“Wait a minute. You say that she really hated these outlaws and mercenaries—”
“'Hate' may be the wrong word. She'd never bothered about them before, but when her son got friendly with them I think she just got mad.”
“She thought they were a bad influence?”
“No, I think she didn't like it that he'd run to them and they'd take him in whenever he had a falling out with her.”
“Yet you say that she saw Dalt paid off out of the Keep's treasure and allowed him to ride away, after they'd forced her hand against Sharu Garrul.”
“Yup. Big argument at the time, too, between Rinaldo and his mom, over just that point. And she finally gave in. That's the way I heard it from a couple of guys who were there. One of the few times the boy actually stood up to her and won, they say. In fact, that's why the guys deserted. She ordered all witnesses to their argument executed, they told me. They were the only ones managed to get away.”
“Tough lady.”
“Yup.”
We walked on back to the area where we'd been seated and ate some more food. The song of the wind rose in pitch and a storm began out at sea. I asked Dave about big doglike creatures, and he told me that packs of them would probably be feasting on the battle's victims tonight. They were native to the area.
“We divide the spoils,” he said. “I want the rations, the wine and any valuables. They just want the dead.”
“What good are the valuables to you?” I said.
He looked suddenly apprehensive, as if I were considering the possibility of robbing him.
“Oh, it don't really amount to much. It's just that I've always been a thrifty person,” he said, “and I make it sound more important than it is. “You never can tell,” he added.
“That's true,” I agreed.
“How'd you get here anyway, Merle?” he asked quickly, as if to get my mind off the subject of his loot.
“Walked,” I said.
“That don't sound right. Nobody comes here willingly.”
“I didn't know I was coming here. Don't think I'll be staying long either,” I said, as I saw him take up the small knife and begin toying with it. “No sense going below and begging after hospitality at a time like this.”
“That's true,” he remarked.
Was the old coot actually thinking of attacking me, to protect his cache? He could be more than a little mad by now, living up here alone in his stinking cave, pretending to be a saint.
“Would you be interested in returning to Kashfa,” I said, “if I could set you on the right trail?”
He gave me a crafty look. “You don't know that much about Kashfa,” he said, “or you wouldn't have been asking me all those questions. Now you say you can send me home?”
“I take it you're not interested?”
He sighed. “Not really, not any more. It's too late now. This is my home. I enjoy being a hermit.”
I shrugged. “Well, thanks for feeding me, and thanks for all the news.” I got to my feet.
“Where are you going now?” he asked.
“I think I'll look around some, then head for home.” I backed away from that small lunatic glow in his eyes.
He raised the knife, his grip tightened on it. Then he lowered it and cut another piece of cheese.
“Here, you can take some of the cheese with you if you want,” he said.
“No, that's okay. Thanks.”
“Just trying to save you some money. Have a good trip.”
“Right. Take it easy.”
I heard his chuckling all the way back to the trail. Then the wind drowned it.
I spent the next several hours reconnoitering. I moved around in the hills. I descended into the steaming, quaking lands. I walked along the seashore. I passed through the rear of the normal-seeming area and crossed the neck of the ice field. In all of this, I stayed as far from the Keep itself as possible. I wanted to fix the place as firmly in mind as I could, so that I could End my way back through Shadow rather than crossing a threshold the hard way. I saw several packs of wild dogs on my journey, but they were more intent upon the battle's corpses than anything that moved.
There were oddly inscribed boundary stones at each topographical border, and I found myself wondering whether they were mapmakers' aids or something more. Finally, I wrestled one from the burning land over about fifteen feet into a region of ice and snow. I was knocked down almost immediately by a heavy tremor; I was able to scramble away in time, however, from the opening of a crevice and the spewing of geysers. The hot area claimed that small slice of the cold land in less than half an hour. Fortunately, I moved quickly to get out of the way of any further turmoil, and I observed the balance of these phenomena from a distance. But there was more to come.
I crouched back among the rocks, having reached the foothills of the range from which I had started by crossing through a section of the volcanic area. There, I rested and watched for a time while that small segment of terrain rearranged itself and the wind smeared smoke and steam across the land. Rocks bounced and rolled; dark carrion birds went out of their way to avoid what had to be some interesting thermals.
Then I beheld a movement which I first assumed to be seismic in origin. The boundary stone I had shifted rose slightly and jogged to the side. A moment later, however, and it was elevated even farther, appearing almost as if it had been levitated slightly above the ground. Then it drifted across the blasted area, moving in a straight line at a uniform speed, until -as nearly as I could judge-it had recovered its earlier position. And there it settled. Moments later the turmoil recommenced, and this time it was a jolting shrug of the ice sheet, jerking back, reclaiming the invaded area.
I called up my Logrus sight, and I was able to make out a dark glow surrounding the stone. This was connected by a long, straight, steady stream of light of the same general hue, extending from a high rear tower of the Keep. Fascinating. I would have given a lot for a view of the interior of that place.
Then, born with a sigh, maturing to a whistle, a whirlwind rose from the disputed area, growing, graying, swaying, to advance suddenly toward me like the swung proboscis of some cloudy, sky-high elephant. I turned and climbed higher, weaving my way amid rocks and around the shoulders of hillsides. The thing pursued, as if there were an intelligence guiding its movements. And the way it hung together while traversing that irregular terrain indicated an artificial nature, which in this place most likely meant magic.
It takes some time to determine an appropriate magical defense, and even more time to bring it into being. Unfortunately, I was only about a minute ahead of the posse, and that margin was probably dwindling.
When I spotted the long narrow crevice beyond the next turning, jagged as a limb of lightning, I paused only an instant to peer into its depth, and then I was descending, my tattered garments lashed about me, the windy tower a rumbling presence at my back...
The way ran deep and so did I, following its jogs, its twistings. The rumble rose to a roar, and I coughed at the cloud of dust that engulfed me. A hailstorm of gravel assailed me. I threw myself Bat then, about eight feet below the surface of the land, and covered my head with my arms, for I believed that the thing was about to pass directly above me.
I muttered warding spells as I lay there, despite their minuscule parrying effect at this distance against such an energy-intensive manifestation. I did not jump up when the silence came. It could be that the tornado's driver had withdrawn support and collapsed the funnel on seeing that I might be out of reach. It could also be the eye of the storm, with more to come, by and by.
While I did not jump up, I did look up, because I hate to miss educational opportunities.