He moved toward the gap in the boulders that led down the hill to the trail. Howland was up in a flash, blocking the traveler’s way.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you since leaving Nowhere,” Howland said quietly. “You have an astonishing ability to appear and disappear just when you’re needed most. How is that, Ezu?”
“Travel is not easy. The world is full of cruel and dangerous people, you know. This one has cultivated many ways of getting by.”
“When we first found you, you were trussed up, waiting to be rescued. How is it no one since has been able to hold you?”
“I learn from my experiences.”
Howland frowned. “Old Marren said you blinded everyone in Rakell’s camp the night we were there. How? You were separated from us, taken by Rakell, but he didn’t harm a hair on your head. He murdered Marren. Why didn’t he hurt you?”
“This one removed himself from Rakell’s presence.”
“But not for more than a day.” Howland presented the point of his sword to Ezu’s chest. “I’ve figured it out, partly. The lynching party was right all along. You are a spy.”
“How can you say that, after I’ve helped you?” Ezu asked.
Howland stepped closer, keeping his sword point over Ezu’s heart. “Yes, that threw me for a time, then I realized the truth. Rakell wasn’t the real master of this scheme. There’s a mastermind behind everything, a lord whom you serve, too. Rakell blundered when he chose to remain at the village, fighting. It furthered your master’s scheme, which was to get rid of Rakell.”
Ezu held up both hands, like a petty thief caught by a shopkeeper. “You’re a wise man, Howland. This guise of mine, Ezu the traveler, is a pretense-but you’re wrong about one thing. I am not a spy.”
Howland pushed his blade forward, pricking Ezu ever so slightly. The strange foreigner grimaced but held his ground.
“What lies at the end of this trail?” Howland demanded, voice rising.
“Just another pebble on the path of life, my friend.”
Howland leaned on his blade. He only meant to cut Ezu a little, to wipe the smug tone from his answers. Instead of flesh and blood resistance, Howland found himself blundering forward, passing through thin air where Ezu had been standing. His sword clanged loudly against a rock. Raika awakened, grasping for the weapon she no longer carried.
“Howland?” she said, bleary with sleep.
“I regret parting this way.” Ezu’s voice came from behind. Whirling, Howland saw the traveler’s silhouette against the stars. He was standing atop a boulder a good twenty feet high. No one could have climbed up there so quickly.
“I would have liked to have seen your journey through to its end,” Ezu continued, “but I cannot be fending off swords every time I chose to go wandering. Farewell, Howland uth Ungen.” He bowed his head. “And to you, lady. When you meet Gramdene of Kernaf, remember it was I who first told you his name.”
“Ezu!” Howland rushed to the foot of the boulder. Before he reached it, the traveler’s black outline had merged into the night.
Raika got up, scratching her matted hair. “What just happened?” she said, spicing her question with a few favorite expletives.
Howland explained his suspicions and his theory that Ezu had been working for the same boss as Rakell.
“Do you really think so?” she asked.
He was no longer sure. Indeed he felt a little foolish and ashamed of having driven Ezu off.
Raika went to the boulder where Ezu vanished. She’d seen him do amazing things, but he had never disappeared in plain sight before.
“Will he return, do you think?
“I take him at his word. He won’t be back,” Howland said.
They leaned their backs against the boulder and gazed at their quiet, empty campsite. It suddenly seemed much darker and colder than before. Like a ghostly mask, the single moon peered between the mountain peaks. Howland felt suddenly and strangely bereft.
“I wronged him.”
Raika shook her head. “Your reasoning was sound. I would have agreed with you had I been awake.” She folded her arms. “Who was he, really? A wizard? A spirit? A god?”
“There are no gods,” Howland said firmly. “They abandoned us.”
They returned to their respective blankets. Before Raika lay down again, she saw something glinting in the moonlight. Curious, she groped in the shadows and found Ezu’s saffron spectacles.
“Look here! Did he forget these?”
“I don’t think so.” Howland took the glasses and tried them on. “However silly he acts, I don’t think Ezu does anything by accident.” He drew in his breath sharply when he saw the mountain around them as clearly as if it were day. Removing the spectacles carefully he said, “These must be his parting gift for Robien.”
“Why him?”
“I need nothing now, and he’s already given you a present.”
“What?”
“He named your future husband for you, didn’t he?”
“Who?” Raika said incredulously.
“The pirate king of Kernaf, Gramdene- ‘the handsomest man in the world’.”
Raika tried to laugh Howland’s assertion aside, but the forced merriment expired in her throat. Could it be true? Was she destined to be Gramdene’s wife?
Howland put the spectacles in his saddlebag. He would give them to Robien when he returned. As for Raika, thoughts of her future mate kept her awake for almost an hour.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
At first light, Howland and Raika resumed their ride up the narrow valley. Howland expected Robien back by dawn, but the sun was over the mountain, and the elf was still gone. Yet the valley was remarkably quiet and calm. Raika was the nervous one. She rode alongside Howland with spear in hand, warily watching the heights above them.
As they ascended into the cleft of the mountain, they noticed signs of recent violence. They came across wrecked carts, abandoned equipment, and dead bodies, both slave and bandit. Not all were human. A pair of ogres, overcome by scores of small wounds, lay side by side atop a flat boulder. Evidently they’d made a stand against a large number of opponents before succumbing. More curious were the slain dwarves they found in overturned wagons. They were prosperously turned out, but no one had bothered to plunder them. Judging by their injuries, they were felled when a hail of stones knocked them senseless. Their horses had gone wild, turning over the conveyances. If the impact had not killed the dwarves, their cargo had. Every wheeled vehicle was laden with scores of bright metal ingots. Several hundred lay scattered on the trail for more than a mile.
“Iron or steel?” Raika wondered.
Howland dismounted and picked up a hefty bar. He rapped the ingot with a handy stone, and it made a dull sound.
“Pig iron. Why would fleeing dwarves fill their carts with pig iron?” he mused.
Three plumes of smoke rose from the plateau ahead. As they rounded the bend, Raika spotted someone on the path. She pulled back on her reins and warned Howland.
He drew up beside her. “No, it’s all right. It’s Robien.”
The Kagonesti was standing in the cart path, gazing at the scene. Raika and Howland rode slowly ahead until they reached him. Robien did not look up when they stopped on either side of him.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t come back, but I thought I’d better keep watch here. I knew you’d come eventually.” He lowered the sword from his shoulder and shoved it into its scabbard.
Raika and Howland got down, tying their mounts to a convenient sapling. Howland gave Raika a spare sword from the bundle on the pack horse. She buckled it around her hips. With Robien leading the way, they entered the silent camp.
A rough stockade of pine logs had been erected around the mine works, but many of the sharpened timbers had been toppled. They had been broken down from the inside, as every one lay with their crowns pointing outward. Inside the fence, all was chaos. Great heaps of cinders and slag, still smoldering, lay alongside the central path. The air stank of coke and sulfur.