frowned. They had to be benighted travelers, taking refuge from the rain. It was impossible for him to see their faces, but one of the bodies was much larger than the other… Surely they weren’t Felmar and Scarth! Why would they have taken the track leading away from the gorge? No, the sleepers had to be other men. Still, it might be wise to scry them out more closely early tomorrow morning and make sure.
Kilian rose and stretched his aching muscles. It had been several years since he’d ridden, and his legs would have to readjust to the saddle. A pity the waterborne part of their journey to Didion had been so brief! Idly, he scried the grounded cattle transport. It was as they had left it, bound to be discovered sooner or later, but with nothing left aboard that could point conclusively to them. By the time that the boatmen were missed and their connection to the abandoned vessel established, he and his men would be so deep in the mountains that pursuit would be impossible.
Tomorrow, he’d try to bespeak Felmar and Scarth. He’d have to make a stab at contacting Beynor, too, unless the young Mosslander invaded his dreams tonight. The ambush of Honigalus was scheduled to take place only a few days hence, and Kilian was keen to know how matters were progressing with his co-conspirator and the Salka.
Interesting times lay ahead.
“Supper!” Raldo croaked. The tantalizing scent of grilled sausages wafted through the dusk. Kilian smiled and trudged over the meadow to where the others were gathered around the fire.
He slept well that night, even though the ground was hard and rocky, and his dreams were inconsequential rehashings of his days as a Privy Council member under King Olmigon, uninterrupted by Beynor. When he awoke, he sat up with a start of alarm, not remembering where he was, thinking he’d heard Zeth Abbey’s rising bell. But the only sounds were the snores and wheezes of his companions, quiet movement among the horses, a distant rushing noise from the torrent in the gorge below, and the thin sweet song of some alpine bird. Pink-and-gold beams of dawnlight glorified the east where clouds still lingered. The sky above Roaring Gorge was almost clear and duck-egg green. The crisp, chilly air would likely warm quickly once the sun came up.
Kilian threw off his blanket and rose. Like the others, he’d slept fully dressed. Thinking to perform another windsearch, he crossed the dew-spangled meadow to the southern edge of the projecting precipice. Before attempting the more difficult task of scrying the path, he let his sight range to the moor beyond Elktor. The travelers who’d sheltered in the stone hut had roused his curiosity. The distance between Elktor and Beorbrook Hold over that track was only thirty leagues—less than a day’s journey on horseback. So why had the men spent the night in an abandoned croft, rather than organizing their trip more prudently? Could they be brigands?
To his surprise, he found no mules tethered there. A well-caparisoned knight’s courser had inexplicably taken their place, and stood munching the trampled grass. The hut itself was empty except for a few odds and ends of equipment. Outside its front door, a sledgehammer lay beside a medium-sized rock.
The track was empty for leagues in both directions, so Kilia
n turned his talent to the area between the dwelling and the mountains. Immediately, he scried a troop of more than twoscore mounted men, milling about a small, hooded rider who sat a horse much too large for him. They were knights and men-at-arms, and the central figure wore the robes of a Brother of Zeth. As Kilian watched in consternation, the adept gave a hand signal and the entire troop set out at a fast trot in the direction of the hut.
Great God! Who had they been pursuing over the open moors?
He searched further, among the great rock formations that reared up from the heath closer to the looming bulk of the mountains, but found no one. No one who could be perceived by scrying…
Kilian cut the thread of windsight and stood irresolute at the edge of the cliff. If Felmar and Scarth had been in that hut, and if they’d fled pursuit under the spell of couverture he’d taught them, the hoofprints of their mounts might have been followed by the troop of warriors. And now the hunters had given up the chase, perhaps because they’d lost the trail in increasingly rocky ground.
I could extinguish the Brothers’ cover spell now without putting them in danger, Kilian thought, and confirm that they’ve gone wildly astray, carrying the Trove of Darasilo with them.
But that was a drastic step and one he was loath to perform. He’d have to use a generalized incantation that would lift the spell wherever Felmar and Scarth might be. What if they weren’t on the moorland after all, and stood in a vulnerable position elsewhere? Once he broke the spell, he could not reestablish it; that would have to be done by the two agents themselves. But would they realize what had happened? From within, a cover spell was manifested to its wearer only by the most subtle alteration of one’s surroundings. The Brothers might not realize they’d been exposed until it was too late to save themselves from capture. No, Kilian decided. It wasn’t worth the risk.