The owner of The Wyndering was Ghreel. He was very fat and very unpleasant. Had The Wyndering depended on his charm for its survival, it would have long since fallen into decay. As it was, it prospered, though, admittedly, little sign of this prosperity could be noted in its outward appearance, which was of a genteel house that had fallen on hard times. Its success was due almost completely to its location. Past it moved most of the traffic travelling between Arash-Felloren and the Wilde Ports, and all of such traffic as moved north and south in that region. In fairness, it had to be said that Ghreel was a good cook, being a keen judge of his own cooking – he had not always been fat – and, for most regular travellers, this was adequate compensation for his sour disposition. There was also a thriving subculture where these same travellers would exchange ever wilder stories about his rudeness, giving him, if not mythic status, at least high standing in the local canon of alehouse tales.
He was at his usual station, leaning against a robust but crude wooden counter and glowering at his regular customers, when the door creaked noisily to announce the entrance of Dacu and the others. His beady eyes examined them as they stood blinking in the comparative gloom, but he made no other movement. The door creaked again as Thyrn tried awkwardly to close it quietly. Nertha wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of the place, as did Vredech, though more discreetly.
‘Food, landlord?’ Dacu inquired.
Ghreel’s eyes widened slightly. Then, without replying, he flicked his head towards a double door standing open at the end of the room. They threaded their way through the drink-soiled furniture to be confronted by four long tables as they passed through the door. There were several people eating but plenty of space for the newcomers.
‘At least it doesn’t stink of stale ale like that other room,’ Vredech said, sitting down with some relish.
A slightly conspiratorial interlude followed during which Nertha was delegated to negotiate their meal with one of the young boys serving the tables. On the road, she had bargained fiercely, with much finger-jabbing and lying. Here it was a combination of studied womanly foolishness and slowness with the local coin that saw her quietly winning the day.
‘I can see why you married her,’ Dacu said.
‘I’m learning more every day,’ Vredech replied, enigmatically.
A little later, the meal had appeared and been devoured, largely in silence, and they were all both relaxed and replete.
‘Excellent,’ was the consensus, this being announced with some surprise, given the demeanour of the landlord.
‘I’m not sure it was such a good idea, though,’ Tirke remarked, closing his eyes ecstatically. ‘It’s really going to make camp food heavy going.’
‘It usually is when you cook it,’ Endryk remarked.
‘Talking of heavy going, the landlord’s been taking quite an interest in us,’ Thyrn said, without looking up. ‘He keeps casually wandering in, by the way, and looking over here.’
‘I noticed,’ Dacu said. ‘He seemed surprised when I first spoke to him.’
‘He’s probably deciding how much to charge us for watering the horses,’ Nertha said.
Vredech gave his wife a wilfully reproachful look. ‘You’re getting quite cynical, my dear.’
‘I’m getting quite used to the people around here,’ she replied emphatically. ‘I think they’d charge for the air we breathe if they could work out how to do it.’
‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ Dacu said. ‘Here he comes.’
They all turned to witness Ghreel’s lumbering approach.
‘A good meal, landlord,’ Dacu said genially, as Ghreel lurched to a halt and began collecting their plates. ‘You seem very interested in us. What can we do for you?’
‘Subtle,’ Nertha muttered.
Ghreel nearly dropped the plates. ‘Careful,’ Dacu said, reaching out to steady the teetering pile. A broad smile pressed his question.
Ghreel emitted a series of peculiar sounds that eventually concluded in something that sounded vaguely grateful. Then he said, ‘I hope you lot haven’t got any rats with you.’
An odd silence descended on the group as they looked first at him, then at each other and then back to their host.
‘Rats?’ Dacu queried hesitantly, as if he might have misheard. ‘Why would we have rats with us?’
‘You’re from up there aren’t you?’ Ghreel replied.
‘Up there?’
‘The north.’
‘Some of us are,’ Dacu said, obtusely not identifying the guilty parties.
‘Knew as soon as you walked in,’ Ghreel declared knowingly. ‘The way you talked. Funny.’
‘I always try to please,’ Dacu said, but the sarcasm bounced off its target.
‘We don’t get many northerners passing through here.’
‘Strange, I’d have thought they’d have flocked here,’ Dacu said, still to no effect. Ghreel’s concern however, now released, had a momentum comparable with that of his frame as he thrust the dishes through a hatch and bowled back towards the table.
‘We had one of your kind in the other day – with his rat. And I don’t want any more, I can tell you. Do you keep them as pets or something up there?’
‘Well, we’ve been away quite a time,’ Dacu said thoughtfully. ‘But keeping rats wasn’t common when we left.’
Ghreel looked unconvinced. His story had to make its full way out.
‘Vicious little swine it was. And teeth like I’ve never seen on any animal before.’ He made a futile effort to straighten up and draw his stomach in. ‘Mind you, my dogs would’ve had it if I hadn’t taken them in hand.’ He frowned. ‘And I had to, I can tell you.’ He indicated two large dogs asleep in the corner. Dacu nodded understandingly. ‘Rest assured, landlord, we’ve no rats or any other pets with us that you might need your dogs for. And if I hear of anyone coming this way I’ll advise them to leave their rats outside.’
This began to impinge. Ghreel’s face crumpled into a scowl. Dacu intercepted the pending reproach by standing up and taking his arm in a companionable manner. ‘I understand. You’ve a business to run here. Obviously you can’t have strange animals wandering in and out as they feel like it. It’d soon get the place a bad name. What was the man like? There aren’t many of us up there, as you might have gathered from the number who come here, so we might know him. We can speak to him about it if we see him.’
Partly mollified, Ghreel described the offending customer, concluding with, ‘And he’d a big hat, even though the sun was belting down.’
Dacu’s expression of recognition was not feigned. Nor was Tirke’s. ‘And the rat?’ Dacu pressed. ‘Are you sure it was a rat?’
Ghreel scowled again, though this time in thought. ‘He said it was a welci, or flooky, or something.’
‘A felci?’ Dacu suggested.
Ghreel nodded grimly. ‘Still looked like a rat to me.’ A fat finger prodded the table. ‘And I don’t want any more. You tell him, if you see him.’
‘I certainly will.’
‘And tell him I wasn’t impressed by that trick he did.’
‘Trick?’
‘Making it look as if it could talk.’
Dacu raised an eyebrow. The finger prodded the table again, then indicated the doorway. ‘Just when they were leaving. Stood on its hind legs over by the counter next door, thanked me for the meal, then laughed.’ He snorted scornfully. ‘Told me he was a teacher. Lying sod. If you ask me he was just another street clown who hadn’t the nous to make a living here and went scuttling home. Tell him I’ve seen better acts washing dishes. Him and his talking rat.’
‘We’ll be sure to mention you didn’t appreciate it if we run into him,’ Dacu said, signalling to the others to leave. ‘Was he heading back north?’
Jowls shook in indignant dismissal. ‘How would I know where he was going? He had some halfwit with him. I think he went north.’
In the courtyard, as they mounted, Dacu and Tirke looked at one another.
‘Atelon,’ they said, at the same time.
‘And Dar-volci, I’ll wager,’ Dacu added. ‘He wouldn’t be able to resist a parting jibe at the likes of our friend in there. What in the name of mercy were they doing out here? And who’s this “halfwit” he’s got with him?’
‘You know this “northerner” with his talking rat?’ Nertha asked.
‘It sounds like an old friend of ours,’ Tirke replied. Suddenly he was quite serious. ‘Atelon’s a Cadwanwr. He’s probably only about my age, but he’s lifetimes older. He stood with Oslang and the other Cadwanwr and kept Sumeral’s Uhriel from destroying the army with the Power. It took a toll I don’t think we can begin to understand.’
‘I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’
‘It’s all right. It’s just a little disturbing to hear about him like that.’
‘Do you think he might be in danger?’
‘I doubt it, he’s a Riddinwr.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that like all the Riddinvolk, he and his horse together make a lethal combination. And, for a Learned Brother, Atelon’s more than a fair hand with a sword.’
But Dacu had reservations. He turned to Thyrn. ‘I’ve no reason for this, but I feel uneasy about what we’ve just heard. I’d like to press on towards home. See if we can catch up with him.’ He held out a hand westward towards the unseen Arash-Felloren, his face questioning.
Thyrn looked in the direction he was pointing, then thought for a moment. ‘Some other time. I decided not to come here once before, it’s not hard to do it again. I’m sure it’ll be here for some years yet.’
‘Thank you,’ Dacu said.
‘Besides,’ Thyrn added, ‘I’m intrigued by this talking rat.’
They moved out of the courtyard and, after watching the busy crossroads for a while, turned on to the emptier road that ran northwards.
‘This talking rat is almost certainly Dar-Volci,’ Dacu told Thyrn. ‘He’s a felci. One of the few that take a serious interest in people and probably the only one who’ll travel anywhere. They’re rock dwellers and they look nothing like rats.’ He smiled to himself. ‘If I’m any judge of our erstwhile host, he’s tried to set his dogs on Dar and they’ve been seen off.’
‘They were big dogs. I wouldn’t like to argue with either of them,’ Vredech interposed.
‘Size doesn’t really come into it,’ Dacu said. ‘They’re strange creatures, felci. Full of life, energy, mischief – lots of mischief – but very dangerous if they have to fight.’
‘And they actually talk?’ It was Nertha.
‘Oh yes. As I said, they’re strange creatures. They say their ancestry goes back to the time before the very beginning of things.’
‘Before the beginning?’ Vredech exclaimed.
Dacu gave a disclaiming shrug. ‘You’re the theologian, you tell me. That’s what they claim. I’m sure Dar-volci will be only too happy to discuss it with you – at great length.’
Vredech gave him a suspicious look. ‘I’ll confess to having passed the time with the occasional dog from time to time in the past, but I find it difficult to see me discussing theology – or anything, for that matter – with a talking rat.’
Both Tirke and Dacu laughed. ‘Well, if you’ll accept a word of advice, I wouldn’t call Dar-volci a rat to his snout,’ Dacu said. ‘He can be quite cutting. And I’d reserve your judgement on his intellect if I were you.’
Vredech’s suspicious look deepened. He looked to Endryk for aid. ‘Are you joining with your countrymen in this?’ he asked.
Endryk tried not to laugh at Vredech’s discomfort, but failed. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never had the privilege of a conversation with a felci, but I’ve seen one or two and I’m afraid Dacu’s telling you the truth. And from what I’ve heard, they regard us as a rather inferior and troublesome species they have to keep an eye on.’
Vredech looked to his wife. ‘I’m beginning to suspect there’s something in the humour of these people that doesn’t travel.’ He returned to Dacu. ‘I suppose you’ll tell me next that this Dar-volci is a sort of king felci.’
Dacu chuckled. ‘No. They’d regard that as being very peculiarly human – extremely eccentric, not to say downright dangerous.’ Then his manner was abruptly almost sombre. ‘But he is exceptional.’ He glanced at Endryk to draw him into the conversation. ‘It was Dar-volci who killed Sumeral’s most powerful Uhriel, Oklar. The man – the creature – who cut a swathe through Vakloss with a gesture. Killed him just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Whatever the felci are, wherever… or whenever… they come from, they’re not to be underestimated, and the Power seems to hold no terror for them.’
The expression on Endryk’s face told Vredech more vividly than any reassurances that he was not being made the butt of even a gentle joke.
‘I see there’s a great deal I have to learn about your country and its people,’ he said.
‘There’s a great deal we all have to learn about each other,’ Dacu retorted. ‘And many other things as well. I find it hard to come to accept these “other worlds” that you say you’ve been mysteriously transported to, and that Thyrn says he’s seen.’ His sombre mood fell away. ‘But I’m looking forward to finding out about everything.’
The road ran directly north and they followed it for the rest of the day, at Dacu’s urging and under his guidance, travelling faster than they had done hitherto. They camped eventually in a small stand of trees on a low hillock. As the sun sank and the sky darkened, there was a persistent glow above the western horizon. It puzzled them for a while until they realized that it must be from the lights of Arash-Felloren.
‘What a strange sight,’ Dacu mused. ‘It’s as though the place were ablaze. You can see Vakloss from far away at night, but only if it’s in direct sight. Not beyond the mountains. Why would these people choose to light the sky as well as their streets and byways? Do they envy the stars? Or would they seek to emulate them?’
Vredech laughed. ‘I can’t say that the direction of the street lighting was ever a concern in Canol Madreth,’ he said. ‘I’ve certainly never thought about it and I presume it’s the same with these people. Thoughtlessness at the worst. Not the greatest of sins in this case, surely?’
‘It just makes me uncomfortable, that’s all,’ Dacu said. ‘Thoughtlessness it may well be but I’m not sure I can forgive it as readily as you. Of an individual, yes, but not of an entire city. It’s a symptom of the place. Almost every aspect of it we’ve touched on has been tainted with it. Not least towards other people. And if they disregard their own kind so casually, what regard will they have for anything else around them?’
Vredech gave him an arch look. ‘You are stern, aren’t you? I’d never have taken you for a zealot. “Thou shalt not shine a light at night.” Are you sure you haven’t studied religion at some time?’
The taunt made Dacu smile but he issued a challenge. ‘Just fault my reasoning, priest. The more we learn about the place the more it feels as though Sumeral’s touch is all over it. I wonder if it was once one of His citadels?’ The question was half to Tirke, half to himself, but neither pursued it. ‘Anyway, I’m glad we found out about it, but we were probably wise not to go into it.’
‘Some other time, though,’ Thyrn reminded him.
‘Some other time, certainly. When Nertha has taught us all how to haggle properly.’
The next day, maintaining the same faster pace, they continued along the road, which still led steadily northward. They had met little traffic the previous day and such as there had been had lessened with each junction they came to. Now they met no one travelling in either direction and gradually the road itself began to disappear as the surrounding countryside encroached on it. Eventually it was gone, and all suggestion of the influence of Arash-Felloren passed from the landscape. Their mood lightened.
‘Do you think your friend has come this way?’ Vredech asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Dacu replied.
‘You sound very confident.’
‘If he was going home, this is the most direct way. There’s no reason why he should wander off the road. And he’s left signs for us to follow.’
‘Signs? I’ve seen nothing. And he didn’t know we’d be following, did he?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I meant because he wasn’t deliberately hiding from us, he’s left a trail for us to follow if you know what to look for. So far it’s been easy – scuffs in the dirt, an occasional hoofprint in damp ground.’
‘And not forgetting Dar-volci’s paw prints,’ Tirke added.
Vredech looked at them both, wide-eyed. ‘You make me feel blind and useless. I’d be interested to look for these “signs” myself if you’d care to help me.’
‘And me,’ Thyrn said. ‘Endryk taught me how to leave no sign when we were being chased through the mountains. He said we’d left a trail across Arvenstaat like a runaway haycart.’
Soon, moving still northwards and with all of them now searching enthusiastically for the faint reminders of Atelon’s passing, they were leaving the grasslands and ascending into mountains again. Unlike others they had passed through though, these were of no great severity and the way proved to be quite easy. At one point as they moved along a valley floor, Dacu, who had been looking back and forth for some time, reined to a halt.
‘This has been a proper road at one time. And no farm track, either. I’ll wager you could see the line of it from up on the ridge,’ he said. ‘Fascinating.’ He spoke to Tirke and Endryk. ‘We really must study this region in detail. We can start as soon as we get back to Anderras Darion; there are all manner of maps and plans in the library there.’
Thyrn’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘study’. ‘How far ahead do you think your friend is?’ he asked quickly.
‘Not far, I would imagine,’ Dacu replied. ‘We’ve been making good progress and I doubt he was hurrying particularly. We might reach him today.’
And they did. Towards evening, riding towards the head of the valley, they saw the light of a distant camp-fire.
‘Let’s see how alert our warrior-Cadwanwr is.’ Dacu and Tirke enjoyed a private joke. As they drew nearer, a tent similar to those used by the two Goraidin came into view, but there was no sign of any occupants.
‘Ho, the camp,’ Dacu shouted.
‘Ho yourself, Goraidin,’ came a voice from close nearby. Both Dacu and Tirke laughed and then applauded as a figure emerged from the shade of some rocks. It held a lantern that shone in their faces.
There followed a brief confusion of greetings and abuse typical of long-separated friends meeting unexpectedly and in happy circumstances, then Atelon was more soberly introduced to the others.
‘So you’re a Cadwanwr?’ Thyrn said as he found himself looking into a weather-beaten face and deep-set eyes. ‘They said you wore a big hat.’
Atelon’s face cracked into a bright smile. ‘Only when I don’t want to fight,’ he said. Then, still smiling, he looked at his inquisitor intently. Briefly a look of pain came into his eyes and his hand flicked as if it were about to reach up and offer consolation. He turned the movement into a gesture towards his camp-fire.
‘Welcome to my hearth. I was just about to…’
‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ Except for Atelon and the two Goraidin, everyone looked round for the owner of this peculiarly deep voice. Nertha gave a faint ‘Oh!’ and Thyrn jumped as the sinuous form of Dar-volci emerged from the shadows. ‘After all, it was me who told you they were coming.’
‘I’d heard them,’ Atelon replied defensively.
‘Hm.’
Without any warning, the felci jumped up into Atelon’s arms and thence on to his shoulder. ‘Let’s have a look at our visitors,’ he said paternally. ‘I have your names, but some of you smell very interesting.’ Following this injunction, Atelon took him to each of the new arrivals in turn. Dar-volci stared intently at each one separately, his triangular head jutting forward a little and his muzzle twitching. Throughout he maintained a soft, absent-minded whistling.
‘Very interesting indeed,’ he concluded finally. ‘I think we’re going to have a lot to talk about. Introduce them to Pinnatte, then let’s eat.’
Pinnatte, slight in build and with disorderly fair hair and disconcertingly black eyes, was the ‘halfwit’ that Ghreel had referred to. Except that he was not a halfwit.
‘The Kyrosdyn used him in an experiment,’ Atelon told them as they sat around the fire eating.
Nertha frowned but did not speak. In travelling with the Goraidin she had soon learned that when they explained something, it was clearly and thoroughly done, and when others explained, they listened. She deemed the last in particular to be a great virtue. In her experience it was rare.
Atelon continued. ‘They “infected” him, for want of a better word, with a compound they’d formulated. Something involving crystal products, I imagine.’ He paused and looked directly at Dacu. ‘This is wickedness, the like of which I find hard to speak of calmly. I take some bitter pride in the fact that I was able to play a part in the destruction of its architect.’
‘Imorren?’ Dacu queried, untypically interrupting. ‘Their leader?’
Atelon showed no great surprise that Dacu knew of this. He nodded.
‘The whole story’s a long one,’ he said. ‘And far from clear in my mind yet. Suffice it to say I’m expecting a long Accounting when I get back to the Cadwanen.’
‘I understand. But tell us what you can.’
Atelon thought for a moment. Perhaps telling a new audience about what had happened might give him an insight that had been denied him in his own inner speculations. But where to start?
Andawyr’s words came to him. ‘When you don’t know where to start, start.’
So he did. ‘Briefly, as I said, they used him as part of an experiment. Exactly what they had in mind I couldn’t say, but what they finished up doing was trying to make him into something that couldn’t be.’
‘What do you mean, something that couldn’t be?’ Thyrn interrupted, provoking a reproachful glance from Endryk.
Atelon looked at him and his voice became that of someone obliged to deliver a difficult lecture. ‘Tell me, young man, what do you know about the Power?’