“But who else could it have been?”
“The Gods only know—but your Mageborn friend D’arvan was supposed to be coming out here with poor Maya ... I’ve been wondering, lately, what could have become of them?”
“D’arvan and Maya would never have stayed in hiding if they knew we were there!” Fional protested indignantly. Hargorn sighed. “Maybe not . . . But there are strange things going on in that Vale, lad. It’s easy, when you’re in there, not to think about it too much—but coming out, and thinking back ...” He turned to the younger man with a wink.
“Don’t you feel your curiosity stirring? Don’t you want to find out what’s going on in there, and what happened to D’arvan and Maya? Do you think Fame, had he been here, would have been content to sit around and not find out what’s going on? Do you think that Forral would?”
Fional grinned. “Why no, now you come to mention it. After all, it’s our duty to find out what happened to our missing friends!”
“Good lad! Hargorn clouted the archer on the shoulder. “Tell you what—once we’ve done what we set out to do, and returned to the Valley, let’s you and I get to the bottom of the mystery once and for all!”
“Done!” The archer thrust out his hand, and Hargorn clasped it to seal the bargain.
“Well,” Hargorn said briskly, “the sooner we go, the quicker we’ll get back and get on with it. Take young Fional, and don’t go bedding all those pretty young Nightrunner wenches!”
Even in the gloom, the young man’s face was darkened by a blush, and Hargorn grinned. Fional was notoriously awkward where women were concerned. “Would that I had the chance!” the bowman retorted. “Go well, you old villain—and don’t go drinking all the ale in Nexis!”
With a parting salute, the two warriors, the old and the young, strode off in opposite directions across the dark and freezing moors, each toward their separate goals. Vannor strode along at Hargorn’s side, wrapped in an impenetrable cloak of silence.
Hargorn twitched his heavy pack to a more comfortable position on his shoulders, and strode out with the steady, ground-devouring stride developed from years of arduous marches. He was anxious to cover as much ground as he could before dawn; for although no enemies had come into the Valley after the massacre of Angos and his men, he had no idea whether or not the moors were still being patrolled. Fifty-two was a rare age for a soldier to reach, and the veteran had not managed to get this far without a bit of common sense and caution—and, in all^ modesty, he thought—pure skill! In this business, knowing how to avoid trouble was as important as knowing how to deal with it! Vannor, unfortunately, was trouble that could not be avoided. Hargorn shot a worried, sidelong glance at the merchant. This uncanny silence was due to shock—and not surprisingly! Poor Vannor, losing both his precious wife and his beloved daughter in a matter of months! Hargorn only worried about what Vannor would do when the shock subsided.
Nonetheless, despite his concern for the merchant, and that poor daft girl, all alone and in danger, the veteran found his spirits lifting with the promise of action ahead. A warrior to his bones, he’d mistrusted the easy life in the Vale. It was all very well to say that some mysterious power had been helping the rebels—but on the other hand, while they were lolling around at their ease, they weren’t doing much to oppose the Archmage! In fact, the veteran thought, whatever is keeping us cocooned in there has taken us out of the fight as surely as if we’d been imprisoned! It was a relief to have found, in Fional, an ally at last! Hargorn had been forced to go very carefully within the Vale, and keep his doubts to himself. Something was plainly keeping an eye on the outlaws—a something that didn’t want its identity to be known. You never knew, in that place, just what might be overheard. But Parric, or a real commander such as Forral, would never have been content to sit still in the midst of a mystery, without investigating further! Nor, come to think of it, would Maya—and that brought Hargorn to his third, and most important concern. He was desperate for news of the girl—he had known her ever since she’d first joined the Garrison as a shy and raw recruit, straight from her parents’ farm in the south, and he had followed her increasingly successful career with fondness and respect ever since. If she had come to the Valley with D’arvan—and Maya had always accomplished what she set out to do—then where was she? Where was the young Mage? What had happened to them? “Vannor or no Vannor,” the veteran muttered, “one of these days, I intend to find out!”
5
Soul of the Stone
There was no denying that Nereni’s feast was a good one. As usual, she had worked wonders with the materials at hand. The succulent venison was flavored with herbs. There was a stew with a tantalizing aroma that, to everyone’s astonishment, turned out to be wild goat cooked with mosses and the bulbs of certain flowers. Bohan had come back from foraging, his round face blotched and swollen with stings, clutching a parcel of honeycomb wrapped in leaves. He had also brought several impressively large trout with him, earning Yazour a hard look from Eliizar’s wife, “So they weren’t biting, eh?” she accused the young warrior.
Luckily for Yazour, Raven returned at that precise moment, her wings stirring up clouds of smoke and ash from the fire and raising twin whirls of dust and pine needles as she landed. Nereni’s wail of anguish for the ruination of the food was cut short when she saw the state in which the winged girl, her special pet, had returned. “Raven! Reaper save us, what happened?”
She rushed to assist the Princess, who thrust her gently aside, and turned to the Mages with a smile. “By Yinze, I am glad to see you!” she said simply.
“Raven, what happened? Did you fly into a tree?”
The winged girl faced the penetrating gaze of the Mage, and warned herself to be on her guard. On the way back, she had cleaned herself as best she could in a forest stream, but Raven had known that there would be consternation at her bruised and tattered appearance. How fortunate it was that Aurian’s words had given her the very cue she needed!
“How perceptive you are,” she replied, with a rueful grin. “When Nereni warned me about flying after dark, I should have listened! Game was scarce—” She held up her solitary, mangled pheasant. “I misjudged the swiftness of nightfall—then flew, as you guessed, right into a tree!”
As Raven had hoped, any further explanations were cut short by Nereni’s fussing with hot water and salves, and fresh clothing. The winged girl smiled inwardly at her own subterfuge. You have no idea how glad I am at your return, Aurian, she thought, over the cheerful babble of greetings—for now I can put my own plans into motion! As the companions ate, the talk turned inevitably to the future, and Eliizar began to enlarge on his plans to build a more elaborate camp in a better site that Yazour had discovered. Aurian was listening carefully. Anvar knew that now she had rested and eaten, the restless mind would already be planning the next step in her journey,
“You have some good ideas,” Aurian told Eliizar,
“Though I hate the delay, we must make preparations before heading up the mountains. The horses must be rested for one thing—we’re short of mounts since Anvar and I lost ours in the sandstorm. And apart from finding some way to make warmer clothing, we must lay in a stock of food—”
“Surely there is no rush, Aurian,” Nereni interrupted. “How can we travel further until your child is born?”
“What?” Aurian stared at her in dismay. Anvar, watching, held his breath.
“Did you not think of that?” Nereni looked shocked. “Aurian, how can you set out now? Do you want the little mite to be delivered in the midst of a snowdrift?” She lowered her voice persuasively. “It’s less than three moons now—surely you can wait, for the sake of the child?”
Aurian turned very pale, and Anvar, watching her as he always did, felt his heart go out to her. Nereni’s words about the risk to her child had struck her deeply, Gods, they had only just survived the desert, and now this. Must we always be so driven? he thought. He understood her urgent need to take the fight to the Archmage, but the child was her last link with Forral, Anvar looked around the firelit circle, Yazour and Eliizar were nodding in agreement with Nereni, Only Bohan, always faithful to his beloved Aurian, looked unhappy and torn. Only Bohan—and himself. Aurian, as though reading his mind, turned troubled eyes to him. “Miathan knows where we are,” she said. He heard the uncertainty in her voice, “He may attack us here ...”