He spat one final time, then, obviously holding himself erect by force of will, walked over to Monso and mounted. Grimly, he held out his hand for the bundle that was Steel Talon, and, when the songsmith handed it to him, he hugged the falcon’s shrouded form against his chest.
“Can you get up?” he asked. He smiled a shaky, apologetic smile. “I seem to be short of hands to aid you, at the moment.”
“As long at Monso doesn’t kick, I can,” she said.
“No, he would not kick you,” he assured her.
Stepping behind the stallion, the songsmith patted his rump. “Easy, boy.” Then she backed away a few paces and came forward again at a run to vault neatly up over the Keplian’s rump into her accustomed position behind Alon.
“Very nice,” Alon said, admiration lightening the sick weariness that tinged his voice. “That is a feat I never learned.”
“Obred, the Kioga herd-master, taught me,” she said absently.
“And now for Arvon… I hope,” he whispered. “Hold tight.”
He urged the Keplian forward.
With a squeal of fear, the stallion plunged beneath them, back humping in protest. Alon shouted a harsh order, heels thumping against the creature’s sides. Still the horse resisted, shaking his head and snorting with terror. The smell of his fear-sweat was rank in Eydryth’s nostrils.
“Get up!” Alon shouted, then followed the order with a curse that made Eydryth gasp. His heels rammed his mount’s sides again, even as he slashed the reins savagely across the black’s neck, whipping him hard.
With a suddenness that sent Eydryth’s head snapping painfully back, Monso launched himself at the Gate.
Their first such crossing had been disturbing enough, but this one was agony. A great shadow seemed to envelop them, and they hung suspended in a darkness so profound that Eydryth feared she had been blinded by it.
Her spirit quailed before the sense of evil, of wrongness that this Gate held. She found that her mouth was open as she tried desperately to scream, but no sound emerged. It was like the worst of nightmares, where the dreamer struggles vainly to awaken—except that she knew this was no dream.
How long that passage took—minutes, years, centuries— she could not tell. But at last she heard Monso’s hooves strike hard ground with a thump, even as the world reappeared around them.
In the west, the sun was setting—and it had been well before noon in Escore! Eydryth stared around her, noting the colors and varieties of vegetation, the shapes of the distant mountains, then sniffed the air. “We did it,” she said, softly. “This is Arvon.”
“Good,” Alon said, grim with exhaustion. He halted Monso, then slipped off him, murmuring apologies for having whipped him. “I am sorry, son,” he whispered, then stooped to lay Eydryth’s cloak on the ground. Steel Talon shook himself free, then flew to the branch of a nearby oak, screeching an ear-piercing protest against such a form of travel.
Numb, the songsmith slipped off the Keplian’s back, then stood trembling, watching Alon repentently stroke his horse. Monso shoved his nose against him with a soft nicker.
“That was terrible,” Eydryth whispered, when her voice was once more under her control—barely. “I could never do that again… never.”
“Nor could I,” Alon agreed, soberly. His face was set in new, harsh lines, making him appear far older, far harder than he had only yesterday. “If it weren’t for Yachne, we would never have had to take such a desperate route. When I catch up to her, she will pay for this.”
“Will we able to capture her? And, if we do, is there some way she can be stripped of that terrible spell?” Eydryth asked, shivering as she remembered the witch’s power.
“If there is, I don’t know it,” Alon said grimly. A cold, hating glint awakened in his eyes, disturbing Eydryth profoundly. His voice rang out suddenly with the strength of one taking a sacred vow. “But worry not. After I find her, I swear to every god that is and ever was that she will present no further threat to anyone!”
Eydryth stared at him in horror. “Surely you do not mean…” she began, only to have him nod, his mouth naught but a grim slash.
“Oh, but I do,” he said softly, in a cold voice so cruel that the songsmith backed away a step. “When I find her, I intend to kill her.” He slanted a warning look at his companion. “And don’t even think about trying to stop me, Lady Songsmith.”
10
The countryside around them was wild and empty of any sign of humankind. Steel Talon soared off into a sky shading into the purples of late evening, presumably searching for a place to sleep through the night. As the travelers rode across fields of tough, pale green grass, they saw no roads, no paths save game trails. This portion of Arvon seemed uninhabited, in contrast to the countryside Eydryth knew.
“We must be far to the northwest of Kar Garudwyn,” she said, tilting back on the Keplian’s rump to study the emerging stars, using them to gauge their relative location. “My father and I did not go far into the northwest because we were told that it was largely deserted, and such seems to be the case.”
They passed no farmsteads, no villages, saw no distant lights. Herds of pronghorns and deer stared at them curiously, not particularly alarmed at their presence. “Man is not a predator they know,” Alon observed. “We are indeed far from any villages or farmsteads. How far do you think we are from Kar Garudwyn?”
“Four days’ ride—perhaps more—but that is only a guess,” she replied. “If my reckoning is correct, we should strike the edge of Bluemantle lands late tomorrow or early the next day. Then we will make better time, traveling the roads.”
“Perhaps we should not go to Kar Garudwyn immediately. Perhaps we should seek Yachne first,” he suggested.
Eydryth shifted position, trying unsuccessfully to ease the sore muscles in her thighs and buttocks and sighed deeply. “No,” she said, after a moment’s consideration. “We must go to Kar Garudwyn first.”
“Why?” he challenged. “Yachne is the threat. The sooner I deal with her, the sooner your foster-father will be safe.”
Eydryth repressed a shudder as she remembered precisely how her companion proposed to “deal” with the renegade witch. But she forced herself to mask her feelings as she responded, evenly, “Because if we can but reach Kar Garudwyn, there is a Place of Power nearby, where Kerovan can seek refuge. It is called the Setting Up of the Kings. From what I know of the workings of magic, if Kerovan went there, Yachne’s summoning spell could not pull him away; he would be protected.”
“If it is a place of great Power, that could be true,” Alon conceded reluctantly.
“Also,” the songsmith added, “after Kerovan is safe, we would then have help in our search for Yachne.”
“What kind of help?” he asked, skeptically.
“My foster-sister, Hyana, could probably scry out the witch’s whereabouts. Then Joisan and Sylvya would ride with us to seek her. All of them are Wise Women to be reckoned with.”
Alon’s only reply was a noncommittal grunt. Eydryth bit her lip, concerned about him. This surly, brooding man seemed not at all the companion she had been coming to regard as a friend during the past six days. Can it be only six days? she wondered, dazedly. It seems as though I have known him forever…
They halted for the night only when it grew so dark (the moon would not rise until long after midnight) that even Monso and Alon were having difficulty picking a path, and Eydryth had been riding blind for a long time. They camped in a meadow that was surrounded on three sides by forest some distance away. Tall growths of tangled wild rosebushes shielded them from the brisk northern breeze, their blossoming fragrance pervading the air, heady and sweet.