Chapter 20
One day, and then another, passed in cloud-wreathed gloom. Yaret, alarmed by the finding of the darkburn, and fearing to come across more broken carts, left the Tuatha and the stonemen’s trail to trek directly west. This route took her across sad boggy pastures, punctuated by small prickly bushes. No majestic hutila trees here. It was all redthorn, greythorn, winterthorn, every sort of thorn.
Nevertheless, she had always liked these unobtrusive wildlands, the birdsong that had bubbled from the spiky thickets, the slinking glimpses of small secret animals. But this time the region seemed too quiet: immobile, full of dark foreboding, so that she felt her solitude as she never had before. Nobody stood at her shoulders, no dead, no living, no-one. She tried to sing: a travelling song, part Madeo’s, part her own. The sound of her own voice wavering in the emptiness merely made her solitude seem all the greater.
On the third day the distant sight of Gostard on Outer Kelvha’s fringes brought a disproportionate relief. Here, romping on green meadows, were flocks of sheep and shaggy goats along with their wobbly-legged young; here were fields lately ploughed and sown, as normal, even if there were fewer people to be seen than she would normally expect.
When she called at one of her usual farmhouse stops she found it deserted. A little closer to the town, at the Gostard Mill, she was greeted by an unknown apprentice who squinted at her askance before shutting the door firmly in her face. But the mere sound of human voices raised her spirits, as did the evidence that no darkburn had laid waste to this land.
So she made her way down the road to the Gostard Inn, ready to spend some of her carefully hidden silver on a decent bed and a hot meal. She wouldn’t mind a little company in the parlour. Some music would be a treat.
The inn was quiet. No carts or horses stood in the stableyard except her own. But when she stepped inside the gloomy, almost empty parlour, Rud the innkeeper was still standing in his long stained apron behind the equally stained counter, as if he’d never moved since her visit there last year.
“Yaret! What are you doing here?” He stared at her before breaking into his slow smile. “I wasn’t expecting you for a few more months yet, if at all.”
“But here I am. How goes it, Rud?”
He answered with a grimace. “Well… Not so good, as you can see.”
“I can see it’s quiet. Have you got any food on? Egg pie?”
“No pie. We’ve got eggs.”
She ordered eggs. Once they were fried and set before her with the bread and pickles and hot sauce, she asked him, “So, Rud, what’s been going on since I was here last?”
Leaning on the counter, he began to tell her. It was a confused and confusing account. Over the last few months, he said, raids and fires and robberies had afflicted several areas nearby. Strange violent brigands from the south had reportedly been crossing the region, some as close as an hour’s ride away; but no closer, and he was vague about the details.
Then sad streams of country people had started trickling through Gostard, saying they were fleeing the raiders. While Rud expressed sympathy for some of these refugees, he blamed others for thefts in the town, and was sceptical about their testimony. He had little idea of what the stonemen were like, and did not even mention darkburns except as a nasty distant rumour of firestorms and magic.
Yaret did not enlighten him because she suspected he would disbelieve her too. Instead she asked, “How long since those raiders passed through the area?”
“A load of them went north before the winter set in, and more have followed recently, by all accounts. Practically an army. I’ve heard that there were several thousands altogether though I can’t vouch for that. Some people blame Kelvha for all the trouble,” he said, shaking his head.
“Kelvha? Why? These raiders aren’t from Kelvha, are they?”
“Well, it’s true they don’t sound like your average Kelvhan soldiers. No cavalry for a start. But on the other hand, Kelvha have done nothing to stop them, have they? After all we’ve done for Kelvha,” – which was little enough, thought Yaret, except supplying beer and barley – “they’ve sent no troops up here to help us out. Some folks think Kelvha know all about what’s going on and are content to let it happen. They say they’re in league with those invaders – what did you call them?”
“Stonemen. So none have come to Gostard?”
“No, thank goodness. They sound like a dodgy lot. But people round here have been alarmed enough to take up arms. I’m too old to be much use, but a group of Gostard men have ridden off to Melmet to join forces with the Baron of the Broc, if he’ll allow. He’s closer to us than Kelvha and a better ally. They want to get the Baron to hunt these raiders down before they can come here.”
“When did that group leave for Melmet?”
“Two days ago. So what’s been going on in Obandiro, then, Yaret?”
Obandiro is burnt down to the ground was ready on her tongue. But she felt obscurely that it would be unwise to admit the town’s vulnerability, even to stout old Rud, and despite the fact that it was such a long way off. So she told Rud only a small portion of the truth: that her grandfather’s house had been attacked by stonemen while she was away, and both grandparents killed.
He shook his head, appearing deeply affected by the news. “A fine old man,” he kept saying.
“In many respects,” said Yaret. “So here I am, looking for information as much as anything. Rud – have you heard of a people called the Vonn? The Riders of the Vonn.”
“The Vonn? I may have.” Although his head went up in recognition, he was cautious. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh… just because I met a couple of them on my journeyings last year. I gathered they were hunting down these stonemen.”
Rud picked up a grubby cloth and pushed it around the counter, not quite casually enough. “Do you know the names of any of those Riders?”
“I didn’t ask,” she said, which was almost true. Eled was the only one whom she had asked directly for his name. She had the sense that she and Rud were circling round each other as if unsure of how much they could say. Yet she had always thought of Rud as a man that she could trust.
So trust him now, she thought.
“Those Riders saved my life,” she said, “when we were on the same road and a group of stonemen ambushed us. I owe them a great debt. Their leader was called Tiburé. If they’re fighting stonemen, maybe a messenger could be sent to tell them about the army marching through these parts.”
“I think they already know.”
“What makes you say that?”
Rud leant on the counter with his chin on his hands, ruminating.
“I’ve met a few Riders of the Vonn from time to time,” he said at last. “None called Tiburé. But we had a couple of them stop here a few weeks ago. Don’t know if they were hunting stonemen; it seems quite likely to me now, although they didn’t say. They don’t talk about their business, though everyone knows it’s usually wolves up this end of the world, especially in winter. One of them was the wolf-hunter.”
“A wolf-hunter?”
“Name of Veron. Small dark man in a wolfskin cloak. You know him?”
“No.”
“Now there’s a man I wouldn’t tangle with. No trouble, mind you, pays his bill. Polite enough. But.” He shook his head. “Well, this time he had a younger rider with him who got into a fight.”
“What about?”
“It was all to do with Kelvha and those stonemen, as you call them. Veron’s companion didn’t like Kelvha being bad-mouthed. One of my regulars had had a bit too much to drink and starting cursing Kelvha, saying they’re encouraging these stonemen to come up here and run riot. It’s only what lots of people have been saying, but this young Rider didn’t like it. He put down his fork and told Abrel he was an idiot. Well, he was right there: Abrel’s generally an idiot, but I don’t like fighting in my inn.”
“Who won?”
“The young Rider. It didn’t take him long to deck Abrel. Nobody else got involved – Abrel isn’t much liked. I saw Veron watching and waiting just in case he needed to step in. He didn’t, though, and Abrel can be thankful for it. That would have been more likely to end with a knife in the throat than a punch on the nose.”
“Where did they go afterwards? The two Riders, I mean?”
“South. That’s all I know.”
“Not to Melmet, then.”
“Who can say? They get around.”
“You don’t know where they’re based?” The name of Thield was on her lips, but she did not speak it.
“South,” repeated Rud. “That’s all I know.” He compressed his mouth as if he’d said more than he’d intended. He didn’t move away, however, so after polishing her plate with the last piece of bread, she ventured to ask one more thing.
“Rud. What about Leori? The wizard that you told me about last time I was here. Could he help fend off these stonemen?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Leori? You didn’t meet him on your travels too, did you?”
“I’ve never set eyes on him as far as I know. It’s just that being here reminded me of last year, when you talked about him.”
“Well, I probably shouldn’t have,” said Rud, and this time he did move away and had a desultory go at cleaning tables. There was nothing more to be got out of him that evening, so she went to her room. The bed felt damp and unused.
When she came down the next morning, however, the landlord was a little friendlier again. Perhaps the sight of her silver helped, when she settled up the bill.
“Leori,” he said, counting coins. “I’ve been thinking about him. Why exactly did you mention him yesterday, Yaret?”
“Like I said, I just remembered some remark you made last year. And a wizard could be really useful now.”
“Maybe Leori would be useful – if he could be persuaded to do magic. He wouldn’t do any for me, when I asked him to seal my roof after a storm. I offered him good money, too.”
“Perhaps roof-sealing isn’t in his line of work,” said Yaret, faintly amused.
“Magic’s magic, though, isn’t it? It wouldn’t have been hard for him to do. You’d think he should be able to turn his hand to anything. His brother can, they say.”
Now she stared at him. “What brother?”
“Adon.” Rud divided the coins carefully into little piles. “Now Adon’s the real deal by all accounts. Lightning bolts and rivers of molten rock. He can tear the earth apart, apparently.”
“And can he mend it afterwards?”
Rud laughed. “Unknown. Have you heard of Adon?”
“Never.”
“I think he’s had other names. So has Leori. He’s no friend of Leori, though.”
“So which of them would you trust?” she asked.
“I’d trust Leori, even if he wouldn’t mend my roof,” Rud said without hesitation. He was serious again; solemn, even. “But Adon has his supporters. Some people round here who don’t like Kelvha seem to think Adon will have the answer to their problems.”
“And will he?”
“I doubt it. But it sounds as if he’s been stirring things up – or someone has, on his behalf. I don’t know where he is, himself. But it’s all a bit strange.” Then he looked directly at her. “You’re not the least strange part of this,” he said abruptly. “Yaret, what are you really doing here? You haven’t ridden a hundred miles and more just to gather news. You’ve brought no samples and no donkeys. You’re asking about Leori and the Vonn. You’ve put a high-bred war-horse in my stables if ever I saw one. And you’re carrying a sword. So where did that come from?”
“From our forge in Obandiro.” There seemed no point in hiding this part of the truth. “I’ve come here because I want to fight. I’m going to follow that group that went to Melmet, if that’s where the fighting is. I want to stop the stonemen from doing to anyone else what they did to – to my grandparents. Rud, their farm was nothing but ash.”
“You want to fight,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. I’m only one person, and a female at that, with a sword I’ve never used except to chop up roots. All the same, if there’s any fighting to be done, I want to be there.”
As he gazed at her she could see the wheels of slow thought turning behind his deep-set eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table.
“Jerred the carpenter organised the group that went off to Melmet,” he said eventually.
“I know Jerred. He bought a cloak off us every other year. I used to stop there for a meal.”
“Then you’ll know that he’s an honourable man. Look for him in Melmet and he might let you join his little troop. I can’t promise. It might be up to the Baron – what’s his name?”
“The Baron of the Broc? Grusald, I think.”
“That’s the one.” Rud heaved a deep sigh and pushed three of the silver coins back over the counter to her. “You might need those.”
“But so do you, Rud.”
“Take them,” he said heavily. “I’m too unfit and too much of a coward to go and fight. If I were a better man I’d come with you. Take the money.”
“Thank you, Rud,” she said, and took it.
Then she led Poda from the empty stables. Was her steed so obviously a high-bred war-horse? Yes; undoubtedly. Poda was conspicuous – far more so than Yaret was herself. Whether that was a good thing or not, only time would tell.