The Way to Babylon (Different Kingdoms) (38 page)

‘In the Greshorns, he wandered alone through the passes, climbed the peaks and was exhausted by the journey. Finally he lay down in the snow and determined to die, for his stamina had failed him and he had not found the Dwarves; and he did not want to go back to the life of killing he had led. It was then that the Dwarves came to him, fed him, warmed him in their mansions and asked his purpose, for no mortal man had ever travelled so far into the mountains. And he asked them what it was the Myrcans had been put on the earth to do, and they laughed.

‘“If we knew that, we would know the purpose of our own lives, and mayhap the secret behind life itself,” they said. “But no one can know that who breathes upon the earth.”

‘In despair, Rol asked them what he could do for his people except lead them in the killing of others in the land.

‘They laughed again. “Not ours to answer that question,” they said, “for you already have its answer within you. Look less far than the mountains the next time you wish your questions answered. Look at what has been given to you, and use it wisely.” And then they were gone and he was lying in the snow of a mountainside, alone and cold.

‘He journeyed back to his own people, with many adventures along the way; and when he was in Merkadale, he told the Myrcans that they had to stop the killing, that they were only trying to pick an apple that was already in their hands. He told them to go amongst the people of the land and offer them their service, to defend Minginish instead of conquering it; for the most earth a man ever needs is what is piled in his grave. So the Myrcans did so. In small groups they went out across the land and offered their services in its defence against the beasts, or against the wandering brigands which sometimes harried it.

‘They were greeted with suspicion and hostility at first, and in more than one place they had to fight to prove they truly wanted to serve rather than to rule, to harbour rather than destroy. And some of the lords tried to misuse them, to pit them in small wars of conquest and pillage. But the Myrcans slew these lords, and sought better ones to replace them. Many faiths were broken before the people became convinced of the truth of the Myrcans’ mission, but after a while, when no Myrcan had turned against the righteous lords, and they had not tried to usurp the rule of the Dales and the Vale, then they were at last accepted. This was long after Rol was dead. They became the guardians of the land, the scourge of any who tried to harm it, and every new generation issued out of Merkadale to take the place of those who had fallen for Minginish. The Myrcans found their purpose.’

The fire cracked, and Luib’s story was ended. The wind rustled the loose flaps of the lean-to. Riven could feel Madra’s soft breathing beside him.

Not a story. More like a sermon.

After a while he dozed, and then slid into a dreamless sleep. He disentangled himself from Madra before dawn to share his watch with Bicker, and the two of them saw the sun come up. The snow had stopped falling by then, and the sky was beginning to clear. The light grew over a white, silent world of vague hummocks and hollows, and the stars faded.

‘A quiet night, after all,’ Bicker said, his eyes on the flat land of the wide river valley ahead. ‘And today we will leave the hills behind, and go to the places where men dwell.’

‘The grypesh won’t follow us, then?’

The dark man shook his head. ‘I think they would have lost our trail in last night’s snowstorm. If it had been Rime Giants following us, we would have had a more difficult time of it; they enjoy such conditions. But grypesh do much the same as we do: they hole up and wait for the weather to pass.’ The first sunlight touched the snow and picked shadows out of their faces.

‘It’s so far away,’ Riven murmured, but Bicker heard him.

‘Are you that eager to get there?’

‘I don’t know. I was.’

‘Maybe it is not only the Myrcans who are looking for a purpose.’

Riven barked a mirthless laugh, and remembered Guillamon shaking his hand.

I hope you find peace.

‘I don’t want anything,’ he said roughly, though he was no longer sure if it were strictly true. He twisted away from the thought of the sleeping girl in the shelter.

T
HE SUN DAZZLED
the company as they continued on their way. The horses seemed to have recovered, but they kept to an easy pace as the snow was deep. It was almost warm, and Riven hung his cloak by the saddle bow. The country rolled endlessly beyond his sight, and he abandoned himself to the routine of riding, resting, eating and sleeping.

Three days passed with no signs of pursuit. His limbs ceased to complain about the riding, and he slept more easily on the hard ground at night. Tagan roamed the country to the north of the company, but it was deserted, empty of both men and beasts. They saw a few hares, two of which the tracker managed to shoot for the pot, and there were buzzards overhead sometimes, but that was all.

Carnach Rorim was to their east as they continued, and Tagan saw one of its patrols once, far off, but the company went unnoticed. They had no more snow, and the streams they crossed were free of ice; the unnatural winter was less severe now that they were out of the hills.

Ten days after they had left Ralarth Rorim, they saw the silver sword-glitter of a river in the distance. Bicker shaded his eyes and peered north with satisfaction.

‘The Great River. We have made good time. We shall reach it tonight, and tomorrow follow it northwards.’ He grinned at Ratagan. ‘And soon we will be within smelling distance of ale houses, my thirsty friend.’

‘Praise be!’ the big man responded. ‘My stomach had all but resigned itself to a life of poverty.’

As the day wore on, they heard everywhere around them the rill of running water, and grass began to poke up through the snow in clumps. Riven even heard skylarks sporting over the open meadows. The company began to take off their winter clothes, and the saddle bows became piled with sheepskins.

‘We leave winter behind us, it seems,’ Tagan said, turning in the saddle to look back at the still-white hills. He shook his head. ‘Strange times we live in.’

‘When the real winter comes to the land, there will be lean times,’ Corrary said, spitting over his mount’s shoulder.

That evening they camped beside the broad river on ground that was free of snow. The sun spangled on the water as it went down into a red wrack of clouds. Luib studied it as the others set up camp.

‘A fine day tomorrow, and no more snow in the air. We’ve been given back our summer.’ He glanced at Riven, and then began unsaddling his horse.

‘I am glad,’ said Ratagan. ‘Snow is a fine thing for children, but at my age it looks less pretty.’

‘You are not so comely yourself,’ Bicker laughed.

The river was almost half a mile wide, with several islets dotted throughout it that were alive with wildfowl. Riven glimpsed the blue flash of a kingfisher as he set out his bedroll, and paused, memories of wheelchairs and white-clad figures nagging at him.

It stayed light till late, the last scarlet wash of sunlight lingering in the clouds at the brim of the horizon. They sat around the fire, letting the horses graze freely with Rimir and Darmid to look after them, and listened to the birds that sang in the reeds thronging the riverbank. The sky remained clear, and a mist rose out of the river as it darkened. They brought in the horses, hobbled them and built up the fire. Then they lay like the spokes of a wheel around it and heard the sound of the river and the night fowl before drifting off to sleep.

In the morning, Riven lay half-awake, listening to the sound of the water close at hand, and for a few moments thought it was a quiet tide outside the bothy. He opened his eyes to be caught by the early morning sun, and to see that Bicker and the Myrcans were already awake and fixing breakfast. It was warm under the skin rugs, and now that Madra had taken off most of her winter clothing he could feel the shape of her, curved next to him. He moved his hand and touched her breast through the robe she wore, found the nipple and stroked it until it hardened and she stirred. Then he pulled himself out from under the rugs, feeling ashamed, and walked over to where the bank was free of weeds. He stared down at the slow-moving water, seeing a vague, bearded reflection. Then he knelt and thrust his head into the water, its coldness bringing a shout to his lips.

They moved on again with the river coursing slowly in the growing light beside them, and the birds darting out in front of their horses’ knees. The Great River swept sluggishly through meads that were aflame with buttercups and dotted with the last patches of melting snow. Copses of beech and alder appeared, straggling along the banks with their roots lost in a tangle of briars and bracken. The sun set alight the water drops that speckled their leaves and shadowed the ground beneath them. Flies danced in the air.

It was Corrary who pointed, and drew their gaze to the dark shadow on the water. They squinted into the sun and made out the shape of a boat near the midstream. It was flat and broad, and a crowd of sweating men on the deck were poling it upstream amongst the bird-filled islets. Their voices were faint at this distance, but they could be seen gesturing towards the company. A tall, dark figure with no pole moved amongst them issuing commands, and slowly the flatboat drew over to the bank. Bicker reined in his horse, and the rest followed suit, the Myrcans sliding their staves out of their belts.

‘River traders,’ said Ratagan. ‘Not pirates. They are probably heading up to Talisker.’

The poles slid glistening in and out of the water as the craft approached and then beached with a bump. Men jumped on to the bank to secure it, and the man who had given the orders leapt overboard with a silver plash, two others behind him. He held up an open hand in salute.

‘Greetings, fellow travellers! We are well met on this fine day indeed. Finnan is my name, and you see my craft and my trade before you.’ He bowed. He was very tall, taller even than Ratagan, though only half as broad. He had a bright head of closely cropped golden hair that the sun turned to silver, and a darker, neat moustache on his upper lip. He was dressed in weather-stained leather that was decorated with scarlet and yellow thread, and there was a slim sword hanging from his hip. The men behind him were brawny and short-haired, their bare arms reddened by sun and wind and their bare feet wet and muddy. They eyed the company, especially the striped faces of the Myrcans.

‘For Talisker we are bound, with a pitifully small cargo of hides and grain that the weather has played havoc with.’ Finnan had a cheeky grin that had nonetheless something guarded about it. He reminded Riven a little of the Bicker he had known at the bothy.

Bicker did not dismount, but leaned forward in the saddle and nodded to the river pilot.

‘I was wondering,’ Finnan went on, ‘seeing your company so finely decked out for travelling, if you were by any chance headed the same way?’

‘And if we were, would it concern you?’ the dark man asked politely.

Finnan laughed. ‘Why, of course. We can both aid the other here if we’ve a mind to. Passengers would make my trip profitable after all, and the river journey would be quicker and save the horses. It is a long way to Talisker, and there are fewer beasts to be met on the river than on the land these days. What do you say?’

‘And how much do you charge for your ferrying?’ Ratagan called out to him.

‘A modest amount, no more. I am not a greedy man. Say a knuckle of silver from each of you; no more than you would balance on a fingertip. As I say, I am not a greedy man.’

‘You are not,’ Bicker admitted. ‘That is a fair offer—but why be so generous?’

Finnan shrugged. ‘I am tired of poling the river, telling the same stories and hearing the same ones in return. My crew would like to hear some new news from the Dales.’

‘Indeed?’ Bicker’s gaze had suddenly sharpened. ‘And is there no news forthcoming lately?’

‘Much, but all of it hearsay. You have Hearthwares and Myrcans with you. Some of you have the look of lords, yet you bear the mark of hard travelling and your steeds are scarred. I have heard of a battle, of Myrcan fighting Myrcan, and many upheavals amongst the Rorim to the south. I am curious to know more. That to me is worth more than silver, for I think much about the state of the land in these strange times, with snow falling in midsummer and the Giants wandering the hills.’

‘And you think we can sate the curiosity you harbour?’

Finnan smiled. ‘I am sure of it. We carry beer on board. It is a fine thing to talk the evenings away, when the river work is done, with a mug in your hand. A weakness in me, some call it. I say, a foible that any man is entitled to.’

Ratagan let out a deep laugh. ‘Well said, waterman. What do you think, Bicker? Do we take up Finnan’s offer, or wear down our horses’ hoofs further?’

Bicker stared at Finnan for a long moment, then turned to take in the rest of the company. ‘Is anyone here against this?’

There were no answers, and he nodded.

‘Very well, Finnan. Run out a ramp and we’ll board our horses. You shall have your silver and your news, in return for a safe trip upstream to Talisker’s Rivergate.’ He spat on his hand, and Finnan stepped forward to slap it.

‘A worthy bargain, and a wise course for us all. Welcome to the river, my friends.’