The Night of the Swarm

Thasha. So right that Pazel couldn’t face her, in fact. ‘Where have you been, Kirishgan?’ he asked.

‘Among Nolcindar’s people, whom I met in the West Dells of the Ansyndra. For eight days and nights we have led the Ravens on a merry chase, away from Ularamyth and the Nine Peaks. Hundreds there were, but we have reduced the count.’

‘And the athymars?’ asked Valgrif.

‘Slain, father,’ said one of the wolves. ‘They were scouting this valley from Urakan to the Weeping Glen, and letting no creature pass. But at nightfall they always congregated here, and last night we fell upon them during the storm. Rimkal and I tore six between us, and the selk killed the rest. We buried the pack not far from here, but by the smell I think some scavenger has found the grave and dug them out again.’

‘Where has Nolcindar gone?’ asked Thasha.

‘To the Ilidron Coves,’ said Kirishgan. ‘When we saw the extent of the forces arrayed against you, we knew that someone had to run ahead and ready the Promise for the open sea. There will be no time to waste when you arrive with the Nilstone. We three stayed behind, and sought you in the mountains, for we guessed that you would cross the Parsua by the Water Bridge. We were still far south of Urakan, though, and you crossed before we could come to your aid. There are still many hrathmogs in the southern peaks. And when at last we came to the last mountain before the Nine, we looked down on a terrible sight: an eguar fighting a demonic creature, a maukslar probably. More worrying still, the eguar was our loyal Sitroth, who had sworn never to leave the North Door of the Vale unguarded.’

The others told him at once of their own battle with the creature. ‘Sitroth attacks me,’ said Prince Olik. ‘Then a demon attacks us all, and is driven off by Ramachni. And now Sitroth and the demon fight each other. How to make sense of it all?’

‘But saw you nothing of our mage?’ said Bolutu. ‘No owl, no mink, no sign of spellcraft?’

‘We surely missed a great deal,’ said Kirishgan. ‘ The battle was scorching trees and melting snow, great clouds of steam were rising. We could see the path of destruction leading back along the Parsua Gorge. The maukslar lashed out with teeth and claws and fire: it was the faster of the two. Many times it struck like a snake, and recoiled out of reach. But Sitroth’s fire burned hotter than the demon’s, and its bite was deadly. Every blow it landed did terrible damage. At last the maukslar rose into the air and fled. Its wings were burned, however. It could not fly far, nor reach the clifftops, and Sitroth pursued it below. I would have hailed the eguar, then, had our own secrecy not been so vital.’

Suddenly Valgrif and his sons went rigid, their eyes and ears turned westwards. After a moment Pazel heard a distant rumbling sound, and the echo of a hunting horn.

‘That is part of the Ravens’ host,’ said Kirishgan. He glanced at Prince Olik. ‘Common Bali Adro soldiers, for the most part. You could ride out and greet them, Prince, but I do not think they would bow to you.’

‘They would not bow,’ said Olik. ‘Macadra has made a slave of the Emperor, but the generals still march under his flag, and no minor prince’s command may outweigh that of the Resplendent One. We would be seized — with mumblings of regret perhaps — and then delivered to torture and death.’

‘What of the Crossroads?’ asked Valgrif. ‘From the peaks we saw enemies stationed there.’

‘The Standing Stones are always watched,’ said Kirishgan. ‘We must keep to the woods and fields if we are to have any chance. We will cross the Mitrath, north of the Crossroads, and the Isima Road further west. But we go swiftly. When the dogs do not return at nightfall, Macadra’s riders will know something grave has happened, and converge here. They are still scattered, chasing false leads. But gathered together they could watch every inch of both roads, and cut us off from the sea.’

‘We would travel faster without our mountain gear,’ said Lunja.

‘Leave it, then,’ said the selk, ‘There will be no more climbing, until you scale the boarding-ladder of the Promise.’

They dropped their tarps, picks, and grapples in a heap, and covered them hastily with snow. Then they set off running, west by northwest. The forests here were beautiful, with columns of golden sun stabbing down through the moist, moss-heavy trees. Pazel, however, was in too much pain to enjoy them: his blisters were leaking blood into his shoes. When they jumped over streams he imagined ripping off his boots and plunging his feet into the clear water. But much worse than the pain was the awareness that he might — somehow, unthinkably — be fated to kill the friend who had joined them.

Time passed. The snow stretched thinner and at last disappeared. Here and there the forest gave way to patches of soggy meadow. Then the wolves came bounding back to the party and announced that the first road, the North-South Mitrath, lay just ahead.

They crept on until it opened before them, broad and dusty and stretching away straight as a ribbon to north and south. All was still. From where he crouched Pazel could see hoofprints and the marks of wagon-wheels. Far off to the south rose the four Standing Stones of the Crossroads. To the north the road climbed into grey, forbidding hills, studded with the ruins of old homesteads and keeps.

‘Many riders have passed here today,’ said Hercol.

‘Soldiers of Macadra,’ said Kirishgan. ‘No one lives here any longer. These were the outer settlements of Isima. And deep in those hills lies the fairest spring in all the Efaroc Peninsula, where the first selk queen, Miyanthur, gathered wild strawberries as a courting-gift to her betrothed. I used to swim there as a child, thousands of years after Miyanthur’s time, but still centuries before the rise of King Urakan. We asked him to build his road elsewhere and leave the hills untouched, but he was a king and had no time for talk of strawberries. The land is healing slowly, however. And the berries are still there.’

‘Unlike the king,’ said Hercol. ‘Well, we are fortunuate: the road is empty, and the Crossroads are distant enough, unless there is a telescope trained on this spot. We must chance that. Come swiftly.’

They stepped out upon the high, hard-packed road. Pazel felt very exposed, here in the bright light of a sprawling sky. Hercol came last, frowning at the hoofprints to either side of them, and sweeping a pine limb lightly over their own tracks like a broom.

It was a relief to plunge back under the trees. They ran on, west by southwest, racing the setting sun. Now and then the wolves paused and cocked their heads, but Pazel heard nothing but their own pounding feet. An hour passed, and then the forest came to a sudden end. They were at the second crossing.

They crouched down in the grass. This road, the Isima Road, was wider and clearly more travelled. To the east, Pazel saw the four Standing Stones once again. They had rounded the crossroads unseen.

‘Clear again,’ said Neeps.

‘For the moment,’ whispered Neda in Ormali. ‘But we’ll be in plain sight even after we cross the road, unless we crawl that is. Tell them, Pazel.’

She was quite right: the trees had been cleared for at least two miles on the far side of the road, and the grass was merely elbow-height. Still, they had no other choice, and so on the count of three they dashed across the road and into the grass. Once more Hercol brought up the rear, sweeping their tracks away. But as he reached the edge of the road he suddenly raised his head like a startled animal, then sprinted towards them, waving his hands and hissing.

‘There are soldiers riding hard out of the east! Scatter, scatter and lie low! And be still as death, unless you would meet your own!’

They obeyed him, racing away into the grass. Pazel found himself near Kirishgan and no one else. They threw themselves down and waited. Moments later Pazel heard the sound of horses on the road. It was no small contingent: the host was surely hundreds strong. Then a man’s voice barked a command. The pounding hooves slowed, then stopped altogether.

Now there were several voices, murmuring impatiently. ‘Ride in, then, have a look,’ shouted the one who had halted the company. ‘But be quick — you know how she deals with latecomers.’

Pazel heard a swishing sound. One of the riders had spurred his horse into the grass.

With infinite care, Kirishgan moved his hand to the pommel of his sword. The rider drew nearer still. Pazel saw a helmet gleam through the grass-tips, and sunlight on a dark dlomic face. Kirishgan met Pazel’s eye. Don’t do it, don’t move! Pazel wanted to shout. But he could do not more than slightly shake his head.

Five yards from where they lay, the rider turned his horse and looked back in the direction of the road. ‘Nothing here,’ he shouted. ‘You saw a dust-devil, Captain, if you want my guess.’

‘Don’t speak to me of devils!’ shouted a second voice, from closer to the road. ‘We’d be out of these wastes