"Trouble, I think." He added after a moment, "Trouble past." Nothing human flared in the range of Dag"s perceptions-nor anything non-human either. "The place is completely deserted."
He pulled up his horse in front of the house, swung his leg over its neck, and jumped down.
"Move up. Take the reins," he told Fawn. "Don"t get down yet."
She scrambled forward from her perch on his saddlebags, staring around wide-eyed. "What about you?"
"Going to scout around."
He made a quick pa.s.s through the house, a rambling two-story structure with additions built on to additions. The place seemed stripped of small objects of any value. Items too big to carry-beds, clothes chests-were frequently knocked over or split. Every gla.s.s window was broken out, senselessly. Dag had an idea how hard those improvements had been to come by, carefully saved for by some hopeful farmwife, packed in straw up from Gla.s.sforge over the rutted lanes. The kitchen pantry was stripped of food.
The barn was empty of animals; hay was left, some grain might be gone. Behind the barn on the manure pile, he at last found the bodies of three farm dogs, slashed and hacked about. He eyed the smoldering outbuilding in pa.s.sing, charred timbers sticking out of the ash like black bones. Someone would need to look through it for other bones, later. He returned to his horse.
Fawn was gazing around warily as she took in the disturbing details. Dag leaned against Copperhead"s warm shoulder and swiped his hand through his hair.
"The place was raided by the bandits-or someone-about three days ago, I judge," he told her. "No bodies."
"That"s good-yes?" she said, dark eyes growing unsure at whatever expression was leaking onto his features. He couldn"t think that it was anything but exhaustion.
"Maybe. But if the people had run away, or been run off, news of this should have reached Gla.s.sforge by now. My patrol had no such word as of yesterday evening."
"Where did they all go, then?" she asked.
"Taken, I"m afraid. If this malice is trying to take farmer slaves already, it"s growing fast."
"What-slaves for what?"
"Not sure the malice even knows, yet. It"s a sort of instinct with malices. It"ll figure it out fast enough, though. I"m running out of time." He was growing dizzy with fatigue. Was he also growing stupid with fatigue?
He continued, "I"d give almost anything for two hours of sleep right now, except two hours of light. I need to get back to the trail while I still have daylight to see it. I think..." His voice slowed. "I think this place is as safe as any and safer than most. They"ve hit it once, it"s already stripped of everything valuable-they won"t be back too soon. I"m thinking maybe I could leave you here anyway. If anyone comes, you can tell them-no. First, if anyone comes, hide, till you are sure they"re all-right folks. Then come out and tell them Dag has a message for his patrol, he thinks the malice is holed up northeast of town, not south. If patrollers come, do you think you could show them to where the tracks led off? And that boy"s-bandit"s-body," he added in afterthought.
She squinted at the wooded hills. "I"m not sure I could find my way back to it, the route you took."
"There"s an easier way. This lane"-he waved at the track they"d ridden up-"goes back to the straight road in about four miles. Turn left, and I think the path your mud-man took east from it is about three miles on."
"Oh," she said more eagerly, "I could find that, sure."
"Good, then."
She had no fear, blast and blight it. He could change that... So did he want her to be terrified out of her mind, frozen witless? She was already sliding down off the horse, looking pleased to have a task within her capacity.
"What"s so dangerous about the mud-men?" she asked, as he gathered his reins and prepared to mount once more.
He hesitated a long moment. "They"ll eat you," he said at last. After everything else is all After everything else is all over, that is over, that is.
"Oh."
Subdued and impressed. And, more important, believing him. Well, it hadn"t been a lie.
Maybe it would make her just cautious enough. He found his stirrup and pushed up, trying not to dwell on the contrast between this hard saddle and a feather bed. There had been one unslashed feather mattress left inside the farmhouse. He"d noticed it particularly, while shoving aside a little fantasy about falling into it face-first. He swung his horse around.
"Dag... ?"
He turned at once to look over his shoulder. Big brown eyes stared up at him from a face like a bruised flower.
"Don"t let them eat you, either."
Involuntarily, his lips turned up; she smiled brightly back through her darkening contusions.
It gave him an odd feeling in his stomach, which he prudently did not attempt to name.
Heartened despite all, he raised his carved hand in salute and cantered back down the lane.
Feeling bereft, Fawn watched the patroller vanish into the tunnel of trees at the edge of the fields. The silence of this homestead, stripped of animals and people, was eerie and oppressive, once she noticed it. She squinted upward. The sun had not even topped the arch of the sky for noon. It seemed years since dawn.
She sighed and ventured into the house. She walked all around it, footsteps echoing, feeling as though she intruded on some stranger"s grief. The senseless mess the raiders had left in their wake seemed overwhelming, taken in all at once. She came back to the kitchen and stood there shivering a little. Well, if the house was too much, what about one room? I could I could fix one room, yes fix one room, yes.
She braced herself and started by turning back upright anything that would still stand, shelf and table and a couple of chairs. What was broken beyond mending she hauled outside, starting a pile at one end of the porch. Then she swept the floor clear of broken plates and gla.s.s and spilled flour and drying food. She swept the porch too, while she was at it.
Beneath a worn old rag rug, ignored by the invaders, she found a trapdoor with a rope handle.
She shook the rug over the porch rail, returned, and stared worriedly at the trap. I don"t think I don"t think Dag saw this Dag saw this.
She bit her lip, then took a bucket with a broken handle outside and collected a few live coals from the still-smoldering whatever-it-had-been, and started a little fire in the kitchen hearth.
From it, she lit a candle stub found in the back of a drawer. She pulled up the trapdoor by its rope, wincing at the groaning of its hinges, swallowed, and stared at the ladder into the dark hole. Could there be anyone still hiding down there? Big spiders?... Bodies? She took a deep breath and descended.
When she turned and held up the candle, her lips parted in astonishment. The cellar was lined with shelves, and on them, untouched, were row upon row of gla.s.s jars, many sealed with hot rock wax and covered with cloth bound with twine. Food storage for a farm full of hungry people. A year of labor lined up-Fawn knew exactly how much work, too, as preserving boiled foodstuffs under wax seals had been one of her most satisfying tasks back home. None of the jars were labeled, but her eye had no trouble picking out and identifying the contents.
Fruit preserves. Vinegar pickles. Corn relish. Stew meat. A barrel in the corner proved to hold several sacks of flour. Another held last year"s apples packed in straw, terribly wrinkly and by now only suitable for cooking, but not rotted. She was stirred to enthusiasm, and action.
Most of the jars were big, meant for a crowd, but she found three smaller ones, of dark purple fruit, corn relish, and what she trusted was stew meat, and hauled them up into the light. A kerchief full of flour, as well. A single iron pan, which she found kicked into a corner under a fallen shelf, was all that was left of the tools of this this workplace, but with a little ingenuity she soon had flatbread cooking in it over her fire. The jar of meat proved to be, probably, pork cooked to flinders with onions and herbs, which she heated up after she"d freed the pan of her bread circles. workplace, but with a little ingenuity she soon had flatbread cooking in it over her fire. The jar of meat proved to be, probably, pork cooked to flinders with onions and herbs, which she heated up after she"d freed the pan of her bread circles.
She caught up on days of scant rations, then, replete, set aside portions made up for Dag when he returned. Clearly, judging from his lady patrol leader and his general build, he was the sort of fellow you had to capture, hog-tie, and make remember to eat. Was he just a goer, or did he live too much inside his own head to notice his body"s needs? And what all else was that head furnished with? He seemed driven. Considering the almost casual physical courage he"d displayed so far, it was unsettling to consider what he might fear that pushed him along so unceasingly. Well, if I were as tall as a tree, maybe I"d be brave too Well, if I were as tall as a tree, maybe I"d be brave too. A skinny tree. Upon consideration, she wrapped the meat and the preserves in rolls of flatbread so that he might eat while riding, because when he came back, it was likely he"d be in a hurry still.
If he came back. He hadn"t actually said. The thought made a disappointed cold spot in her belly. Now you"re being stupid. Stop it Now you"re being stupid. Stop it. The cure for bad sad thoughts was busyness, right enough, but she was getting dreadfully tired.
In one of the other rooms she found an abandoned sewing basket, also overlooked by the raiders, probably because the mending that topped it looked like rags. They"d entirely missed the valuable tools inside, sharp scissors and good thimbles and a collection of fine iron needles. Were the blight bogle"s-malice"s-mud-men all men then? Did it make any mud-women? It seemed not.
She decided she would sew up some of the slashed feather ticks in payment for the food, so it wouldn"t feel so stolen. Sewing was not her best skill, but straight seams would be simple enough, and it would put an end to the messy, desolate feather wrack drifting about the place.
She hauled the ticks out onto the porch, for the light, and so she could watch down the lane for a tall-for whoever. Needle and thread and fine repet.i.tive work made a soothing rhythm under her hands. In the quiet, her mind circled back to this morning"s terror. Dwelling on it started to make her feel sick and shaky again. As an alternative, she wrenched her thoughts to Lakewalkers.
Farmer to a Lakewalker didn"t mean someone who grew crops; it meant anyone who wasn"t a Lakewalker. Townsmen, rivermen, miners, millers-bandits-evidently they were all farmers in Dag"s eyes. She wondered at the implications. She"d heard a story about a girl from over to Coshoton who had been seduced by a pa.s.sing Lakewalker, a trading man, it was said. She had run away north three times to Lakewalker country after him, and been brought back by his people, then hanged herself in the woods. A cautionary tale, that. Fawn wondered what lesson you were supposed to draw from it. Well, to a Lakewalker didn"t mean someone who grew crops; it meant anyone who wasn"t a Lakewalker. Townsmen, rivermen, miners, millers-bandits-evidently they were all farmers in Dag"s eyes. She wondered at the implications. She"d heard a story about a girl from over to Coshoton who had been seduced by a pa.s.sing Lakewalker, a trading man, it was said. She had run away north three times to Lakewalker country after him, and been brought back by his people, then hanged herself in the woods. A cautionary tale, that. Fawn wondered what lesson you were supposed to draw from it. Well, Girls should stay away from Girls should stay away from Lakewalkers Lakewalkers was the one obviously intended, but maybe the real one was, was the one obviously intended, but maybe the real one was, If something If something doesn"t work once, don"t just repeat it twice more, try something else doesn"t work once, don"t just repeat it twice more, try something else, or Don"t give up so Don"t give up so soon soon. Or Stay out of the woods Stay out of the woods.
The nameless girl had died for thwarted love, it was whispered, but Fawn wondered if it hadn"t been for thwarted rage, instead. She had, she admitted to herself, had some such thoughts after that awful talk with Stupid Sunny, but it wasn"t that she"d wanted to die die, it was that she"d wanted to make him feel as bad as he"d made her feel. And it had been rather flattening to reflect that she"d not be alive to properly enjoy her revenge, and even more flattening to suspect he"d get over any guilt pretty quick. Long before she"d get over being dead, in any case. And she"d done nothing that night after all, and by the next day, she"d had other ideas. So maybe the real lesson was, Wait till morning, after breakfast Wait till morning, after breakfast.
She wondered if the hanged girl had been pregnant too. Then she wondered anew how the tall man had known known, seemingly just by looking at her with those eyes, their shimmering gold by sudden turns cold as metal or warm as summer. Sorcerers, huh Sorcerers, huh. Dag didn"t look like a sorcerer. (And what did sorcerers look like anyhow?) He looked like a very tired hunter who had been too long away from home. Hunting things that hunted him back.
A girl baby. Maybe he was just guessing. Fifty percent odds weren"t half-bad, for appearing right, later. Still, it was an encouraging thought. Girls she knew. A little boy, however innocent, might have reminded her too much of Sunny. She hadn"t meant to be a mother so soon in her life at all, but if she was going to be stuck with it, she would very well try to be a good one. She rubbed absently at her belly. I will not betray you I will not betray you. A bold promise. How was she to keep a child safe when she couldn"t even save herself? Also, from now on, I will be Also, from now on, I will be more careful more careful. Anyone could make a mistake. The trick was not to make the same one twice.
She eventually ran out of ripped fabric, patience to brood, and the will to stay awake. Her bruised face was throbbing. She hauled the repaired ticks back inside and piled them four deep in a corner of the kitchen, because the next room was still a disheartening mess and she hadn"t the energy left to tackle it. She fell gratefully onto the pile. She had barely time to register the musty scent of them, and reflect that they were overdue for an airing anyhow, when her leaden eyes closed.
Fawn woke to the sound of steps on the wooden porch. Dag back already? It was still light.
How long had she slept? Blearily, she pushed up, eager to show him the overlooked treasures in the cellar and to hear what he"d found. Only then did it register that there were too many many heavy steps out there. heavy steps out there.
She should have been overlooked in the cellar- should have been overlooked in the cellar- I could have thrown a couple of those I could have thrown a couple of those mattresses down there mattresses down there-She had just time to think What good is it to not to make the same What good is it to not to make the same mistakes twice when your new ones"ll kill you all the same mistakes twice when your new ones"ll kill you all the same? before the three mud-men burst open the door.
Chapter 4.
When the faint path he was following up into the hills turned into something more resembling a beaten trail, Dag decided it was time to get off it. Groundsense or common sense or sheer nerves, he could not tell, but he dismounted and led his horse aside into the woods to a small glade well out of sight and hearing of the track. He hardly needed to lay on suggestions of not-wandering-away; even Copperhead, with his rawhide endurance and his temper, was so tired as to be stumbling. But then, so was Dag. Feeling guilty, he tied the reins up out of the way of front hooves, but left the saddle on. He hated to leave his mount so ill tended, but if he came back in a tearing hurry, there might be no time to fool with gear. Or to hesitate to ride the beast to death, if needs drove hard enough. Tomorrow, or the day after, we shall all take a Tomorrow, or the day after, we shall all take a better rest. One way or another better rest. One way or another.
He did not return to the trail itself but shadowed the track a dozen paces off in the undergrowth. It was slow work, ghosting like a deer, each footfall carefully laid, constantly alert. Not a mile farther on he was glad of his prudence, freezing in a tangle of deadfall and wild grapevines as two figures came thumping openly along the path.
Mud-men. A fox and a rabbit, at a guess, and he hardly needed his inner senses to tell; they were crude, perhaps early efforts, and marks of their animal origin still showed on their hides, their ears, their misshapen faces and noses. It was highly tempting to try to do something with that combination, awaken them to their true selves and let nature take its course, but the attempt would cost him his cover, perhaps open him to their master beyond. This was no time for games. Regretfully, he let them pa.s.s by, grateful that their clumsy new forms included human limitations on their sense of smell in trade for human advantages of hands and speech.
He first knew he was drawing close to the lair by the absence of birds. This is a day for This is a day for absences absences. He drew his groundsense in even more tightly as the first yellowing, dying weeds began to rustle underfoot. I wasn"t expecting this till miles farther in. I wasn"t expecting this till miles farther in. The lair was much closer to the straight road than he"d thought it could possibly be. It was shockingly clever, in a malice so-supposedly-young, for it to send its first human gulls to take prey so far from its initial bastion. The lair was much closer to the straight road than he"d thought it could possibly be. It was shockingly clever, in a malice so-supposedly-young, for it to send its first human gulls to take prey so far from its initial bastion. How did we overlook this How did we overlook this?
He knew how. We are too few, with too much ground to cover and never time enough We are too few, with too much ground to cover and never time enough. Widen the teeth of the sweeps, speed the search, and risk clues slipping past un.o.bserved. Go slow and close, and risk not getting to all the critical places in time. Well, we found this one. This is Well, we found this one. This is a success, not a failure a success, not a failure.
Maybe.
By the time he reached a vantage he was crawling like a snail, nearly on his belly, scarcely daring to breathe. Every herb and weed around him was dead and brittle, the soil beneath his knees was achingly sterile, and his tightly furled groundsense shivered in the dry shock of the malice"s draining aura. Indeed, it"s here Indeed, it"s here.
At the bottom of a rocky ravine, a creek wound from his right, ran straight below him, and curled away on his left. Not one living plant graced the cleft for as far as he could see in either direction, although the dead bones of a few trees still stood up like sentinels. A camp, of sorts, lay along the creek side: three or four black campfire pits, currently cold, piles of stolen supplies scattered haphazardly about. On the far side of the creek, a couple of uneasy horses stood tied to dead trees. Real, natural horses, as far as Dag could tell. Ill kept, of course.
The s.p.a.ce below might accommodate twenty-five or fifty men, but it was nearly deserted at the moment. Exactly one mud-man was asleep on a pile of rags like a nest. Dag wondered if any of the absent company might be men his patrol had captured last night. Which implied that the patrol might well arrive on its own at any time, pleasant thought. He did not allow himself to dwell on the hope.
Partway up the other side of the ravine a shelf of overhanging rock created a cave, perhaps sixty feet long and shielded in front by a smooth gray outcrop of stone pushing up almost to meet the overhang. No telling from here how far back in it went. Paths ran out either end, down to the creek and up over the rise behind.
The malice was inside, at the moment. So was it mobile yet, or still sessile? And if mobile, had it undergone its first molt? And if it hadn"t, how frantic would it be to gather the necessary human materials to achieve that? A malice"s initial hatching body was even clumsier and cruder than a mud-man"s, which generally seemed to irritate it.
Dag opened his shirt and felt for his sharing knives. He pulled the strap over his head and stared a moment at the twin sheaths. The st.i.tched leather was slick with wear and dark with old sweat. He ran one finger over the thread-wound hilts, one blue, one green, drew and contemplated six inches of polished bone blade. Touched it to his lips. It hummed with old mortality.
Is this the day your death is redeemed, Kauneo my love? I have borne it around my neck for so long. As you willed, so I do so long. As you willed, so I do. This was a vicious malice, big and getting bigger fast. It would nearly be worthy of her, Dag thought. Nearly.
He drew the second, empty bone blade and laid the two back to back. They come in pairs, oh They come in pairs, oh yes. One for you and one for me yes. One for you and one for me. He slipped them away again.
Mari too bore sharing knives, and so did Utau and Chato, gifts of mortality from patrollers before them. Mari"s current set was a legacy from one of her sons, he knew, and as dear to her as these to Dag. The patrol was well supplied. Who used theirs on a malice was not normally a matter of drawing straws, or heroics, or honor. Whoever first could, did. Any way they could. As efficiently as possible. It wasn"t as though there wouldn"t be another chance later.
Dag"s ground was quivering at the drain from the malice"s presence, an effect that would bleed over into his body if he lingered here much longer. Sensitive young patrollers were often so disturbed by their first encounter with a malice"s aura, it took them weeks to recover.
Dag had been one such. Once.
Now: go. Back to the horse, and gallop like a madman to the rendezvous point.
Yet... there were so few creatures in the camp. The opportunity beckoned for a, so to speak, single-handed attempt. Down the ravine side, fly across the creek, up into that cave... it could all be over in minutes. In the time it took to bring the patrol up, the malice too might draw in its reinforcements (and where were they now, doing what mischief?), turning the attack into a potentially costly fight just to regain a proximity he had right now. Dag thought of Saun. Had he lived the night?
But with his groundsense thwarted, Dag couldn"t see how many men or mud-men might be hidden in the cave with the malice. If he went charging in there only to present his head to the enemy, the difficulties his patrol must then face would grow vastly worse. Also, I would be Also, I would be dead dead. In a way, he was glad that last prospect still had the power to disturb him. At least some.
He lowered his face, fought for control of his hastened breathing, and prepared to withdraw.
His lips twisted. Mari will be so proud of me Mari will be so proud of me.
He started to push back from the edge of the ravine, but then froze again. Down a path on the other side, three mud-men appeared. Was that first one a-where had this malice found a wolf wolf in these parts? Dag had thought the farmers had reduced wolf numbers in this region, but then, this range of rugged unplowable hills was a reservoir for all sorts of things. in these parts? Dag had thought the farmers had reduced wolf numbers in this region, but then, this range of rugged unplowable hills was a reservoir for all sorts of things. As we see As we see.
His eyes widened as he recognized the second in line, the escaped racc.o.o.n-man from this morning. The third, huger still, must once have been a black bear. A flash of familiar dull blue fabric over the giant bear-man"s shoulder stopped his breath.
Little Spark. They found Little Spark. How... ?
A more or less straight line over the hills to the valley farm from here was the short leg of a triangle, he realized. He had run two long legs, to get from the farm back to where he"d first lost the racc.o.o.n-man"s traces, then work his way here.
They found her because they went looking, I bet. It accounted for the rest of this malice"s absent company; like the two he"d pa.s.sed on the trail, they had doubtless all been dispatched to comb the hills for the escaped prize. And the malice and its mud-men already knew about the valley farm if they"d recently raided it. Must have known for a long time; his respect for this one"s wits notched up yet again, for it to leave such a nearby tempting target alone, unmolested and unalarmed, for so long. How much strength had it gained, to dare to move openly now? Or had the arrival of Chato"s patrol stampeded it?
The blue-clad figure, hanging head down, twitched and struggled. Beat the back of her captor with hard little fists, to no visible effect, except that the bear-man shrugged her hips higher over his shoulder and took a firmer grip on her thighs.
She was alive. Conscious. Undoubtedly terrified.
Not terrified enough. But Dag could make it up for her. His mouth opened, to silence his own speeding breathing, and his heart hammered. Now the malice had just what it needed for its next molt. Dag had only to deliver to it a Lakewalker patroller-and one so so experienced, too-for its dessert, and its powers would be complete. experienced, too-for its dessert, and its powers would be complete.
He wasn"t sure if he was shivering with indecision or just fear. Fear, he decided. Yes, he could run back to the patrol and bring them on in force, by the tested rules, be sure. Because the Lakewalkers had to win, every time. But Fawn might be dead by the time they got back.
Or in minutes. The three mud-men vanished behind the occluding rock wall. So, at least three in there. Of there could be ten.
To get in and out of that cave... No. He only had to get in.
He didn"t know why his brain was still madly trying to calculate risks, because his hand was already moving. Dropping bow and quiver and excess gear. Positioning his sharing-knife sheaths. Swapping out the spring-hook on his wooden wrist cap for the steel knife. Testing the draw of his war knife.
He rose and dropped down over the side of the ravine, sliding from rock to rill as silently as a serpent.
It had all happened so fast...
Fawn hung head down, dizzy and nauseated. She wondered if the blow she"d taken on the other side of her face would bruise to match the first. The mud-man"s broad shoulder seemed to punch her stomach as it jogged along endlessly, without stopping even when she"d been violently sick down its back. Twice.
When Dag came back to the valley farm- if if Dag came back to the valley farm-would he be able to read the events from the mess her fight had left in the kitchen? He was a tracker, surely he"d have to notice the footprints in plum jam she had forced her captors to smear across the floor as they"d lunged after her. But it seemed far too much to expect the man to rescue her twice in one day, downright embarra.s.sing, even. Imagining the indignity, she tried one more time to break from the huge mud-man"s clutch, beating its back with her fists. She might have been pounding sand for all the difference it made. Dag came back to the valley farm-would he be able to read the events from the mess her fight had left in the kitchen? He was a tracker, surely he"d have to notice the footprints in plum jam she had forced her captors to smear across the floor as they"d lunged after her. But it seemed far too much to expect the man to rescue her twice in one day, downright embarra.s.sing, even. Imagining the indignity, she tried one more time to break from the huge mud-man"s clutch, beating its back with her fists. She might have been pounding sand for all the difference it made.
She should save her strength for a better chance.
What strength? What chance?
The hot, level sunlight of the summer evening gave way abruptly to gray shadow and the cool smell of dirt and rock. As her captor swung her down and upright, she had a giddy impression of a cave or hollow half-filled with piles of trash. Or war supplies, it was hard to tell. She fought back the black shadows that swarmed over her vision and stood upright, blinking.