Sometime on that first morning, he lost his pack. Rap was annoyed. He said he’d been watching, and it had still happened, and how the Evil could a grown man lose a backpack without even remembering taking it off? Jalon apologized and promised to pay better attention in future. Yes, he did know how important this mission was. But why did they need packs at all? The climate was much like a warm bed all the time, and the hedgerows alone were laden with enough berries to feed them, even without having to raid the orchards.
Rap didn’t believe that, so Jalon marched over to the nearest hedge and began filling his hat with berries—some people just couldn’t see what was in front of their eyes! He would have collected a dinner in minutes, except he got distracted by a spider spinning a web. He wanted to see how she would finish it, but Rap came and said it was time to move on.
That night they bedded down in a copse by a stream. Jalon insisted on choosing the spot, because he wanted a good view of the sky tree. It seemed bigger now, towering over the hills. It reflected in the foreground pool, glowing begonia pink against the cobalt and manganese twilight, and sometimes fish set it rippling in circles. It was so beautiful it hurt. Perhaps an underpainting of madder scarlet, overlain with glazes of burnt umber and ultramarine . . .
“Just like old times, isn’t it?” Rap said wistfully. “Like you and me and Gathmor marching across Dragon Reach.”
Yes, Jalon agreed, just like old times. They talked about that for a while. It didn’t seem all that long ago to him, but Rap had certainly been much younger then, so perhaps it was. Gathmor had been a likable guy for a sailor; short-tempered, of course. Fortunately Rap was more understanding—Jalon was almost certain he had started out the morning with a sword, and now he didn’t have one, and he felt guilty about that. Not that he was any use with a sword, but he might have to call Darad. He wondered if Rap had noticed its disappearance yet.
“I suppose it would be safe to have a dip in that pool?” Rap said suddenly.
“Why not? I expect at least a dozen girls will appear as soon as we get our clothes off.”
“Will they? We haven’t seen many so far.”
“Then why did you keep pulling me into hedges?”
Rap hauled off his shirt. ‘Three times. Only three times all day have we seen people. No livestock, nobody in the fields! The farms all seem deserted.” He pushed off his boots, and then stayed sitting, frowning. “Where is everybody?”
“Fled, I expect.”
The faun scratched his head. “Or taken refuge in the sky tree?”
“No. We’d see lights up there if it was inhabited.”
“Barnacles! Why didn’t I think of that?” Rap stared at the great bulk of Valdorian, slate blue now against the emerging stars. The play of starlight on it was unforgettable, but not a lantern nor a torch flame showed.
“Because you’re not an artist,” Jalon said, feeling rather pleased at having been useful for once. “And you can’t swim worth a spit.”
“Oh, yes? Think you’re better? Want to prove it?”
It was too bad there were no elves around. They might have been difficult with strangers, of course, but Jalon wanted very much to talk with real Ilrane elves. Later, when he and Rap had enjoyed their swim, had eaten, and were lying on heaps of ferns, bone weary from their long trek but not quite ready to sleep, they fell to talking about elves. And Jalon found himself telling a little of himself, and what it was like to be a mixture of such impossible opposites as elf and jotunn.
Apparently he had already told Rap once, long ago, that he had elf blood in him, although he did not recall doing so. Normally he never mentioned it. Apart from his size, he was so completely jotunn on the outside that no one would ever guess. Only the inside of his head was elvish.
“You must have had a difficult childhood,” Rap said sleepily from the darkness.
Jalon stared up at the star dust above the branches and said yes, he’d had some troubles then. “As long as I stayed away from jotnar, it wasn’t too bad, though. Imp boys didn’t mess with me, on account of my looks.”
“But elf boys would have nothing to do with you?”
“There weren’t any elf boys in our part of town.” He did not mention his mother, because he could remember so little of her. Whether she’d been raped by a jotunn or had acquiesced in his conception, he had never known. The fact that she had lived apart from the elf community in Malfin suggested that she’d been driven out. Certainly an elf woman who had gone into domestic service must have been in sore straits. He liked to assume that she’d died of a broken heart. “I lived with Darad’s family. He was a younger brother to me, although he was always bigger. He used to defend me from the others—mostly so he could beat me up himself.”
“Sounds like friend Darad,” Rap murmured. “Did he have more wits in those days, before they got banged out of him?”
“Not that I recall. And I used to stay close to Thinal as much as I could.”
“Thinal? The Thinal I know?”
“Yes. He was older than the rest of us. He took good care of us, too. We worshipped Thinal!”
Rap snorted but said nothing. It was certainly curious that the boyhood hero had turned out so despicable. Yet Thinal had always had his own standards. Inos’s father had liked him, but that had been long before Rap was born.
“I suppose being a faun in Krasnegar wasn’t exactly cream buns either?”
“Oh, I was jotunn enough to get by. Besides, no one sneers at mongrels there because most people are, especially the royal family.”
“The present king, you mean, and Inos? What are your kids like?”
Rap sighed.
“Sorry!” Jalon said. “Shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s all right. I think of them every day, so why not talk about them? No fauns, thank the Gods. The twins are the oldest, Gath and Kadie. Kadie’s pure imp, except she has Inos’ green eyes. She’s a little minx! No need to worry about Kadie. Gath and Eva are jotunn in looks. Holi’s turning out a sort of blond imp—or he was when I last saw him. He may get picked on when he’s older, I suppose.”
Jalon prepared to change the subject, but Rap went on, speaking softly to the night breeze.
“Gath bothers me a little. He’s a jotunn on the outside, like you, although he’s going to be tall. Inside . . . I don’t know! I can’t figure Gath out at all. He’s placid and unassertive and sort of dreamy. Not stubborn like a faun or aggressive like a jotunn. Not greedy and meddlesome like an imp.”
“My sort of guy.”
“Almost. But he shows no artistic vices, so I can’t accuse Inos of having an affair with an elf.”
“Will he be king after you?”
“If we win this war . . . Well, who knows?” Rap sighed again. ”For all I know, Zinixo has leveled Krasnegar to the wave tops.”
Jalon stumbled over hasty words of comfort. “You’d have felt that happen, wouldn’t you? Grunth would, at least, or Tik Tok! Someone on Dreadnought would have told you if anything like that had happened.”
“Probably. I just hope Inos had the sense to go into hiding with the kids. I told her she should.”
“Where could anyone hide near Krasnegar?” Jalon demanded, thinking of the bleak tundra. .
There was a long pause, then the king said, “She could have gone south. There’s a way. Trouble is, the goblins were down in Pithmot, right? How did they get there?” His bedding rustled as he rolled over. “Well, Lith’rian will know. Think I’ll catch me some shut-eye.”
Guided by Grunth, who had once been there, the meld of sorcerers on Dreadnought had set the intruders down about two days’ ride from Valdorian—or so they had thought. They had not anticipated that there would be no horses to be found. So Rap and Jalon were forced to walk, and a long trek it was. In the root hills the land was heaved into a maze of ridges and steep-walled canyons. Elvish roads never led directly anywhere, but always took the most scenic route possible.
Jalon lost count of the days, because he was enjoying himself so much. He rarely worried about time, anyway. Rap was fine company—humorous, soft-spoken, even-tempered. Despite his apparent clumsiness and his homely looks, the big fellow was as good for a chat as he was in a brawl. He was impatient to achieve his purpose, yet he never let his frustration show, except for an occasional obscure mutter about Longday.