Darkburn Book 4: The Haunt of Ternss by Tayin Machrie - HTML preview

Chapter 11

“What am I doing here?” Tamu asked aloud.

Luckily nobody was close enough to hear his words except Leor, who was riding moodily alongside him on his lanky horse; and Tamu did not mind the wizard hearing his self-doubts. He had already discovered that Leor had so many self-doubts of his own that he accepted the expression of such thoughts as merely natural.

“You are seeing the world,” responded Leor glumly, as if such a thing were not desirable at all. And indeed the part of the world that they were currently seeing – two days from the relative comfort of the farmstead – was a stony and unwelcoming, if spectacular place.

The spectacle was provided by the narrow band of mountains that marched two miles to their left. Those hills had teeth: bare, jagged peaks of greyish rock that sprouted from the yellow slopes below. Tamu presumed that the yellow was vegetation, and hoped that the brown ants that moved across it were goats. Or possibly antelope. Surely not lions, following this long line of Riders, this great rambling herd of potential prey…

“What are those animals over there?” he asked.

“Deer,” said Leor, without looking. “I expect Huldarion will send a few archers over to get some, to supplement the stores. No-one farms this land.”

As he spoke a small group left the train and began to gallop over to the mountain slopes, bows slung across their backs. Tamu recognised some of the Ioben hunters – the ones who had not stayed behind at the farmstead with Veron.

Tamu found that he was learning the different elements of this army he had joined. As well as the main body of the Riders, and the Ioben hunters in their fur-lined cloaks, there was a smattering of soldiers from Melmet and its neighbours in the north. Yaret had introduced him to a pair from Gostard, a place too primitive and distant to have ever featured in the Kelvhan chronicles: a grizzled man called Jerred, and a big, loose-tongued fellow, Inthed.

And then there were the Kelvhan volunteers – not just the priest Hokiro, but also the two women. Although most of the Riders thought they were both maidservants from Kelvha Castle, Tamu knew better. He had recognised the Lady Janeya as soon as he saw her, even in her maid’s plain garb and hairstyle, with a face ravaged by crying. He knew the secret that Janeya had not died but had been smuggled out of Kelvha: and he knew that Meya knew, and Meya knew he knew.

So, despite his gratitude to Meya for giving him a temporary escape from Kelvha Castle, he was staying well out of her way. He kept company sometimes with Hokiro, an educated man whom he found congenial when they kept to the subject of old books. But Tamu was wary of the priest’s enthusiasm for Borgun, always close to the surface; and warier still because of their shared knowledge of the ancient bowl.

When he had recognised the recent singing of that bowl he had assumed Hokiro was responsible – or, rather, irresponsible. But afterwards many Riders seemed to have accepted the theory that the ringing was a strange fluke of the wind. Yaret had talked about a cave she knew which produced a similar echoing song; and Uld had mentioned some nearby rock formation that supposedly hummed in the breeze. Other people seemed to think it was a warning bell of Leor’s making. The more Leor denied it, they more they clung to this belief.

And so the truth had been kept secret. But Tamu remained wary of Hokiro. However, he had taken to Leor, divining that the wizard was something of a fellow-misfit here amongst the Vonn. Leor was, he thought, well-meaning but awkward despite his age and accumulated lore; a man who questioned himself constantly.

So he stuck by Leor as they rode. He was not enjoying the journey. His tetchy, self-willed horse made for an uncomfortable ride; the teeth of those bad-tempered mountains snarled at him.

But it was not for Leor’s company that Tamu was here. Nor was it for any wish to see the wider world, which seemed to him an unpredictable and perilous place. Once out of the city he could have made his own way back to his homeland and his mother many days ago.

Yet he had stayed on with the Vonnish army: and his despairing query had been a rhetorical one. Why was he here? He knew exactly why.

It was for Parthenal. It was to be close to Parthenal. Parthenal, to whom he barely spoke, with whom he had exchanged a whole two casual greetings in the last four days; yet who blazed across his consciousness like an extra, brighter, sun. At the very name of Parthenal – at the merest distant glimpse of him between the carts – Tamu felt those wings inside his chest unfold and beat, as hard as his heart was beating, and although he knew those wings would never be allowed to fly he could not cast them off.

All that he could do was to go wherever Parthenal went. Now and then he was rewarded – or tormented – by the fleeting sight of Parthenal on his horse, so straight and graceful, mounting or dismounting with a flexing of the hard muscles in his long thighs; and Tamu was, at rare enchanting moments, enthralled by the sound of Parthenal’s clear voice as he spoke amongst his comrades.

Tamu knew that he could never be included in their number. His dreams of acquiring courage and fine sword skills – like his dreams of acquiring height and grace – were, he knew, entirely laughable. None the less he longed not just to be near Parthenal but to serve him, however unobtrusively or secretly, in any way he could. He had no idea what form that way might take.

So here he was, being jolted onward on his hastily hired horse, underneath a lowering grey sky, with a set of rocky grinning teeth on one side and a gloomy wizard on the other.

He looked across at Leor, who was stroking his long red beard with one hand as he rode. His bright hair with its snowy streaks was raised behind him like a flag although there was no breeze that Tamu could detect. A tiny magical display of vanity, perhaps. But he sympathised with the wizard’s downcast spirits.

“Your magic will prove biddable in time,” he reassured Leor. “You just need to practise it. Like learning to ride a horse.”

“Hmm,” said Leor. “But I know my horse. My horse is a loyal, steadfast beast. It has four legs and two ears and a hungry stomach like all horses.” He leant forward to give his bony steed Bryddesda an affectionate pat. “Yet although I’ve lived with my own wizardry for centuries I do not understand it. I don’t know where my magic comes from, nor how nor why. It’s a problem that I’ve mulled over and then shrugged off in the past. But I find it becomes increasingly important.”

“None of us knows where our lives come from, or why,” said Tamu.

“In your case, parents,” said Leor gruffly. “I didn’t even have those, to the best of my knowledge.”

Tamu thought, and tried again. “We don’t have to understand water in order to drink it or swim in it,” he said.

“But the understanding helps.”

“We don’t have to know–”

“Enough,” said Leor. “No more analogies, I beg you. I appreciate your wish to help, Tamu, but this is something only I can solve. No-one else alive can appreciate this mystery of my magic.”

“Except Adon,” said Tamu.

Leor let out a sound between a groan and a grunt. “Except Adon... I wonder if he does understand it. I wonder if he even tries. I doubt that he lets that or any other uncertainty disturb him.” He twisted in the saddle to gaze around. “And I wonder where he is,” he muttered.

“Surely you’d know if he was here – hidden, or in disguise?”

“Not necessarily. I’m told that when I try to camouflage myself, I leave a shimmer. Adon has learnt to do his shape-shifting more effectively.” Leor craned his neck around again, before resuming his position with a sigh. “Actually, I suspect we would all know if Adon were here, because he would not want to hide himself for very long. He’s too fond of attention; he likes an audience. He wouldn’t be able to resist some showy gesture.”

“Like blowing up a sheep, you mean?”

Leor compressed his lips. After a moment he said, “I am nothing like Adon. That wasn’t done for show.”

“Your magic seemed to think it was,” Tamu remarked. Then, feeling sorry for the wizard, he went on, “I’ll take your word for it that Adon isn’t in our train. I suppose any strangers would be immediately noticed anyway.”

“Perhaps,” said Leor. “But I think if Adon is anywhere nearby, he’ll be with the Kelvhan army. He seems to have allied himself to some extent with Nerogun, if not the rest of them. It’s a very uneasy situation. But I’m not sure what Huldarion can do about it other than keeping a close watch on Nerogun.”

“He’s hardly doing that, is he? Unless he’s set spies in the Kelvhan camp.”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Leor, “which is, admittedly, not comprehensive.”

“I thought we would have met up with the Kelvhans before now.”

“Later. They aren’t interested in the Place of Terns.”

“Then they’ve probably sent their own scouts here to check on us. Are you sure there are no Kelvhan snoopers lurking behind us now?” He was partly joking, but Leor answered with a worried frown.

“No, I’m not sure. Now I come to think of it, you’re right. Kelvha may well have spies close by. But I can’t detect them… Curse it all!” the wizard exclaimed irritably. “Damn my stupidity! What use am I? There could be anyone out there. Not just Kelvhans. Stonemen. Even, as you said, Adon himself.”

“Don’t curse yourself,” said Tamu, surprised at this reaction. “If Kelvha wants to keep an eye on us, what does it matter? What can the Kelvhans – or even stonemen – learn about us that they don’t already know? What can they do? There’s no concealment for an ambush anywhere round here.”

But Leor shook his head in self-disgust and desolation. “That’s not the point. My ineffectiveness is the point.”

“Try not to be so hard upon yourself,” said Tamu gently. He thought about how frequently he had despised his own timidity, his failures, his many frailties. Sometimes you could break through them, he reflected, but generally you couldn’t. Or he couldn’t. All the same, it hurt to see this tall and mighty wizard in the same despairing state.

“I have nothing but ignorance to show for centuries of effort,” said Leor, his voice low. Tamu did not know what to say. None the less, out of pity for the wizard he thought of a consoling answer.

“You will have had a great effect, Leor. It’s just that it’s not evident to you. But it will have been evident to others. You will have made a difference. Many differences.” This sounded like a feeble reassurance to his ears.

Perhaps not to Leor’s ears, however; for the wizard raised his head, set back his shoulders, and spoke with more decision.

“You’re right, of course. I have done some things well: and I will do more hereafter.”

“Of course you will,” said Tamu encouragingly.

“I will protect this train from spies, to start with.”

“Will you? How?”

“My magic shall decide.”

“Your magic? Like it did back at the farm?”

“This is different. I do this in consideration, not through self-indulgent anger, nor for show. No sheep will die this time.”

“But, Leor, are you sure that that it’s a good idea to let your–”

Tamu’s sentence died out unfinished. For Leor had relaxed upon his horse, his eyes closed not in slumber but as if drinking in some deep contemplative idea.

And Tamu had the sense of his surroundings shifting.

He glanced round in alarm. What was happening? There was no unusual noise, no sudden movement, no attack of stonemen; nothing at all to cause nervousness. Yet something had just changed.

It took him another minute – during which Leor sat on his horse with closed eyes – to work out what it was. The change was in the sky: or rather, in those heavy rolls of cloud which stretched from bleak horizon to horizon.

They were moving across the mountain tops far to his left; not swiftly, but enough to be already blunting those sharp teeth in a dull foggy film. Twenty seconds later, the teeth could not be seen at all.

Bewildered, Tamu looked ahead, past all the carts and Riders. He saw the clouds there too begin to gather, to roil themselves up – slowly at first but with increasing speed – to form great heaving clumps which merged into one cloud: one long, low, heavy, reddish, opaque cloud that looked as dense as earth. The Riders were murmuring, pointing at the sky and commenting on this curious weather. Many hurriedly shook out cloaks from their packs and donned them, in expectation of hail or thunderous rain.

None fell. The cloud – no longer plural, but a growing, single, massive, sky-wide thing – was gradually descending, as if some dark grey-brownish roof were lowering itself towards the plain, above the marching army. Beneath it was increasing shadow.

Tamu felt a sudden panic lest the cloud should come right down upon the Riders like a smothering blanket, to totally conceal them – blind them – or consume them.

“Leor!” he cried out. “Open your eyes, Leor!”

The wizard’s eyes flew open. He looked startled at the sight of the endless bank of cloud sinking inexorably earthwards.

“Was that me?” he breathed. “Did I do that?”

Tamu did not answer. In fearful wonder he watched the cloud continue to descend. He could no longer see the mountains. They had been completely swallowed up.

Ahead of him the long vista of the plain was becoming flattened, its sky turning to a low shadowed roof. The cloud pressed down and down, until Tamu felt that he would only have to raise his hand to touch it. He imagined that it would feel as clammy and as cold as clay.

He noticed others tentatively doing just that, putting up their hands: and realised that the roof of cloud was in fact some twenty feet or so above the ground. But even twenty feet felt far too close. How much further would the cloud descend?

Instinctively Tamu flinched, cowering on his horse, which snorted in distaste but did not seem to be afflicted with the same fear that assailed him. He dared not look up any longer in case his gaze pulled down the cloud around him like a curtain, to envelop him entirely.

“Well,” said Leor’s voice, sounding a little ragged: an uncertain mixture of triumph and shock. “The stonemen certainly won’t be spying on us now!”

Tamu risked a glance upwards. There loomed the massive cloud above him, no longer in descent – but low, so low and heavy that it seemed to push him down. The long line of the wondering Vonn rode on beneath its rust-brown roof, as if riding into the mouth of a vast dim tunnel that led deep underground.