Chapter 30
“Hope he’s comfortable in that carriage,” said Veron.
“No doubt he is.” Huldarion glanced towards the enclosed carriage in which the Arch-Lord Marshal travelled. Only on the rougher ground did he descend from it to ride on horseback alongside the young Prince. Faldron rode well. But he ought to, with a string of well-trained horses at his disposal.
“Wouldn’t do for me,” said Veron. “Like to see where I’m going.”
Huldarion laughed. In battle he was occasionally afraid of Veron – or rather, afraid of what the man might do; for another spirit seemed to take him over. Otherwise he liked him, although they could hardly be said to be intimate. Certainly the intimacy did not extend to Veron imparting any more information about his wife. Huldarion was curious about what he had learnt two days ago when Veron addressed the hunters. Yet the one question he had subsequently asked, Veron did not so much close down as simply leave unanswered, as if it were irrelevant.
“Well, Veron, you should see the Watch Forts by tomorrow,” he said. “And I sincerely hope we’ll see Thoronal soon after that. How is your gang of hunters faring?”
“Good enough.” Veron had now acquired his own troop of about thirty men, mostly Ioben hunters of wolf and bear, maluf and snow bison; so they ought to know what they were about. “We’ve been discussing the best use of the stones,” he went on. “A series of well-positioned trenches is one solution, if there’s time to dig, but it has to be planned for the terrain.”
“All such plans may be useless if the stonemen get wind of them. They might not bother using the darkburns at all.”
“After bringing them all the way up here? They’ll use ’em,” said Veron confidently. “Just a question of how.”
“I’d give a lot to know that.”
“In Melmet’s last battles the stoneman force outweighed the number of the stones on Melmet’s side. The darkburns caused havoc in the middle. Yaret told me the darkburns didn’t want to go near the Melmet army, but eventually they had to push through it to get away. She said they zig-zagged at random until they finally burst through: didn’t come back. Of course the stonemen may have rounded those ones up by now.”
“Wait a minute,” said Huldarion, almost stopping his horse in its tracks. “Yaret? She said? Who is this?”
“My interpreter,” said Veron with some amusement, “the archer. Archeress: turned out to be female. You’ve heard of her. Fell over the cliff above the Thore and lost a foot, got rescued by Tiburé’s troop last year. Arguril told me the tale.”
“Yes, I remember it. Rothir found her at the bottom of the cliff, beside the river. That’s the same one?” It seemed staggeringly unlikely that she should be here.
“Only introduced herself properly this morning,” said Veron. “Worried about her sex being known, I think. But I’ll make sure there’s no trouble.”
The limp, thought Huldarion. Beardless. Quiet voice. Acted older than she looked. And she recognised my name: that should have set alarm bells ringing louder than they did. “Is the Baron aware he’s harbouring a woman in his ranks?”
“Haven’t asked him.”
“Don’t,” said Huldarion. “Whatever is she doing here?”
“Haven’t asked that either.”
They rode on in silence, Huldarion reflecting on the story of her fall down the precipice with an amputated foot. Extraordinary that she had survived.
No wonder his scars hadn’t disconcerted her. Even Prince Faldron had difficulty looking in Huldarion’s face – at their first meeting the wince had been obvious – but then the Prince had never suffered any injury himself. That might change if he was permitted to take part in the fighting. A big if, however.
“What do you think they’ll do with Faldron in the next battle?” he asked Veron. “Will they keep him safe behind the lines again?”
“For the most part. Let him loose towards the end, with plenty of his own men around. Got to blood him some time.”
“That’s assuming that we’ll win.”
“We’ll win.”
“I like your confidence.”
Veron swept his arm around. “Look at our numbers. And Shargun might ride in a padded carriage, but his men are hard enough.”
“They are a strong force. Our numbers, though, concern me,” said Huldarion. “Yes, combined we have a large, impressive army. But that’s what worries me, you know. The stonemen must have foreseen this. We are doing exactly what they would expect.”
“Might not have expected to be noticed, hiding out up in the forts.”
“Maybe that was their original plan. But all their slash-and-burn across the north must mean they don’t care if they’re noticed. It sounds as if they were just testing Melmet’s little army. I think they’ll be expecting us.”
“May not be expecting Kelvha. Stonemen don’t plan much.”
“But Adon does.”
Another silence. Then Veron said,
“Adon won’t be there.”
“No. He’s never where you think he might be, is he? Even Leor says he doesn’t know where Adon is.”
Veron shrugged. “Wonder how hard he’s looked.”
“You don’t think much of Leor, do you?” said Huldarion.
“He’s a good enough fighter. But he’d rather tame a wolf than kill it.”
“And you wouldn’t?”
“Depends on how much time you’ve got. But stonemen can’t be tamed in any case.”
“Or negotiated with,” said Huldarion. “No, that seems clear. Look there.” He pointed to the westward sky. Beyond a sea of firs, above the gathering evening mists, there rose a square grey sail: a sail made of stone. It was the first of the Watch Forts. They had already passed three such forts, also square and grey, but smaller by comparison; this one was immense even in its semi-ruined state.
Veron nodded, then raised his eyes to gaze across the Outlands, at the far distance which was now obscured in a hazy cloak of cloud.
“When will these fogs disperse, do you think?” Huldarion asked him.
“By tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll see the Liath Mountains in the morning.”
“The Liath Mountains,” repeated Veron softly, with something almost like love.
At the first Watch Fort the army halted. The Kelvhan troops began to arrange their camp around the building, amongst the trees. Inside the fort, the abandoned, twig-strewn rooms were cleared to house the Prince and Arch-Lord and their entourage.
Huldarion joined them only briefly. He was busy moving through the Kelvhan army, assessing the troops and talking to the captains, his own fluent Kelvhan putting them at their ease. They were acquainted by now with his history and his experience of previous campaigns; he carefully mentioned a few far-flung battles to add to what they already knew. For he needed their acceptance more than the Arch-Lord Marshal’s, and he thought that he had it – or he would have it, after the next battle. Provided the rest of his men turned up.
And women, he reminded himself. Don’t forget the women just because the Kelvhans do. So when he went to see his own troops, he made a point of stopping to talk with Delgeb and Hilbré, the most senior women there, assuring them of his undiminished faith in them despite their temporary demotion.
“It is only for this time,” he said. They nodded, though resignedly.
“Don’t worry,” said Delgeb with a curling lip, “we’ll stay unobtrusive.”
Then he went to find the archer, who had been at the back of his mind while he spoke to the women of the Vonn. The Iobens were camped on the worst ground, the Kelvhans having appropriated all the best. He exchanged a few words with their new commander, Nold, who had taken over from the stricken Hreld: he seemed a practical and blessedly unimaginative man. It was gratifying to learn that many of the previous defectors had completed the long journey here.
Veron and his hunters sat a little apart, under the shadows of the pine trees, in the middle of a discussion about night stalking. Huldarion was interested to see the deference which the men showed to Veron, although he spoke to them as equals. They conversed in a strange mixture of Standard and Ioben; while he watched, the archer was needed to interpret only once.
He called her aside. As she saluted he decided that the femaleness was not obvious, yet it was there: the fine skin was camouflaged by the crooked nose as well as by the archer’s bloodstained outfit. A good disguise, but yes... He wondered how long it had taken Rothir to realise.
“Yaret,” he said. “I understand that you’re the woman from the north that Tiburé told me of: the travelling pedlar who found and tended Eled when he lay injured. For that, on behalf of all the Riders of the Vonn, I thank you.”
Her face lit up. “Yes, that’s me. And you’re Huldarion, the leader of the Vonn. But none of them told me that. I only know your name because I overheard it once or twice while they were talking together, that’s all.” He was mildly touched by her anxiety to absolve his Riders. “How is Eled, do you know?” she asked. “And Tiburé? How are they all?”
“Tiburé is in Kelvha. Eled, I understand, is still safe in Farwithiel and making steady if slow progress; Arguril’s with a small troop at the further Outland Forts, but they will join us in a day or two. The other three whom you met are at present on their way up here from the south, along with the main company of Riders.”
Although there was no more than the faint curve of a smile, the expression that leapt into her eyes was unmistakable. Pure joy. He was surprised, and moved. Well, they had saved her life.
“I’m glad they are unhurt,” she said.
“Rothir was wounded at their battle in the south, I’m told, but nothing major.” It was enough to cause a sudden intentness in her gaze, however; and he added, “It won’t prevent him from riding here. I hope for them to meet us at the further Watch Forts late tomorrow evening.”
“May I–” She hesitated. “May I ask to see them? Just to say hallo?”
“They will have little time to rest; but if you can find us around sunset, you may have a few moments to talk to them. I think that seeing you safe and well may do them good.” It may do Rothir good, at least, he thought. And perhaps Maeneb. Not as cold as she appeared. And as for Parthenal… ah, who knew whom Parthenal cared about?
“It will do me good to see them too,” she said, unable now to contain her smile. “I thank you.”
“You are a long way from your home,” he said, although he could not remember being told exactly where that home was.
“I have friends in Melmet.”
“And how is your leg?”
“Better with these days of riding rather than travelling on foot. By the way, Baron Grusald of the Broc is mounted on Eled’s horse. I had to give it him to win my place here.”
“I thought it looked familiar. Did you pay a penalty for your insubordination?”
She smiled again. “He gave me double duty cleaning down the horses. That’s fair enough.”
“It is,” said Huldarion. She saluted him before he walked away.
Next, the Kelvhan quarter-master. After complimenting him on the quality of his fare – not difficult, for the man had, after all, numerous cart-loads of provisions to work with – Huldarion had no compunction about using a little bribery to get some of it for his own troops: not just the ones who were already here, but the larger number who were on their way. He did not care for bribery but in this case it was expected. And for now he had to live by Kelvha’s rules.
The next day dawned cool and yellow, the sunrise laying golden hands across the plain. As the army once again set out west he could not help but notice the new shoots poking through the wan coarse grass: tiny starry flowers were hidden in the moss. A minute insect jumped. Each little sign of life held his attention, seeming to leap into sharp focus. It was not a dead land.
Yet from a human point of view this was a sad and barren country, all but uninhabitable. He wondered what had happened to it; for everything that grew was stunted until the forest made its forbidding reappearance to the north. That heavy mass of trees appeared not green, but almost black: the Watch Forts in front of it were dull grey hulks, their outlines torn and broken.
And then the mist cleared and beyond and over everything he saw at last the Liath Mountains, their upper slopes unforested and clad in snow. For there the winter reigned in cold defiance of the spring elsewhere. The peaks shone, palely glittering against the eastern sun: a beacon and a warning that this remote, forbidding land was no place for men.