“What is it?” she sent.
“You’ve been ignoring me. All today and last night, and even before that. I don’t think you even heard some of what I sent.”
“I probably didn’t,” she admitted. “I was thinking.”
“Prossie, you’re in trouble. I can’t get answers out of you. General Hart and Under-Secretary Bascombe are both…well, they say they’re furious, but they’re relieved. They can write off the whole mission if they lose contact with you. They’ve already written off that poor lieutenant and all those men. They can’t admit that, of course, but it’s true-and Prossie, they’ll blame it on you. They’ll say that the crazy mutant bitch screwed up communications and got everyone killed. And if they need a scapegoat on this end, they’ll get me. Prossie, I’m really scared about this.”
Prossie hesitated, then said, “Carrie, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Save yourself, Carrie-tell them I really have screwed things up. Tell them anything you like-anything they like. Let them blame me. I really did disobey orders.”
“Prossie, you didn’t, did you? Have you gone crazy?”
“Maybe I have. You tell them whatever you need to tell them to get yourself out of trouble, Carrie, and don’t worry about me-I won’t be coming back.”
For a long moment, Prossie heard only with her ears, only the gentle near-silence of the Faerie hillside-a gentle wind rustling leaves, Wilkins muttering something, a distant bird’s call. She hadn’t heard many birds in the forest, but now one was singing somewhere.
Then Carrie asked, “Are you really sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Before either of them could transmit more, Valadrakul made an unexpected noise, a sort of great wheezing sigh, as he let his breath out all at once.
All eyes but Amy’s turned toward the wizard, but no one spoke as the man got slowly to his feet and turned to address the rest of the party.
Amy, Prossie noticed, stirred, but did not sit up.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
“He is bespoke,” Valadrakul announced. “Taillefer is called, and he comes. We’re to meet him at yon ruin, at nightfall.” He pointed to the misshapen edifice on the ridge ahead.
“Prossie, what’s happening?” Carrie asked.
“Nothing,” Prossie said. “It’s not important any more. Don’t worry about it.”
The contact wavered as Carrie floundered for something to say, for the right way to respond.
“You’re really leaving the family?” she asked at last.
Prossie frowned. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but of course, that’s just what she was doing.
“Yes,” she said, “I really am.”
“Then good-bye, Prossie.”
“Good-bye, Carrie-but hey, I’d still like to hear from you sometimes, you or any of the others. If you can’t find me here, check on Earth, too.”
“Earth? But, Prossie…”
“Good-bye, Carrie.”
“Well, come on, folks,” Pel said, marching down the slope. “We’ve got to get there by nightfall.”
Chapter Eleven
“We’ve no need to rush headlong ’cross the vale,” Raven said, as the party splashed through the small stream at the foot of the slope. “A meal would do us all good.”
“Where are we going to get a meal?” Pel asked, looking about. “I don’t see any shops or restaurants or anything.”
Stoddard stared at the Earthman; Raven let out a bark of laughter.
“Hardly, friend Pel,” Raven said. “These slopes are the Starlinshire Downs, deep in the heart of Shadow’s domain, and to the best of what I know, there’s neither village nor keep nearby. Yet are there people, and the customs of hospitality surely have not been forgot entirely, even here.”
Amy shuddered. “This is Shadow’s territory, then?”
“Aye,” Stoddard said sourly. “All the world is Shadow’s.”
“And this part fell to Shadow centuries past,” Raven added, “yet surely some semblance of decency must remain.”
Pel looked about, startled. “This land’s been under Shadow for hundreds of years?” he asked.
“Aye,” Raven said, looking at the Earthman with sudden interest. “What of it? Think you of aught that might aid us, then?”
“No,” Pel said, “it’s nothing important.” He blinked, rubbed his nose, and gazed about.
The surrounding landscape was not at all what he would have expected after centuries of rule by an evil wizard. In the movies and stories, when evil fell over the land everything died, everything was dead and black and gray. Clouds were supposed to blot out the sun, if the sun still rose at all. The countryside was supposed to reflect the gloom and despair of its people.
This place didn’t. The sun still shone-a bit pale and watery, but bright enough The grass was green, the trees bore leaves, the crops were growing in the fields and most of the huts they had seen from the slope, while primitive, had looked reasonably clean and well-kept; Pel remembered noticing that the thatch on one was obviously fresh and new.
Of course, he had only seen the outsides of the houses, and only from a distance.
Still, Pel didn’t think that Mordor had looked like this. There was no stink of evil in the air here-neither brimstone nor blood nor burning oil-but the smell of raw earth and things growing. No suspicious smoke rose anywhere, nor did ominous fires glow in the distance. The air was a little chilly just now, but there was no soul-deadening cold or exhausting heat, and he was comfortable enough without his shirt; in fact, the occasional breezes felt pleasantly stimulating on his bare back. Shadow obviously wasn’t up there with Sauron or Lord Foul or Skynet as a despoiler of countrysides.
On the other hand, Shadow did just fine at creating and sending monsters, he remembered.
At least, if it was really Shadow that sent those creatures. What if they were just ordinary beasts that had happened along, and Raven and his crew blamed Shadow unfairly?
Well, no, Pel admitted to himself, they were scarcely ordinary beasts. They were clearly unnatural in their appearance, and they had attacked without reason and fought to the death where ordinary animals would have turned and fled. They probably were Shadow’s doing-whatever Shadow was.
Raven and his people always spoke of Shadow as if it were an individual, but was it really? Was it a person, a force, an organization?
Pel didn’t know, and was not at all happy that he didn’t.
As he had been thinking this, the party had continued on, up the west bank of the stream and further along the little road. Now, suddenly, they halted.
“Here,” Raven said, pointing with his bandaged hand. “Here’s the house that will give us to eat, an any human hearts remain in these lands.”
* * * *
Amy winced as Stoddard pounded on the door of the cottage-if “cottage” wasn’t too generous a term for the place. “Hovel” perhaps went too far the other way, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere Amy would have wanted to live.
Even so, it seemed rude to hammer like that when they had come seeking the occupant’s charity.
The door opened, and a frightened face peered out at them-a woman’s face, thirtyish, Amy thought, and not attractive, with unkempt hair and coarse skin.
“Open, in the name of the Goddess,” Raven said. “We are famished, and claim hospitality by the ancient laws.”
The woman glanced up at Stoddard’s raised fist, resting on her door, and seemed much more impressed by that, and by Stoddard in general, than by Raven’s words. She opened the door, staying behind it.
Stoddard and Raven and Valadrakul marched boldly in; the others hesitated at first, but then Wilkins shrugged and followed, with Sawyer and Marks and Singer close behind.
Ted went next, then Pel, and the three woman brought up the rear, Amy last of all.
She found the cottage’s main room jammed; it had never been meant to hold so many. The Imperials and Earthpeople were standing near the center, milling about in a crowd that practically filled the available floor space, while the Faerie folk had found their way to an alcove that, Amy realized, must be the kitchen.