‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ Scarza answered from where he sat up against a tree.
Jatal simply waved to grant the man the point. He shifted over to lean against another trunk. ‘You shouldn’t have intervened.’
‘I was just happening by. Spur of the moment thing.’
Jatal eyed the dark hulking figure, half obscured by a shadow cast by the shafts of the Visitor. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Those were my men. Bastards, half of them. Murderers, rapists. But still, mine. Can’t let some jumped-up Warleader sell them out. Or me, to be honest.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Him?’ The wide dark shoulders shrugged. ‘Does it matter? Some renegade general. Maybe years ago he tried to take over from these Thaumaturgs — fails. Flees abroad. Gathers himself a mercenary army. Makes a deal with the neighbouring country. Comes back and makes them pay. It’s an old story. Seen it a thousand times.’
‘I think there’s more to it than that.’
‘Think what you will. You can question him all you want after we catch him.’
Jatal studied the shaded figure. His eyes gleamed hungrily in the dark. A spark of humour actually animated the man’s expression. Is he as mad as I should be? Am I mad? Am I imagining this? ‘What do you mean? He’s surrounded by his shaduwam pets.’
‘No, he isn’t. He rode off alone like the very fiends of the Abyss were after his spirit. Which they are, I’m sure.’
Jatal half rose, then fell back, slumping. ‘Then he’s gone. We’ve missed him. And …’ He stopped himself from going any further.
The half-Trell was silent for a time in the dark. At length he spoke, his voice gentle: ‘She was something, Prince of the Hafinaj. She truly was. I am sorry.’
Yes. Sorry. I am sorry. He is. Yet nothing will bring her back. And nothing can redeem me. Unless. Unless I finish her task for her. Then finish myself. Only that might serve to redress so great an injustice.
‘When did he leave?’
‘Half the night ago.’
Jatal gaped. ‘What? Then why … you are cruel. Is this your revenge? Tormenting me so?’
‘Not at all. You needed to recover. We will track him and ride even harder.’
Jatal snorted. ‘Ride? You?’
‘For this I will run.’ The half-Trell’s voice held an unfamiliar chilling resolve.
‘And me? Am I to run as well?’
Scarza tapped a finger to the side of his wide flattened nose. ‘There are horses nearby. I smell them.’
‘Then why aren’t we on our way?’
The dark glittering eyes regarded Jatal closely. ‘You are ready? You are resolved?’
‘To the end.’
The giant was on his feet in an instant. ‘Good. Let us collect as many horses as we can. I may even ride one for an hour or so! Just to catch my breath.’
Jatal stood as well. He felt rested; he was bruised and battered, but that was a minor matter. He hungered also but he would deal with that when he could stand it no longer. After all, what were such demands of the flesh compared to the task he had vowed to see through to the finish.
CHAPTER XII
After the storm passed we were in unfamiliar waters, irrevocably driven off course. We found ourselves within sight of an unknown coast. We put in for water but lost men to bizarre wild animals, poisonous plants, and other hazards of its inhospitable jungle and so we quit the coast in haste. Raising sails, we espied a simple dugout paddled by one occupant. We allowed the man to come aboard. He was painted and mostly naked after the barbarous fashion. He studied the vessel, its equipage, our dress and accoutrements, all in the most childlike curious wonder. Then, turning to me, tears welling from his eyes, he said in slanted Talian: ‘Thank the gods for my deliverance. For I am Whelhen Mariner, shipwrecked these last twelve years.’
The land is sinking. This was Shimmer’s conclusion after staring for interminable days and nights at a shore that hardly deserved the name. Or the waters are rising. Where the river ended and the land began appeared to be a debate this jungle was unable to resolve. Their route twisted and turned. Countless channels and streams led off from the main way only to reappear round the next tight bend.
To further muddy the situation the water itself was taking on the characteristics of the surrounding land. No current could be seen pulling on the thick layer of lilies and wide flat pads that utterly choked the surface. The rotting prow of the Serpent actually seemed to catch on the tough plants, tugging and ripping. Tall water birds flapped from their path looking like disgruntled priests wrapped in brown robes with long disapproving faces. They walked atop the pads on stilt-like legs and made better progress than the ship. It puzzled her that the channel could really be so shallow. Countless water snakes likewise slithered among the massed floating plants, fleeing the disturbance. Thick clouds of insects hovered above the fat pink and white blossoms of the lilies. Dragonflies the size of her fist stooped these dense clouds while birds chased them all, snapping everything up in their pointed beaks.
The scent of all those blossoms melded into an overpowering stink of corrupted sweetness, which combined with the rot of dead plant matter and the miasma of the standing water. She could almost see the fumes hanging like scarves in the dead air. Or perhaps it was the dust and pollen.
The sun beat down with a drowsy heat made far worse by the unbearable humidity. Merely bending her arm raised drops of sweat. She wore only a long undershirt now, over trousers and open sandals. Her long hair she tied up high with the aid of thin sticks. Her thoughts seemed to coil as turgid as the water itself. Where was this capital Rutana promised? She claimed they were close yet no towers or walls reared above the canopy.
Ruined foundations, stone stelae and tumbled carved blocks did stand here and there, vine-choked and eroded. But no sign of current occupation showed itself. They had better be close, because beneath her hands the wood railing felt spongy with rot. She couldn’t imagine what was keeping the vessel together. It ought to have disintegrated long ago.
The troop of longtail monkeys had returned — or another of the tribe. In any case, they travelled alongside their course, swinging from limb to limb. They had no trouble in keeping up with the ship’s sluggish progress. Their moustached, wise faces peered from among the boughs, eyes bright and black.
As the vessel pushed beneath overhanging branches, leaves and the luminous petals of countless blossoms rained down upon everyone. Shimmer brushed the gold and purple showers from her shoulders. The littered deck appeared as festive as if decorated for the parades of Fanderay’s revival.
They moved through an eerie half-light now. Neither day nor night. It seemed as if she was dreaming. A strange jade glow pervaded all the space beneath the thick canopy that extended above them from all sides. The light reminded her of that unearthly greenish luminosity that comes just before the clouds of a massive storm. Here, however, it never went away.
Then the Serpent rounded a bend in what now seemed nothing more than a stagnant swamp. Rutana, near the vine-draped bow, stiffened and pointed ahead. Her breath left her in a loud hiss. Something jutted out among the bobbing lilies and fat table-like leaves. It was just submerged, a stone ledge of some sort, algae-green, canted as if it had sunk into its foundation. The Serpent glided up to the ledge and came to a gentle halt.
‘We are arrived,’ the woman announced.
Shimmer scanned the jungle shore. She saw nothing but interminable trees, low brush and grass. Insects sent up a constant low buzz. ‘Arrived? There is nothing here!’