Maggie took all of this in. If the agents of Inhuman had been turned loose from town, then perhaps they would be out in the countryside, hunting even now. She suddenly feared for Ceravanne, who had only Orick to protect her. More importantly, she understood that Fenorah, despite his great strength, was asking them to make a hasty retreat.
“I suspect,” Gallen said, “that such fears are unfounded. Did you see which way they went?”
“Four of the Inhuman’s servants went to the south, toward the wilderness of Moree,” the giant whispered. “Five to the woods to the east.”
Maggie caught her breath. Despite their best efforts, the Inhuman’s agents were still searching for them in greater force than she’d imagined. It would be easy for a few servants of the Inhuman to find others like themselves, raise the countryside against them.
Fenorah studied them from the corner of his eyes. “I … have to admit that I am not above spying on a stranger. When the nine were alone in the medic’s chamber, I listened to them from the hole above. They spoke of a Lord Protector who should not be allowed to reach Moree.”
Gallen did not answer for a moment. “Even if it is true that you have escaped the Inhuman’s scrutiny so far,” he said, “it will not remain so forever. Unless the Inhuman is destroyed, you and your people will be found.”
“And what can one man do against it?” Fenorah grumbled. “I fear that the Inhuman is more powerful than you know.”
Gallen said, “There is more than one warrior here, unless I miss my guess. Perhaps you and some of your kind would join me.” Maggie held her breath, for she wished that this strong man would come with them. An army of them would be formidable.
“I am of the Im people,” Fenorah said. “I could not travel inland with you, away from the sea. Me and my brothers cannot drink your fresh water. We would die after a few days’ march.”
Maggie’s heart fell, and she wondered what Gallen would do without the giants’ help. Somehow, though she had not admitted it to herself, to go into that wilderness alone seemed … unthinkable.
“Then let me have a wagon,” Gallen asked, “and tell no one that I came this way.”
“Done.” The giant nodded. He looked at Gallen from the corner of his eye once again. “And more. I’ll come with you, and bring my brothers, so long as your road leads by the sea. The Inhuman will have to show some restraint, with us at hand.”
“I accept your offer, gratefully,” Gallen said.
“Good.” The giant slapped his knee and he got up, took Maggie’s hand and helped her to her feet.
“One thing more,” Maggie said. “Among the survivors, did you find a pale woman?”
“The Champlianne?” the giant said. “Aye, she’s safe.”
“She’s not Inhuman, I don’t think,” Maggie said.
“Neither do I. She’s well, resting in my own house,” Fenorah assured her. “My wife is caring for her.”
Maggie found herself suddenly teary-eyed with relief. As far as the others on the ship went, she had trusted none of them, but she hated the thought that this innocent woman might have died in the skirmish. Gallen put his arm over Maggie’s shoulders, hugged her for a moment.
Then Fenorah led them back down the long stairs, to the mouth of the city, where the serving boy had readied a fine wagon carved of cherrywood, with ornate scrollwork and bas-reliefs of trees and dancing rabbits on every panel. Gallen slapped the wagon, commenting on its fine Maker build, and Maggie wondered at his knowledge of it.
To pull the wagon, Fenorah had provided a beast that Maggie had never seen before, nor ever imagined. It stood tall as a horse, but was built more like a cow. It had a great hump at its shoulders, and while most of it was a creamy golden brown in color, shaggy black hair covered its head. Its small horns curved like those of a ram, and it glared about with small red eyes. It was both a fearsome creature, and powerfully built.
“What is this thing called?” Maggie asked.
“A travelbeast,” Fenorah answered, obviously surprised that she did not know. “His kind are greatly prized. He has greater endurance than a bull, and greater speed than a horse. He sees in the dark, and is smart enough to understand a few small words.” He hissed a little lower. “And he will trample anyone who gets in his way.”
Maggie climbed up into the seat of the wagon, saw that it was lightly loaded with baskets of fruit, a barrel of salted fish, and plenty of blankets. On impulse she grabbed the giant, hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she whispered fiercely, and found herself fighting back tears once again.
“It is my pleasure,” Fenorah said, and he went to find some men. In half an hour, six of the giants had gathered. Three ran out ahead of the wagon, while three others followed close behind.
Then Gallen nodded and slapped the travelbeast with the reins, and they lurched off, out the door of the tunnel. The twin suns were already down outside, and the moons had not yet risen. Clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the stars. In the darkness, she could barely see the broad backs of the giants, rushing ahead into the shadows.
Gallen hunched at the reins, his face an unreadable mask in the darkness, and she felt distant from him. She could sense a change in him, a new uncertainty that he dared not voice.
As the wagon rattled over the cobblestones up toward the woods, Maggie had a sense of foreboding. It was dark under the trees, so dark that she could hardly see her hand in front of her face, and somehow she sensed that she was crossing into a darker realm than she could have ever imagined.
* * *
Chapter 19
As night fell, Zell’a Cree ambled along the rutted roads east of Battic. His Amen had been following the road since just after dawn, sniffing for the scent of Gallen O’Day and his party. They’d crossed forty kilometers of mountain, hugging the coast, and never caught a whiff of him.
Forty kilometers seemed too far. Zell’a Cree knew that the currents and the wind had carried the little lifeboat east along the coast, and for a good time, he’d kept them in sight as he swam.
Still, they should have landed somewhere closer to Battic. But Zell’a Cree’s nose didn’t lie: they hadn’t set foot on the road.
They’re learning, Zell’a Cree realized. They must have known that if they walked on the road, I would catch their scent. And the coastline here was so rocky in places, that Zell’a Cree could not easily hunt them by following the beach.
He wondered idly how it would be to be a human-living in a world where the senses were so limited, where sight and smell and hearing were so dull. Humans must feel terribly vulnerable, terribly open to attack, and they would have to be wary at all times. No wonder they had developed fear as a basic component of their emotional makeup.
Yet Zell’a Cree could hear a twig snap a mile away, and at night, even in a deep fog, the heat of living things blazed like torches. Zell’a Cree did not need to suffer from mankind’s irrational fears. He was better than that.
At dusk, he stopped, weary to the bone, and said to the three other men, “It may be that we have passed the Tharrin’s trail. I for one believe that we should go back.”
“Bransoon told us to head east. He’s first mate,” a sailor grumbled, a small red-skinned man with yellow eyes.
“But we’ve been walking all day, and still have no sign of them,” Zell’a Cree said. “Don’t you think it likely that we passed them already?”
“Maybe,” the sailor said, scratching his ear with a long knife. “But what if you’re wrong? What if they’re a kilometer down the road, or five kilometers? The wind and current are strong. Maybe they decided to follow the coast by boat. If they’re ahead of us, and we turn back now, we could lose them. But if they’re behind us, most likely they’ll just come down the road right into our arms.”
Zell’a Cree studied the men. It seemed just as likely to him that Gallen and the others would run off into the woods and never be found again. There were hundreds of small hamlets scattered throughout these mountains, with roads going everywhere. It would be easy to lose them on back roads.