Retreating silently, Rothir followed the line of hedges away from the village in what was now almost complete darkness. He found his way back to the clump of trees where Narba waited. The horse stamped and snorted, seeming impatient for action.
“Rest now,” Rothir told him. “You’ll be driven hard enough tomorrow.” Narba nuzzled at his hand for food although he had nothing to give him. He had little enough for himself, but he sat underneath a tree and ate a third of what he had. Then he drew up his knees and rested his arms on them, planning.
His plans were all conditional. If this, if that. He could be sure of nothing. Perhaps he could be fairly sure of two things: one which was hopeful, and one not. The clank of metal chains holding the captive men was not a hopeful sign. His sword could cut through rope but would not bite through metal. Unless some axe were conveniently lying by, he would not be able to free Arguril swiftly without the shackles’ key. While the guards must hold the keys, he could not get at them without raising the alarm.
On the other hand, the prisoners could hardly pull the carts while they were shackled. If the stonemen were to move off the next morning, the prisoners’ bonds would have to be removed. That might be his best chance of rescuing Arguril – if he could keep the stonemen at bay for long enough.
He sat and made his plans, going through different scenarios, and then dozed for a while, waking at frequent intervals. When he woke a final time before the dawn, he dared to sleep no longer. At the first glimmer in the eastern sky he saddled Narba, feeling for the straps, and then led him across the fields towards the road.
Crossing the cobbled road was the most dangerous part of this short journey. He lifted Narba’s feet, one by one, and tied around his hooves the cloths that he kept in his pack for this purpose. Narba was used to the procedure and did not kick.
Then they crossed the road almost silently. Rothir led the horse over to the group of low barns near which the carts stood. Between two of the barns, as he had hoped, there was sufficient space for them to wait. There they were shielded on three sides: and although he felt horribly exposed from the fourth side, that nearest the road, there were no stonemen at this end of the village to see him. The stonemen were all within the centre, where the fires had been lit and the ox had been roasted. He could hear no feet or voices and hoped that no-one would decide to walk down here just yet.
From his stirrups he could easily climb onto the sloping roof of one of the barns and peer over it at the shadowy camp where the carts stood. When he did so he saw nothing stirring, so he slid down the roof onto Narba’s back again and waited. He felt for the stone in his pocket: checked his sword; rehearsed various possibilities in his mind.
It was another quarter-hour or so before he heard any movement. He climbed up to peer over the roof again. Although the sun had not yet risen, the sky was now pale enough for him to see the carts and lines of shackled men quite distinctly. He could pick out Arguril, sitting with his head bowed. Stonemen began to stroll out from the upper end of the village, walking towards the lines of prisoners, who lay on the ground or sat slumped and dejected.
“Up! Up! Wake up! No food until you’ve done the first five miles!”
Whips were wielded, and kicks given. A stoneman bent down to the captive at the end of one row: his legs were unshackled, and along with the next man he was pushed over towards a cart. Rothir could now see chains dangling from the carts’ handles: the man was shackled to one of these by the wrist.
He realised that he would have to be quick. Another two prisoners were already having their metal bonds unlocked. They stood up stiffly, shaking their limbs before they were shoved over to the carts at swordpoint.
Arguril would be one of the next pair. Rothir watched tensely from his roof. He had to get this timing right.
The stoneman bent down. As soon as the shackle began to fall away from Arguril’s leg Rothir threw himself onto the horse and galloped out of hiding.
Narba needed no urging: he rode straight at the stonemen. He was used to battle, and even seemed to relish it. But Rothir steered him away from the men, towards the ring of carts with their cargoes of searing darkness. He felt the growing sense of dread objectively this time, as if it were nothing to do with him.
He heard shouts and saw stonemen running towards him. By now the heat of the darkburns was beginning to bite. He steered Narba in an arc; and as the horse swung round to face the stonemen, he raised his arm and flung the stone into the middle of the ring of carts.
At once the nearest carts began to move and sway. There was the thump and crash of darkburns hitting iron bars. Several of the carts rocked to and fro with increasing violence: one, more top-heavy than the rest, leaned so far over that it began to slowly topple.
Stonemen were running around the field, yelling and waving axes, faces distorted underneath the grey lines of paint: but they were not organised. Some ran to the carts, making matters worse by getting too close. The swaying and thumps increased, followed by a thunderous crash as the most unstable cart fell right over on its side. Other stonemen were charging at Rothir with their axes raised.
Ignoring them, he galloped straight at Arguril, who had had the wit to step away from the line of prisoners unobserved amidst the alarm, and who was ready.
As he galloped past Arguril Narba barely had to slow. Rothir reached down and summoning his strength hoisted Arguril up by his belt; he felt the young man grab and slither his way onto the horse’s back behind him. Then Narba was away, scarcely breaking the rhythm of his hooves. Rothir blessed his horse fervently as he rode. Had he ever had a better?
“Hold on,” he said over his shoulder. This was a risk, but he felt he had to take it. With Arguril clinging round his waist, he wheeled Narba round again and back, between two of the lines of shackled men – all on their feet now, staring – and straight towards the guard who still held his bunch of keys in one hand. With the other he brandished his sword, shouting incoherent threats.
Rothir swung his own sword as he rode and swiped the weapon from the stoneman’s hand. With a second stroke, the hand holding the keys was parted from the guard’s arm to sail over the heads of the shackled men. He saw one of the prisoners catch the keys as they fell.
That was the best that he could do for them. He rode on through a group of stonemen, slashing his sword from side to side without compunction. One man who tried to grab the reins fell under Narba’s thudding hooves. Arguril grabbed Rothir’s knife from his belt to stab at another until he too let go.
And then they were through and galloping across the road and up the hill. Most of the stonemen were still near the carts, shouting furiously.
As Rothir glanced back he saw why. A darkburn had escaped from the fallen cage: the stonemen were trying to herd it back behind the bars. Instead it rushed away from them in a smoky blur and threw itself towards the nearest line of prisoners.
His sense of heady triumph was immediately dispelled. Grimly he continued to gallop away from the screams and chaos while Arguril clung on behind him. He hated himself now, hated what he had just done despite the fact that he could not have rescued all the other men. To attempt it would be suicidal. Reason told him that. Yet he felt that somehow he should have found a way. Neither he nor Arguril spoke.
Narba laboured valiantly uphill and then down towards the trees, heading south and west with Rothir hardly needing to direct him. Although a few stonemen had started running in pursuit, without horses of their own they had no chance of catching Narba and were soon left far behind.
Once the camp was out of sight, Rothir was able to pull on the reins, and as his horse slowed, finally to turn and speak.
“Arguril. All right?”
“Rothir. Good to see you.”
For a moment they gripped each other’s arms. He thought that Arguril did not look too bad considering what he must have been through. “Any damage?”
“Not much. They didn’t beat me; they needed me and the other men to be fit enough to pull those carts. Dreadful work.”
“So I imagine.”
“Exhausting, hot, and soul-destroying. One man went mad, I think. They fed him to a darkburn. But I’m all right. I’m hungry.”
Normally Rothir would have made a joke of this, for Arguril was always hungry. Now he just said soberly, “Look in the saddle-bag. Have anything that’s there.”
They rode on, Arguril tearing at bread and chewing behind him. Eventually he swallowed and said, “Rothir. That was horrible, I know. But you couldn’t have done anything about the darkburn that escaped.”
“Maybe not; but I caused it.”
“Did you? How?”
“I caused the carts to overturn, by using one of the enemy’s stones.” Tersely Rothir explained what he had surmised about the stones and how he had put his guess to use. “It was the only way I could think of to get you out,” he finished. “I just didn’t foresee the consequences.”
“Those men would have been fed to the darkburns anyway,” said Arguril, “once they wore out. Me too. That was what they did every time a man collapsed. They’d just replace us at the next farm or village.”
“That village where I found you… What exactly happened there?”
“The stoneman army arrived there yesterday, about mid-day. We were already almost worn out from pulling the carts: I don’t know if the stoneman commander had decided beforehand to stop there, or just saw it as convenient. There was no attempt at stealth.”
Arguril took another bite of bread, possibly to delay the moment when he would have to speak again.
“The men-folk all came running out,” he said, “armed and ready to accost the stonemen, but they had encircled the town. They set a darkburn loose to race through the streets. It only started one or two small fires, but it caused panic. When people tried to run out of the town the stonemen killed them. They took a number of the younger men as prisoners, to pull the carts: picked off all the others as they fled. Women and children too. Marched through the town to find any that were hiding. It was not good.”
Rothir shook his head. A prayer flowed through his mind, tied to a curse. Neither seemed adequate.
“You said exhausted prisoners were fed to the darkburns,” he remarked after a moment. “Is that why the darkburns chase humans, then, do you think? For food? We’re just fuel?”
“I expect so. What else could it be? Either that or a pure instinct to kill. When you’ve seen them burn a body up…”
“I have,” said Rothir, and both the men again fell silent. Eventually he added, “Parthenal and Maeneb will await us on the far side of the highland. They’ll be glad to see you.”
“And I to see them,” said Arguril. “You must have ridden a long way, Rothir. I’ll get down now and walk, to give Narba a rest. I believe… that they killed Vela some miles from the Thore.”
“Yes, they did.” Rothir did not elaborate. But there was one thing more he needed to ask. “Arguril, what happened to the scroll?”
“It’s stuffed down a rabbit-hole, near to where they caught me. I’d just woken up when I heard them coming. I didn’t even have time to get to Vela – I only just had time to hide the scroll. It’ll still be there if nothing’s eaten it.”
“So they didn’t know who you were. Well done. Get back on the horse, Arguril; I’ll walk.”
In the end they both walked, and took occasional turns to ride, past the burnt out farm at the edge of the moor and up onto the higher ground. As they walked Rothir related all that had happened in the days since Arguril had left the other Riders, before they reached the Thore, and had galloped off on his lone errand. Some of it he found inexplicably difficult to say.
But he said it, and as they trudged over the empty uplands, disturbing occasional brindlecocks, the peaceful everyday landscape seemed to calm some of the tumult in his mind. He made Arguril mount the horse again, although he himself was bone-tired now, and thought the lone tree of the rendezvous would never come into sight. Finally it did, however, and he dragged himself towards it.
At first he thought there was nobody there. But as they drew closer the long figure of Parthenal unwound itself from a rock where he had made himself invisible, and greeted him.
“You found him, then.”
Parthenal’s tone was terse, but he was grinning. He embraced first Arguril and then Rothir, who dropped to the ground beneath the twisted tree and lay there unwilling to move until he had to.
“Where’s Maeneb?” asked Arguril.
“Not far away. She’s taken the horses to water.”
“Ah, water,” said Arguril longingly, and Parthenal threw him a waterskin.
Before long Maeneb appeared; and then Rothir and Arguril each had to tell his tale in full.
“So the stones around their heads are a deterrent to the darkburns,” said Parthenal.
“It appears so,” answered Rothir. “Though how that works, I couldn’t tell you.”
“It’s a shame you couldn’t keep one.”
“Yes. But next time we pass a dead stoneman, feel free to prise one from his head.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” said Parthenal grimly. “Dead or alive.”
“What did you two discover when you went after the larger group of stonemen?” Rothir asked. “Anything of interest?”
“Much the same as you,” said Maeneb. “We found three burnt out hamlets. And we saw the stonemen’s camp. We hid nearby overnight and watched as they moved out this morning. They’re moving fast. Roaming the country with their darkburns, looking for villages to terrify and sack – almost at random, it would seem.”
“A campaign of terror.”
“Perhaps. Although they are working their way gradually towards Outer Kelvha.”
“And then into Kelvha itself?” asked Arguril.
Maeneb blew out her cheeks. “I can’t imagine that. Take on Kelvha? They’d have to be mad.”
“They are mad,” said Parthenal. “They’re pumped full of ethlon and whatever else, and they don’t much care if they live or die, so long as they die fighting.”
Rothir looked into the distance, frowning. “That group I followed puzzled me,” he said. “I’m not familiar with all the furthest parts of those northern reaches, but surely there’s little there for them to sack and burn? Working round to an attack on Kelvha is one thing. But why are they heading for the empty lands up north and east? They’re still two hundred miles even from the fur-trading outposts. It’s just a waste of effort.”
“They may not know that,” Maeneb pointed out. “When they find nothing, they may turn west again and head for Kelvha.”
“True,” admitted Rothir. “I did think of riding off somewhere to warn people that the stonemen were coming – but I didn’t know where to ride or who to warn.”
“I felt the same,” said Maeneb in a low voice. “If we’d kept going, perhaps we could have overtaken our half of the stoneman army and reached the next town in time to raise the alarm.”
“And perhaps we couldn’t,” countered Parthenal. “Our horses are close to exhaustion as it is.”
“And now we’re one horse down,” said Arguril.
“Ideas?”
“Sleep,” said Rothir.
“Find the nearest inn,” said Maeneb, “buy a horse, go after the western group of darkburns and try to get ahead of them to spread the warning. No point in chasing after the ones going north to nowhere.”
“The nearest inn will be the Wyedown. That’s two days’ ride,” objected Rothir. Although the Wyedown was the obvious place for them to go, he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about visiting the inn just now. Normally he’d welcome it. But then he reflected that Gwenna might no longer be there anyway.
“Find the nearest inn,” said Parthenal, “buy a horse – if we can afford one that has four legs – tell them to send warning to Outer Kelvha by the fastest messenger they have, and then go home to Thield. The message is the important thing. We don’t have to carry it ourselves. And we do need to report to Huldarion, as soon as we can.”
“All right. I vote for that.”
They all voted for that in the end. And after a chilly and uncomfortable night beneath the twisted tree – during which Rothir’s sleep was continually broken by the memory of screams – the Wyedown Inn was where they went.