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

Chapter 19

The Riders were once more on the move, although without the jokes and carefree talk of previous days. The mood was much less cheerful.

Huldarion too was sombre. He had expected an attack by stonemen at some point; and the Vonn had got off lightly. Moreover, so far there had been no follow-up assault.

But he was perturbed at the attack’s surprising suddenness. The stonemen had come upon them completely undetected by the sentries; no warning chime had rung out from the bowl – not that he had thought it would – but the scouts had not reported any stonemen lurking near. So where had they sprung from? The sentries had been lulled into carelessness, most likely, by the quiet of this place.

Now, in daylight, there was nowhere for ambushers to hide. For the hills were shrinking, their sharp angry peaks becoming blunt, and finally flattened as if an enormous mallet had been at work. The few low patchy shrubs became still fewer; and since the dissipation of the strange cloud, the air had remained clear, giving them a long view across this empty land. The ruins that threatened to trip their horses only added to the sense of loneliness.

Yet it is not lonely here, Huldarion mused; for the land feels full of… what? Not ghosts, despite the long abandoned houses. It is not haunted, except maybe by itself; it feels complete, a place where human presence can add nothing.

He paused his horse and sniffed the breeze. Was that the cold tang of the sea? He drew it in, anticipating.

“Another day’s march,” he said to Thoronal, “and we’ll be there.”

Thoronal gave a snort in answer.

Huldarion studied him. “You have no hankering to set eyes on the sea again?”

“I had no great love for it the first time,” Thoronal replied.

To his dismay, Huldarion realised that he felt like shaking his chief counsellor. He bit back the reproach that sprang to his lips. But could not Thoronal pretend some eagerness? They were taking a roundabout route to Caervonn, it was true; yet he could show more enthusiasm than this.

While he held his tongue, Huldarion pondered. Was he wise to keep the man so close just because he was a cousin? This was still not the confident Thoronal of old, for he had seemed sunk in doubt and gloom ever since his errors on the battlefield beside the Darkburn forest.

For all his worries, Huldarion felt glad that soon he would behold the sea. Perhaps it was because of all his worries: the sea promised renewal, rest, a place to lay down burdens for a while. He would have welcomed some gesture of fellow-feeling from Thoronal.

Glancing round, he guessed that Rothir shared his pleasure: he was looking more content than he had over the last year or two. Perhaps he should demote Thoronal and put Rothir in his place.

But no; a sulky temper was not sufficient reason for demotion. Moreover, Rothir had countermanded him. Huldarion’s displeasure at the raising of the darkburn was still strong, and bred a lurking wariness about what else Rothir might see fit to do without permission.

Parthenal, then? Astute enough, yet he had never been as thoughtful as Rothir. Parthenal’s concerns were chiefly for himself; his relationships brief and dispassionate; sometimes Huldarion found himself amazed at the man’s consistent dedication to him. However, he was grateful to have the loyalty of such an excellent warrior, and one whom he had always regarded with affection.

Right now, though, Parthenal seemed as discontented as Thoronal, if from a different cause. Huldarion recognised his restless air. Parthenal is hunting, he thought wryly; having been a full month celibate, he is once more on the prowl; and then he wondered at his own acute sensitivity to this mood of Parthenal’s.

At least the expression of such desires did not matter now. There were no Kelvhans in the line to be outraged by Parthenal’s roving eye – except Gaelera. But he did not wish to think about Gaelera. Instead, having touched on the image of a hunter, he thought about Veron.

How was Veron? That anxiety hung over him like a memory of the low depressing cloud. He trusted that Olbeth’s ministering would hold the worst at bay; but he did not know what the worst was.

And the child, also left behind there at the farm. A pert little girl, though she seemed bright enough. He hoped that Olbeth did not mind her. He hoped, more generally, that Olbeth did not mind anything: he prayed that life with Wiln was good to her. No doubt it was. What had she thought of Meya?

No point wondering about that. The two women had certain traits in common – a practical efficiency, intelligence – but otherwise seemed far apart. He would reward Olbeth after all this was over. But no, perhaps he would not, in case Meya were to remark on it.

And he should not be thinking about Olbeth in this way at all. He was breaking his own rule. Why think of Olbeth, now that he had Meya? Turning round he looked for Meya’s carriage: in vain, for it was invisible within the line of carts and Riders.

Instead something else caught his eye. A moving blur far to his left.

“Solon,” he said abruptly, turning to the man on his other side, “what is that? It’s not a darkburn; it’s too big. I think it’s a body of men. Stonemen?”

Solon craned his neck to look. His sight, always sharp, seemed to have grown sharper with age.

“No,” he said, “there are horses, and some carriages. I see green and gold. They’re Kelvhans. A largish troop, I’d say.”

“So they have sent a company to fetch away Gaelera.” It came as a relief.

“Good,” said Solon. “She’s a liability.” But his frowning glance alighted not on Gaelera, but on his own wife Tiburé a few yards distant.

Another counsellor with a problem. Huldarion sighed inwardly. Still, so long as Solon’s resentment of Tiburé did not cloud his judgement, it should not concern him.

“I will not stop and wait here for the Kelvhans,” he decided. “If they want to join us, let them send an emissary over, or else go fast enough to catch us up.”

Despite his words he slowed his horse a little, and then marvelled as always at how the whole army slowed behind him to his pace. His Riders were truly at his beck and call. It sometimes seemed extraordinary, the trust they placed in him: he must not take their faith for granted.

“Honour, care, fidelity,” he murmured.

Solon glanced at him. “You’re thinking of that bowl?”

It was not an unreasonable assumption. Earlier that morning they had paid a visit to the priest’s cart, to check on the safety of the great bowl that was inscribed with those watchwords of the Vonn. The bowl was silent, swathed thickly in its cloths. When the priest unwrapped it reverently, Huldarion had to resist the urge to touch – to awake that singular, many-layered song. Hokiro had assured them that no-one else was permitted to view the precious thing.

“We shall have to keep it hidden from these Kelvhans,” said Huldarion now to Solon, “and pray it doesn’t ring – even to warn us about stonemen.”

“You think it rang last time as an alarm?”

“Perhaps it was only a coincidence.”

“But a strange one,” Solon said, as Tiburé rode up to join them.

“A strange what?” she asked.

“Nothing that concerns you,” said Solon, so dismissively that Huldarion wondered if he was right to ignore his counsellor’s manner to his wife. Ex-wife.

If I demote Thoronal, he mused, then really Tiburé should replace him, as the most senior of the women. But only if she and her husband can settle their differences; and that looks unlikely. If they cannot either repair their marriage, or end it civilly, they will not work together.

“There are Kelvhans to our left. Should we acknowledge them?” asked Tiburé.

“Let them approach us first,” he replied, eyeing the tiny figures.

“And there’s something else ahead,” said Tiburé.

She was right. Obtruding from the empty plain it rose before them in the distance, still tiny to the eyes but surely massive in reality. Tall but not a tree. Too straight, too solid. Was it a building?

They rode on, the line of Vonn snaking behind, while the object gradually grew into its full stature. It was a tall stone spire.

No, spire was the wrong word, thought Huldarion; for that implied something built of many pieces. This was a monolith; a single slab or shard of rock, perhaps first formed by nature, though it must have been erected by the hands of men.

Although he’d seen such stones in several regions – he recalled that Olbeth had mentioned some monument on her own farmland – this was the tallest he had come across. It must be forty feet in height, he judged: a blade of rock, almost rectangular, but with its top cut at an oblique angle where it pointed to the sky.

He spoke his instinctive thought aloud. “A marker stone. But what is it marking? What boundary is this?”

“The boundary between nothing and more nothing,” muttered Thoronal.

“Let us ride on.”

The ground before him had an odd appearance; it seemed almost to shine. He soon saw why. Although the stone rose up from solid ground, with long grass clumped around its base, on either side of it thin layers of water sheened the grassland. Water seeped up from the earth in several places, and pooled, gleaming, before starting to flow both left and right, in shallow streams that curled gracefully away towards the south. Swirling streaks of orange and red-brown coloured the slow waters. So gentle was the flow that he heard only the faintest of liquid notes.

Springs, he thought; there are springs beneath our feet, that feed those leisurely shallow streams. Maybe fed by the hills behind us; but here the land falls into place, and settles in a gentle blur of sky and water. I wonder if the streams flow all the way to the sea? A very gradual downhill from here. And there must be coloured clay, or iron, in the soil to cause that reddish hue.

The blade of stone, he now perceived, stood on a long peninsula; for far ahead, the twining streamlets met and melded. But it was no lake that they made. Rather, they formed a maze of gleaming waterways, from which rose a multitude of low, grassed islands, like the backs of huge nearly-submerged animals: a vast green herd of them, for as far as Huldarion could see.

Between these islands groups of long-beaked, spindly birds looked up to assess the intruders. They did not fly off; perhaps they were too unused to humans to regard them as a danger. Certainly no human settlements were in sight. Yet on some of those humped islands, edifices stood.

“More standing stones,” Huldarion said, “if my eyes serve me.”

“They do,” said Solon. “I wonder if they bear any inscription to explain their purpose?”

“We shall have to wade to get close enough to tell.”

“We shall have to wade to go any further on at all,” commented Uld.

“Let me try the depth,” offered Parthenal. Dismounting, he stepped into the languid orange-swirling stream. The water was only an inch deep; just enough to test his boots. He put his hand down and checked the submerged ground beneath. Evidently satisfied, he nodded and remounted Alba. The horse seemed steady as he rode on. “It’s solid underfoot,” he said. “Stone beneath a bit of gravel. I shall go ahead, if you permit.”

Huldarion nodded. So all the horses moved on into the water with a gentle plashing of their hooves. Parthenal paused to check the depth of each new channel that they entered.

With his eyes on the swirling orange streams – which were remarkably beautiful in their own way – Huldarion did not look up for a while. It was the murmurs of the others that alerted him.

He raised his eyes. More humped islands, like green whales. On the next, a group of three stones stood: not quite so tall as the first stone, but with the same thin angled blades directed at the sky. Beyond those were another five, set in a rough circle; and further on, beyond those five, stood seven more – then many more – some isolated, others in small groups or larger circles, with the red streams winding like a leisurely fire between them.

“They seem to mark the higher ground,” said Thoronal. “To show the way for travellers, perhaps.”

“If that were their only function, they would hardly need to be so tall; and why the groupings?” said Huldarion.

On they rode across a world of water – but a gentle, tranquil world. No sudden depths dismayed the horses. When they neared the group of three stones, Huldarion rode up to inspect them. Their edges were slightly notched, presumably with age, and their surfaces dappled with lichen, in russet and gold patches that seemed to reflect the waters rather than the other way around.

He caught his breath at the vista that now lay before him: the slow and sinuous intertwining of the glowing ropes of water; the stones that reached up skywards from the smooth grassed mounds, some like stone reeds, so tall and slender were they, others broader but still flat; the sky behind them that displayed a dozen shades of feathered grey until it merged with the horizon in a violet haze.

“So these are the Red Roads,” he murmured. “Our path must lie along the water as much as the dry ground.”

“More. Not much dry ground here,” said Uld. “And most of it crowned with stones.”

“Indeed. A remarkable place – and yet I knew nothing of it.”

“Not surprising, when we’re in the middle of nowhere,” grunted Thoronal.

“A beautiful nowhere,” said Huldarion in reproof. “And once it was an important site, that much is clear. It would have been a great work of labour to erect these stones.”

“I wonder who did, and when?” said Uld.

“I expect Leor would know. Where is he?”

“I’ll go and fetch him,” announced Thoronal.

“No, there’s no need.”

But to Huldarion’s slight exasperation Thoronal had not waited for his answer. He had already turned his horse and was calling officiously for Leor. The wizard appeared, shambling up on his unkempt horse. However, he proved to be little wiser than Huldarion himself.

“Those rocks? They’ve always been here. No, I don’t know who put them up. How would I? Long before my time. Ask Tamu. He’s bound to know.” The wizard sounded disgruntled. He stared at the landscape gloomily.

“Tamu!” bellowed Thoronal, again without waiting for Huldarion’s request. When the archivist rode up, he addressed the small man accusingly. “What do you know about these stones?”

“If you please,” added Huldarion.

Tamu gazed at the stones with interest and awe. “They were mentioned in travellers’ tales of two or three hundred years ago,” he said, “although of course they are much older. One chronicler said they’d been pulled up from the earth by giants, as you’d pull up a root, and set on end to to make a ladder to the sky.”

Thoronal laughed. “Giants!”

Tamu gave him a look of mild reproach. “Old legends often have a seed of truth. Maybe not literal giants, but some powerful race of people must have ordered these to be erected. It would not have been a swift or simple matter.”

“They may have played some part in worship, I suppose,” Huldarion mused. “Or have acted as a calendar.”

“Yet these stones don’t appear to be aligned to the sun, as are the old winterstones in many areas,” said Tamu. “I wonder what variety of rock this is? Several chronicles mention a fine-grained form of granite called Terzen, which was widely used for monumental works.” Huldarion noted how much more at his ease Tamu appeared when talking of old records. His breadth of knowledge was remarkable; he found himself wishing that Caervonn’s own archives could have such an assiduous co-ordinator.

“Well, you shall have some time to study them more closely,” he told Tamu. “We’ll halt here while those Kelvhans catch us up.” There was ample space to camp here; for a little further on the largest mound held a lengthy double avenue of stones, with room between them on that swell of grass for all the Vonn, including carts and horses. Huldarion imagined his army parading up the avenue in a kingly progress.

A powerful people made these, he thought. And where are they now? All gone, as we shall one day be. But I feel drawn to this place.

He turned to address the Riders. “We shall camp here tonight. But respect the stones. They have not stood for a thousand years to be defaced by us. Touch them with no more than your hands.”

“More than a thousand,” murmured Tamu, who promptly steered his horse towards a nearby island. Others were doing the same, fording the slow shallow streams and then abandoning horse or cart to walk along the grassy turf and lay their hands upon the monoliths. The urge to touch them seemed irresistible for many.

Huldarion felt that urge himself. But he declined to act on it, instead standing where he was while he waited for the Kelvhans to arrive. Five carriages were approaching, their gilt-work blazing forth even as it was splashed by the wheels. Plenty of work there this evening for the servants, he thought: for many Kelvhan serving-men drove the carriages or trudged on foot. Besides them, there were two dozen horsemen; and he recognised the leader.

“Rhadlun,” said Tiburé in an undertone. “Could have been worse. Could have been Nerogun himself.”

Huldarion nodded. Although Rhadlun had some faults of pride he was a competent commander.

But Meya gave a start. “Oh no,” she murmured in quiet consternation. “That man behind him! That’s the captain who held up our carriage when Aliya was hiding underneath the seat. I forget his name. I’m sure he’s loyal, but even so….”

“Aliya is safe,” Huldarion reminded her. “My dear, these men have come to fetch Gaelera. Let’s hope that Rhadlun can persuade her to go back with them.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Tiburé. “She seems determined to experience a Rider’s life, the stars know why. Possibly she is enamoured of Maeneb–”

“Huh!” said Solon.

Tiburé continued as if she hadn’t heard: “–although personally I can’t imagine Gaelera being enamoured of anyone. So maybe she’s here to spy on us for her father; in which case he won’t press her to leave.”

“I would much prefer it she did,” said Huldarion, as Gaelera came gliding over to them in her heavy skirts. Was that a different outfit to yesterday’s? The dense fabric was immaculately clean. A strange place to exercise her vanity – if vanity it was. All motives are obscure where this woman is concerned, he thought, as he bowed to her in greeting.

There was no responding curtsey. Gaelera merely dipped her head a fraction. She did not so much as glance towards her fellow-Kelvhans. “An interesting place,” she said. “I presume it serves a purpose.”

“My lady. We were just discussing that,” Huldarion replied. “I imagine that the stones were the expression of some religious concept.”

“I did not mean that sort of purpose,” said Gaelera. Although not loud or strident, her tone of voice seemed to permit no argument. “These stones have been erected for the exercise of power.”

“You mean as a demonstration of power,” said Solon.

But Gaelera shook her head once, with a slow and graceful movement. “That is not what I mean. Although it also applies. It is evident that these avenues and circles form a conduit, a channel for some power, no less than these channels of red water that flow around our feet. I expect your wizard could explain.”

She looked at Leor, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I wish I knew,” he muttered, “but I don’t.”

“A pity.” At last Gaelera turned her composed gaze to the rapidly approaching horsemen. “I see my wardens have arrived,” she said, without any change in tone.

With much jangling of their gear, the Kelvhan troop splashed up to them. It seemed to Huldarion that Commander Rhadlun looked less at ease than usual.

“My Lord of the Vonn,” he said, saluting. “My Lady Gaelera. I am most glad to find you here.”

His gladness sounded muted. With a surprising lack of fluency he requested – with repeated protestations of respect – that the Lady Gaelera should accompany him back to the main Kelvhan army.

He must have expected difficulties; delay; outright refusal; but Gaelera did not honour his halting speeches with a reply of any sort. Her absolute immobility while Rhadlun spoke did not assist him. Huldarion would have been amused had he not also wished for Gaelera’s departure.

As it was, he reflected on the power of silence in the right place. For some moments after Rhadlun had finished speaking she gazed at him unmovingly, until he felt obliged to start again.

This time she cut across his opening sentence. “Commander Rhadlun,” she said with slow deliberation, “you may inform my father that I have accepted the hospitality of the Vonn, and that I will remain with them until I wish to leave. I am surprised that he has sent you out on such a mission when he knew quite well what the result would be. Your talents would be more usefully employed elsewhere.”

Rhadlun looked at Huldarion, who felt forced to speak.

“Of course the Lady Gaelera is welcome to accompany us,” he said, annoyed, “if she does not mind the many unavoidable discomforts of our journey south.”

“I mind them not at all,” Gaelera said.

Rhadlun frowned. Huldarion pitied him, caught as he was between a forceful master and an intransigent daughter. He expected Rhadlun to be primed with more arguments, or possibly bribes, to persuade Gaelera to return to her own people. He did not expect the Kelvhan’s next words.

“In that case, my Lord Huldarion,” said Rhadlun with sullen formality, “I beg the indulgence of accompanying your Riders with my own carriages and men, whilst you travel the Red Roads to your destination.”

Huldarion caught his breath. Why such swift and unquestioning submission to Gaelera’s will? Why send a provisioned squadron to look after one woman? A woman, moreover, who appeared very well able to look after herself.

This has been planned between her and Nerogun, he thought at once; but a few seconds’ reflection reminded him that Nerogun could have sent a detachment to accompany the Vonn in any case, without all this fuss. In fact a week ago Huldarion had expected it. Had it been forced on him then, he would not have felt so put out as he did now.

But he had to show willing assent. Even as he expressed his pleasure, he was silently cursing the fact that he would now be under so many Kelvhan eyes.

And such eyes! Rhadlun he did not mind so much, for he appreciated the commander’s abilities if not his lofty manner. And the captain whom Meya had pointed out he recognised from the castle combats: a disciplined, efficient warrior. Huldarion had admired his calm demeanour in victory no less than his skill.

But he did not care for other faces that he saw smirking further back. That man Jaul, for one: that equerry with the sliding eyes. He was the minor lord who had tried to entrap Parthenal in Kelvha Castle. Jaul was no soldier, so what was he doing here?

Huldarion glanced over at Parthenal, who was studiously ignoring Jaul. He felt a deep misgiving.

But Jaul was not the worst. Behind him was the castle armourer, Iajo: a coarse and brutal-looking man who inspired neither confidence nor trust.

Jaul and Iajo were Nerogun’s men. Perhaps their role in staying here was simply to protect Gaelera. Perhaps.

Or, all too likely, it was something with more sinister intent.