The going was difficult and slow, and more often than not, the riders were forced to dismount and lead their horses over treacherous terrain where a hoof out of place could mean disaster.
The pace preyed on Alun’s faltering confidence. Thraun could sense it. And despite his reassurances, and the certain knowledge in himself that this was as safe a route as existed, Alun’s impatience threatened to boil over into open dispute.
With the day disappearing behind the tree line and late afternoon cloud, Thraun brought them to a halt on an area of flat ground by a stream’s edge. It was lush and green and hemmed in by sharp slopes from which scrub and tree clung precariously. A littering of large lichen-covered rocks told of falls in times long past.
Thraun dismounted and patted his horse’s rump. The animal trotted away a couple of strides before bending its neck to the water, lapping gently. Cloud was building from the west and the scent of rain, though faint, was growing while the warmth of daylight was giving way to a cool evening.
‘There’s still daylight,’ said Alun unhappily. ‘We could go on.’
‘Light’ll fade quickly in these valleys,’ said Thraun. ‘And this is a safe site.’ He laid a hand on Alun’s shoulder. ‘We’ll get there in good time. Trust me.’
‘How do you know?’ Alun shook his hand off and walked away, his eyes flicking over the campsite.
‘We’ll be fine so long as it doesn’t rain,’ said Will, glancing in Alun’s direction, a frown on his brow. ‘Is he—’
‘No, not really,’ replied Thraun. ‘I think his nerves are going. Try to treat him gently. He needs all the reassurance we can give him.’ He sniffed the air. A light breeze was rustling the foliage. ‘And it won’t rain, either.’
‘Just keep him calm,’ warned Will. ‘We can’t risk him buckling on us.’
Thraun nodded. ‘You get the stove going, I think I ought to be explaining a few things to him.’
Will inclined his head. Thraun moved off towards his friend, his footfalls absolutely silent across the ground. Alun was sitting on a spit of gravelled stone on a right-hand bend in the stream. He had a handful of small stones and alternately rattled them in his fist or flicked one into the slow-moving water. Thraun sat beside him, startling him from his thoughts.
‘Gods . . .’
‘Sorry,’ said Thraun. He flicked his ponytail absently.
‘How can you be so quiet?’ Alun’s question was only half good-humoured.
‘Practice,’ said Thraun. ‘Come on then, tell me what’s on your mind and I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t be worrying.’
Alun’s face reddened and he looked hard at Thraun, his eyes moist.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said, his voice overloud for the peace of the stream bank. ‘We’re travelling too slowly. By the time we get there, they’ll be dead.’
‘Alun, I know what I am doing. That’s why you came to me, remember?’ Thraun kept his voice deliberately calm and quiet, though its native gruffness was always evident. ‘We know the motive for the kidnap wasn’t murder or they wouldn’t have taken them in the first place. We also know that Erienne will buy as much time as possible, and will be as co-operative as possible while she waits for rescue or release. I know how hard it is for you, I’d feel the same way, but you just have to be patient.’
‘Patient.’ Alun’s voice was bitter. ‘We’re going to sit here, calmly eat and sleep, while my family are one step from death. How dare you be so calculating? You’re playing with their lives!’
‘Quiet down,’ hissed Thraun, the yellow in his eyes gaining intensity. ‘All your shouting will bring us is unwelcome attention. Now listen. I understand your pain and your desire to be on the move all the time, but I am playing with no one’s life, believe me. We can’t afford to flog ourselves in the rush to get there or we’ll be serving ourselves up for slaughter. If we are to save your family, we have to be fresh and alert. Now please, come and eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You need food. You’re not helping yourself and you’re not thinking clearly.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing!’ Alun’s voice put birds to flight.
From nowhere, Will appeared and clamped his hand over Alun’s mouth. The little man’s eyes were wild and his face was angry and contemptuous.
‘Oh, you’re doing something all right. You’re risking my life with your bleating. Stop it, or I’ll open your throat and the rest of us can get on with it.’
‘Will, let him go!’ growled Thraun. He half rose but the look in Will’s eye stopped him. Alun, his expression frozen, stared at Thraun demanding help his friend could not, or would not, give.
‘We will get your family our way.’ Will spoke into Alun’s ear. ‘We’ll go slow and careful, because that way we’ll all get out alive.
Now whether you’re with us or face-down in this water makes no odds to me because I’ll get my pay. But I think your family would rather it was the former, so I suggest you keep your loud mouth firmly shut.’ He thrust Alun away and stalked back past Thraun. ‘Never let clients come along.’
From the other side of the stove, on which sat a pan of water, Jandyr paused and watched the exchange at the water’s edge, a heaviness in his heart. For him it was easy to see why they would never get far as a recovery team although the ingredients were all there.
They had the master thief, the silent trailfinder and the hunter. All were quick, all could fight and all had good brains. But the personalities were wrong. Thraun, despite his size and presence, was too gentle, too easy to persuade. Witness that Alun was with them rather than keeping the lights burning at home. And Will was far too high-strung; his need for quiet and control spoke of his lack of inner calm, and it was at odds with his profession.
Looking at himself, Jandyr knew that his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t a mercenary, not really. Just an elf who could make money from his skill with a bow until he stumbled on his true vocation. He only hoped he’d find it before it was too late.
Tasting the angry atmosphere and seeing the three men sitting apart from one another, he thought it probably already was.
General Ry Darrick smoothed the map out over the table. The senior mages from the four Colleges grouped around him; the delegates had to be content with viewing from whatever angle they could. Only Vuldaroq remained seated.
Darrick was a tall man, well in excess of six foot, with a mass of light brown curly hair cut over the ears, across the forehead and above the nape of his neck. The untameable mane gave him a boyish look which his face, round, tanned and clean, did nothing to discourage despite his thirty-three years.
Few people mistook his youthful appearance for naïvety more than once, and as he bent over the map, the senior mages hung on his every word.
Darrick’s reputation as a master tactician had been made in the years that culminated in the loss of Understone Pass to Tessaya and the Wesmen. He led raids deep into Wesmen lands to disrupt the build-up of men and provisions, extending eastern governance of the pass by probably four years.
Since then, Barons who could afford his and Lystern’s fees, and who didn’t already have The Raven, sought his advice in larger conflicts. That he would command the total respect of any four-College army was not in question.
‘Well, the good news is that given our regular troop levels, we are defensible, but that does rely on your estimates of Wesmen numbers being accurate. I would also be happier if they attack without Wytch Lord support, because if they do breach our defences, I fear we will have little in reserve to halt their march to Korina, Gyernath and the Colleges.’ He looked left and right. ‘Can everyone see all right?’ He gestured at the map of Balaia, the Northern Continent.