Into the other tent, where I found both men in trances. “Shit. Now what?” Did I dare try waking One-Eye? Softly: “One-Eye. This is Croaker. We’ve got trouble.”
Ah. His good eye opened. For a moment he seemed disoriented. Then: “What’re you doing here?”
“Trouble. Tracker says there’s somebody in the woods.”
A cry came through the rain. One-Eye bolted upright. “The power!” he spat. “What the hell?”
“What is it?”
“Somebody just ripped off a spell almost like one of the Taken.”
“Can you get Goblin out? Fast?”
“I can...” Another cry ripped through the woods. This one stretched out and out, and seemed as much of despair as of agony. “I’ll get him.”
He sounded like all hope had gone.
Taken. Had to be. Sniffed out our tracks. Closing in. But the cries... First one somebody Tracker ambushed? Second one Tracker gotten? Didn’t sound like him.
One-Eye lay down and closed his eye. In moments he was back in trance, though his face betrayed the fear on his surface mind. He was good, to go under such tension.
There was a third cry from the woods. Baffled, I moved to where I could look into the rain. I saw nothing. Moments later Goblin stirred.
He looked awful. But his determination showed he had gotten the word. He forced himself upright though it was obvious he was not ready. His mouth kept opening and closing. I had a feeling he wanted to tell me something.
One-Eye came out after him but recovered more quickly. “What’s happened?” he asked.
“Another yell.”
“Drop everything? Run for it?”
“We can’t. We have to get some of this stuff back to the Plain. Otherwise we might as well surrender right here.”
“Right. Get it together. I’ll take care here.”
Getting things together was not much of a job. I had unpacked very little... Something roared out in the woods. I froze. “What the hell?” Sounded like something bigger than four lions. A moment later there were screams.
No sense. No sense at all. I could see Tracker raising nine kinds of hell with the Guard, but not if they had one of the Taken with them.
Goblin and One-Eye showed up as I began knocking the tent down. Goblin still looked like hell. One-Eye carried half his stuff. “Where’s the kid?” he asked.
I had paid no attention to his absence. It hadn’t surprised me. “Gone. How are we going to carry Raven?”
My answer stepped out of the woods. Tracker. Looking a little the worse for wear, but still healthy. Toadkiller Dog was covered with blood. He seemed more animated than I had seen before. “Let’s get him out of here,” Tracker said, and moved to take one end of the litter.
“Your stuff.”
“No time.”
“What about the wagon?” I lifted the other end.
“Forget it. I’m sure they found it. March.”
We marched, letting him lead the way. I asked, “What was all that uproar?”
“Caught them by surprise.”
“But...”
“Even the Taken can be surprised. Save your breath. He isn’t dead.”
For a few hours it was put one foot in front of the other and don’t look back. Tracker set a tough pace. In a corner of my mind where the observer still dwelt, I noted that Toadkiller Dog kept the pace with ease.
Goblin collapsed first. Once or twice he had tried to catch me and pass something along, but he just did not have the energy. When he went down, Tracker stopped, looked back irritably. Toadkiller Dog lay down in the wet leaves, rumbling. Tracker shrugged, set his end of the litter down.
That was my cue to drop. Like a stone. And damn the rain and mud. I couldn’t get any wetter.
Gods, my arms and shoulders ached. Needles of fire drove into me where the muscles start swooping up to the neck. “This isn’t going to work,” I said after I caught some breath. “We’re too old and weak.”
Tracker considered the forest. Toadkiller Dog rose, sniffed the wet wind. I struggled up long enough to look back the way we had come, trying to guess which direction we had run.
South, of course. North made no sense and east or west would have put us in the Barrowland or river. But if we kept heading south we would encounter the old Oar road where it curved in beside the Great Tragic. That stretch was sure to be patrolled.
With my breath partially restored and my breathing no longer roaring in my ears, I could hear the river. It was no more than a hundred yards away, churning and grumbling as always.
Tracker came out of a reflective mood. “Guile, then. Guile.”
“I’m hungry,” One-Eye said, and I realized I was too. “Reckon we’ll get a lot hungrier, though.” He smiled feebly. He now had enough strength to look Goblin over. “Croaker. Want to come check him out?”
Funny that they aren’t enemies when the pinch comes.
Thirty-Seven
The forest and beyond
Two days passed before we ate, courtesy of Tracker’s skill as a hunter. Two days we spent dodging patrols. Tracker knew those woods well. We disappeared into their deeps and drifted southward at a more relaxed pace. After the two days Tracker felt confident enough to let us have a fire. It was not much, though, because finding burnable wood was a pain. Its value was more psychological than physical.
Misery balanced by rising hope. That was the story of our two weeks in the Old Forest. Hell, trekking overland, off the road, was as fast or faster than using the road itself. We felt halfway optimistic when we neared the southern verge.
I am tempted to dwell on the misery and the arguments about Raven. One-Eye and Goblin were convinced we were doing him no good. Yet they could come up with no alternative to dragging him along.
I carried another weight in my belly, like a big stone.
Goblin got to me that second night while Tracker and Toadkiller Dog were hunting. He whispered, “I got farther in than One-Eye did. Almost to the center. I know why Raven didn’t get out.”
“Yeah?”
“He saw too much. What he went to see, probably. The Dominator is not asleep. I...”He shuddered. It took him a moment to get hold of himself. “I saw him, Croaker. Looking back at me. And laughing. If it hadn’t been for One-Eye... I’d have been caught just like Raven.”
“Oh, my,” I said softly, mind abuzz with the implications. “Awake? And working?”
“Yes. Don’t talk about it. Not to anybody till you can tell Darling.”
There was a hint of fatalism in him then. He doubted he would be around long. Scary. “One-Eye know?”
“I’ll tell him. Got to make sure word gets back.”
“Why not just tell us all?”
“Not Tracker. There’s something wrong with Tracker... Croaker. Another thing. The old-time wizard. He’s in there, too.”
“Bomanz?”
“Yes. Alive. Like he’s frozen or something. Not dead, but not able to do anything... The dragon...”He shut up.
Tracker arrived, carrying a brace of squirrels. We barely let them warm before we attacked them.
We rested a day before tackling the tamed lands. Henceforth it would be scurry from one smidgen of cover to the next, mouselike, by night. I wondered what the hell the point might be. The Plain of Fear might as well be in another world.
That night I had a golden dream.
I do not recall anything except that she touched me, and somehow tried to warn me. I think exhaustion more than my amulet blocked the message. Nothing stuck. I wakened retaining only a vague sense of having missed something critical.
End of the line. End of the game. Two hours out of the Great Forest I knew our time was approaching. Darkness was inadequate insulation. Nor were my amulets sufficient.
The Taken were in the air. I felt them on the prowl once it was too late to turn back. And they knew their quarry was afoot. We could hear the distant clamor of battalions moving to bar retreat into the forest.