Finally, they struck on a dirt road, well-traveled by the looks of it. “Not far to go now,” Alon said, and she straightened. “I am going to let him run a little,” he warned. “So hold on!” He loosened the rein and Monso immediately surged into a full gallop—and then the Keplian, with a snort, fought to get a free head; his strides came faster and faster yet!
“Easy… easy, Monso…” Alon said, but the horse only increased speed again.
“Can you hold him?” she cried, alarmed, only to have her words whipped away by the wind of their passage.
Eydryth clung to her companion’s belt, resting her head against Alon’s back and half-closing her eyes as the landscape flashed by them so fast it made her dizzy. This was the first time she had ridden Monso at a run in daylight, and the half-bred’s speed both excited and frightened her. She could feel Alon’s back muscles bunch against her cheek as he struggled to regain full control. He spoke softly to the beast, all the while striving with every bit of horsemanship he possessed to keep the Keplian from breaking loose and running totally free.
Finally, the creature’s pace slackened slightly, and Alon again had full mastery. He turned his head slightly. “Are you still with me, lady songsmith?”
“Yes,” Eydryth managed to gasp. “But when he goes like that… I cannot help but be frightened.”
“You think I am not?” he retorted. “There is a wildness in his nature at such times that harkens back to the demon-creature that foaled him…” He was panting himself with the effort to control the Keplian. “He sensed our urgency, also.”
The Keplian’s mad run had brought them a far distance, for the mountains now were only craggy silhouettes behind them. Before them lay a land where green fields sprouted their crops and tidy farmsteads lay scattered. Eydryth had thought Escore a very empty land in comparison to Arvon, and the sight of those farms reassured her. She remembered Alon’s saying that the two lands had once been one. That must have been long and long ago, indeed, she thought. Her mind reeled at the idea of so many, many years.
The road led them toward two craggy ridges that did not quite meet, forming a narrow pass in their midst. Alon slowed Monso still more, until they were traveling at a slow, collected canter.
As the travelers reached the shadowing heights of the pass, Eydryth saw symbols etched deep into the ocher rockface of each flanking cliff. Several of those incised markings were close enough to runes from the Old Tongue that she recognized them. One of them she whispered softly as they passed it, feeling relief and sense of peace steal over her, for it was a powerful ward against the Dark.
“Euythayan…” she breathed.
“Yes,” Alon said, barely turning his head to make reply. “Until the day that Dinzil betrayed the Valley by stealing away Kaththea, none of the People of the Green Silences thought that any harm could befall them here. It was a blow to them to discover that their protections could be broken.”
“Dinzil must have been a powerful Adept indeed,” Eydryth said, troubled exceedingly by this revelation.
“He was,” Alon said, and then, evidently guessing her thoughts, he added, “And now Yachne, if she has his Power, might also be able to overcome the Valley’s wards.”
As they went on, the crags dropped away, and so did the road. Then they rounded a gentle downward curve, and Eydryth found herself looking out across a vast valley.
It was so green! Lush with grass and flowers, shaded by great trees, it seemed a dream of beauty that called out to her weary spirit, as though she had come to a second home. The sight of the Valley of the Green Silences seemed to relieve and ease the songsmith’s weary, anxious spirit, even as a healer’s balm may ease a wound. Eydryth found herself running snatches of notes and words through her mind, in hopes that she could someday capture some of the loveliness of this place in a song.
Dwellings dotted the Valley, though they could not be termed “houses,” for they grew out of the earth itself, their circular walls being formed of tree trunks or flowering bushes. Their peaked roofs were thatched with vivid blue-green feathers. As the travelers cantered slowly down the road, people came out of the houses. Many waved to Alon, and he returned their greeting, but he did not draw rein until they had reached the largest of the dwellings. As Monso halted, the doorway, which was curtained by flowering vines, moved aside, and a man came out, followed a moment later by a woman. Lord Kyllan and Lady Dahaun, Eydryth thought.
Both wore soft tunics and breeches of a spring green, with belts and wristlets of pale gold studded with blue-green gems. Kyllan was tall and broad-shouldered, with the air of one who has ridden to arms many times. In that way he reminded Eydryth of her father, Jervon; he had the same air of one who is accustomed to command. Physically, though, he was plainly of the Old Race, though his jaw was wider and his mouth held more than a touch of humor about it. Eydryth recalled that his father, Simon Tregarth, was reportedly an outlander, who had come from some distant world through one of the legendary Gates.
As the Lady of the Green Silences stepped forward, the girl’s eyes widened in surprise. She gazed at her, blinked, then frankly stared. Never had she seen her like before!
Tall and slender, she seemed as graceful as a willow in her green tunic. Eydryth’s eyes fastened on her face. Her hair was as pale gold as the metal of her wristlet… no, it was the color of new-smelted copper… no, it was as black as Eydryth’s own… no, no, it was the green of the new spring leaves…
The harder the songsmith stared, the more the woman’s coloring and features seemed to blur and change. She was many women… and all of them beautiful.
“Alon!” Dahaun exclaimed, stretching forth both her hands in warm and gracious greeting. “Oh, well-come indeed! You have returned to us!”
“Greetings, Lady… Kyllan,” the Adept said. “I but wish that my visit were simply a visit, but, in truth, I come in haste, on a matter of great urgency.” He turned in the saddle to give the songsmith a steadying grip as she slid off the Keplian, then swung down himself. Catching the minstrel’s hand, he drew her forward. “But first, Dahaun, I must present my companion, the Lady Songsmith Eydryth.”
With a gracious yet courtly air, the Lady inclined her head and reached to take the girl’s hand in both of hers. “Be welcome to our home, Eydryth,” she said warmly. “This is my lord, Kyllan.” As the Lady of the Green Silences touched the girl’s hand, her features steadied, until her face was oval, her eyes grey, her hair black. She now was as plainly of the Old Race as was her lord, Kyllan.
“Good fortune to your home, Lady Dahaun, now and evermore,” Eydryth said, altering the traditional greeting a trifle. In no wise could one call this bower of living trees and vines a house.
The Lady released her guest’s hand, and her features again took on that uncanny shifting, as her lord, Kyllan, also stepped forward to greet the songsmith. Then Tregarth turned back to Alon, who was standing with Monso’s rein over his arm. He smiled with a touch of ruefulness. “If that were an ordinary mount you hold, Alon, I would offer to tend him for you, but perhaps that would not be wise of me.”
Alon grinned. “My foster-mother has told me that you have no reason to love Keplians, having once almost been undone by one of Monso’s breed. I will tend him myself.”
Dahaun (once more her hair was as green as her garb) smiled mischievously at her lord. “Do not forget what a great gift the Keplian brought you that day so long ago, my lord. Had it not been for him, we two might never have met!”
He inclined his head. “For which I give heartfelt thanks every day, my lady. Still, I have often thought that there must be easier ways for a man to first encounter his future bride than to have nearly every bone in his body smashed by a demon-horse!”