Ironcrown Moon (36 page)

“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 ?” The chiseled features of the alchymist wore an expression of academic curiosity.

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“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.

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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 file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/May,%20Julian%20-%20[Bo...-%20Boreal%20Moon%202%20-

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May, Julian - Boreal Moon 2 - Ironcrown Moon 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 Kilian 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,
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Kilian decided. It wasn’t worth the risk.

If the moorland commotion did indeed have nothing to do with Felmar and Scarth, the two men might be on their way up the gorge path at this very minute. It was preferable to let things be so long as there was a chance they might still be heading for the cave.

He settled himself again, pulled down his hood, and began windsearching for them along the gorge route, beginning at the fork in the track outside the city wall. He didn’t find them—but in time he did discover the mounted force of Count Olvan Elktor, halted in a rough bivouac on the near side of Double Waterfall. It was obvious that they had set out from the city during the murky night hours. They’d made the dangerous crossing and then paused to rest, but they were certain to move on before long.

Grimly, he counted at least forty men wearing the livery of the castle garrison, a dozen household knights in bright-colored surcoats, three

Brothers of Zeth, and numbers of servants on ponies leading sumpter mules loaded with supplies. The presence of such a large force could only mean that the authorities were fairly certain that either Felmar and Scarth or Kilian and his party had come into the gorge.

White-faced, the alchymist withdrew his sight and hurried to waken his companions. Garon, Niavar, and Cleaton heard him out in bleak silence, while Raldo made incoherent sounds of distress, too stiff and aching even to rise from his pallet.

“It took us three hours to get here from the waterfall,” Garon said, rolling up his blankets with swift economy. His brow was creased by concern. “We were tired and didn’t travel very fast.

The pursuers will come on much faster.”

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“But can we outrun them?” asked Kilian. “Or perhaps go another way?”

“There is no other way. As to outrunning them—it would be better to prevent pursuit altogether. By blocking the track.”

Niavar and Cleaton brightened at this and began to ask eager questions. Raldo stood by, apparently apathetic, but his eyes were alert.

Garon bade all keep silent and continued addressing Kilian. “My lord, when we planned this journey, you spoke of combining our talents to produce defensive magic. Is it not possible for the same type of joint effort to block a section of the trail behind us, so that no one would be able to follow? Perhaps we could amplify the landslide where Raldo took his fall.”

The alchymist said, “To make an effective blockade, we’d need to find a spot where rocks above the path were already unstable and a modest bolt of magic might bring them down. The place where Raldo’s horse slipped is hazardous with loose surface stones, but not susceptible to rockfalls. The mountainside itself is virtually solid there. Without golden gammadions, our group lacks the strength to burst apart living rock.”

Garon nodded in understanding. “I think I know the perfect spot for our purposes. A short distance beyond this camp, we come to a hanging valley between two tall peaks. A side-path leads to extensive grassy pockets, dead ends all, where I used to pasture my sheep for weeks at a time. I never took the flock beyond there because forage becomes scanty at higher altitudes, but I did explore the ongoing route for my own amusement. If one continues along the gorge track for another hour or so, one arrives at a broad slope composed of great cracked slabs, where some cataclysm caused half the mountainside to break away and fall into the chasm.”

“I know about that area,” Kilian put in. “I scried it last night and thought it looked uncommonly perilous.”

“Normally, the slabs can be crossed with care by a man on foot,” Garon said. “I believe our horses could negotiate them if they were led.

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Having overseen the place, my lord, do you think we’d be able to bring down more rock and render it totally impassable?”

Kilian said, “Wait,” and left them, going out into the meadow where the scrying angle was better. After a few minutes he returned with a wolfish smile on his face. “We may not be able to render the slope impassable. But if the column of pursuers were strung out all across it and we then caused a rockfall…”

Garon, Niavar, and Cleaton stared at him in comprehension. Raldo only hung his head.

“Let us move on as quickly as we can, then,” said the alchymist. “We’ll have to break our fast as we ride.”

Garon, Niavar, and Cleaton packed their gear with alacrity, while Raldo hobbled about, tumbling the unwashed cups and bowls and spoons from last night’s supper into a sack, scraping bits of cold porridge from the pot with a spoon, and wiping the greasy wire grill with a handful of grass. His sunken eyes, pursed lips, and trembling hands betrayed his misery.

“How do you fare?” Kilian asked blandly.

“I’m doing the best I can, my lord. I’ll scour the cooking things well at the end of the day.”

The alchymist grunted and said to Garon, “Saddle his horse, lash his bags in place, and help him to mount.”

They set out at a quick pace, most of them feeling more confident riding the narrow path than they had been on the previous day. The sun shone brilliantly and the air was crystalline, with every detail of the landscape sharply visible. The hanging valley, when they reached it, was a concave emerald corridor between peaks layered with brick-red, ochre, and black-rock strata, sublimely beautiful against an azure sky. But by that time none of them was in a mood to appreciate it—especially Raldo.