[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic Read online

  Alethia laughed. “It will do much better than what I had,” she said, indicating the stained and crumpled green silk.

  “True.” Murn smiled in return. “Have you eaten? Then come; they are waiting.” She plucked the lamp from its hanger as she spoke, and Alethia rose and followed her out into the hallway. Murn took a different route from the one she had shown them the previous night, and by the time the two emerged into the grey pre-dawn, Alethia was thoroughly confused.

  Tamsin was already there, towering over Grathwol and four of the Wyrd archers. Another Wyrd approached leading two horses. One Alethia recognized as Starbrow; the other was a brown mare. Both animals were saddled and bridled for the journey. They were followed by five shaggy ponies, who were evidently well trained, for they wore only halters and followed without benefit of a leading rein.

  Grathwol nodded to the Wyrd leading the horses and took the mare’s rein from him. “We have been fortunate enough to capture one of the Lithmern mounts. I hope you will not object to riding her; she is a gentle beast and one of our mounts would be… a little small, perhaps.”

  Alethia smiled. “I do not mind,” she said. “What is her name?”

  “She has none yet; I do not know what the Lithmern called her, but I do not think she would mind a different name,” Grathwol replied. “Choose one.”

  “I will call her Alfand,” said Alethia after a pause, reaching out to pet the horse’s velvet nose.

  Tamsin cleared his throat. “You said you were fortunate enough to catch one of the Lithmern horses. The others escaped, then?”

  “Not all of them. We have seven other new additions to our stables.” The Wyrd leader smiled a little grimly. “They would seem to like their change in ownership well. We will keep them, I think. Though they are not the type of mount we prefer, I suspect we can find a use for them.”

  “But what of the Lithmern themselves?” Tamsin asked with a frown.

  Grathwol’s eyes darkened. “Their leader is, of course, dead. Four of the men were killed immediately by our archers; three more died in the chase.”

  “Then three escaped,” Tamsin said quietly.

  “Three escaped,” Grathwol confirmed. “Our only excuse is that we did not know of the Talisman at first, and sought only to drive the Lithmern out of our forests. By the time we learned of it and sought captives instead, it was too late, and they eluded us.”

  “You haven’t given up, have you?” Alethia asked.

  “No; there are still two parties tracking them,” Grathwol said. “But I am afraid I have little hope for their success. The Lithmern planned well.”

  “But surely they won’t all escape?” Alethia persisted.

  “We know that at least one of them is badly wounded,” Grathwol said. “But as long as one survives to reach Lithra, we have not succeeded. That is why I wish to have you safe, and the Talisman in Eveleth, as soon as possible. The Lithmern will soon learn what has happened, and I do not know what they may do then.”

  Tamsin nodded. “I think I begin to see,” he said.

  “I suggest that you leave now,” Grathwol said with a piercing look at the minstrel. “It is nearly dawn, and at a comfortable pace you will barely reach the Kathkari by nightfall. These are your guides as far as the mountains; Worrel, Rarn, Anarmin, and Shallan.” He waved in the general direction of the archers, who nodded formally and stepped to their ponies as Grathwol called their names.

  Worrel was young, and the thick mane of hair covering his head was a rich chestnut color. Rarn was rather tall for a Wyrd, with snapping brown eyes; her fur was a tan color, with streaks of darker brown in her mane, and brown ear-tufts. The third Wyrd, Anarmin, was a uniform dark brown in color; a few threads of silver sprinkled his ear-tufts, and Alethia found herself wondering whether that was the Wyrd counterpart of greying at the temples. Shallan’s fur was also dark, but his mane and ear-tufts had a reddish tinge. All four wore the deep green cloaks and tunics, and the belt and quiver of the Wyrd archers.

  “Murn will also accompany you,” Grathwol finished, and waved them toward their horses.

  Tamsin bowed deeply to Grathwol, and with a formal farewell they mounted and departed, and were soon out of sight of the living buildings of Glen Wilding.

  * * * * *

  Maurin and Har arrived at the temporary camp of the Lithmern from which Alethia had made her escape, exhausted and worried. They had stopped but twice to rest themselves and their horses, and only for a few hours at the dead of night while waiting for the moons to rise and light their way.

  Around noon of the previous day, the track had left the highway and turned north into the Wyrwood. Neither man was disheartened by the eerie reputation of the forest; by this time, their primary thought was that it would be much easier to follow the trail now that there was no chance of confusion with the tracks of the many caravans that used the roadway.

  It was indeed easier to follow the Lithmern through the Wyrwood, though Maurin commented several times that the traces were unusually faint and far apart. The two noted with grim satisfaction that their deductions had been correct; the trail slanted back sharply to the west and north as soon as it entered the Wyrwood.

  The two men, though tired, were still alert. They were accustomed to long rides and little sleep from their work as guards. The same could not be said, however, of the Styr horses they rode. Though both were fine animals, they had not been bred or trained for endurance. More than once Maurin wished fervently for the hardy caravan horses that had been appropriated by the two Alkyran Lords, Armin and Gahlon.

  It was partly to spare their tired mounts and partly to avoid losing the trail that they were moving slowly when they reached the clearing. Har was in the lead, and he reined in abruptly as he broke through a clump of bushes near the clearing’s edge.

  The other horse nearly ran on top of Har’s even at the slow pace they were keeping. Maurin stifled an impulse to object furiously as Har’s whisper floated back to him. “It looks like a camp. Seems deserted.”

  Maurin drew up alongside Har. Once they were satisfied that there were no others present, they dismounted and tied their horses to a nearby sapling. Then they forced their way through the bushes and into the clearing.

  “They seem to have stopped here quite a while,” Maurin commented. “See, they tied their horses over there. Looks like there may have been a dozen or so.”

  Har poked the dead ashes of the fire. “Maurin, we must have crossed another trail somewhere and followed the wrong one. These ashes are nearly a day old; the Lithmern couldn’t possibly have come this far from Brenn in a single night.”

  “But I’ll swear we never saw a sign of anyone else, and this track goes in the right direction,” Maurin said, a little puzzled. “Besides, who else would be traveling in the Wyrwood?”

  Har was prowling impatiently about the clearing. “I don’t know, but I still say this can’t have been used by the Lithmern we have been chasing. We had better go back and see if we can pick up their trail before they get impossibly far ahead of us. We have no idea how much time we may have lost already.”

  Maurin nodded reluctantly, and started back toward the horses. As he passed the edge of the clearing he detoured around a clump of bushes and stopped short. Behind him he heard Har exclaiming, “Maurin! Look here!”

  “No, you come look here,” Maurin replied in a queer voice. Har came hurrying through the trees carrying two short pieces of rope and an empty dagger-sheath.

  “I found these under that tree,” he said, gesturing vaguely back toward the clearing. “They are Lithmern work, no doubt of it; maybe you weren’t so far wrong after all.”

  “I know I’m not wrong,” Maurin cut him off, and pointed. At his feet, imprinted clearly in the forest mold, was the outline of a small, narrow-heeled slipper, and caught on a twig on one side a green spangle winked dully up at them. Har stared at it for a moment. “I don’t understand it,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Neither do I, but t
here it is. We are on the right trail.” Maurin’s eyes flashed and he almost smiled. With new energy, Har ducked back through the bushes toward the horses. Maurin meanwhile followed Alethia’s footprints for a short distance. He turned as Har came up behind him with their mounts.

  “It’s a good clear track; we should make better time now,” he said briefly as he mounted his horse. Har nodded as they started off. They rode in silence, stopping now and then to examine the tracks more closely. They saw no traces of the Lithmern, which puzzled them greatly, but several times they found bits of lace or green net to assure them that they were still on Alethia’s trail.

  It took them about half an hour to cover the distance it had taken Alethia a full hour or more to traverse on foot. Then they were confronted by another clearing, the cold ashes of another fire, and more hoofprints. Maurin’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the scene. “This gets stranger and stranger. I begin to think these woods deserve their reputation.”

  “That would really be all we need!” Har commented. “Aren’t Lithmern enough to worry about?” He dismounted for a moment to study the confused tracks. “There’s only one horseman this time. Well, come on; she’s not here.” He remounted and they continued, following the latest trail.

  Gradually the trees grew denser, and they had to slow their pace slightly. A little later they stopped to rest their horses. Har had had the foresight to grab a water bottle as they left Styr Tel; this was now nearly empty, but there was enough left to wet their throats. They stood for a moment watching their horses as the animals munched hungrily on nearby bushes and low-hanging branches. Makes me wish I were a horse,” Har commented.

  Maurin sighed. “We will have to start again if we are going to catch up to them,” he said, and started toward the horses. He had gone several paces when he heard Har’s strained voice behind him. “Maurin. Don’t move. There is a… a little brown person pointing an arrow at your head.”

  By the time Har had finished his sentence, the warning was no longer necessary. A dozen Wyrd archers had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, with drawn bows and very businesslike arrows. One motioned Maurin back toward Har while another collected their horses. The remaining archers fanned out into a ring, well out of sword’s reach but within easy range for their own bows.

  One of the archers stepped forward. “Who are you, and what are your cities?” she demanded.

  “I am Har Tel’anh of Brenn, and this is my friend, Maurin Atuval of the Traders,” Har answered steadily.

  “I see,” said the same Wyrd in a skeptical tone. She seemed to ponder for a moment, then she raised her head and snapped several commands to the archers in another tongue.

  Turning back to Maurin and Har, the Wyrd said, “You will come with us. If you are what you claim, you have nothing to fear.” She turned away.

  Maurin and Har exchanged glances. One of the other Wyrds gestured with his bow. Maurin nodded, Har shrugged, and the two men started off through the forest, surrounded by Wyrds.

  The small furred people had no trouble keeping pace with the tired horses. They rode in silence. Twice the humans heard a high call piping through the woods, and their guides answered in kind.

  Nearly an hour and a half later, the Wyrds stopped outside a stand of trees. Their leader sent the piping summons ringing through the forest; a moment later the bushes rustled softly as yet another Wyrd appeared. He spoke briefly with the archers in the same unknown language, then turned to the two horsemen.

  He looked toward Maurin first, a long, penetrating gaze. When he seemed satisfied at last, he turned to Har. A moment later he smiled. “They spoke the truth,” he said to the archers. He looked back at Har. “You have the look of your sister, Har Tel’anh.”

  “Alethia! How do you know about her? Where is she? Is she safe?” Har demanded.

  “Your sister spent last night with us,” the Wyrd replied. “She is quite safe; I think more detailed explanations can wait. Will you dismount, and let us see to your horses?”

  A wave of relief swept Maurin as he swung out of the saddle, and he saw it mirrored in Har’s face. Somehow, he did not doubt the Wyrd’s words.

  Har dismounted more slowly, and looked at the Wyrd. “That’s all very well,” he said pointedly. “But we still don’t know where this is, or who you are. And how did my sister come to be here?”

  “This is Glen Wilding, and I am Grathwol, Arkon of the Wyrds who live here,” said the Wyrd patiently, with a small smile. “Now, come and dine with me; I think we have much to talk of.”

  Har still looked skeptical, but he followed Grathwol without further comment. The Wyrd led the two men to the great entry hall. He crossed it quickly and entered a smaller room off to one side, where a table was loaded with wild fruits, bread, honey, and several platters of cold meat. Grathwol seated himself at the head and motioned to Maurin and Har to take the two remaining seats.

  Grathwol told them in detail the story of Alethia’s kidnapping and escape, her meeting with Tamsin, and her second encounter with the Lithmern. When he reached the description of the Talisman of Noron’ri, Har leaned forward with an exclamation. “Could they have used that to travel two days journey from Brenn in one night?” he asked.

  “Yes, and more,” Grathwol replied. “They used it to summon the mists that delayed your sister and Tamsin, and they counted on its power to hide their passage from us. They very nearly succeeded,” he added thoughtfully. He finished the tale with an explanation of where Alethia and Tamsin had gone and why. When he finished, Har frowned.

  “I can understand why Alethia wants to get home quickly,” he said, “but she should not travel alone. Can we catch up with her before your people turn north?”

  “They left early this morning,” Grathwol replied. “You are only about two hours behind them; if you push your horses, you may arrive at the Ward-Keeper’s cottage today, though it may be after dark when you get there.”

  “Our horses are tired,” Har said. “But I would like to try, if it pleases you to furnish a guide.”

  “I can furnish you with guides, indeed, and more,” Grathwol said with a gleam of satisfaction. “Fresh horses are yours to command, as soon as you have rested.”

  “Then we shall leave as soon as your preparations are completed,” Har said firmly. “It is no reflection on your hospitality, but I do not wish to lose more time.”

  Grathwol smiled. “Of course.” He clapped his hands and gave a few brief orders to the servitor who appeared in answer to this summons. As the Wyrd left, he turned back to the two men. “I thought I would find a use for those horses we captured! But finish your meal at your leisure; it will be a little time before they are ready.”

  The two men nodded in agreement, yet in a surprisingly short time they were finished. Grathwol smiled to himself and signaled again. Another Wyrd appeared to lead Maurin and Har through the halls of Glen Wilding to the place where the fresh horses waited.

  Without further ado, Maurin and Har bid Grathwol thanks and farewell, and made their way out to the forest once more. Two taciturn archers were already mounted on the ponies the Wyrds preferred. An instant more and the men were astride their horses. The Wyrds stood silently watching as, for the second time that day, a party left Glen Wilding headed west toward the Kathkari.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For the early part of the morning, Alethia rode at the back of the party with Worrel, with whom she was fast becoming friends. The two chatted easily for some time, except when Anarmin called for silence from the front of the column. Unfortunately the track they rode was barely wide enough for the two horses side by side, so when Worrel moved forward to take his turn with Rarn at the head of the party, Alethia moved back to her original position next to Tamsin.

  The five Wyrds changed positions several more times during the morning. The ride was uneventful, though twice the party halted for some reason known only to their guides. Neither Alethia nor Tamsin saw or heard anything to indicate a dangerous presence or its passing, bu
t they complied without argument to the dictates of their companions. When they came upon the fresh marks of huge claws six inches deep in the trail shortly after the second halt, their respect for the Wyrd’s advice increased enormously.

  Around noon Rarn and Worrel, who were riding a little in advance of the rest, halted abruptly. They had not signaled for silence, so Tamsin rode forward. “What is it?” Tamsin asked with a worried frown as he and Alethia reached them. “More trouble?”

  “No,” said a voice from behind him. Tamsin turned to see that Anarmin had ridden up to them and was dismounting. The Wyrd gave him a broad grin. “Not trouble. Lunch!”

  Alethia laughed. Tamsin dismounted, but before he could reach Alethia to lift her from her horse, she had kicked her feet free of the stirrups and slid to the ground unaided. The Wyrds were evidently accustomed to breaking their journey at this point, for their ponies walked quietly to a nearby bush as soon as their riders were down and waited patiently to be tethered. Beneath the bush, where only a torrential rain might reach it, was a neatly stacked pile of firewood.

  The Wyrds evidently did not intend to make more than a brief stay, for they did not even glance at the stacked wood. Instead, Worrel and Rarn began to unpack huge quantities of bread and slabs of cold meat and cheese from the saddlebags, while Murn spread a cloth on the ground to receive it. Anarmin disappeared into the woods even before Shallan had the horses tethered. He returned just as the other Wyrds finished laying out the meal, carrying a large honeycomb.

  “The little ones are generous today!” Anarmin called as he came into sight. “See my hard-won sweets!”

  “Hard-won, indeed!” Worrel grinned at him. “Stay by some time and learn the meaning of work! I’ll wager you find some other excuse to be gone come time for packing up. Give it here!”

  “You wrong me; indeed, you wrong me!” Anarmin responded in an injured tone. “Why! Was it not I who single handedly prepared dinner for twice this number when last we passed this way?”