'Your way takes you into the Valley of Forgotten Dreams,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. 'By tradition, for us it is a forbidden place. The first ten leagues are said to be safe. Beyond that – death.’
They thanked him. They only wanted a place to hide until pirates, soldiers and the wizards of Castle Vaunting had fought out their battles, and, with any luck, destroyed each other. The valley, with its rough-running river of rapids and waterfalls, its rugged banks and its evergreen forests (trees with leaves of a dark, dark green, so dark it was almost black – entirely unlike the deciduous growth of the south) should offer them refuge.
About five leagues up the valley, they came to a place with a little flat land on either side of the river, which surged past, deep and narrow, then foamed into wide and shallow rapids.
'This will do,' said Haveros. 'We won't find anywhere better.’
Yen Olass, who refused to live in a nameless place, called it Nightcaps, which sounded a good name for a wild place in the back of beyond. With Haveros supervising them, they built lean-to shelters, sharpened sticks and dug latrines, hauled rotten logs out of the forest and broke them up for firewood, made bird snares and fish traps, and booby-trapped animal tracks with pits and deadfalls. Then they tore apart the local vegetation, sampling leaves, fern shoots, bark, pith, vines, pulped roots and fungus growths.
After ten days, they had settled in properly, and were beginning to think of curing hides and making extra clothing. But all such plans ended when three exhausted pirates came stumbling into Nightcaps, bringing the news that Chonjara and his men were close behind them.
The pirates were their old friend Draven, a vicious little man called Toyd, and a man named Mellicks who was short-sighted and forever squinting to try and make sure of his footing. After hearing a brief account of how Chonjara's men had attacked the pirates at Lake Armansis, and were patrolling the forest to cut off retreat to the west, Haveros ordered everyone to break camp and move out.
Yen Olass and Resbit were most reluctant to go. They had worked hard on their lean-to, sealing off every draught and leak. Though Resbit's pregnancy was in its early stages, they had been talking baby clothes. Yen Olass had been designing a trap to kill bush rats for a supply of small, soft, furry skins; as Yen Olass knew next to nothing about making clothes, Resbit had promised to show her how it was done. And now they had to leave everything and run.
Just before they pulled out, Haveros disabled all the snares, deadfalls and pits. None was placed where it might catch any of Chonjara's men, and his hunting ethic did not allow him to kill for no reason, or, worse, to leave disabled animals to die slowly in the forest.
Haveros forced the pace up the river. They had fed reasonably well over the past few days, and carried food for three days. All blisters from their earlier marches had healed, except in the case of the Princess Quenerain, who still had trouble with her feet. She was reluctant to march, and begged Haveros to try and negotiate with Chonjara.
'We both know his arguments,' said Haveros, and lightly touched a small scar on her face where a stone had hit her.
This logic did not convince Quenerain, who argued with Haveros for hours at the end of the first march; argument ended when he lost his temper and hit her, and she sobbed herself to sleep.
Haveros put his trust in speed. He was not inclined to slink away into the hills and hide. They could only survive in this forest if they were free to fish the river, tear down the vegetation, set hunting traps, and range widely to hunt. They could not do this if they were hulkering in the hills, trying to make themselves invisible. So they would run north, until their food ran out. And then? Then they would establish themselves on some height overlooking the river, and, once Chonjara's men went marching past, Haveros and his party would double back, make for Lake Armansis, follow the river south, then try and slip away to the east, to Skua.
To Haveros, it was all a bit of a game, even though he was playing with his own life. His people, who were not skilled woodsmen, left trail-signs Chonjara's men would be able to follow easily. Haveros supplemented these by breaking the occasional branch now and then. He wanted to lead Chonjara as far into the Penvash Peninsula as possible, knowing that every day deeper would stretch Chonjara's supply lines and increase the likelihood of Chonjara finding his retreat south cut off by the Melski when he got back to Lake Armansis. If the Princess Quenerain had not been so distressed and distressing, Haveros would actually have started to enjoy himself.
When they camped at the end of their first march north, Draven – a professional opportunist – tried for Jalamex. But she had taken refuge in the shelter of a fallen log, together with Haveros and Quenerain. She refused to respond to Draven's whispers, and, when he raised his voice, he woke Haveros, who treated him to the full force of that rich, magnificent, eloquent obscenity known only to mule drivers, professional soldiers and low-class whores.
Haveros, his oratory tapering off toward the end, addressed Draven rather more mildly than he had been, saying:
'So drag your cock back to its slime-pit, you ignorant sack of arseholes.’
And Draven, awed by his fury, complied.
As Draven retreated, the Princess Quenerain mocked him; she used some words which were quite obscene. She had her own small gift for languages; she knew Ordhar, and had learnt enough Galish to make herself objectionable. Haveros shut her up: swearing was a man's prerogative.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Early the next day, it began to rain. As they marched, steep banks forced them into the river, where they waded knee-deep; few things are more disgusting than soaking wet boots just after breakfast, but nobody complained.
Further on, the river widened, though the banks were still high; they splashed through shallow water and across stones and shingle. The way ahead was blocked by two shoulders of rock, each ten times the height of a man. These shoulders flanked a narrow gorge where water thrashed over boulders. In places, the gorge was scarcely-wide enough for swordplay.
The gorge ran for only thirty horse-lengths, but it was a formidable obstacle. They were soaked by the time they had clawed upstream against the battering water. The river widened again; on the eastern side, a stream descended steeply between high V-shaped banks.
They rested briefly, then Haveros urged them on again. The banks drew in after a few more horse-lengths, and steepened, forcing them to wade through water.
Through wavering water pocked by rain, Yen Olass saw a blurred yet gleaming fist of green. She plunged her arm into the water and seized it. Her catch was a perfect sphere of stone, heavy, yet transparent. Multicoloured stars shone within its misty green: solitary luminaries, constellations and entire galaxies.
She was still admiring her find when she realized everyone else had frozen. A wark was coming down the river. The big, lumbering bear advanced with a leisured, measured gait, as if it owned the world – which, as far as they were concerned, was fair enough, as they were hardly going to dispute ownership.
Carefully, Haveros stooped down and picked up a rock. The bear paused, and turned this way and that, as if sniffing the air. With a sudden jerk of his body, Haveros threw the rock. It sailed overhead to land with a splash, upstream of the bear. The animal wheeled. Draven and Haveros waded to the sides of the river and hauled themselves out, clinging onto trees. Yen Olass tucked her stone globe into one of the inner pockets of her weather jacket.
The wark turned back downstream. Everyone still in the river broke and ran for the trees. The banks were almost sheer, but terrain yielded to desperation. Confused by the sudden flurry of noise, the bear peered downstream. Like all animals of its kind, it was short-sighted. And unpredictable. As it hesitated, the men drew weapons and backed up against trees. The bear proceeded, coming downstream through the hissing rain.
Yen Olass picked up a stick. If the wark came too close, she would wallop it over the nose. Then it would either retreat or tear her apart. She should have been terrified, but instead she was fascinated. She had never seen such a huge animal so close up. She watched as it went by, almost close enough to touch. She imagined riding on it,
