'What is it?'
'I don't suppose you've ever seen it,' Wingover said.
'At least not from this side, but I thought you might want to know what you're looking at. That's Northgate.'
'North… You mean…?'
'Exactly,' the man told him. 'That is the Northgate of Thorbardin.'
'But the green line doesn't go there,' Chane said. 'It goes east… I think that's east, anyway. Out there, across those plains. Toward that lone mountain, whatever that is.'
'Skullcap,' Wingover breathed. 'The ruins of what was once the most feared tower of sorcery, Zhaman, lie there.'
Chane sighed. 'Then that is where Grallen went. But the line… it doesn't seem to go all the way. I can't really see what it does. We have to go on. We have to get closer.'
'We have to rest,' Wingover said flatly. He shielded his eyes, peering ahead. Somewhere near, there should be a place safe to rest. He squinted, then his eyes widened and breath hissed through his teeth. On the trail ahead, just where it wound out of sight, a large, black cat stood, looking back at them. Even as Wingover saw it, the animal turned languidly and slunk out of sight.
Chapter 26
'Cats!'
With a visible shudder, Wingover drew his sword, gripped his shield, and eased past the weakened dwarf. He had seen the great black cats of Waykeep only once. But once was enough. On stiff legs he started toward the bend, certain that at any moment a bounding, snarling pack of the giant creatures would appear there, coming for him. And it would be up to him to defend the others. Glenshadow's magic would not work in Spellbinder's presence. Chane Feldstone was hardly strong enough to stand off cats.
Still, Jilian might make an accounting of herself with that sword she carried. After seeing the remains of her ogre, the man was willing to believe almost anything.
Small feet scuffed just behind Wingover, and Chestal Thicketsway's voice said cheerfully, 'What are you doing?'
'Stay back,' the man snapped. 'There are cats ahead.'
'Cats? Kitty cats or the Irda's cats?'
'Just stay back, out of the way,' 'Wingover shot a quick glance back, felt something brush past his legs, and turned to shout, 'Come back here!'
'I'll just take a quick look,' the kender said, scampering ahead. 'If they're like the Irda's cats, I've seen a lot of those.'
'Ye gods,' the man swore and quickened his pace, willing the rest to stay where they were. Ahead of Wingover, the curious kender disappeared around the bend. Wingover ran, then stopped. Just past the bend, the trail widened, then widened again, and became a deep, sheltered cove in the mountainside. Clear, cold water flowed from a tiny spring and pooled before overflowing its rock tank and disappearing again into crevices in the mountain. Conifers grew in abundance, and rich, chillbleached grass was everywhere. Beside the pool were several bundles, all securely wrapped in sacking, and the kender knelt beside the nearest one, untying its straps. He glanced up, grinned, and pointed. 'Look.' High on a rock ridge beyond the cove, several of the big, dark cats were climbing, going away.
Some of them turned to look back, feral eyes seeming to glow in the pale light, But they only hesitated, then went on. Within seconds, they were gone.
'Food!' the kender chirped. 'Look at this. Biscuits! And honey, and oats, and cabbage… wow!' With one pack open, he went on to the next one.
Wingover heard the thump of a staff and turned. Glenshadow stood a few paces back, cold eyes peering from the shadows of his bison cloak. 'The
Irda,' he said. 'She has provided for us. She said that would be done.'
'But those cats — '
'Are hers. In a way, I suppose they are her.'
'Where is she, then, this Irda?'
The wizard gazed at him for a moment, then shrugged and turned away.
'She is an Irda. I suppose she is wherever she chooses to be.'
'Irda,' Wingover breathed. 'Irdas are ogres, from what I've heard.'
Glenshadow shook his head. 'No. The Irda is what ogres may once have been. They are not the same.'
'You'd know that if you'd seen her,' the kender said.
'Look at this! Raisins. How about that? And cider.'
The others had appeared, Jilian helping Chane and leading Wingover's horse. At the cove, they all stopped and stared. Jilian nodded. 'This is more like it. Let's get a fire going, and I'll make tea. And soup. Don't you think some soup would taste good, Chane? Here, you sit down over here.
Eat a biscuit while I'm cooking.'
'There is danger ahead of us, then,' the wizard noted ominously. 'The
Irda knows.'
'How does she know any such thing?' Wingover spun toward Glenshadow, tired and angry, confused and feeling as though everyone but himself had a hand in this situation. 'Does she use magic?'
'Only a little… of the kind I use, when I can use it at all,'
Glenshadow said. 'The kind you so despise, though it is a part' of your world and not always to your disadvantage. The Irda is a shapechanger.
That much is magic, though natural to her kind. And she is a singer. Some have said the Irda carry magic in their voices, though I think now it is simply that they have… such voices.' He paused and considered the point for a moment. 'Perhaps they have another magic that is outside the magic of Krynn. I believe they do, but who can say for certain. If they do, then it is used entirely for their own purposes and not for or against any other being. It is the nature of the Irda.'
'You haven't answered my question,' Wingover snorted. 'How could such a creature — as you say — know that there is danger ahead for us?'
'She listens.' Glenshadow shrugged. 'The world has many voices, and eyes everywhere. The world itself knows what passes upon it. It speaks of it to itself, and the Irda listens. How else could she do what she does… observe the purposes of the gods' things, the ones that the gods themselves no longer observe? Who else could inform the Irda, except the world itself'' Wingover shook his head, wondering if the mage was in fact deranged. What he said almost made sense… sometimes, but not in any way that Wingover could see. He turned away and went to start unpacking his horse. 'Don't do that,' Chane Feldstone shouted, getting to his feet. 'We have to go on.'
'We aren't going anywhere for a while,' Wingover told him. 'We are going to rest here until we're fit to travel.'
'But I see the path now,' the dwarf said, his face going pale again. 'I see where Grallen went, and I have to go there. Spellbinder -
Jilian Firestoke was at Chane's side then, bracing him with strong little hands. 'The man is right, Chane,' she said gently. 'You must rest.
Then we can go on. Please, sit down.'
A sheen of sweat had erupted on Chane's forehead, and his eyes seemed glazed. Still, he tried to struggle free.
'Can't you see the path? Can't any of you see it? It goes down this mountain and out onto the plain, then it doubles back… just out there.
It turns back and stops. See? Why can't any of you see?' The dwarf slumped and let himself be eased down to a sitting position.
