Pilgrim

  “Before we left the Silent Woman Woods I said goodbye to Isfrael,” she said, her voice stronger.

  Drago remembered how curt Faraday had been when she’d mentioned her talk with Isfrael as they’d left the Silent Woman Woods.

  “I know,” he said gently.

  Tears threatened again. “I loved that child so much!” Faraday said, and she spread her hands across her belly, as if she could still feel him growing inside of her. “And I loved Axis so much. I did so much for both of them. And yet both of them have preferred to cut me from their lives.

  “Isfrael said…” Her voice broke. “Isfrael said that he wished that just once I’d been there to rock him to sleep as a child.”

  Furious with both Axis and Isfrael for hurting Faraday so much, for continuing to hurt her, Drago wrapped his arms about Faraday and hugged her close.

  “Shhh, Faraday,” he whispered into her hair, gently rocking her. “Shush now.”

  Very slowly and very hesitantly, as if she regretted every movement, he felt Faraday slide her arms about him.

  “I shouldn’t have abandoned him,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have abandoned him.”

  “Shush now, Faraday,” he said again. “Shush.”

  They sat in silence, and gradually Drago rocked Faraday to sleep as if she were a child.

  Drago dreamed.

  But this night it was not the girl who intruded into his subconscious.

  He dreamed he stood outside a great abandoned fortress of ice-covered black stone. Winds and snow buffeted the fortress, and he had to fight to maintain his feet. The great gates hung open on rusted hinges, and Drago struggled inside.

  The courtyard was bare of anything but snow and ice drifts. Drago looked about, shielding his eyes as best he could from the gusts of ice-needled wind.

  Twenty paces away was the door into the Keep, and Drago slipped and slithered his way across the courtyard, hoping the door was not bolted.

  It opened with a painful squeal as he leaned against it, and Drago stumbled inside, grateful to be out of the wind. But it was no warmer inside. Ice crept down stone walls and cascaded in a frozen waterfall down the stairs.

  They were impassable.

  Drago walked slowly into the great hall, then stopped. Here a fire roared in the fireplace. A table was set before it, and on that table lay a dead seal, its blank eyes staring in Drago’s direction.

  There was a rustle of movement in a shadowed space at the rear of the hall, and Drago swung his gaze in that direction.

  A woman emerged from the shadows. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a pale grey robe that clung to her form. Iron-grey hair, streaked with silver, cascaded down her back. On the ring finger of her left hand she wore a circle of stars.

  She had very deep blue eyes, and a red mouth, curved in a welcoming smile.

  “North,” she whispered, and yet the whisper reached Drago easily. “Come north to Gorkenfort, Drago. Listen not to Faraday’s pleadings. I have more need of you than the weeping girl.”

  Her smile widened momentarily, and then she moved gracefully to stand behind the table, her back to the fire.

  She continued to stare at Drago, and then suddenly, horrifically, she snarled, revealing sharp fangs, and she bent to sink them into the spine of the seal.

  Bones crackled, and blood spattered about the table.

  She lifted her head. Her mouth and chin were red.

  “Come north,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

  His mother. His ancestral mother…

  Drago nodded, understanding even though he could put no words to his understanding, and turned and left the dream.

  Terror buffeted the tiny tent, and when dawn broke, hunger tried to poke its skeletal fingers through the openings.

  But the two inside did not notice, nor fear.

  They slept.

  Drago let Faraday sleep until it was full daylight.

  “It’s late!” she cried, springing into instant awareness. She pushed her hair back from her face and hastily twisted it into a long plait down her back.

  “We have not lost long,” Drago said, watching with amused eyes as Faraday leapt to her feet and stuffed their few possessions into their packs.

  “We can eat as we walk,” she said, handing Drago a dried apple and a piece of cheese. “Get moving! I cannot dismantle this tent while you still sit there!”

  Drago did as he was told. He unlaced the top of the tent from his staff, which doubled as a pole, and helped Faraday fold it.

  Then he checked that his pack was properly loaded, swung it onto his back, made certain his sack was securely hung at his belt and picked up his staff. “Ready?”

  “At this rate, it will be full summer by the time we reach Gorkenfort,” Faraday grumbled, swinging into step beside Drago. And we will never reach Star Finger in time.

  Drago heard both spoken and unspoken words, but he did not answer. He stared at the landscape about them. It was still windswept, but here, at the edge of river and the Rhaetian hills, there was more vegetation and dozens of deep burrows where, Drago thought, might huddle those creatures not yet driven insane by the Demons’ touch.

  Every so often, as if to confirm his hopes, he spotted the glint of dark eyes watching him from deep within the shadowed burrows. Sometimes the lizard would investigate the burrows, and he always seemed to emerge grinning.

  Drago and Faraday had seen evidence of the maddened creatures that roamed the plains, but they had not been attacked, nor had they seen the creatures in groups of any more than four or five.

  The lizard emerged from a burrow to Drago’s left, and trotted over to him.

  Drago leaned down and scratched his head, smiling.

  “How will we cross the Nordra?” Faraday asked.

  He turned back to her, watching the northerly wind whip fine strands of chestnut hair about her face and press the material of her dress close to her body.

  “Until we find a boat, or a ford, we shall have to travel north along this bank. I…”

  His voice trailed off.

  “Yes?” Faraday said.

  “I dreamed last night of she who we go to meet at Gorkenfort.”

  Faraday arched an eyebrow, but did not speak, and Drago thought she had never looked so beautiful.

  “Urbeth,” he said. “Urbeth waits impatiently for us at Gorkenfort.”

  “She is your ancestral mother?”

  Drago gave a little shrug. “I understand it as much as you.”

  Faraday dropped her eyes. Urbeth awaited them? She lifted her eyes again and stared directly north towards Star Finger. Then she sighed and bent down to lift her pack.

  “We had better walk,” she said, “for there is a long way to go, and many directions to be taken.”

  The lizard heaved a great sigh and got to his feet.

  They walked through that day, stopping only to eat a brief meal at midday. Their food was getting low, but Drago hoped they’d meet with some Aldeni communities, or find their abandoned homes, who might have stocks of food.

  Faraday privately wondered about Drago’s optimism on that score. With the devastation that had struck at land and lives alike, people were likely to be wary of strangers, and even more wary of sharing what little food they had left.

  They camped that evening still on the east bank of the river. Drago was clearly impatient at the delay in finding a way to cross the Nordra, for the river was now angling back to the east. They spent the evening in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and when it came time to sleep they slept wrapped tight in their individual blankets, and tight in their individual dreams.

  “Why do you continue to deny your birthright?” Faraday said unexpectedly over the dried apple they shared for breakfast.

  Drago took his time in answering. “I am not ready to deny Caelum his birthright,” he said.

  “You are a fool.” Faraday stood up. “Especially since you say that you will let nothing stop you from aiding the land. What
if…”

  She stopped folding her blanket and fixed him with her eye. “What if you can best serve Tencendor as StarSon and not Caelum’s lackey?”

  Drago drew in a sharp, angry breath. “I am not StarSon. That was but a childish dream. I will not stand in Caelum’s way again!”

  “It is your denial that is childish!” Faraday snapped, and turned her back to him.

  They walked in silence that morning.

  An hour before midday Drago halted, his hand shading his eyes. “There’s something ahead,” he said.

  Faraday strained to see, but could see nothing. “What? Is it dangerous?”

  Drago chewed his lip in frustration. “I can’t see it properly. It’s too far away. A pale smudge…but it doesn’t fit into the landscape. It’s not natural.”

  Faraday glanced at the lizard ranging some fifteen paces ahead of them. It showed no fear, or sign of any consternation.

  “Then we must walk,” she said, and shifted her backpack into a more comfortable position. “We cannot let a smudge deter us.”

  Drago could not help a grin at her words, but Faraday, who had walked ahead, did not see it. Within a few minutes she could see the smudge as well, and both she and Drago quickened their stride, trying to get close enough to see.

  When they did make it out, they both slowed slightly in amazement. It was a white horse, sway-backed with age, standing as still as death.

  “Is it crazed?” Faraday asked.

  “It must be,” Drago said. “We’re too far from any shelter for the horse to be anything other.”

  Faraday checked their surrounding. “Perhaps we should give it a wide berth.”

  “Another few paces,” Drago said. “We can see better from there, and we’ll still be a safe distance away.”

  The halted within twenty paces of the horse. It gave no indication that it was aware of their presence, standing with its head drooping almost to the ground, apparently fast asleep.

  “We’d best give him a wide berth,” Faraday said again.

  Drago did not answer immediately, standing staring at the horse.

  “No,” he finally said slowly. “No. I want to have a closer look at him.”

  There was something about that horse…something…

  Faraday looked at him oddly. “Are you certain it’s safe?”

  “No.” Drago gave a sudden grin. “If he tries to bite, will you save me?”

  She shot him a hard glare, and his grin widened slightly.

  “If the horse refuses to wake, then perhaps we can throw him into the Nordra, and use him to float us across.”

  Faraday’s mouth jerked, but she managed to keep her face straight, and waved Drago forward. “Off you go then, if you’re so curious. But I would have thought one old horse was surely much the same as the next.”

  Drago walked forward, and after an instant’s hesitation, Faraday followed him.

  The lizard ranged ahead of Drago, dropping to its belly and slithering towards the horse, almost like a snake.

  The horse stood with his head drooping so close to the ground his nose almost touched the soil. He did not seem aware of the two people or the lizard. The lizard slowed as it neared, then carefully planted its clawed feet on the ground and walked very carefully about the horse.

  “Stop here,” Drago said, his hand catching at Faraday’s arm, his eyes still fixed on the horse.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  Drago eased the pack from his back and put it on the ground, then cautiously approached the horse. How, if the horse was not one of the Demons’ minions, had it managed to survive without shelter? And why, if the horse was crazed, did it not attack? Was this a trap?

  Were the Demons aware that he was still alive, and that he could resist their incursions?

  Doubts raced through Drago’s mind, and though he was wary, something about the horse bothered him, something about the horse tugged at his mind, at his memories.

  Something told him this horse was no foe.

  “Quiet now, old boy,” he said softly as he got to within a pace of the beast. “Quiet now.”

  The horse did not move, perhaps wondering in some deep recess of his mind how he could get any quieter.

  “Quiet now,” Drago repeated, reassuring himself far more than the horse, and reached out a cautious hand to the beast’s neck.

  He patted it lightly.

  The horse did not stir.

  Bolder now, Drago stepped close to him and ran his hand down his neck in bold, reassuring strokes.

  “What a fine old boy,” he said, his tone warm but gentle. “What a handsome old fellow. What are you doing here? Lost? No-one to care for you?”

  The stallion must have been a handsome beast in his prime, Drago thought. He was at least eighteen hands high, and with good bones, although his flesh hung limply enough from them now. His chest was deep and, even ancient as he was, the horse’s legs were clean and straight.

  The horse sighed, and Drago tensed and then relaxed as the horse made no further movement. Beneath him, the lizard was engaged in careful exploration, sniffing about the horse’s fetlocks and hooves. It moved behind the horse, and sniffed at the yellowed tail that hung almost to the ground.

  “No,” Drago said, and fixed the lizard in the eye.

  The lizard blinked, its crest rising rapidly three or four times, then it walked stiff-legged to the other side of the horse and pretended a great interest in a small stone.

  Drago smiled, and turned his head slightly so he could speak to Faraday.

  “Come closer. I do not think there is any danger.”

  “Are you sure?” But Faraday slipped her pack off and walked closer.

  “I think this horse is so ancient,” Drago said, “that his mind has wandered. He’s as senile as a wine-soaked octogenarian.”

  Faraday had to think a moment before she understood. “Ah. The Demons’ influence has just slid off his mind like sunshine off a mirror.”

  “Yes. I had wondered if he somehow shared our strange immunity…but maybe it is just his senility that has protected him.” Drago had moved down the hose’s side, running his hand down his ridged back, and then down his flank. “But there’s something about this horse…something…”

  His hand drifted lower down the horse’s near hind leg, and Drago squatted to inspect it more closely.

  “I am sure that I’ve seen this…Oh Stars! Faraday!”

  Stunned by what she thought was utter panic in Drago’s voice, Faraday grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.

  Drago toppled over in the dirt, but his eyes remained on the horse’s hind leg…on the faint scar that ran down the horse’s hock.

  His father, Axis, shouting at the stable boy who had so startled the stallion that he’d kicked down his stable door, cutting his near hind badly.

  Axis, holding the stallion’s bridle to keep him still as the surgeon stitched the leg.

  Long nights when the lamps had burned in the stable block as watch was kept on the fevered stallion.

  The day, the final horrible day, when Axis had realised the horse’s leg would be too weak for him to ever be ridden again.

  Drago sat up and squatted back at the horse’s leg, his fingers exploring the scar. “Faraday, I know this horse!”

  Axis, tears running down his face, turning the stallion loose in the Urqhart Hills so he could live out the rest of his life in freedom.

  The horse woke from his dream, opened his eyes, turned his head, and stared at Drago.

  This was the boy who had fed him apples…

  This was the boy who had spent so many nights asleep in his manger, escaping some horror within Sigholt’s grey walls.

  This was the boy who for months after the horse had been released into the hills, would come to seek him out to bring him apples, and make sure he was not too lonely.

  Drago stood and faced the horse, now gazing at him with deep black intelligent eyes. This was no senile nag. This was…“Belaguez,
” Drago said in wonderment.

  “Belaguez?” Faraday said. “But it can’t be! Axis rode him when he was BattleAxe—”

  “He must be fifty years old,” Drago said, now rubbing Belaguez’s ears. The old horse sighed in contentment, and butted Drago’s chest with his head.

  “No horse lives that old,” Faraday said, her forehead creased in a frown as if cross that the horse had dared to contravene holy law.

  Drago shot her an amused look. “And no woman lives, and dies, and wanders forests as a deer, and then lives again…does she?”

  Faraday managed a small smile. “Perhaps some of Axis’ enchantment seeped into the horse. What happened to him?”

  “He was crippled in a stable accident,” Drago said, indicating the scar, “when I was about eight. Axis decided he could no longer be ridden, so he turned him loose in the Urqhart Hills.”

  “He must have been wandering all these years,” Faraday said, and now she, too, was stroking Belaguez’s nose.

  “We must take him with us,” Drago said softly. “At the very least he’ll be strong enough to help us ford the river.”

  At that announcement, the lizard—who had crept back behind the horse’s haunches—launched itself into Belaguez’s tail, and began to haul itself upwards, claw over claw.

  Belaguez snorted, and tossed his head, but otherwise made no objection as the lizard happily attained the summit of the horse’s haunches and sat, surveying the view.

  Faraday’s eyes drifted between Drago and Belaguez. She finally crossed her arms and squared her shoulders.

  “Well,” she said, “as long as you’re comfortable travelling with an ancient relic from your father’s reign…”

  Drago took his time in responding, and when he did, his eyes were merry with mischief. “Oh, I’m getting quite used to travelling with ancient relics from my father’s reign.”

  28

  Sunken Castles

  “Find this Sanctuary,” Drago had told WingRidge and SpikeFeather, and so they had done their best.

  But Sanctuary, whatever that might be, was proving difficult to locate.

  WingRidge had set the entire Lake Guard to the task, six hundred birdmen and women, haunting the waterways in small punts or walking the banks with smoking torches held aloft.