Marna felt a scream forming but no sound came from her constricted throat.
‘No.’
The hoarse cry became a rumbling growl. Though she knew it was Farnor she could barely recognize his voice, so full of angry defiance was it. And though it was not loud, there was a deep resonance about it that seemed to echo all around her. The boiling greyness shivered at the touch of it and both rider and horse became momentarily still. Then, slowly, as though the movement were tearing through the air itself, the rider’s head turned.
Marna could sense a burning gaze searching through the darkness. Already crouching low she had to fight an almost overwhelming urge to throw herself flat to the ground to avoid this unseen scrutiny. Then an arm was raised and a hand was pointing towards them and the horse was prancing and rearing violently as though struggling to move forward. The unpleasant tingling that was now suffusing her became a wave of horror, biting and acidic. Though she could hear nothing, she knew it was the rider, calling out. She turned away and raised her hands protectively as if against a blistering wind. As she did so, she had a fleeting impression of other riders appearing behind the first.
Then Farnor, free of Jenna, was pushing past her, his arms extended.
It seemed then to Marna that suddenly there were two great forces opposing one another – balanced – and she could do no other than hold her breath for fear of disturbing this frightening equilibrium. Slowly it shifted. There was a sensation of something tearing within and around her – a noise that was not a noise. Looking up hesitantly, she saw the storm-cloud greyness beginning to shrink. She willed it on its way desperately as, with a painful slowness, it closed about the riders. Then, quite suddenly, it dwindled into nothingness, leaving only a thin, baleful red line that quivered and twitched unpleasantly before fading in its turn. As it vanished, so the awful tingling slipped away from her, though she kept rubbing her arms.
For what seemed to be a very long time there was a deep silence. Then Yengar was barking out orders, his voice low but coldly urgent, and Jenna was rushing forward to catch Farnor who was slowly sinking to his knees. Even as Yengar was speaking, he and Olvric were moving into the night towards where the mysterious image had appeared. Yrain, eyes and knife scanning the darkness, remained protectively by Marna who was still rubbing her arms.
The silence returned.
Marna watched the strange, flickering movement of the two men as they searched. Bright swathes of light came and went suddenly, now here, now there, as they used the tightly focused lanterns fastened to their wrists to slice open the darkness. Anything caught in their beam would be both dazzled and exposed – either to the sword in the light-bearer’s other hand, or to that of his companion, now silent and dark. Yengar and Olvric moved to a deadly, long-practised rhythm.
For a while the lights bobbed and jerked like sinister fireflies, then they were gone and the two men were returning.
‘Nothing,’ Yengar said, disbelief dominating the exasperation in his voice as he unfastened the lantern from his wrist, checked it and laid it down by the fire. ‘No sign of anything. Not a stone moved, not a blade of grass bent. No sound of riders moving away. There’s nothing and no one here or anywhere near.’ He addressed no one in particular. ‘What in the name of Ethriss was that?’
‘Help me with Farnor,’ Jenna said, ignoring the question.
The group rallied round, seeking temporary solace from the eeriness of what they had just witnessed in a common concern. Farnor, shaking and patently distressed, was gently brought back to the fire and sat down. Olvric gingerly eased the slab from the fire and soon had it blazing again. Its light banished the darkness of the empty valley around them but not the memory of what they had just seen.
For a long time Farnor sat motionless and silent, staring into the fire, his eyes wide and unblinking. No one spoke. Each seemed to be waiting for the other.
‘Something awful is happening,’ he said eventually.
Despite this ominous remark, there was an almost palpable sense of relief in the group.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Jenna asked softly.
‘I must learn about this thing inside me,’ Farnor went on as if he had not heard her. He turned towards where the apparition had appeared. ‘And that. All that out there.’ He looked around the watching group, his face desperate. ‘I’m so frightened. They’ll be able to help me, these people we’re going to see, Hawklan, Andawyr?’
‘More than we can,’ Yengar replied. ‘And it frightened all of us, don’t fret about that. At least there doesn’t seem to be any danger now – if there ever was.’
‘There was.’ Farnor’s tone was unequivocal.
‘Well, it’s gone. In fact there’s no sign that anything was ever here. Are you all right now, in yourself?’ As he spoke, Yengar put his hand on Farnor’s forehead, then tested pulses in his neck.
Farnor paid no heed to the inspection, but looked down at his hands. They were trembling and he was obviously struggling to gain control over himself. Yengar’s expression telling them that he could find nothing immediately untoward in the young man, the four Goraidin exchanged a look and turned to their own needs.
‘What did we each see?’ Olvric asked. ‘Marna?’
Marna started slightly at being drawn into this conversation. She was still rubbing her arms slowly, though the tingling had long passed. ‘What did you see?’ Olvric pressed.
Hesitantly, she described the greyness and the rider – perhaps riders – and their vanishing as the greyness had closed about them.
‘That’s what I saw too,’ Olvric said when she had finished. The others concurred. ‘Well done,’ he said to her. ‘At least we know that it was something outside ourselves. One of us having an hallucination is one thing, but five of us sharing it is unlikely, to say the least.’
‘But what was it?’ Marna burst out, her voice shaking.
Olvric became wilfully instructive. ‘First, we need to be clear what we saw and heard. Then what we felt. Then perhaps we can speculate.’ He took her hands and held them. He was unexpectedly gentle. ‘Seeing things as they are is rarely easy, but it’s invariably our greatest protection. It’ll be yours too in due course. You’ve a clear vision. Clearer than you know. It’s a great asset.’ He released her. ‘Why were you rubbing your arms like that?’
Marna told him. This time when Olvric turned to the others he was greeted by head-shaking. Yengar summarized their responses. ‘I didn’t hear anything – or feel anything unusual – apart from being frightened out of my wits.’
Olvric looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible you’ve some distant kinship with Farnor back along the line,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s something to do with it. Anyway, just remember what it felt like. It’ll help you if it happens again.’
‘Happens again!’
‘Why not?’
Marna went cold, though whether it was the prospect of the riders returning or Olvric’s casual acceptance of the possibility, she could not have said. Olvric was talking to Farnor. ‘How are you now? Can you tell us what happened?’
The fire was casting deep shadows on Farnor’s face, ageing him. He held out his hands again. They were still now. ‘I saw what you saw,’ he said. ‘But what I felt I can’t begin to describe. It’s as though every part of me was filled with rage and horror – except that it’s not just me, it’s parts of me I know nothing of. I’m sorry.’ He smiled weakly.
Yengar snatched at an idea.
‘Was that what happened when you destroyed Rannick?’ he asked.
‘It was similar, yes,’ Farnor replied. ‘Though that was far more… intense. This felt… crude, forced, even more unnatural, if such a thing were possible. And whatever it is inside me that reached out to put it right was opposed again…’ He paused. ‘Just like last night. Something was fighting to keep it open. That didn’t happen when Rannick was lost. And what I saw then was very different.’ He pressed his fingertips against his forehead. ‘It was as though I were seeing with my entire body. I “saw” sights that can’t be seen just with the eyes. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it was.’ He became almost scornful and his hand waved out into the darkness. ‘But this was just out there. A hole deliberately torn into this place from… somewhere else… and riders struggling to come through.’
‘Marna thought she heard – or she sensed – a cry. Did you hear anything?’
Farnor touched his head again. ‘Yes, but nothing I could identify.’ He shuddered. ‘Just a dreadful sound in my head. Full of triumph, then anger and hate.’
‘And you still don’t know how you… reach out… and end these things?’
Farnor shook his head slowly. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Suddenly his hand seized Yengar’s wrist and his face was contorted with anger as he voiced again his own desperate need. ‘We have to find out about all of this as soon as possible. I can’t begin to imagine who or what just tried to come into this place, or why they’d want to be here, but theydon’t belong.’
‘How can you know that?’ It was Yrain. ‘It was alarming but that’s because it was strange – unexpected. We don’t know those riders meant any harm. Perhaps, wherever they are, they’re just wanderers like ourselves. People who suddenly found themselves confronted by a mysterious phenomenon and…’
Both Marna and Farnor were shaking their heads.
‘There was malice there,’ Farnor said with a quietness more telling than any ranting declamation. ‘Just by being here they’ll bring harm.’ It was he now who became instructive. ‘Their not belonging here is harmful in itself. It was reaching out into other worlds – places where he didn’t belong – in search of the power he wanted that destroyed Rannick. It’s so wrong – so dangerous. And while some part of me has sealed these… rips, tears, doorways, whatever they are… so far, I don’t know what I’m doing. I know less about it than my horse knows about flying.’ His anger returned. ‘And I refuse to tolerate the helplessness of standing by vaguely while something else makes use of me, whether it’s for good or bad!’
‘Maybe these people at Anderras Darion can get rid of whatever’s inside you,’ Marna offered.
Farnor turned on her, but both guilt and despair flitted across his face when he saw her flinch away from him. ‘It’s not something that can be taken away, Marna. I know that much about it. There’s nothing I’d like more than for all this to go away and for everything to be as it was. But that’s not going to happen.’ He flicked an almost dismissive hand towards Olvric. ‘It’s like he says, we’re safer seeing things the way they are. Not that I didn’t know that already.’ He gave a cold laugh. ‘Another learning, eh? All lessons have to be learned and relearned over and over.’ Then he squeezed Marna’s hand affectionately, in a manner quite at odds with his demeanour. ‘And the way things are, someone or something deliberately tried to tear its way into this world; someone or something that doesn’t belong here and that can only bring harm, like Rannick.’ He paused and took a deep breath. His tone was bleak. ‘And for some reason, I can’t walk away, any more than I could from Rannick. Perhaps it’s because it’s the right thing to do. Perhaps it’s because I think they’ll follow me anyway. I think – I know – they’re frightened of me. I threaten them in some way. Given that, I don’t seem to have any choice but to understand what I really am.’
He fell silent, and no one spoke for a long time.
‘I’m going to bed,’ he said eventually. ‘I need to be alone for a while – to think.’ He smiled ruefully at Olvric. ‘I’ll wake you if anything happens this time.’
The group was subdued after he had gone.
‘Too many questions and not a vestige of an answer to any of them,’ Yengar said.
‘Still, the lad has my sword,’ Olvric said. The others looked at him.
‘And mine,’ they each said in turn.
‘And mine, for what it’s worth,’ Marna said, struggling with tears.
Jenna put an arm around her. ‘It’s worth a lot, Marna,’ she said. ‘You’re his friend more than we can ever be, and that’s important. He relies on you more than either of you know.’
The night passed without further incident, although unbeknown to either Marna or Farnor, the Goraidin took turns at standing guard. The following morning their mood was lighter but, before leaving, they agreed to search the area where they thought the apparition had appeared. Determining this proved to be harder than they imagined and, by way of compromise, they searched an area that covered each of their estimates of the location. Their findings were no different from those of Olvric and Yengar the previous night. There was no indication anywhere that any riders had been near the camp. No one seemed surprised.
‘You’re Orthlundyn; is there anything unusual about this place?’ Yengar asked Yrain and Jenna, looking round at the mountains.
The two women looked around indifferently. ‘We’re not carvers,’ Jenna replied. ‘You know that. That’s why we’re soldiers. We’re both of us the despair of our parents.’ Both she and Yrain mimicked a head-shaking parental tone. ‘Quite rock-blind.’
‘Even so, you’re more sensitive to these things than we are,’ Yengar pressed seriously.
‘Maybe, maybe not, but I can’t feel anything unusual,’ Jenna dismissed the subject as she mounted her horse.
‘Nor I,’ Yrain added.
‘Carvers?’ Marna queried.
‘Great stone carvers, the Orthlundyn,’ Yengar said. ‘They live by farming, but they livefor carving. They’ve an amazing instinct for working stone. And how to use light – shadow lore, they call it. You’ll see for yourself when we get there.’
‘Just don’t ask anyone about it if you don’t want to be kept there for a day and a half while they explain it to you,’ Olvric warned theatrically. He seemed set to expand on this but changed his mind after a purposeful nudge between the shoulder blades from Jenna’s boot.
Later that day they reached the edge of the mountains.
‘Eirthlund,’ Yengar announced as they paused on a rocky prominence. ‘Not too far now and much easier going when we get down there.’
Gently rolling countryside lay spread out below them, gradually disappearing into the distance as the cloudy sky seeped down to obscure the horizon in a light haze. Farnor and Marna looked at it in silence. Eventually Marna gave a nervous laugh.
‘Funny. It feels strange. I suppose it’s because I’m used to having mountains all around. It makes me feel… unprotected, somehow.’
‘How much longer before we reach Anderras Darion?’ Farnor asked impatiently.
‘It depends exactly where we are,’ Yengar replied. ‘And how near to any of the river bridges. But only a few days at most.’ He grinned. ‘A lot less than our supplies will last, for sure. We’ll probably be sharing Valderen food with the good souls of Pedhavin when we arrive. It seems you’re not destined to learn anything about hunting on this trip.’
Unexpectedly, Farnor’s lip curled. ‘Then teach me how to fight – and how to ride quickly.’
Yengar inclined his head in acknowledgement, though there was some sadness in the look he gave his friends as they set off again.
Nevertheless, the four Goraidin did as Farnor requested and their first day’s journey through the Eirthlundyn countryside proved to be unexpectedly fast. It was thus a very stiff young man who levered himself out of his saddle when they finally stopped. No one remarked on it or offered to help him. He felt the need to spend some time leaning against his horse before Yengar’s instruction to ‘get the horses sorted out, they’ve worked hard today’ prodded him into action. As they went through the routines of establishing their camp, he moved slowly and with great concentration and when he finally sat down he advised his companions that he had pains in places he didn’t even know he had. This revelation was greeted with some cursory nodding, but no one seemed inclined to be overly sympathetic, though Yengar did tell him he was ‘doing well,’ and that he should just ‘try to relax a little more’. He complemented this advice with a brisk slap on the back which rendered Farnor wide-eyed and motionless for some time.
Marna, being naturally more relaxed than Farnor, had fared a little better on the journey but in any case was sustained by a personal vow she had made before she had left her home and father, to learn whatever lessons these four people had to teach, without comment. Thus it was that she joined in the Goraidin’s unspoken plot and stood up with an affectation of enthusiasm when sword practice was mooted. Farnor hesitated for a moment but, caught between Yengar’s encouraging smile and Marna’s betrayal, contented himself with giving her a brief unforgiving look as he creaked to his feet.
To Farnor’s considerable alarm, Olvric decided to join them. ‘Good idea,’ he said, cracking his entwined fingers. ‘It’ll help us wind down a little.’
In common with the rest of the day, it proved to be an energetic interlude and following it both Marna and Farnor retired to their tents exhausted.
The low rumble of conversation around the camp-fire filled the darkness around Farnor as he drifted through the twilight between waking and sleeping. Whirling images of Olvric’s instruction filled his mind. There was such an intensity in everything the man did, yet, paradoxically, a variation of Marken’s judgement came to Farnor: Olvric’s touch was the lightest of them all. Farnor’s last waking thoughts were full of puzzlement. Why was this man, with his frighteningly effective fighting skills, so much more gentle, so much less warlike in his teaching of them than the woman, Yrain? His final image was of Yrain casually watching as he and Marna were being shown something. He had caught a fleeting glimpse of her eyes. They were as intense as Olvric’s and full of realization. This capable and resolute woman was still learning…
Still learning…
And glad to be…
Farnor slept well and the momentum of his long-established habits woke him easily the next morning. The same momentum also lifted him from his bed, though markedly less easily thanks to the stiffness that the previous day’s rigours had blessed him with and that had diffused through his entire frame during the night.
He emerged painfully from his tent to be greeted by a cool and damp dawn that was full of the promise of bright sunshine to come. Despite his discomfort, it felt good. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, then began flexing his reluctant limbs carefully. As usual he was awake before the others. For reasons he could not identify he suddenly felt a great goodwill towards them and by the time they stirred he had quietly tended the horses and was preparing breakfast.
It brought him fulsome praise, though Marna could not forbear reverting to their old relationship and passing an acid comment about ‘teacher’s pet’; a jibe he endured by adopting a wilfully saintly demeanour.
They travelled as they had the previous day, making good progress.
‘Does no one live in this land?’ Farnor asked, looking for topics of conversation to take his mind off his discomfort as they rode relentlessly on.
‘Not many,’ Yengar told him. ‘A few villages here and there. It makes Orthlund look positively crowded and there’s precious few live there.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Then again, I suppose even Pedhavin’s bigger than you’re used to. And I can’t imagine what you’ll make of Vakloss if you ever get there.’
Scarcely had he made this observation than they came upon a road. It was unmetalled but ruts and hoofprints testified to its recent usage. After a brief debate they decided to follow it. ‘All roads lead to Anderras Darion,’ Yrain declared.
It took them through an Eirthlundyn village where they became the object of much attention and where their steady progress ground to a halt as the curious but very amiable populace plied them with questions.
‘You’re very patient,’ one elderly man told them, just before signs of impatience were about to show. ‘We don’t see many travellers and we can be a bit overwhelming when we do. Not much happens around here.’
That delayed them even longer.
‘Crafty old beggar,’ Yengar diagnosed as they finally made their escape. ‘He’s made me feel guilty for not taking the rest of the day to tell him about everything we’ve been doing. Still, at least we know where we are now.’
‘Their clothes are beautiful,’ Marna said. ‘Such colours. And the embroidery. So elaborate. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘They’re famous for their weaving and the like,’ Jenna said. ‘They sell it all over Orthlund, Fyorlund and Riddin. They’re considerable traders. That’s why the old man kept wringing tales out of Yengar. He’ll be drinking free on what he’s heard for days now.’
As they rode on, the road widened and with every cross-roads they passed they began to meet more travellers, moving in both directions. Some were on foot, carrying large packs, a few were on horseback, but most were riding in steep-sided carts, ornately carved and painted in the same style as the highly embroidered Eirthlundyn clothes. Everyone they met offered a friendly greeting and more than a few tried to lure them into making a purchase of some kind. Farnor found their persistence a little daunting, for even the admission that they had no money provoked nothing more than a broad understanding shrug followed immediately by some form of bartering proposition. In the end the two Goraidin parted with some of the still extant Valderen supplies in exchange for three bags of radiant stones, two leather belts and two brightly coloured kerchiefs. Yengar tied his about his neck and preened himself before the others. Both the women shook their heads and Jenna addressed Farnor conspicuously. ‘Not bad when it comes to using a sword or bow, these two, but as for bartering, I’m afraid they’re a sorry pair. Little to be learned there except what not to do.’
Shortly after that, however, following another encounter with an Eirthlundyn traveller she became the proud possessor of a beautiful scarf. Yengar said nothing, but whistled to himself irritatingly.
‘Maybe we should trot for a while,’ Farnor suggested.
They would have trotted over the bridge when they came to it, but both Farnor and Marna dismounted and walked to the edge of the river to look at it in wonder. Stout stone arches reached out into the river from both banks, rising gently to a wide central span over which soared a single arch of elaborately woven and jointed iron and timber.
‘It rises up in the middle so that boats can pass underneath it,’ Yengar said, before Farnor asked. ‘That’s what I’ve been told, anyway. Though there’s precious little river traffic these days, and nothing that couldn’t easily slip under the shore arches, let alone the middle.’
‘It’s big,’ was all Farnor could manage to say. And big it was, being so much wider than the road that served it that, Farnor judged, it could accommodate at least six of the carts he had seen, side by side.
‘Who built it?’ he asked. ‘And why, with so few people living here?’
Yengar shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. There are a lot of buildings and structures in this part of the world whose origins are long forgotten. It was probably built during the wars of the First Coming. There are features in its design we still use in temporary crossings and presumably it’s the size it is to take a great deal of heavy traffic very quickly – that usually means an army.’ He seemed anxious to leave the topic. ‘Come on, you can look at it as we cross. It’s even more impressive when you’re on it.’
Since no one else was using the bridge, the six of them rode on to it side by side and widely spaced. They moved steadily up the gentle incline but as they neared the central span Farnor and Marna exchanged a quick glance and, without comment, dismounted again and ran to the nearest edge to peer down into the water. The four Goraidin stopped and watched them for a moment, then, exchanging a glance of their own, dismounted in their turn and joined them.
‘I think I should do this more often,’ Yengar said, picking up a stone and dropping it into the slowly swirling waters below.
Olvric nodded and leaned forward over the stone parapet, his feet leaving the ground in imitation of Farnor and Marna. He threw a stone after Yengar’s.
‘Perhaps you two should bring your little wooden boats to play with,’ Yrain said, leaning with her back against the parapet and gazing with heavy indifference at the arch rising up ahead of them.
‘Good idea,’ Yengar replied. ‘We could put your little dollies in them. Or would they be seasick?’
Before Yrain could offer any rejoinder to this challenge, both Farnor and Marna cried out.
A large black bird had skimmed closely over their heads, startling them both. It dipped down, almost touching the waters below, then soared up in a high, sweeping arc. At the peak of its climb it seemed to hover. Then it was dropping towards them again. There was a faintly undignified hustle as Farnor and Marna debated whether they should stand or flee as the bird drew nearer. In the end they did a little of each, but Yengar and Olvric reached out to prevent their flight becoming a rout.
As they did so, the bird halted its rapid descent and landed on the parapet.
It was a large raven.
It had a wooden leg.