For a moment Gath’s teeth stopped chattering and he sighed softly at Inos’s back. Things were going to be all right—for the next hour, or even two.
3
A thousand leagues to the south, the moon had set over the foothills of the great Mosweeps Range. Dawn was already turning the sky to pearl, but the light was poor for riding. The trail up the Frelket Valley wound through pine woods, staying close to the chattering river. It was reasonably flat but rarely used and badly overgrown. The horses stumbled on rocks, flinching at the touch of saplings and thorn bushes.
Somewhere behind was the Covin, the greatest concentration of sorcerers Pandemia had ever known. Somewhere ahead were the mountains. Most of the time their impossible barrier was mercifully concealed by the trees, but now and again Rap would glimpse the spectral glitter of starlight on rock and ice, a wall that seemed to obscure half the sky.
He could sense the shivering fear of his mount, and hated the need to force it. If he was thrown and broke his neck it would serve him right, he thought. He dared not use power to soothe the horses or spy out the way, for it would reveal his location to the Covin. Fortunately Thrugg had a troll’s ability to see in the dark, and every now and again he would calm the animals. It was a necessary risk if the fugitives were to make any speed, and his occult strength was so great that even at such close quarters Rap would catch barely a glimpse of him in the ambience.
The troll was running along ahead at Norp’s side, giving the impression that he could keep up the pace indefinitely. Young Norp was doing amazingly well. Almost certainly she had never been on a horse in her life. Horses disliked trolls—their musky scent, most likely, or just their grotesquely ugly faces. Perhaps they feared such hulking people might try to ride them. No horse ever foaled could have carried Thrugg’s weight for very long, or even Urg’s, who was running at her husband’s back.
Andor brought up the rear, cursing continuously under his breath. Andor was a fine horseman but no hero. His mount was scenting his terror and giving more trouble than either Rap’s or Norp’s.
Slowly the eastern sky blushed pink. The trail became more visible.
Then it dipped to a shadowy ford where a frothing tributary clattered over pebbles on its way to join the Frelket. Thrugg halted in the middle, calf-deep in the icy water. The others pulled up also, and the horses dipped their heads to drink. They were too hot for much of that, of course, but to use sorcery to dissuade them would be utter folly and the only alternative was to overrule the troll, who must have some reason for stopping there.
He was a massive bulk in his all-enveloping sackcloth, panting hard like a dog, long tongue hanging out over huge teeth, but for a moment his image showed in the ambience, a solid mass of muscle, grinning ferociously.
“Turn off here, sir.”
“I thought the trail went a lot farther,” Rap said aloud. “It does. We don’t. There’s a shortcut.”
A troll shortcut through the Mosweeps was a concept to chill the blood, but it would be better than falling into the hands of the Covin. Furthermore, sorcery was not the only danger. There would certainly be mundane pursuit by morning. Dogs would lose the scent in the water, and hopefully the legionaries would follow the horses’ tracks, at least for a while. Abandoning the road made good sense, therefore.
“I’ll send the ponies on, ” Thrugg added. All three horses stood at least sixteen hands high, but they did look like ponies beside him. He lifted Norp easily to the ground. Rap did not think he could have done that, child though she was.
But if the three barefoot trolls could stand in the stream, then he could. He slid out of the saddle. Icy water surged over his knees and filled his boots with a rush of agony. He shuddered.
“Now will you take this Evil-begotten sorcery off me?” Andor shouted, making no effort to dismount. He had been demanding that release even before the fugitives left Casfrel. He wanted to disappear out of this hardship and danger. For the first time in more than a century he could not call one of his sequential companions to take his place, for he could not invoke the ancient spell while cloaked in Ainopple’s shielding.
“I can’t risk it,” Rap said.
“If you’re leaving the horses, you don’t need me! Darad’ll do better on foot than I will.”
Andor did not add that Darad also had a lot more courage. To be exact, Rap thought, Darad was just too stupid and too much a jotunn to be afraid of anything.
“I know that, but if I free you I’ll rattle the ambience. I’m not even sure I can.”
“Thrugg then?”
“He’s better, but it’s still a risk.”
“He freed you!”
“But that was hours ago. The Covin must have arrived by now. They must be looking for us.”
It was very strange that Zinixo’s minions had not arrived already. Perhaps they were secretly watching and laughing and biding their time, but there had been no sign of sorcery back at Casfrel since the fugitives departed. Ainopple must be still asleep, unaware that her prisoners had escaped and unaware of the other danger, which threatened her just as much as it did them.
Thrugg waded over to Andor’s horse and grinned up at him. As a threat that grin would make a notable nightmare, yet it was completely misleading. Despite his monstrous jaws and bovine muscle, the big man was as gentle as a rabbit.
“You . . . want us . . . to leave you, sir?” If a horse could speak, it might produce something like that slurred trollish mumble.
Andor flinched. “No.” He slid from the saddle and stumbled on the pebbles. Thrugg’s huge paw shot out and steadied him.
Rap had eased his horse’s girths and tied the reins back out of harm’s way. Shivering as his legs froze, he splashed over to Norp’s mount and did the same for it.
The ambience flickered. He swung around instinctively to stare back down the valley, but of course mundane senses could detect nothing.
Thrugg chortled like a feeding lion.
“What’s happening?” Andor demanded shrilly.
“There’s a fight going on,” Rap said. He could not make out the details. “Thrugg?”
“The mistress was awake. She’s giving them something to think about! Oo! See that?”
“Some.” Rap turned to Andor. “The Covin’s trying to subdue Ainopple. She’s playing for keeps.”
Andor wailed. “But she’ll lose?”
“Certain to, in the end. But it’s a standoff at the moment. Like men with ropes trying to capture a man with a sword . . .” He shifted as the din increased. “She’s a real fireball, though, no matter what she looks like.”
“Then they’ll turn her, of course? She’ll lead them to us?”
“It’s possible,” Rap said. Indeed, it was highly probable that the Covin would transfer the sorceress’ loyalty from Olybino to Zinixo, for then she would cooperate. “Maybe not right away, though. They may just subdue her and take her back to their master.” She was very old, so the usurper might choose to force her words of power out of her for someone else’s benefit, and then kill her. Rap was more worried that the Covin already knew about the other sorcerers in the area, Thrugg and himself. There was a very slim chance Zinixo’s press gang would be satisfied with Ainopple, if their watchers had not been close to Casfrel.
“Shall I release your friend, sir? ” Thrugg asked. “Should be safe right now, with all that going on. ” ”Good idea,” Rap said.
With a faint occult pop, Andor’s shielding vanished. He said, “Ah!” and disappeared in another faint flicker of sorcery. His clothes rent noisily as Darad’s mighty form materialized within them. The jotunn roared in disgust at the icy bath around his legs. The horses shied and the two female trolls cried out in alarm.
“Rap!” Even for a jotunn, Darad was big—a scarred, tattooed, flaxen-haired giant. Although Rap had replaced his front teeth once, at some point in the last twenty years he had lost them again. Now he grinned like a hungry wolf and lurched forward through the water, hairy hide exposed under his rags, huge arms outstretched to embrace his old friend. Nobody could ever make Thrugg seem goodlooking, but Darad came about as close as possible.
“You old villain!” Rap gasped as he was lifted bodily in that crushing bear hug. Heavy with water, his left boot fell off, and the other tried to.
“Old times!” Darad chortled. “You got trouble so you send for me, right? Bash some heads, right?”
“Put me down! Thank you! Now, meet Master Thrugg, and Mistress Urg, and . . . ”