Chapter 43
It was a three day ride to reach the western marches. The journey, through increasingly unappetising swampland, was without incident – to Leor’s relief. He’d had enough of incident for a while.
Not much changed except that Sashel and one or two others of the wounded were allowed to leave the carts and ride. Durba only ventured on a horse for short periods, because still she trembled, and could not speak. Leor thought she ought not to be there. Yaret spent much of her time with Durba during the day, talking to her as if nothing were amiss, and in the evenings camped with her and Shebel the herb-mistress and three other women.
Leor himself seemed to have been similarly adopted by Theol, who took care to include him in the general conversations; during which Leor became aware that he was not disliked by the Riders as he had thought, so much as feared. No, feared was the wrong word. They were cautious of him – even deferential. They could not forget that he was a wizard.
There was no deference from Veron, however. Now and then Veron would gallop out of some unknown region on his wiry horse to report tersely to Huldarion. He and a few of the huntsmen were clearing up the edges, as he put it; but there wasn’t much that needing clearing. The small groups of stonemen they had tracked down were apparently befuddled with pain, and unable to put up any effective fight. Veron seemed almost disappointed.
“And the huntress?” Yaret asked him. “Where is she now? Can she travel this far east and south?”
Leor would not have dared to ask him such a question. Last time he had mentioned his wife to Veron, the man had looked straight past him as if he hadn’t spoken. Or wasn’t even there. So that was one way of cloaking himself, with Veron at least… Merely speak of the forbidden, and become instantly invisible.
But it seemed that it was a subject not forbidden to Yaret. For Veron replied,
“If there is need, she can travel far. But she neither needs nor wants to.”
“She belongs in the mountains?” The austere blue-white peaks were now diminishing behind them, looking even more untouchable with distance.
“For preference.”
“How does she travel?” asked Yaret, cautiously enough. But it was a question too many, for Veron gave her a look as sharp as a knife.
“How she chooses to,” he said. And a minute later he had galloped off again.
“You’re bold,” commented Rothir.
“I have as much right to talk of the huntress as he does,” she replied with a shrug.
“And more than any of us from the south do, I suppose. You worship her in Obandiro?”
That too was bold, thought Leor, surprised that Rothir could speak so casually not just of the huntress but of Obandiro – as if it were not gone. Leor himself had talked of it to Yaret in hushed tones.
However, hushed tones were apparently unnecessary; Yaret showed no sign of distress. Indeed, if anything, she seemed glad of the chance to talk about her stricken homeland. Leor was made aware – as he was so frequently – that he really did not understand people very well.
“We don’t worship the huntress,” she answered. “But we do revere her. We treasure her.”
“Do you have temples?” asked Rothir.
“There are no temples to her – nor to any other being for that matter. Whatever people in Obandiro may worship they hold in their hearts.”
Again Leor found his thoughts reverting to Adon, who claimed to be a god; and who, like a particularly selfish god, desired power and worship above all else. The power, he thought, was not worth much to Adon without the worship – even if it was the glory of being feared and hated. Anything but being ignored. People had to notice him, or rather, notice his effects. Leor felt that in this he understood Adon better than he did any human. But then both Adon and he himself were divided from humanity.
Yet could Adon do as the huntress did, and transform himself into another creature? He could certainly make himself appear to, as Leor could if needed. But that was only in appearance, not true transformation.
What sort of creature, he mused, would Adon be? Leor was rather fond of snakes; so not a snake. He was not fond of cockroaches, but admired their resilience. So not a cockroach. He had heard of a giant lizard in the east that ate its prey alive, extremely slowly. That might be the closest.
And his thought the other day that Adon could be here, now, in the train of Kelvhan soldiers, still lingered in his mind. It was unnerving. He told himself that Adon would not bother coming to these western borderlands. He had spoiled and destroyed them long ago, and would find nothing in them to attract him now.
Except Huldarion. And, perhaps, Leor himself…. But Huldarion had little power as yet, and Leor had forsworn his own, as Adon surely knew. There could be no contest of wizardry to draw him. Doubtless he felt for Leor nothing but contempt.
The two columns came to a halt at the edge of a ruined town. This place was not burnt, but had long collapsed. Moss and ivy crept over its broken walls. Leor remembered it from many years ago: not much of a place back then. Nice people, though. Hospitable, until the land had failed, thanks to Adon’s exploitation, when famine had driven them to move elsewhere.
General Istard of the Western Borderlands emerged from the dilapidated gatehouse to meet them and to hold an immediate council. Leor was gratified to find that he was now a dignitary in the Kelvhan commander’s eyes: for Rhadlun invited him to attend the gathering of captains inside the gatehouse.
He was not so gratified when Rhadlun, outlining the Kelvhan victory to the General, described the routing of the stonemen by the wolves, and then added:
“This was done by the wizard Leor’s power. A most valuable asset to our army.”
Rhadlun gave Leor an approving nod. Leor opened his mouth to put him right. At a single, tiny shake of the head from Huldarion he closed it again.
General Istard was eyeing him suspiciously, with some disdain. “I’m sure. However, I don’t think your powers will be required here, master wizard. There’s only the mopping up left to be done. We managed to deal with the stonemen perfectly well without a wizard’s help.” Leor bowed, relieved.
“Of course, the numbers here were smaller,” Rhadlun said.
“That is true,” the General conceded. “It was a mighty victory that you won in the north.” To Leor’s watchful eyes, the General was careful to flatter Rhadlun; showed genuine respect towards Huldarion; and disapproved of Leor himself. Some people were like that about wizardry. He didn’t mind. In fact he tended to admire them for it.
The plan for “mopping up” was duly debated and agreed. It was perhaps not such a trivial matter as the General had implied, for there were still plenty of stonemen roaming the western marches, but in small uncoordinated bands rather than an army. Their chief commanders had been killed and their base ransacked by the General’s men.
“You must have had some losses,” said Huldarion in a sober tone.
The General nodded. “Sixty-five,” he said, and Leor could see the pain in his eyes.
Not so Rhadlun, evidently. “A small price to pay.”
“Not to the men concerned,” said Huldarion quietly. “We will honour them in due course, once the task is finished.”
It was agreed that the newly arrived troops would ride out to the Marches without delay and then split into twos and threes, sweeping the widest possible area for stray stonemen.
For the Vonn, this meant falling into their accustomed pairings. Rothir and Parthenal were to lead out the greater part of the Vonn towards the southern half of the region: Huldarion and Thoronal along with the General would take on the north. Huldarion manoeuvred for this arrangement, with Kelvha filling in the middle. Leor suspected that Huldarion had no confidence in Kelvha sweeping the edges thoroughly; however, he managed to make it seem as if it were Kelvha’s own idea.
Leor himself had no usual riding partner amongst the Vonn. After the council had broken up and he had returned to the troops, he was adjusting Bryddesda’s tack and wondering to whom he should attach himself when Yaret came up to him.
“Ride with me,” she said. “I have no partner either. I was going to make a three with Maeneb and Durba.”
“Durba? Is she fit to ride?”
“Probably not,” said Yaret. “But she insists, and Huldarion allows her. Maybe he thinks that it will help her to recover. They don’t seem to be expecting too much trouble here.”
“Nobody can be sure of that. It only takes one ambush… How would she react?”
“That’s why I was going to make a three with them. If you partner me instead, we can ride close by without it being too obvious to Durba.”
“I don’t think she should be here at all,” said Leor. But he saw the sense in Yaret’s suggestion.
As they cantered out in the line behind Rothir and Parthenal a thin rain fell feebly on them. This was a barren, treeless country, although to Leor’s memory it had once been rich with orchards. Everything that grew here now looked weak and sickly. The place could hardly have been made much worse by the charred streaks of the darkburn trails and the detritus of war. A low haze of smoke hung over the whole scene.
Yaret halted a few times to collect spare arrows. They passed several stoneman corpses, noting that somebody had removed the stones from the heads; Leor did not know which side was responsible. It was all he could do to stop himself from counting the black holes in those skulls, already defaced by carrion crows. How old would that one be? Fourteen?
Don’t think about it. No certainty in any case. Don’t talk about it either: Huldarion’s orders.
He looked away, glancing back at Durba. She seemed to be all right. Now the Riders spread out to begin the sweep of the marches, each pair about fifty yards apart; he could see them stretching to the horizon on his left. And on his other side, beyond Maeneb and Durba – they had allowed that gap to close to twenty yards – his eye was caught by the flashing gear and glittering harnesses of Kelvhan horsemen. He wondered how much time they spent polishing their gilt and bronze.
Maeneb gave a yell. A lone figure had jumped up from the tussocky plain to run. A stoneman. She galloped after it, unsheathing her sword, while Durba held back. Leor rode after Maeneb, but she needed no assistance: the stoneman was already dead before he reached them.
“He didn’t even fight,” she said in some surprise. “Yet he had his axe with him.”
“But if he had no food, no drugs to quell his pain, maybe he had no fight left in him,” Leor commented.
That seemed to set the pattern. Stonemen still lurked in places, hiding in dips in the ground, amongst the long yellow tussocks of dead grass. Some did not even bother running. They just lay and moaned. It was hard for him not to count the stones; hard not to wonder how old each man might be. There was no triumph in killing them, but Leor knew it was the only thing that could be done, for without their athelid they would die in any case, in an exhaustion of agony. Now that they were helpless individuals, and not an attacking army, he could feel pity for them.
Kelvha evidently felt otherwise. There were distant cheers as a stoneman darted up from the ground and was overtaken by a cavalryman before he had taken a dozen staggering steps. This was necessary, Leor told himself again. The cheering wasn’t, though.
Yaret had stopped using her bow after shooting only once. “A sword is surer,” she said grimly. “Quicker.”
He nodded and glanced again at Durba. So far she had pursued no stonemen. But presumably she needed to prove something to herself just by being here. At least she hadn’t turned and fled. Indeed, she looked quite determined as she steered her horse carefully around a patch of prickly scrub. The ground was rutted, so that they had to slow.
“Stop,” said Yaret suddenly.
He stopped at once. “What is it?”
“Can’t you feel it? Durba! Stop!” she yelled.
But Durba must have been out of earshot, for she kept riding on until suddenly her horse halted, bucking fiercely. Durba was almost pitched over its head: she fell sideways out of the saddle and slithered to the ground next to a mass of dead gorse bushes. Over them, the haze of smoke was thicker than elsewhere.
When Leor rode anxiously across to help her, he felt it: a fierce and savage wave of fear. Almost over-powering dread. So familiar by now, and yet it came as a new shock of horror every time. Darkburn…
But where was it? He couldn’t smell it, which was strange. His horse Bryddesda pulled his head round and refused to walk on any further. Fighting the dreadful weakness that came over him, he dismounted before hurrying to help Durba to her feet.
“Are you all right?”
She leant against him, clinging to his arms. She was shaking.
“D…d…”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Yet he could not see it. Where was it? “I won’t let it hurt you. Come back this way.”
He threw a rough shielding spell around them both as he began to lead her back. It was for her protection, after all, surely allowable in the circumstances: and the only person who could justly blame him for using magic was himself.
But the spell was not necessary, for no darkburn rushed out from an unseen hiding-place. Meanwhile Yaret had dismounted too: she walked past them over the rough ground, motioning to Maeneb to stay away. If the darkburn fear affected her she did not show it.
Yaret halted just beyond the gorse bushes, looking through the smoke at the ground close to her feet. Leor could see nothing there. Then he heard a muffled clanking sound and a series of dull thumps: the earth vibrated slightly.
Yaret bent over to peer down before walking back towards them. Although her step was steady he saw how rigid her face was: it was held tight with the strain as she spoke.
“I can’t see it, but it’s there,” she said tersely. “It sounds as if it’s still trapped in its cage. The whole thing’s fallen down a pit. Some sort of pot hole, or maybe an old mine-working. It’s black in there, so I can’t see far, but it must be several yards down at least. The walls of the pit are burnt but they’re not burning now.”
“Don’t worry,” Leor said to Durba, who was still clinging to his arm. “It’s harmless there. It can’t get out.”
Maeneb went over to where Yaret had stood. She too looked down; and then she pulled up an armful of grass, damp with the rain, and dropped it in the pit. A yellow flame flared high, before dying down again. A following plume of smoke grew like a thin grey tree, and then dissolved. The Riders on their right called over to ask what was going on.
“Darkburn,” Maeneb yelled back.
“We’ll just go round it,” said Leor. “Ignore it. It can’t hurt us.”
“C… c… c…”
“It’s harmless while it’s trapped in there,” he assured her. “We’ll walk the horses round this way.”
But Durba seemed frozen to the spot. It took him a few minutes to cajole her into walking even a few yards away – just far enough to allow the sense of dread to diminish. Not until then was he was able to leave her and go to retrieve her nervous horse; then he had to coax both it and Durba into taking a wide diversion round the pit.
They had not got very far before they were joined by a pair of curious Kelvhan soldiers who had ridden over.
“What’s going on?” demanded one.
“Darkburn,” answered Maeneb curtly. “It’s trapped in a hole.”
“Show us.” The Kelvhans left their horses, to accompany Maeneb to the pit’s edge. They looked in briefly; recoiled and hastily retreated. After a brief, vehement argument between the pair, one of them galloped off again.
Maeneb strode back to Leor and the others. She looked not just tense and jittery from her proximity to the darkburn, but also furiously angry.
“Well, that’s done it,” she said bitterly.
“What has?”
“Those turnip-headed Kelvhans want to keep it.”
“They what?”
“They want to pull the darkburn out and take it home with them.” Maeneb was almost spitting the words. “That’s what they’re saying, anyway. They’re wondering if the cage is still intact.”
“Dear stars in heaven,” said Leor. “Are they mad?”
“They mustn’t do that! It would be incredibly dangerous,” exclaimed Yaret.
“How are you going to stop them?” countered Maeneb. “They won’t take any notice of us.”
“We need to tell the others.” Immediately Yaret flung herself on to her horse, and galloped away towards the nearest Riders to their south.
“I don’t think we need worry too much,” said Leor to the other two women. “They’ll never be able to get it back up to the surface. The cage must weigh a ton or two at least, and it sounds as if it’s gone a long way down.”
“They could use horses to pull it out,” said Maeneb.
“They’d need a lot of horses to drag it up,” he argued. “It’s not like pulling a cart. And ropes would burn: so they’d have to use chains. I doubt if they’ve got that many chains handy, and even if they have, they’d need to get down into the pit and attach them to the cart somehow, without being burnt alive. I can’t think of a way of doing that.”
“B…b…b…”
“It’s all right,” added Leor reassuringly to Durba, “no-one is going to get burnt alive. We’ll prevent them from even trying. There’s the Kelvhan commander coming over: I’ll have a word with him.”
He felt tenderly protective towards her. Patting her shoulder, he managed to unprise her clinging fingers from his arm and latch them on to Maeneb – who looked alarmed – before he strode over to speak with the Kelvhans.
It was Rhadlun who had arrived, with a number of his men. They were inspecting the pit from a safe distance when he walked up to meet them.
“My lord,” said Leor. “A stray darkburn. Best left where it is, I think.”
Rhadlun turned to him. “We want to keep this one.”
“But what for?”
“To take back to Kelvha with us, if at all possible. To study and to understand the thing. It seems to be still trapped within its cage. If we can pull it out…”
“No, that’s nigh on impossible,” said Leor. “And even were it possible, it’s far too dangerous.”
“Not easy, granted. But there is a way.”
“There is no way that’s safe.”
Rhadlun looked at Leor with a considering expression. “No? I think differently. You are, after all, a wizard.”
Leor caught his breath. “What? I will not use my wizardry on such an enterprise.”
“Do you mean you couldn’t do it?”
He was nettled. “I could, certainly – but it would be most unwise. The danger to everyone concerned would be excessive.”
“I don’t see why,” said Rhadlun. “We can all stand clear while you lift the thing out. If the cage comes open, surely you can hold it closed? Once it’s on the ground, we’ll do the rest.”
“It’s not that simple!”
The Kelvhan commander raised his eyebrows. “You just told me you could lift the creature from the pit. And I saw the effects of your wizardry over the animals at the northern forts: that was undeniably strong magic, to make them fight in such a way. So are you now refusing us your aid, when we request it?”
Leor felt himself trapped. To say that he had forsworn magic would hold no sway with Rhadlun.
“I simply question the wisdom of trying to keep a darkburn captive,” he replied.
“Stonemen do it. Why shouldn’t we try? Especially now that we have plenty of their stones. We’re well protected if by any faint chance it did get loose.”
He tried again. “It’s not simply the physical danger. The effect on people’s minds – the terror that the darkburns induce – the stonemen were, I think, immune to that.”
“Yes. Drugged,” said Rhadlun. “According to those stonemen that the Baron took prisoner. I heard about those. It made me realise that we should have tried to take more prisoners ourselves – but not stonemen: they cannot be of use to us. Darkburns can. This is a golden opportunity.”
Leor did not know what to say. With some relief he saw Rothir galloping towards him, with Yaret’s horse trailing behind. Rothir would surely back him up.
Rothir jumped off his horse, looked at the pit and strode across to them, offering Rhadlun the briefest of bows.
“There is a darkburn in that ditch there, so I’m told?”
“Caged,” said Rhadlun. “The cage appears to be intact. The thing could be invaluable to us as an object of study. We would like to take it back to Kelvha.” As he expounded on his desire to have the darkburn pulled out, his words and tone implied that he was not to be denied.
Rothir listened without expression. “I appreciate your wish to understand the darkburn,” he replied. “However, they are unpredictable things, and I believe that such an attempt would be both dangerous and unwise.”
“There is no danger at all with the right tools.”
“What tools?”
“You say this wizard is your ally,” said Rhadlun with a hint of lofty scorn. “He claims to be a friend to Kelvha. He has already told me that he can raise the darkburn using wizardry. I ask you, then, why will he not comply with my request? Is he, after all, an enemy to Kelvha – or is he simply lying, and unable to do the feats he boasts of?”
“Let me discuss the matter with him,” said Rothir. He took Leor to one side while the Kelvhans waited.
“Could you do this thing?” he said to him abruptly.
“Yes, I could,” said Leor. “But I should not.”
“I agree. The very idea of taking a darkburn back to Kelvha… However.” Rothir frowned, thinking. “It’s clear that to refuse will displease Rhadlun greatly. It could jeopardise our whole alliance.”
“Then we need to ask Huldarion.”
“Yes, ideally, but Huldarion is miles away. It will take too long to find him and procure an answer. But I think that he would say that you should do it. We have the stones to keep us safe. How the Kelvhans deal with the darkburn once it’s out is up to them.”
“I could just say that I’m unable. I’m not so proud that I can’t do that.”
Rothir considered this, before shaking his head.
“I don’t think they’d believe you. Didn’t you tell Rhadlun you could do it?”
“I did, unfortunately.” Leor cursed his own pride.
“And they’ve already seen a powerful example of what they assume was your wizardry.”
Leor groaned. “The wolves weren’t my doing, though!” he protested.
“Whether they were or not is irrelevant. If you refuse to aid the Kelvhans now, they’ll see it as obstinacy at best, or at worst as outright hostility.” Rothir spoke with decision. “No, Leor: do it if you can. If I’m wrong and Huldarion objects, I take full responsibility.”
“I really don’t want to raise the darkburn.”
“I know. Sorry, Leor. Do it anyway. Can I help at all?”
“Just keep everyone well out of the way,” said Leor. He was angry – a little with Rothir, but mainly with the Kelvhan commander and his request which was actually an order. The arrogance of it: thinking he could not just control a darkburn, but command a wizard.
However, now he had to set his mind to the task. It must be several years since he’d attempted such strong magic; and for a dreadful moment he feared that he would find his power diminished, or that he would somehow have forgotten how to use it.
As soon as the onlookers were all safely standing back, he concentrated on the darkburn in the pit. He threw back his cloak with a flourish – a little theatre for the Kelvhans – and stretched out his hand. This too was theatre. It didn’t matter where his hand was; it was his will that mattered. Now, focusing his will, he stretched it out as well, in a way he had not done for a long time, feeling for the unseen cage.
And the power began to flow through him as it always used to do. He realised that he had forgotten – not how to use his wizardry – but how it felt. The sheer joy of it. The sense of force untrammelled; the feeling that he could do anything he wanted. It blazed through him as hot as any darkburn, but with a fire of life, not death.
Gradually, a ruddy glow of iron bars and then the piece of night that was the darkburn became visible as the cage was lifted, rattling, from the pit. Leor, both arms outstretched now, felt exultant. Curious how he made the earth expel it. He himself did not know how it worked, any more than a man knows how he beats his heart: he knows that muscles do this and that, but the actual thing does itself.
The wizardry does itself, he thought, and I am a mere instrument. It was the first time he had ever had such a notion.
The cage was fully out. It was on its side: he laid it down amidst crushed gorse bushes, looking somewhat twisted and distorted. After carefully setting it upright he next sealed the joints and door with spells to guard against any accident. Behind the bars he saw the darkburn huddled, a small blot of shadow emanating heat and stink and fear. All those were strong to his senses now.
It had taken about a minute. He looked around almost expecting applause – it had been done well, and certainly deserved applause, he thought – and saw Rothir, grave, and Yaret holding Durba who hid her face. Maeneb stood apart and glowering. The Kelvhans simply looked intrigued, while Rhadlun strode over to the darkburn cage as if he took the extraordinary feat for granted.
As he approached, Rhadlun retrieved an object from his pocket and held it out. It must have been a stone; for there was a loud thump as the darkburn tried to hurl itself through the back of the cage. Luckily, though warped, the iron structure was intact. Its wheels were still in place; long chains dangled from it down into the pit. Around the cage the grass was already steaming and starting to curl up.
“Bring those up,” said Rhadlun, pointing to the dangling chains. He meant Leor. Unwillingly, Leor complied, and Rhadlun immediately ordered them to be affixed to horses. More Kelvhans were called over to perform the task.
“Happy?” said Leor to Rothir.
“No. But I think you had to do it. We can leave them to it now. We need to continue our sweep of the Marches. I’d advise you to get well away before the Kelvhans ask you to do anything else.”
It was good advice. Rhadlun offered no more than the dismissive wave of a hand as Leor announced his intention to move on.
He strode away fuming. Rothir was right: he needed to get away before Rhadlun tried to give him any more orders. What an ungrateful, over-bearing man. He almost hoped despite himself that the darkburn would give the Kelvhans trouble. Mounting his horse, he beckoned to Yaret.
“Come on,” he said, “Let’s move. We’ve still got a job to do.”
“Maeneb will go with you. I might take Durba back to camp,” said Yaret. “I think she’s had enough of this.”
And so have I, Leor thought irately, riding off so fast that Maeneb had to hurry to catch up. Resentful anger burnt in his chest. He was almost tempted to blast the Kelvhan commander off his feet and throw him in the pit: that would show him what command really was…
Of course he would not do any such thing. But he had been reminded that if he chose, he could. His whole body tingled as the sense of his own power ran through him; like a river, purposeful and fast and strong, that had just been released after being so long dammed up.