"Look, I'm scared of those things," she said. "But I assume you're planning to follow them, not join up with them."
"That was the general idea," Will said, and she turned her level gaze on him.
"Well, with the noise they make, we shouldn't have to get too close to them," she told him. "And besides, this might be a chance to spoil whatever plans they have. I think I'd enjoy that."
Will regarded her with a new respect. She had every reason to fear the Wargals, more than he or Horace. Yet she was willing to put that fear aside in order to strike a blow against Morgarath.
"You're sure?" he said finally, and she shook her head.
"No. I'm not sure at all. I feel decidedly queasy at the prospect of getting within earshot of those things again. But equally, I don't like the idea of being abandoned here on my own."
"We weren't abandoning you:" Horace began, and she turned back to him.
"Then what would you call it?" she asked him, smiling faintly to take the sting out of her words. He hesitated.
"Abandoning you, I guess," he admitted.
"Exactly," she said. "So, given the choice of running into another group of Wargals, or more bandits, or following some Wargals with you two, I'll choose the latter."
"We're only a day from the border," Will pointed out to her. "Once you're across that, you'll be relatively safe."
But she shook her head decisively.
"I feel more secure with you two," she said. "Besides, it might be handy for you to have someone else along. It'll be one more person to keep watch at night. That means you'll get more sleep."
"That's the first sensible reason I've heard for her coming along so far," said Horace. Like Will, he realized that she'd made her mind up. And both boys somehow knew that when Evanlyn did that, there was no way on earth they were going to make her change it. She grinned at him.
"Well," she said, "are we going to stand here all day nattering? Those Wargals aren't getting any closer while we're doing it."
And, turning on her heel, she led the way to where the horses were tethered.
18
F OLLOWING THE W ARGALS WAS EASIER THAN THEY EXPECTED. The creatures were single-minded, concentrating only on the task in hand, which was to take the Celt miners to their end destination. They feared no attack in these parts, having already driven the occupants out, so they posted no forward scouts or sweepers. Their constant chanting, ominous as it might sound at first, also served to mask any sounds that might have been made by their pursuers.
At night, they simply camped wherever they might find themselves to be. The miners remained chained together and sentries were posted to keep watch over them while the rest of the group slept.
By the beginning of the second day, Will began to have an idea of the direction the Wargals were heading. He had been riding some thirty meters in the lead, relying on Tug to sense any danger ahead. Now he dropped back a little, waiting for Horace and Evanlyn to come level with him.
"We seem to be heading for the Fissure," he said, more than a little puzzled.
Already, in the distance, they could make out the high, brooding cliffs that towered over the other side of the massive split in the earth. Celtica itself was a mountainous country, but Morgarath's domain reared hundreds of meters above it.
"I wouldn't care to come down those cliffs on ropes and scaling ladders," Horace said, nodding toward them.
"Even if you did, you'd have to find a level space on the other side to cross from," Will agreed. "And apparently, there are precious few of them. For the most part, the cliffs go right down to the bottom."
Evanlyn looked from one to the other. "Yet Morgarath has done it once," she said. "Maybe he's planning to attack Araluen the same way."
Horace brought his horse to a halt, considering what she'd said. Will and Evanlyn stopped beside him. He chewed his lip for a few seconds as he thought back over the lessons that Sir Rodney's instructors had dinned into him. Then he shook his head.
"It's a different situation," he said finally. "The attack on Celtica was more of a raid than an invasion. He wouldn't have needed more than five hundred men for that and they could travel light. To attack Araluen, he'll need an army-and he wouldn't get an army down those cliffs and across with a few ladders and rope bridges."
Will regarded him with interest. This was a side of Horace that was new to him. Apparently, Horace's learning curve in the past seven or eight months had gone beyond his mere skill with the sword.
"But surely, if he had enough time:?" he began, but Horace shook his head again, more decisively this time.
"Men, yes, or Wargals in this case. Given enough time, you could get them down and across. It would take months, but you could manage it. Although the longer it took, the more chance word would get out about what you were doing.
"But an army needs equipment-heavy weapons, supply wagons, provisions, tents, spare weapons and blacksmith's equipment to repair them. Horses and oxen to pull the wagons. You'd never get all that down cliffs like those. And even if you did, how would you get it across? It's just not feasible. Sir Karel used to say that:"
He realized the others were regarding him curiously and he flushed. "Didn't mean to go on and on," he mumbled, and urged his horse forward again.
But as Will followed, he was shaking his head, impressed by his friend's grasp of the subject. "Not at all," he said. "You're making good sense."
"Which still leaves us the question, what is he up to?" Evanlyn said.
Will shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he said, and urged Tug forward to take up the point position once more.
They found out the following evening.
As before, they heard the first hint as to what was taking place: the ring or thud of hammers striking stone or wood. Then there was another noise as they drew closer-a constant but irregular cracking sound. Will signaled for the others to stop and, dismounting, he proceeded carefully along the last stretch of the road to the final bend.
Shrouded in his cloak, and moving carefully from one patch of cover to the next, he moved off the road and cut across country to find a vantage point from which to view the next stretch of road. Almost immediately, he saw the top of the massive wooden structure that was being constructed: four wooden towers, linked by heavy rope cables and a timber framework, reared above the surrounding countryside. His heart sinking, he already knew what he was looking at. But he moved closer to make sure.
It was as he feared. An immense wooden bridge was in the final stages of construction. On the far side of the Fissure, Morgarath had discovered one of the few places where a narrow ledge ran, almost level with the Celtic side. The natural ledge had been dug out and widened until there was a sizable piece of level ground there. The four towers stood, two either side of the Fissure, linked by massive rope cables. Supported by them, a wooden roadway was half completed-capable of taking six men abreast across the dizzying depths of the Fissure.
Figures recognizable as Celt prisoners swarmed over the structure, hammering and sawing. The cracking sound was made by the whips used by the Wargal overseers.
Beyond them, the sound of hammers on stone came from the mouth of a tunnel that opened onto the ledge some fifty meters south of the bridge. It was little more than a crack in the cliff face-only a little wider than a man's shoulders-but as he watched, the Celt prisoners were hard at work at its entrance, gouging at the hard rock, widening and enlarging the small opening.
Will glanced up at the dark cliffs towering on the other side. There was no sign of ropes or ladders leading down to the ledge. The Wargals and their prisoners must access it via the narrow crack in the rock, he reasoned.