“He won’t be getting around too good for a while.”
Later Bomanz muttered, “I wonder what it was all about, anyway? Really Resurrectionists?”
Stancii said, “The Resurrectionists are a myth Besand’s bunch use to keep themselves employed.”
Bomanz recalled some university acquaintances. “Don’t be too sure.”
When they reached the house, Stance trudged upstairs to study the chart. Bomanz ate a small meal. Before lying down, he told Jasmine, “Keep an eye on Stance. He’s acting funny.”
“Funny? How?”
“I don’t know. Just funny. Pushy about the Barrowland. Don’t let him find my gear. He might try to open the path himself.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I hope not. But watch him.”
Fifteen
The Barrowland
Case heard Corbie was back at last. He ran to the old man’s home. Corbie greeted him with a hug. “How you been, lad?”
“We thought you were gone for good.” Corbie had been away eight months.
“I tried to get back. There’s damned near no roads anymore.”
“I know. The Colonel asked the Taken to fly supplies in.”
“I heard. The military government in Oar got off their butts when that hit. Sent a whole regiment to start a new road. It’s about a third of the way built. I came up on part of it.”
Case donned his serious face. “Was it really your daughter?”
“No,” Corbie said. On departing he had announced that he was off to meet a woman who might be his daughter. He claimed to have given over his savings to a man who would find his children and bring them to Oar.
“You sound disappointed.”
He was. His researches had not worked out well. Too many records were missing.
“What sort of winter was it, Case?”
“Bad.”
“It was bad down there, too. I worried for you all.”
“We had trouble with the tribes. That was the worst part. You can always stay inside and throw another log on. But you can’t eat if thieves steal your stores.”
“I thought it might come to that.”
“We watched your house. They broke in some of the empty places.”
“Thank you.” Corbie’s eyes narrowed. His home had been violated? How thoroughly? A careful searcher might have found enough to hang him. He glanced out a window. “Looks like rain.”
“It always looks like rain. When it don’t look like snow. It got twelve feet deep last winter. People are worried. What’s happened to the weather?”
“Old folks say it goes this way, after the Great Comet. The winters turn bad for a few years. Down in Oar it never got that cold. Plenty of snow, though.”
“Wasn’t that cold here. Just snowed so much you couldn’t get out. I like to went crazy. The whole Barrowland looked like a frozen lake. You could hardly tell where the Great Barrow was.”
“Uhm? I have to unpack yet. If you don’t mind? Let everyone know I’m back. I’m near broke. I’ll need work.”
“Will do, Corbie.”
Corbie watched from a window as Case ambled back to the Guard compound, taking an elevated walkway built since his departure. The mud below explained it. That and Colonel Sweet’s penchant for keeping his men occupied. Once Case vanished he went to the second floor.
Nothing had been disturbed. Good. He peeped out a window, toward the Barrowland.
How it had changed in just a few years. A few more and you would not be able to find it.
He grunted, stared the harder. Then he retrieved the silken map from its hiding place, studied it, then the Barrowland again. After a time he fished sweat-stained papers from inside his shirt, where he had carried them since stealing them from the university in Oar. He spread them over the map.
Late that afternoon he rose, donned a cloak, gathered the cane he now carried, and went out. He limped through the water and mud and drizzle till he reached a point overlooking the Great Tragic River.
It was in flood, as always. Its bed had continued to shift. After a time he cursed, smote an old oak with his cane, and turned back.
The day had gone grey with the hour. It would be dark before he got home.
“Damned complications,” he muttered. “I never counted on this. What the hell am I going to do?”
Take the high risk. The one chance he wished most to avoid, though its possible necessity was his real reason for having wintered in Oar.
For the first time in years he wondered if the game were worth the candle.
Whatever his course, it would be dark before he got home.
Sixteen
The Plain of Fear
You get mad and walk out on Darling, you can miss a lot. Elmo, One-Eye, Goblin, Otto, those guys like to bait me. They were not about to clue me in. They got everybody else to go along. Even Tracker, who seemed to be taking a shine to me and chattered at me more than everybody else combined, would not drop a hint. So when the day came, I went topside in total ignorance.
I’d packed the usual field gear. Our traditions are heavy infantry, though mostly we ride these days. All of us are too old to lug eighty pounds of gear. I dragged mine to the cavern that serves as a stable and smells like the grandfather of them all-and found that not one animal was saddled. Well, one. Darling’s.
The stable boy just grinned when I asked what was going on. “Go on up,” he said. “Sir.”
“Yeah? Rotten bastards. They play games with me? I’ll get them. They damned well better start remembering who keeps the Annals around here.” I bitched and moaned all the way into the pre-moonset shadows that lurked around the tunnel mouth. There I found the rest of the outfit, all already up, with light gear. Each man carried his weapons and a sack of dried food.
“What you doing, Croaker?” One-Eye asked with suppressed laughter. “Look like you’re taking everything you own. You a turtle? Carry your house on your back?”
And Elmo: “We ain’t moving, boy. Just going on a raid.”
“You’re a bunch of sadists, you know that?” I stepped into the wan light. The moon was half an hour from setting. Far, Taken drifted on the night. Those son-of-a-bitches were determined to keep a close watch. Nearer, a whole; horde of menhirs had gathered. They looked like a graveyard out on the desert, there were so many of them. There were a lot of walking trees, too.
More, though there was no breeze, I could hear Old Father Tree tinkling. No doubt that meant something. A menhir might have explained. But the stones remain close-mouthed about themselves and their fellow species. Especially about Father Tree. Most of them won’t admit he exists.
“Better lighten your load, Croaker,” the Lieutenant said. He would not explain either.
“You going too?” I asked, surprised.
“Yep. Move it. We don’t have long. Weapons and field medical kit should do it. Scoot.”
I met Darling going down. She smiled. Grouchy as I was, I smiled back. I can’t stay mad at her. I have known her since she was so high. Since Raven rescued her from the Limper’s thugs long ago, in the Forsberg campaigns. I cannot see the woman that is without recalling the child that was. I get all sentimental and soft.
They tell me I suffer from a crippling romantic streak. Looking back, I’m almost inclined to agree. AH those silly stories I wrote about the Lady...
The moon was on the rim of the world when I returned topside. A whisper of excitement coursed among the men. Darling was up there with them, astride her flashy white mare, moving around, gesturing at those who understood sign. Above, the spots of luminescence that are characteristic of windwhale tentacles drifted lower than I’d ever heard tell of. Except in horror stories about starved whales dropping down to drag their tentacles on the ground, ripping up every plant and animal in their path.