Authors: Kim Hunter
was nothing in there but a large soft aubergine. Surely the old man must have been squeezing his heart? He took off his jack and the shirt beneath to inspect his chest. There were no visible marks there. So how had the old man accomplished his torture? Hypnotism? That was possible. Or perhaps everything had been real up to the point where the old man took his foot off the paper bag, but was no longer real now, nor ever had been. Soldier was convinced he would have died had the sage crushed the paper bag. The old man was asleep now, snoring softly. Soldier resolved to be a little more careful, show a little more kindness to strangers. He also wondered about their safety, not because something might get in it wouldnt last long against the sage but because the old man himself might have a change of mind during the night and settle his death dust upon them. Just before Soldier went to sleep, he thought about the enchanted brigandine. Should he get up and put it on, to protect himself during the night? But then Spagg might be the first to be killed. Soldier thought it was not fair to protect himself and leave Spagg vulnerable. While he debated with himself he resolved the matter by falling asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
When they woke in the morning Soldier rose and went to the doorway of the hut, and almost fell two hundred feet down to the ground. He managed to clutch at the two doorposts and prevented himself. It seemed that the stilts which supported the hut had grown in the night. They were now level with the top of the cliff face and could step out of the back way onto the plateau. This was the magic of the waylanders hut. Soldier turned to see that the old man was still asleep in his corner. He had not murdered them in their beds after all. No wonder the sage had wanted to stay in this particular hut. He must have known about the night growth. It was probably the only way to get to the plateau. Spagg sat up, coughed, hawked and then spat through the open window. Soldier winced. Do you have to do that? Yes, came the reply from the bleary-eyed market trader. Spagg rose and went to the window, only to exclaim in terror at the drop he saw below. Whats happened? he cried. Weve come up in the world. What about the horses theyre down below. Soldier hadnt thought about this. Well have to walk from here on in, he said, grimly. Dont worry about the animals. When they get hungry theyll soon kick their way out of that flimsy stable and graze. So long as no one steals them, they should be around when we come back this way. Thats wishful thinking, grunted Spagg. Damnation, the foods down there, on the pack-mule. Youve got your sling, havent you? And weve got a few things blankets, a backpack containing the brigandine and a few other essentials, like the tinder box. Well be all right, I think. At that moment the ancient of days stirred and then sat up. Are we up? he asked. Yes does it always happen? questioned Soldier. No. Not always. The old man rose and went out through the back door of the hut, stepping onto the plateau. There was a misty river nearby which fell as a bridal veil waterfall over the edge of the cliff. The water steamed and smelled of sulphur. The old man washed himself. Soldier and Spagg did the same, finding the water extremely hot. Soldier guessed the source was deep underground, probably close to some liquefied lava bed. Spagg made a great show of washing himself, but very little water touched his skin, and when challenged by Soldier about his dirty habits Spagg grew defensive. He addressed his remarks to the old man, knowing that Soldier would poo-poo his reasoning. I really like to gather the dew from rose petals, he explained to the old man. Its much better for your complexion. My dear departed mother used to bathe me in dew-drops when I was little. Look, heres some on this spiders web. So much gentler on ones skin, dont you think? He got no more sympathy from the old man than he would have done from Soldier. If you want to be a filthy hog, then be brave enough to admit it. All right, said Spagg, simply. I like dirt. It keeps you warm. Why should I pretend otherwise? Because youre a sly and consistent liar, the old man said. Spagg took exception to this remark, but he let it pass, knowing that the sage could cripple him. Are you travelling on westwards? asked the ancient of Soldier. Shall we go together? Soldier replied, Ive been thinking of using the hot river -making a raft. What do you say to that? The old man nodded. A good idea. Youll be travelling upstream, but away from the falls the flow isnt fast. The old mans eyes narrowed as he stared over the winter landscape of the upper world. Here the trees and hedgerows were dwarfs, the features of the land miniature in aspect. Were entering a strange region though. We have to be careful not to run into hostile creatures. What kind of creatures? Faery folk, giants, those kind, he replied, vaguely. Soldier nodded. But youve been this way before? You can guide us? Ive been this far and no further. Last time I had to turn back when a giant toad swallowed my companion, right here on the cliff-top. Tongue flashed out. Took him down whole, no trouble at all. I could see my friend wriggling as the toad made off with him inside its stomach. It upset me a great deal. He took off his hat and wiped his face with a kerchief. I hope we dont run into the same amphibian. Spagg looked about him, hoping the same thing. Couldnt you save your friend? asked Soldier. You seem to have special powers. They dont work on the kind of creatures you find up here this is Faery land, traveller, not the real world. Soldier, who wondered whether there was a real world at all, did not reply to this. Instead he began to gather wood for a fire. Spagg helped him, but the old man sat down and waited for the fire to appear. He was clearly not used to manual work, nor did he intend to get used to it. Once they had a roaring fire going, Spagg went off and found some edible bracket fungus growing from the dwarf oaks. He dug at the roots of the trees and found some kind of onions, which went into the pot with the mushrooms. This vegetable stew was enough to fill their bellies while they built a raft to carry them on the river. Soldier wondered about his two companions. Spagg was growing on him a little. Once you understood the crafty market trader it was easier to abide him. Watching them move against a snowy background brought images to Soldiers mind. Loyalty. One virtue Soldier prized, venerated above all, was loyalty. He could not stand betrayal, despised it. Once, in some dim and distant past, separated from him not by time but by space, Soldier had been betrayed. He felt a memory pang, the loss of someone very dear to him, snatched from his breast by a foul enemy who had been led to his side by a traitor. The fury, the anger, the hatred simmered inside Soldier these detached but recognisable memories came to him out of the smog of some dimly-lit well deep with him. They came as phantoms, ghost feelings, which he could not fully grasp but which flitted through his head. He saw a shape, a woman in a bridal dress, snatched from the arms of her lover and protector, thrown across a horse, ridden out into snowy wastes. He followed tracks in that snow, until he came upon the white maiden in her blood-soaked gown, lying on the whiter snow, a halo of seeping red surrounding her broken form. These images came as flashes in his brain, causing him great mental anguish. Betrayal. He could never allow betrayal to go unpunished again. Spagg was now his companion. The market trader now had obligations. Woe betide him if he ever betrayed Soldier in any way. He would die a horrible death. What you lookin at me like that for? Spagg was speaking to Soldier, who realised he was glaring at the man across the fire. I nothing just be careful. Careful? What ave I got to be careful about? asked Spagg, indignantly. I aint done nothin wrong. Not today, replied Soldier. The old man was staring curiously at Soldier. Ah, he said, there are other countries in that head of yours, arent there? Other times? Other men and women? You must be careful you remain in control. Ive heard of you. Yours was the hand that slayed the dog-warrior, Vau. Be careful of yourself. Dont let the beast out too often. You mind your own, said Spagg, for some inexplicable reason feeling he had to defend Soldier. Whats in his head belongs to him and nobody else. Anyhow, I can stick up for meself. I dont need you to protect me. I can vanquish the worst of em, I can. Faery folk dont bother me none, either. Goblins, boggarts, trows, you name it, Ive killed it. Once they had finished eating they doused the flames of the fire with snow. Spagg then told Soldier it was not feasible to make a heavy raft. There were no thick timbers around and they didnt have the tools for such a job in any event. He suggested instead that they fashion a rough coracle. Ive made a few in my time, he told Soldier. Theyre not difficult if youve got clay. There was indeed clay on the banks of the river. It was frozen ground, there being thin ice on the edges of the torrent, but Spagg showed Soldier how to make the clay pliable in such conditions by stamping up and down on it. With such manipulation repeated the clay soon softened. Nearby there was a small copse of downy oaks, not much larger than big shrubs. Soldier and Spagg cut branches from these with Soldiers sword and wove a coracle. Spagg had the basket-weaving skills, while Soldier provided the muscle. The old man stayed aloof from these two, humming a tune and staring at the distant mountains. He seemed not to care that he was a useless third of the group. Once the framework was complete they lined it with moss and then caulked the whole with yellow clay from the bank. By noon they had a serviceable boat which would carry the three of them. Soldier made three paddles and informed the old man that they were not carrying passengers. If he wanted to come with them, it had to be as a member of the crew. You will paddle along with us, or you dont come. Im an old man. I have no strength left. Soldier said, You had enough strength to squeeze my heart until my brain jangled in agony. The ancient smiled at Soldier. Yes, I did, didnt I? And Ill do it again, if you refuse to take me along with you. All right, murmured Soldier, I cant be bothered to argue, but youve made an enemy of me. Ill manage. Soldier and Spagg carried the coracle along the waters edge for about half a mile, until they deemed it safe to launch it. The river had several bends here and was a lot slower in its flow. Climbing aboard the flimsy craft they set off along the rivers edge, just outside the ice rim. It was hard going at first, paddling against the current, but the pair of rowers kept at it, gradually making progress, until the river widened and slowed down even more and their advancement became easier. Along the banks of the river there were elder and alder, and all kinds of water trees, such as goat willow. Everything was layered with snow and glistened under a bronze sun. At one spot they passed a tree with birds and animals mostly squirrels, tree martens and polecats dangling from nooses. They swayed in the wind, their shadows cast against the snow. Hanging tree, murmured the old man, by way of explanation. The branches create tendrils on their tips, which form into loops that strangle living creatures. Once theyve rotted, the branches feed the bole. You see that hole in the bark? Thats one of the hanging trees mouths. Its a flesh eater. I find it very decorative, like a festive tree hung with baubles. You would, muttered Spagg. At another point they reached a freezing plain. There were thumps on the landscape which caused ripples in the steaming surface of the water before they reached the f latlands. As they wound through and across the wide plain they saw the reason for the dull noises and subsequent vibrations. Two great human giants were tossing stones as large as houses. They were a long way off but the tremors the stones caused when they hit ground reverberated. It seemed the giants were trying to beat each other, each trying to put their boulder further than their opponents. To Soldier it was fascinating. It was like watching some huge beasts battling for a mate, except there was no cow giant here, only two great bulls more intent on impressing each other than any female. The massive boulders went hurtling through the air, to land jarringly on the snow-covered mud, crushing trees, flattening hills, and all for the sport of two bad-tempered giants. After a long and tedious journey over the plain they reached some mountainous country. The river followed a valley between two outcrops of rock which rose to about five hundred feet on both sides. Between the river bank and the cliffs was about a hundred yards of flat land. Underneath the snow it was probably meadow-land. When the boat rounded a bend in the river, they suddenly saw a barrier coming up. It was a log with rocks hanging from it on ropes. It had clearly been placed across the river to stop any traffic. Since the current was against them it was simple for Soldier and Spagg to come to a halt and make for the bank. Well have to resort to portage, said Soldier. Spagg and I will carry the coracle. You, old man, can manage the paddles. I cant carry anything. Youll carry the paddles. They stared at each other, young and old, and eventually old gave way. All right, Ill carry the paddles, said the ancient. With the coracle on their heads Spagg and Soldier made their way along the left bank of the river. The old man stepped out in front, the paddles in his arms. When they reached the barrier across the river the old man started looking nervously around him. There were marks in the snow at this point, hundreds of footprints, all around the weighted log. But they were the small prints of children, not of grown men. Kids, all the way out here, grumbled Spagg. You get enough of them at in Zamerkand. Havent they got anything better to do than annoy innocent travellers ... Soldiers scabbard sang out, loud and clear in the snowy wastes beside the river. The old man had turned around with a worried expression on his face. He seemed about to say something. Then there was gentle swishing sound of air being parted. Something shot out either side of the old mans throat. His eyes bulged. His lips pursed. There was an annoyed look on his face for a second, then he slid to the ground. Spagg let out a yell and tossed away the boat. He could see now that what he thought had sprung from within the old man, had actually come from some nearby trees. It was a black iron bolt from a crossbow. It had penetrated the neck of the ancient and now it was lodged halfway through. The four-vaned head of the bolt was covered in stringy strips of flesh. No doubt the sages spinal column had been shattered, his windpipe pierced, and his voice box punctured. All things taken into account he had received a mortal wound, and now lay dying in the snow at their feet. Soldier instinctively dropped to the ground. Spagg was not far behind him. More bolts swished over the places where they had been standing, landing on the river-edge ice beyond and skidding into the water. Soldier remained huddled on the cold breast of mother earth, hugging her, until he sensed figures around him. When he looked up he saw gnarled and knobbled faces peering down at him with hard expressions. He stayed where he was, hoping he would not get a bolt in the back of the head. Trolls, muttered Spagg. Dont move. Soldier had no intention of moving until someone told him he could do so without being harmed. He could see the small feet around him, some of them wrapped in rags, others with boots. He felt himself being prodded by the hunched, large-headed creatures around him. Eventually something was barked at him in coarse, guttural tones. Better get up, said Spagg. They want us to go with them, up to their mountain fortress above. Soldier got to his feet and was prodded on by a pike held in the small hands of thick-set troll. Gaaahhhh! said the troll. Oop! Oop! Soldier