Moments later, a boot scraped a stirrup again, and leather creaked once more. Another tug on the line, and a furious Gawain eased Gwyn forward.
Two hours later, or perhaps more, Gawain could not tell, Gwyn stopped again. He peered through the gloom, and saw a dark strip in front of them, darker by far than the gloom all around. He studied Sarek's map in his mind's eye, and then recalled with aquamire clarity the view of the Barak-nor he'd seen from the north-eastern slopes of Threlland. There was nothing for it but to dismount, and investigate.
His saddle creaked too, but it couldn't be helped. Gawain crept forward slowly and silently, until he realised he was standing at the edge of a deep dwarfcut trench that ran from east to west, barring their path. It was too deep, and the sides too sheer, for the horses to cross, and jumping it was out of the question, the noise would give them away. He frowned, and muttered a silent oath. The trench couldn't have been seen from the slopes behind them, hidden as it was by the high-walled rims of great craters. There was nothing for it but to ride east or west to its end, and thus go around it. But which direction to take? West would be safer, but would add precious time to their journey. Gawain retraced his steps to his horse, and climbed into the saddle.
When he turned Gwyn east, and began moving off, he received an urgent tug on the tether from Sarek. He stopped, and waited until the Threlland officer loomed out of the darkness and took station by his left side. Sarek leaned over, and whispered:
"Longsword, what means this?"
"There is a chasm, we cannot cross. We must go around."
"To the west, surely? East takes us towards the path that wagon must have travelled."
"West would take too long. We would be exposed at daybreak."
Sarek sat back in his saddle, the conversation clearly over, and Gawain moved off once more.
The rain began to fall heavier in the early hours of the morning, and with it a chill northerly wind to sweep it into them. The journey seemed to take forever, and by the time Gawain determined that they were passing dangerously close to their destination, even his nerves were stretched taught as bowstrings. They almost snapped when Gwyn stopped with a gentle snuffle. He waited, listening to the sound of rain lashing against hard-glazed weedblown rocks. A gust of wind brought the sound closer, and he froze. Another wagon.
Gawain hurriedly scanned their surroundings. The high crater rim, the base of which lay within bowshot to their left, was all that stood between them and the enemy. High above them, unseen, that solitary guard would doubtless still be measuring out his count of twenty. And the wagon was approaching, and at a steady pace.
A saddle creaked, and there was the faintest sound of wood upon wood. Someone was nocking an arrow to a string. Gawain tugged on the tether urgently, summoning Sarek and the rest of the chain forward. When Sarek was close beside him, Gawain leaned out of the saddle and whispered harshly.
"Tell them to stand fast and silent!"
"Aye." Sarek whispered back, and tugged on his tether, summoning Allazar forward.
So the message passed down the line, as the sound of the wagon drew closer still. Gawain looked around him once more. There was still at least an hour to go before dawn tinted the clouds above them, and though he knew where his companions were, he had difficulty seeing them against the high walls and mounds of ore-slag. As the wagon rumbled nearer the rain began to ease off, and he closed his eyes, hoping that the group, Allazar in particular, could hold their nerve and remain still.
One of the horses snuffled, and from the sound of tack, shook its head. Gawain tensed, but still the wagon rumbled towards them without pause. Then, suddenly, the sound faded, as though it had fallen into a deep hole. But there was no muffled crash of the thing striking bottom. Instead, Gawain heard the faintest of sighs from behind him. The wagon must have passed through a breach in the crater rim, and the walls were shielding the noise of its progress. At once, Gawain eased Gwyn forward, leading the group around to the south of the crater on which they'd seen the sunlight glinting.
Finally, as the sky began to take on a leaden hue, he sighted a small mound of ore-slag, and led them to safety behind it. Then he tugged the tether, drawing them in, and dismounted. They huddled together, sitting on the wet and spiteful slag-rock and spill, trying to avoid contact with the cruel tufts of spikeweed that was the only life capable of thriving in these vile surrounds. When dawn broke, the sun was hidden behind roiling gray and black clouds far out over the unseen ocean, and it began to rain again.
Gawain stared at them all, and then up at the crater rim. He pointed at Rak, and at Sarek, and then pointed up. They nodded, although unenthusiastically, standing and checking their weapons. Gawain slipped off his black mask and mittens. There was no need of them now, not now that day had broken.
Without ceremony, Gawain drew his cloak about him, and stepped out around the mound, hurrying as best he could without making sound across the expanse of open ground between the group in hiding and the base of the rim. In no time, Sarek and Rak were at his heels, and they began climbing the slope.
Centuries of weather had washed away the looser spill and left the rim wall compact, and though not completely smooth, the going was far easier than Gawain had expected. No tell-tale rivers of gravel showered down behind them in their wake, unlike the difficult passage up the scree at the Teeth. Halfway up, Gawain paused and looked around. There was no sign of the enemy, and he could just perceive a pair of shadowy figures crouched to the side of the mound staring up at him.
Just short of the top of the rim, Gawain indicated that Rak and Sarek should wait. They nodded, and with a deep breath, Gawain eased himself to his belly, and crawled the last few feet. When he bobbed his head up over the top, he was relieved to see larger boulders and rocks all around the rim, and he eased further up so he could survey all around him. He made out two guards, far across on the northern side of the rim, which was split like a horseshoe. One guard paced at each end of the horseshoe's arms, and they were the sole lookouts.
Gawain shook his head sadly for a moment, recalling the pitiful security at the Ramoth towers. Then he motioned Rak and Sarek up, and crept forward to lay on the rim itself, to gaze down into the crater. He caught his breath, and aquamire tinted his vision. A quiet gasp from each side told him that both Rak and Sarek saw what he saw.
The crater was relatively shallow, but broad, and it would take at least five consecutive bowshots for an arrow to cross its diameter. The floor of the crater was flat, though broken and cracked from summer heat and winter cold and countless rains. Rows of black canvas tents stood in ranks like a company of troops on parade, small trenches cut between them.
"By the Teeth." Sarek whispered. "I count thirty rows of ten."
"Two to a tent, six hundred men at least." Rak gasped. "Forgive my doubt, my brother."
Gawain simply pointed, and they followed his gaze. At the entrance of the horseshoe, another wagon rumbled in, a large one, drawn by a pair of oxen. It came to a halt by a pair of immense iron cauldrons, which were being tended by black-clad figures. From the back of the wagon spilled more black-clothed troops, and with them a handful of people wearing an odd assortment of multi-coloured clothing. These latter were led off to what appeared to be a corral. Wooden gates were opened, the people were thrust in, and the gates closed. Then the black-dressed soldiers simply turned, and walked away to the tents.
"What are they doing? Are they prisoners, those people?” Rak asked.
Gawain gazed down, a sense of dread stealing over him. From their vantage point on the rim, they could look down into the corral, and he could see that it held at least thirty people, huddling together like a herd of frightened sheep.