“That makes three of us,” I said, swiftly. “Sworn and witnessed, our souls to the Goddess. Now can we get moving again please?”
We had turned left when we walked out of the East Gate of the College, so we were on the road going north. “Where are we headed, apart from away?” I asked.
“I’m open to suggestion,” said Vil, striding at a great pace. He lifted one hand to waist level and pointed a skinny finger straight ahead. “That way?”
Aral had to do twice the work to keep up as her legs were so much shorter, but she seemed accustomed to it. “Known to some as north,” she said. “It’s a long way to anywhere in this direction, Vil.” She gazed over her right shoulder, as if she could see through the little wood we were passing. “Home’s that way,” she said, longingly.
“Only your home, and it’s hundreds of leagues that way. Be reasonable.”
“You two don’t remember much, do you?” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as Vilkas’s. I couldn’t stop seeing Erthik’s face, her brown hair disarrayed—no, I couldn’t think of that. “I live no more than a few days’ walk from here.” I glanced behind us. “It’s even closer if you go cross-country and stay off the roads.”
They were both silent for a moment, though we never slackened our pace and Vilkas’s corona still surrounded us. It didn’t seem to tire him in the least. “You’re in it deep enough as it is,” said Vil at last. “You don’t need to harbour two murderers. And Lady Shia alone knows who or what Berys will send out to find us and fetch us back.”
“He’ll start by sending some of the Magistri, and if they can’t find us he’ll hire mercenaries and pay them for our return dead or alive. That’s what you do with murderers,” growled Aral. “But my guess is that he’ll send demons as soon as the uproar is over. Maybe tonight, maybe any minute now. He had those two he threw at us ready prepared, he must have done, or he’d have needed an altar. I’d guess he must have made some sort of amulet. The spell could take effect long after the summoning was completed, so there would be no evidence of who had done it.”
“Keep your corona about you,” said Vilkas. “If I were Berys I’d send a demon the instant I was able to, lest we have the chance to prepare our defence.”
“No, really?” said Aral sarcastically. “You think so? I wondered why I kept glowing bright blue.”
“And as for me, I was there and I saw it all,” I said. “I’m your best defence, and I have no way to fight off demons on my own. Besides, if you two think I’m leaving you now you’re dafter than I thought. No one knows you were with me at Midwinter Fest, do they?”
“No,” replied Aral immediately. “I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want you being pestered. Or me. People get peculiar.”
Vilkas took longer to consider, but “No,” he said finally. “I remember I didn’t want my whereabouts known.”
“Hah!” said Aral, showing a glimmer of her usual self. “The Deep and Mysterious Great Mage Vilkas! I know why you never told anyone, it’s that Palistra. The golden-haired green-eyed enchantress who’s got every lad in the school at her feet except you.” I’d never heard Aral so disgusted.
“I’d have thought she’d be busy enough with that lot,” said Vilkas, genuinely puzzled, and sounding deeply grateful for something trivial to think about. “I never gave her the slightest encouragement.”
Aral managed a small laugh, which under the circumstances was impressive. “Ah, but that’s the attraction Vil, don’t you see?” she said, pleased despite our plight at being privy to something she knew well neither Vilkas nor I would ever truly comprehend. “I’ve seen you play Last Man Standing, you should understand the rules. It’s the same principle. Without your favour on her sleeve she doesn’t have the King. The greatest power to come through the College since Berys the Bastard, keeps to himself, polite but distant, probably doesn’t have a lover so still fair game.”
“Probably?”
“I can’t help what other people think. I’ve never said word to help them,” said Aral reasonably. “Didn’t you realise that to Palistra’s kind of mind you’re completely irresistible?”
“Lady preserve me from that kind of mind, then,” he said, shivering, adding a personal comment about Palistra that he would not be proud to have remembered, so I have forgotten it.
“Whatever the reason,” I said, “no one knows you were with me then, so if fortune favours us no one will assume that you have come with me now. There’s not a soul at Verfaren knows where I live save you two. I say we make for Rowanbeck. My cabin isn’t fortified but it is well hidden and a long way from the road.”
“I went by the main road with you last time. Is that the fastest way to get there?” asked Aral.
I managed to smile. “Not even close. Do you know Wolfenden? It’s a little town about ten miles north of here.”
“I’ve been there a few times, but it’s been a while,” said Vilkas.
“It’s at a crossroads—well, it’s where the track joins the road, but it’s well marked.” I thought for a moment. “Best you should know the way in case we’re separated. If you follow the track west into the hills and walk for about three days, you’ll come to a great huge green field high in the hills. It sits in a circle of rock walls, you can’t see it until you’re there. You might have a bit of trouble finding the way in, but now you know it’s there you’ll find it. Once you’re inside you’ll be hidden from view. There’s a little wood at the western end, and if you go through the wood you’ll find the path down the far side. Half a day’s walk from there is my village of Rowanbeck. You know how to get to the cabin from there, don’t you?”
“I remember,” said Vilkas. “But this is all pointless. What good will it do to hide in the mountains?”
“It’s a useful place to be if no one expects you to be there,” I said. “At least you’ll have somewhere safe to make your plans.”
“Sounds good enough to me,” said Aral wearily.
“I suppose we might as well be there as anywhere,” said Vilkas with a bitter edge to his voice. “We’ve got nothing better to do.” It took me a moment to remember that all that had happened would have an extra dimension for the two of them, beyond even the shock of seeing a friend murdered. No Healer above the third rank could ever be taken seriously without the official seal of the College on his warrant to practice. Vilkas and Aral’s futures had come tumbling about their ears this day, all in a matter of hours.
“It’s settled then. But before we take off into the mountains we need to get hold of some food. The Dragon’s Head at Wolfenden, at the crossroads: the food’s good there, certain sure. That’s where we take the road northwest into the hills. We should get there by sunset, and Gair’s a good lad, he’ll take care of us.” The others looked at me strangely. “Gair, the innkeeper. The Dragon’s Head. He’s a friend of mine. Good lad he is.”
“Then you at least should not be seen,” said Vilkas.
“What?” I said stupidly. “But Gair is a friend of mine, and—he—I don’t understand.”
“Will?” said Vilkas, staring at me. I didn’t answer. Suddenly everything was terribly confusing.
Vilkas stopped then, drawing me into the shelter of a small copse of trees off the main road. Aral came behind me, her hand on my arm. I didn’t mind that at all. Vilkas looked brighter all of a sudden, and he and Aral were talking, but I couldn’t really hear what they were saying. Suddenly I had to sit down for a moment and I seemed to hit the ground right hard with my backside.
The next thing I knew I was sitting with my back against a tree and Vilkas was looking at me like I was a stranger—he wasn’t catching my eye at all, just staring in my general direction and moving his hands. I felt oddly as if I was asleep, or had been asleep and was only just awakening, as if—
“Vilkas?” I said, but there was something wrong with my voice. It seemed to be coming from a very long way away. “Aral? Is this a dream?”
Then Aral was there, putting her arm about me, te
lling me to be quiet for a moment. She was that close I could smell her, smell the summer-flower scent of her. Dear Lady, so near! I sighed before I could stop myself. “Are you in pain?” she asked me gently, and I was in such a state I nearly told her everything, that the only pain I had was knowing she did not love me, but blessed be the Lady, Vilkas’s healing finally took hold. I felt terribly, terribly drunk for just a moment, then it passed and I scrambled to my feet.
“What in all the Hells—” I began. Vil put a hand on my shoulder.
“Shock,” he said, “nothing more sinister. Aral and I have been protecting ourselves with our power, it’s almost instinctive, but we never thought of you. I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. I glanced up and caught his eye. He really was deeply ashamed of himself for neglecting me, the poor lad.
“Well, I should think so,” I said gruffly. Vilkas apologising was a new experience. “You didn’t have anything else to think about, after all. But as for the Dragon’s Head, I don’t know how I’m going to keep Gair from seeing me. We’re going to need food and a place to sleep tonight. The inn’s about three hours’ walk from here and you may believe me that there is nowhere else on this road.”
Vilkas got as far as “It might serve, but I have two concerns.”
I was ready to hear them, but the demons attacked just then and I never did.
Shikrar
Kédra insisted that I should get some sleep when we had finally sealed all the soulgems in their containers. I had thought I would never sleep again, but I closed my eyes for a mere moment and woke much refreshed later. Kédra was gone, leaving a scrawled “with Mirazhe” in the earth of my chamber. He had built up the fire again before he left.
I carried the sealed globes containing the soulgems out into the clearing before my chambers, that I might fetch them more easily when the time came—and truth be told, that I might not have to see the Chamber of Souls again, stripped of all that had given it meaning, the empty settings gaping in darkness.
When I first emerged I had found to my amazement that it was very nearly light. The morning was cold and crisp, and by the time I had carried out the last of the containers it was surprisingly bright for so early in the year. Almost I resented such a contrast to the darkness in my heart, and yet—and yet, it was good. If we must make a new beginning, this was a good day to do it.
I set out.
The Summer Field, badly misnamed on this morning of late frost, was full of the Kantri, complaining, confused and annoyed. I noticed to my sorrow that we all fit comfortably there, in a single field. I began to wonder if we might have a fate before us that nothing could turn. Perhaps the time of the Kantri in the world was come to its end and I was fated to see it … .
I shook myself and remembered the words I had so often spoken to my soulfriend Akhor in his youth. Anyone can give up, Akhor. It is as easy as death. But both death and defeat will find us all soon enough. Fight while you can with all your strength, and choose life over death as long as you are able.
It is simple enough to say such words. It is much harder to act upon them. Still, they served their purpose, for the memory of having said them to Akhor forced me to live up to them.
I was preparing to speak when Kédra landed beside me. “Good morrow, Father,” he said cheerfully. “How fare you this morning?”
“Well enough, my son. The sealed casks await those who will carry them. All is prepared.”
“Mirazhe and I have been thinking of our new life in Kolmar, that we will share with the Gedri,” said Kédra, smiling. “I am looking forward to it, but it occurred to Mirazhe last night that it might be a good idea to bring with us gifts to ease the sudden arrival of so many of us.”
“She is wise, your good lady,” I said. “That was well thought. What sort of gifts?” I asked. I had much to say to the Kantri, but I was waiting now for Idai. “What could we possible take that the Gedri would—want—” Even as I spoke I realised what he meant. “Kédra!”
He laughed. “Yes, my father. Hlansif trees! We can bring seeds, seedlings, even a full-grown tree or two, and see which survives. I suspect we would then be made most welcome.”
“I suspect you are right. To save the Gedri that dangerous voyage—” And suddenly I caught myself. There would be no more wild journeys across perilous seas. Had Kédra and Mirazhe not thought of it, there would have been no more hlansif trees in all the world. The Gedri camp, the boundary fence, the Summer Field, our Great Hall, would not be left behind. They would be gone—gone—all burned, all buried under rock, or else drowned deep in ocean for all time. Somehow it all became real to me in that moment.
This was the ending of my world.
I closed my eyes. Ah, but my heart was leaden with sorrow!
“Father?” came Kédra’s voice. Quiet, worried, a little fearful.
I could not leave him to do all by himself. There would be a time to mourn when all were safe and far, far away.
I forced myself to smile at my dear son. “We will have to plant a grove of our own and tend it, that we may use the leaves in trade.” I smiled at him. “It is very well thought, but we must ask if any of the others are willing to carry such things. You and Mirazhe will be full burdened with Sherók, and I carry the soulgems of the Lost.”
Just then a dark shape appeared above—Idai, apologising as she arrived.
She backwinged and landed beside me. “Good morrow, my friend,” she said, when with no warning it struck.
The high-pitched shriek, that these days was never silent, suddenly increased until it was acutely painful, and as a counterpoint there came the deep drawn-out rumble that shakes both body and mind, and the ground beneath our feet began to sway violently.
Those who had been balancing on tail and back legs, as I had been, fell over. It was the worst earthshake I had ever been through. It is difficult to explain how confusing it was. That dreadful high shriek had been scraping my nerves raw for days, and then the very earth I was standing on moved like a treacherous sideslip in the air. Trees at the edge of the field toppled over with a great tearing and crashing, I was assaulted on all sides by sound and movement and I kept looking for the ground. All my instincts told me that the ground does not move, but what I was standing on was moving and so could not be the ground. I was looking for the solid place and it did not exist. It was terrible.
It felt like ages, but Idai, who had managed to get airborne, told me that it did not in truth last very long. For that I was profoundly grateful. Many, including my son and his family, managed to get aloft with Idai and avoid the worst of it, but those of us on the ground had scrapes and bruises to show for our slow reactions. I would have appreciated time to get over it but I was more than ever convinced that we had no more time.
I called out in truespeech, asking if any were injured or in need of assistance. There was no response, but a dreadful thought occurred to me in the silence that followed my asking.
Until that moment I had forgotten about Urishhak and Roccelis. They were old friends, both afflicted by the joint ill, who had lived for the last kell or so together in a large cave on the north side of the island. I had been in the way of visiting them at one time, for I enjoyed their company, but it had been many years. I bespoke them both, calling with all my strength, but there was no answer.
I called out aloud, “Tóklurik, I pray you, attend me here.”
He landed before me and bowed. “Eldest? What can I do?”
“Tók, forgive me—you are kin to Roccelis, I believe?”
“Yes, she is my mother’s sister, I—name of the Winds!” He crouched to take off, but I restrained him. “Wait! I know you would seek her out, but first tell me—does she keep the Weh?”
“Her last Weh sleep ended scarce ten winters past,” he said, distracted. I knew he was calling his aunt, and from the distress in his eyes I knew he was hearing no more than I had.
“Be at peace, Tóklurik,” I said quietly. “The Lady Urishhak does not answer either and she is the l
ast of her line. There are none even to be concerned about her.”
“I must find out if Roccelis lives,” he cried. “She might be injured, helpless—I must go to her!”
“The Kantri are going to have to leave this island in a matter of hours, my friend,” I said. “We may be forced to go before you have time to return.”
“Then I will fly after you,” he said simply.
“Toklurik—”
“I go now, Eldest,” he said. “If you are not here, which way does Kolmar lie?”
I bowed. “Fly east and a little south. You will not miss it! But Tok, be warned. If our Ancestors are correct it is a good five days’ flight. Gain altitude every chance you get, rest on the wind when you can—” I stopped myself, for he was grinning at me.
“I thank you, Hadreshikrar,” he said, bowing gaily to me. “I have not forgotten your lessons, and”—he hissed his laughter—“despite the lack of pupils neither have you, for I would swear the words have not changed since you instructed me full a thousand winters gone!”
“There is a small island south of east from here, that you should reach towards the end of the second day,” I said, as he crouched to take off. “There is fresh water there, if nothing else. And the rest of us will never be more than a thought away.”
“I thank you, Shikrar,” he said. “I will speak with you again as soon as I have learned their fate.”
“Fly well and join us when you can,” I said.
I had known both Urishhak and Roccelis for many years, and never in all that time had I bespoken them and received no answer from either. I understood the need of their kinsman to seek for them, to know for certain, but in my own heart I knew that they were gone. I was very slightly consoled by the thought that at least those two, best of friends, went forth together, and as they never even cried out they must have died very swiftly indeed.
I found it increasingly difficult to think in the face of the high screech that seemed never to end. The air, as well, was now hazy and full of something that made many of us cough. It was time to go, but there was one thing left that must be done.