The Night of the Swarm

They struggled down along the side of the avalanche, wading through the fresh snow like bathers in the surf. The trail’s third switchback was of course quite lost to sight, but the selk found it anyway by the ever-so-slightly wider spacing between the trees. They followed it away from the peak, steeply downhill. The air warmed, their limbs warmed, and gradually the depth of snow decreased.

Much of that day they walked in silence — around the edge of a frozen lake, through a forest of strange evergreens that smelled of ginger, along the edge of an ancient wall that ran for miles through the foothills: one more defence breached by the ogres of the Thrandaal. Again and again Pazel found himself scanning the skies. He saw any number of vultures, crows and woodpeckers, but no owl, no Ramachni.

The old wall became still more ruined, and the travellers picked their way between the tumbled stones. At one point Pazel found himself and Neeps walking a little apart from the others. He glanced around surreptitiously. Then he whispered in Sollochi, Neeps’ mother tongue.

‘Listen, mate, I need to tell you something. You, and no one else.’ Neeps blinked. ‘Pitfire. What?’

‘That night at the Demon’s Court, when I spoke to Erithusme. I told you most of what she said. But just before she vanished she told me something strange: that there’s another. . power, hidden on the Chathrand. The mage didn’t want to tell me. I had to badger her something fierce.’

‘What kind of power?’ said Neeps. ‘Do you mean another way to bring her back?’

‘No, she’d have been more keen on that,’ said Pazel, ‘and besides, she was obsessed with Thasha breaking through that wall inside her. As far as Erithusme’s concerned, that’s the only right way now. This other power is something dangerous, something mad. You remember the spot on the berth deck, where I used to sling my hammock?’

‘The stanchion with the copper nails.’

Pazel nodded. ‘She told me to bring Thasha to that very spot. And nothing more. “When Thasha is standing there she will know what to do.”

That’s it. A moment later she was gone.’

Neeps was clearly struggling for calm. ‘You mean,’ he said, ‘that you’ve not told anyone? Not Ramachni, not Hercol?’

‘Just you,’ said Pazel. ‘Maybe we should tell them. But what if they say something to Thasha? She’s the problem, don’t you see? If Thasha knew, she’d want to use this thing as soon as we set foot on the Chathrand. Even if it killed her.’

‘She is stubborn. Like a blue-blooded mule. And Pitfire, those copper nails? She must have seen ’em before.’

Pazel looked at him sidelong. ‘Don’t be dense, mate. The compartment’s always full of bare-assed tarboys.’

They almost laughed. Pazel needed a laugh. But he wouldn’t let himself, not now. The laughter could too easily spill into tears.

‘If something happens to me-’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to you, Pazel.’

‘-and you take her there alone, please — make her be careful. Erithusme was very clear on that point: whatever’s hidden there is a last resort.’

Neeps gave his promise, and they trudged on into the lengthening day. The ruins ended; the land grew flat, and the forest rose about them tall and ancient and seemingly at peace. Suddenly Valgrif stopped, rigid. He lowered his muzzle and sniffed, then showed his fangs.

‘Dogs,’ he said. ‘Athymars. They passed here in the night, or very early this morning.’

‘Many?’ asked Neda.

‘Many,’ said the wolf. ‘A large hunting pack, twenty or more. But they must be far away now, or well hidden; otherwise I should be able to catch their scent on the wind, not just here where their flanks rubbed against trees.’

Pazel felt as if someone had just broken a cane across his back. Twenty of those mucking creatures! ‘So what now?’ he said.

‘Eat,’ said Valgrif.

‘I beg your pardon?’

The wolf looked at them urgently. ‘Eat, eat for several hours’ marching. Then wash your faces and hands, and wash your mouths out with snow, and bury the place where you spit. And you dlomu, change the dressing on your bandages. You must bury the old ones here, along with anything soiled or food-stained.’

‘What’s all this about?’ asked Corporal Mandric.

‘Staying alive,’ said the wolf. ‘A pack that size is far more dangerous than what we faced at the bridge. If they find us, they will kill us — and they will find us, if they catch our scent. They would pay no heed to a single wolf, but they will know the smell of dlomic blood. And your food’s reek is unlike anything in this forest. You must remove any trace of it — and wash your hair, too, if you can stand the cold.’

‘We can stand it,’ said Lunja firmly. ‘We saw what the athymars can do with those fangs.’

They ate, and scrubbed with snow, and buried what Valgrif had told them to bury. Then they set off, more guarded than ever. The air beneath the giant trees was still and quiet. Valgrif ranged far ahead, and the noiseless selk followed, just near enough to keep the party in sight.

For nearly an hour they crept without incident through the forest, and heard no sound but the cawing of crows. Then Valgrif loped back among them. ‘Something is wrong,’ he said. ‘I can smell the dogs: they are much nearer than before, but the scent is weak, as though some of them had disappeared. Perhaps the pack has divided.’

‘Or dug in?’ suggested Pazel. ‘To ambush us?’

‘Twenty athymars would not wait for an ambush,’ said the wolf. ‘They would simply tear us to pieces. We must bear north, away from their scent.’

He moved on, out of sight, and the party followed as before. Hercol and the selk archers held their bows at the ready; the others walked with their hands upon their swords. The snow cover was by now quite thin, and they could hear the crackle of leaves and sticks beneath their feet.

Pazel winced at every sound. He glanced up at the tall pines around them. The lowest branches were twenty feet above their heads.

Then Valgrif snarled. Pazel turned and saw a dog’s shape flashing towards the wolf between the dark trunks. A second followed. Hercol whirled around, drawing his bow as he did so. The selk too were taking aim.

‘Don’t fire!’

It was a selk’s voice, shouting from far off in the trees. The archers paused, and for an instant Pazel feared some trick, for the dogs had just closed on Valgrif. But they were not dogs, they were ash-grey wolves, and they greeted the black creature with whimpers of joy.

‘Kallan! Rimkal!’ barked Valgrif. ‘Comrades, these are my sons!’

The wolves ran in circles, yipping and prancing. They were woken, like the creatures at the temple in Ularamyth, and they greeted the travellers with great courtesy. Then Pazel heard the four selk in their party crying out with joy.

‘Kirishgan!’ they shouted. ‘Fire’s child! Kinsman!’

For it was he. Pazel almost cried out as well — but a dark thought made him hold his tongue. Everything Thaulinin had told him about the selk way of death rose suddenly in his mind. Kirishgan, meanwhile, rushed forward and embraced his fellow selk, then turned and looked at the other travellers with delight.

‘Hail, Olik, prince and brother! I feared for you, when I heard that you had defied the sorceress.’ Kirishgan’s eyes moved to Pazel. ‘Smythidor,’ he said, ‘how I hoped we would meet again.’

‘Then it’s you?’ said Pazel. ‘ The. . whole you?’

‘We selk are whole but once,’ said Kirishgan, ‘and for me that time is yet to come. But yes, Pazel, I am flesh and blood. And here are your family! Sister Neda, brothers Neeps and Hercol, Thasha Isiq, who has palmed your heart.’

Pazel blushed. He had spoken of them all to Kirishgan, over tea in Vasparhaven Temple. And of course the selk remembered. Brothers: that was exactly right, of course, and so was what he said of