Robert Redick - The River of Shadows

Hercol nodded slowly. “That is likely, Cayer. But not, I think, if you go with them.”

Vispek looked rather amused. “Come, Jalantri,” he said at last. The two men rose and started down to the river’s edge.

“Are we to warm no food before nightfall?” asked Ibjen.

“My lad,” said Hercol, smiling in turn, “we may warm no food before we reach the shores of Ilvaspar. Go with the sfvantskors, Ibjen-that will make their errand less obvious to Vadu.”

A short distance away, Neda sat and pulled off her boots. She gestured at the departing dlomu. “He is just boy,” she said. “Not fighter, no good for anything. Why he coming?”

“Because Prince Olik wants him to,” said Thasha, bending low to comb the dust from her hair, “and Ibjen’s sworn to do whatever the prince asks, to regain his trust. Everything short of fighting, I mean. Anyway, Ibjen’s not useless. He’s an excellent swimmer.”

Neda looked at her wryly. “Good. Swimming on mountain-top. Very helpful.”

“There’s a lake up there,” said Thasha, “and another river beyond it.”

Neda said nothing. Pazel sat down close to her. So familiar, and so strange: Neda rubbing her sore feet. Huge, hard feet, but still hers, still his sister’s. In their native tongue, Pazel said, “Olik trusts him. That’s the real reason he’s along.”

Neda answered in Mzithrini. “More than he trusts the soldiers, you mean? Well, that is something. If they desert us, we’ll still need a dlomu to talk to the villagers.”

“Tell me something,” said Pazel. “Why did you join this hunt? The three of you, I mean?”

“That should be obvious,” said Neda. “The prince gave us our liberty, and we didn’t want to lose it again. We thought of staying in the Masalym, but it is no place for human beings. And we still could not take the Chathrand.”

“Is that the only reason? Your only reason?”

Neda looked at him, and he knew she would admit to nothing more.

“Why won’t you talk to me in Ormali?” he said.

Neda’s face was clouded. “The language of Ormael is Arquali, now,” she said. “You know what happens when the Empire takes a prize. It’s been almost six years since the invasion. Give it twelve, and everything will be in Arquali. Laws, trade, school-books. Children will be whipped by their teachers if they speak the old tongue.”

“It won’t go that far,” said Pazel.

“Says the boy from the Arquali ship, with the Arquali friends, the Arquali girl he worships, even though her father-” Neda broke off, her eyes blazing at him. “I don’t live in the past,” she said.

The Ragwood was long and somewhat empty, the underbrush thinned out by grazing animals. They passed through it swiftly, grateful for the shade and the cover. They saw a few dlomu cutting lumber in a clearing, a herd of milk-white buffalo wallowing in a pond. Then Big Skip gave a start that nearly toppled him from his horse. He pointed: naked figures, human figures, were running crouched through the trees. The dogs raced toward them, baying. Wild with terror, the figures made for the deeper woods. A few of the soldiers laughed, but fell silent when they glanced at Vadu.

“Yes,” said the counselor, “there are still tol-chenni in our Inner Dominion. They raid crops, steal chickens. But they are dying fast.”

“Your dogs look mighty used to chasing ’em,” said Big Skip.

Vadu shrugged. “A dog will chase any animal that runs.”

They did not stop again in the Ragwood, but the sun was setting nonetheless before they reached its far end. Just beyond the last trees a smaller river poured into the Mai, cutting straight across their path. It was spanned by a battered wooden bridge. A stone fortress rose on the near side, and as they drew close, soldiers with torches began to emerge. They were known to their comrades and greeted with some affection. But like all dlomu they could not help but stare at the humans.

“His Highness sent a scout ahead of you,” said their commanding officer. “We know you ride in haste. We have no sicunas here, but you’re to leave any horse that’s lagging and take one of ours in its stead.”

“My own suffers,” said Vadu. “I had ground to make up, and rode him hard. But I count nearly twenty of you-why so many, Captain, here at the Maibranch? Half should be guarding Thistle Chase.”

“Counselor, where have you been?” said the other. “Thistle was abandoned before Midwinter’s Day. The farmers had had enough of raids.”

“Tol-chenni raids?” asked Ibjen.

The soldiers laughed uneasily. “Tol-chenni!” said their captain. “You think our countrymen would take fright at them? No, boy, I’m speaking of hrathmog warriors. Barrel-chested, long-limbed brutes, sleek-furred, teeth like knives. They’re getting bold, Counselor Vadu. They’ve been seen walking right out in the open, on this plain. They’ve slaughtered animals, poisoned wells. And they killed old Standru and burned his house and holdings, away there across the Mai. His kin had moved closer to Masalym already; they’d heard the night drums and the caterwauling. But Standru wouldn’t go. He said his land was part of the Dominion and he’d been born there, and wouldn’t leave it to hrathmogs.”

“They put his head on a stake,” said another soldier. “And when they saw it, the last families south of the Maibranch locked up their homes and fled.”

Vadu looked from one soldier to the next. “Do you mean that Masalym’s Dominion… ends here?”

“Unless the city can spare enough men to hold the Chase,” said the officer, “but even then I doubt the farmers would return.”

“Captain,” said Hercol, “did no other riders-other human beings-pass over this bridge?”

The officer looked doubtfully at Hercol.

“Answer him!” snapped Vadu. “He is a natural being like yourself.”

“No one has passed this way,” said the captain. “No one crosses the bridge anymore, save the brave few who still ride out hunting, and they do not go far. I do not think the hrathmogs will challenge a group of your size, but you must post watches all the same.”

They brought Vadu a fresh horse, and the company continued. Vadu was clearly shaken by the news. Pazel wondered if it was the cursed Blade or the countless problems in Masalym itself that had kept him from knowing what had befallen his city’s territories.

Ensyl, who was riding for a spell with the tarboys, looked up at the mountain ahead. “If they didn’t use the road, how did they get up there?” she asked. “But of course, we don’t even know who is there. If Arunis somehow learned what Ildraquin can do-”

“Then he’ll have sent Fulbreech alone,” said Pazel, “and we’ll have played right into his hands, and probably won’t ever catch him. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening. If Arunis wanted us to chase after Fulbreech, he wouldn’t have sent him that far away.”

“Why not?” said Neeps.

“Because we might not have believed he could have traveled so far,” said Pazel. “Olik himself said it couldn’t be done. No, if Arunis wanted us to chase after Fulbreech, he’d have sent the rotter just far enough away to entice us, and given him a fast horse so he could stay ahead.”

“Then why in Pitfire are they just sitting up there?” Neeps asked.

“If luck’s with us?” said Pazel. “Because Arunis thinks he’s safe, and has crept into some shack or cave to keep up his experiments with the Nilstone.”

Ensyl laughed grimly. “If luck is with us,” she said.

They rode on. Ensyl wanted to know about their time in the Conservatory, and the tarboys related a version of the tale, interrupting and correcting each other, and succeeded in becoming irritable again. But as they grumbled to a conclusion, a thought struck Pazel with an electric jolt.