Refusing to say another word, she set off at a brisk pace.
Lief, Barda and Jasmine had no choice but to follow her. With Kree flying ahead, and Filli lying limp beneath Jasmine’s shirt, they beat their way through a tangle of ferns, then through thickets of brush and brambles, their legs trembling, their heads spinning.
At last, at sunset, they burst into open ground. Ahead was a vast plain. The sky was streaked red and orange. A fresh breeze cooled their faces.
They stood, exhausted and staring.
‘This is my country,’ Lindal said with satisfaction. ‘Sit! Rest! I will build a fire and hunt for some food.’
And so tired were Lief, Barda and Jasmine that they crumpled to the ground where they stood.
When they woke, the sky above them was like black velvet sprinkled with diamonds. The fire had died down to a mass of glowing coals, and the air was filled with the smell of cooking.
Lindal was already eating, sitting cross-legged and chewing on a bone with relish.
When she saw that her companions had awoken, she tossed the bone aside. She licked her fingers, then seized a wicked-looking knife and began sawing at the joint of meat still sizzling on the coals.
‘Here,’ she said, passing hot, dripping chunks to each of them. ‘Pig rat—a fine, plump one too, for once.’
Even Jasmine, who rarely ate meat, fell upon the food, which was rich and savoury, despite its doubtful name. There was warm, flat bread, too, baked in the ashes of the fire, and some fresh, curly green leaves Lief had never seen before. They tasted slightly peppery, but were crisp and strangely refreshing.
‘Traveller’s Weed. Good for the belly!’ said Lindal, cramming a handful of leaves into her mouth with one hand and slapping her flat stomach with the other. ‘I was lucky to find it. There is little around these days, though once, the old folk say, it grew in every ditch.’
Her heartiness sounded a little forced, and Lief suddenly remembered what she had said about having bad news. He realised she was delaying the moment when she would have to tell it.
He leaned forward, but before he could say anything, Barda spoke.
‘What a meal, Lindal!’ the big man said. ‘How our guards would envy us! No doubt they are making a miserable dinner of travellers’ biscuit and dried fish tonight.’
Lindal looked stricken.
Here it comes, Lief thought, with sudden dread. It is something about the guards.
The smile faded from Barda’s face. ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you look like that?’
‘There is something I must tell you,’ Lindal muttered. ‘Something bad. Your men …’
She bent her head and rubbed her hand over her painted skull. Then she looked up and met Barda’s eyes.
‘Your men are all dead,’ she said.
Jasmine gasped with shock. Barda’s face looked as if it had been turned to stone.
‘How?’ Lief heard himself asking, and wondered how his voice could sound so calm, when his mind was roaring with grief and horror.
‘Their camp on the outskirts of Ringle was attacked last night,’ Lindal said, staring into the fire. ‘Everyone in the town heard their cries, and woke.’
‘As did we,’ Lief whispered, remembering the distant screams he had heard in the darkness of the night.
‘Many people in Ringle snatched up weapons and hurried to the camp,’ Lindal said. ‘But by the time we reached it, the guards were dead—dead and burning.’
‘Burning!’ whispered Jasmine. She glanced at Lief, and a wave of heat swept over him.
It cannot be! he told himself. No! It cannot …
Barda wet his lips. ‘They must have been taken by surprise,’ he said with difficulty. ‘Attacked by someone they would never suspect. Treachery …’
Suddenly he looked suspiciously at Lindal. ‘And how did you just happen to be in Ringle last night of all nights, Lindal of Broome?’ he asked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
Lindal lifted her chin. ‘I do not have to answer to you, you bumbling ox,’ she sneered. ‘Any more than you have to tell me why you are travelling inland instead of by the coast road, as planned.’
Her lip curled. ‘Or why you chose to play the hero in the Forests of Silence while your men went on to Ringle, and their deaths,’ she added.
With a roar Barda sprang to his feet, drawing his sword, scattering the remains of his meal into the fire.
But Lindal was up just as quickly, a spear already in her hand.
Glowering, the two giants faced each other over the fire, their weapons gleaming, their bodies dyed scarlet by the light of the glowing coals.
‘Barda!’ thundered Lief. ‘Lindal! Stop!’
But neither Lindal nor Barda moved a muscle.
‘You are fools, both of you,’ cried Jasmine in disgust. ‘You are shocked and grieved, so to relieve your feelings you turn on one another. Oh, very good!’
Lindal’s eyes slid in her direction. The hand holding the spear tightened. For a terrifying moment Lief thought that Jasmine had spoken her mind once too often.
Then the hand relaxed, and the spear was lowered so it pointed to the ground.
‘I was staying the night in Ringle because Ringle is on the way to the Os-Mine Hills,’ Lindal said, looking straight at Barda. ‘I had heard reports of a disturbance in the Hills. Screams and bursts of fire.’
The Dragon hunting the Granous, Lief thought numbly. Of course.
‘I have travelled the Hills many times,’ Lindal went on coldly. ‘I thought I would do my king a service by investigating the disturbance, so I could report when I met him in Broome. I am a loyal Deltoran—whatever others may think.’
Barda put down his sword and bent his head.
‘I beg pardon for doubting you,’ he muttered. ‘I just—cannot take this in. We thought we were the ones in danger. An enemy had been setting traps for us. That is why we entered the Forests. We never dreamed our escort would be attacked.’
He shook his lowered head, his face grief-stricken. ‘Those guards were hand-picked men—fine fighters, fine soldiers! How could they have been destroyed?’
‘They had no chance,’ Lindal said grimly. ‘No chance, without the Belt of Deltora to protect them.’
The words stung Lief like a lash. His eyes blurred as Lindal dropped her spear and bent to the leather bag that lay beside her, pulling out a roll of what looked like stiff, brown parchment.
‘It must have been a sudden, terrible attack,’ Lindal said, straightening slowly with the roll in her hand. ‘The whole camp was blackened, smoking, blasted by flame. The horses were running wild in the fields, mad with fear. The men—had been torn to pieces. The shreds of their bodies were in a heap, and the heap was burning.’
Lief’s throat tightened. He knew the truth now. His childish wish to be free had killed twelve brave men.
And Rolf, the Capricon.
You will be perfectly safe, Rolf, I promise.
His own words came back to haunt him. Had Rolf remembered them as he died—died, as long ago the people of Capra had died? Torn, burning, screaming …
Lindal’s mouth twisted. ‘It was a terrible sight,’ she said softly. ‘Even in the time of the Shadow Lord, I saw nothing like it. I wish I could forget it.’
Barda groaned softly.
‘Somehow, one man had escaped the fire,’ said Lindal, glancing at him. ‘A man with the Shadow Lord’s brand on his cheek.’
‘Brid,’ Jasmine murmured. ‘Brid …’
‘He was terribly burned,’ Lindal said. ‘There was a great wound in his chest, and his leg had been torn off at the knee. But he was valiant. Still he managed to crawl to a tree and write—write a message, in his own blood.’
She held out the stiff, brown roll. ‘I peeled off the bark with my knife. I thought it best that the people of Ringle did not see it.’
Lief took the bark from her hand and unrolled it.
Lief stared at the scrawled words in horror. ‘It—it is impossible,’ he said haltingly. ‘Brid must—have been seeing visions, because of loss of blood. Perhaps—bandits … ’