Pilgrim by Sara Douglas

was.

But the most important factor, Drago, would still be here, because Drago had allied

himself with Gorgrael and would have survived the Destroyer‘s push into Tencendor.

―What did I accomplish by serving out the Prophecy‘s wishes,‖ Faraday whispered into

the empty shaft of sunlight. ―Not much at all, really, save for the abandonment of my son. No

wonder he curses me.‖

She stood for a while longer, the tears coursing freely down her face, and then she walked

back the way she had come.

Drago was waiting for her, two packs leaning against his legs.

―Did you say goodbye?‖ he asked.

Faraday bent down and picked up one of the packs, slipping her arms through the straps

and settling it on her back.

―I said goodbye to him forty years ago,‖ she said, ―and that was the only goodbye he

cares to remember.‖

Drago studied her face, almost reaching out to her, then he thought better of it and

shouldered his own pack. He picked up his staff, made sure his sack was securely attached to his

belt, and whistled for the lizard.

It scrambled out of Askam‘s sleeping roll where it had chewed several large holes for the

sake of self-amusement, and ran towards them.

―North,‖ Drago said.

18

Shade

After Drago and Faraday had left, Zared went in search of Isfrael. The Mage-King had

melded with the shadows when the meeting had broken up, but now Zared needed to know how the man could possibly help him acquire enough shade to move an army westwards.

―Shade!‖ Zared muttered, striding down one of the forest paths. ― Shade! What next?

Must I carry my own river with me in case we meet up with a band of renegade Skraelings?‖

His mouth quirked at the thought. One of Axis‘ main foes during his battle with Gorgrael

had been the Destroyer‘s army of Skraeling wraiths. They had been fearless of everything but

water, and Zared was sure that Axis had managed to clog most of the rivers of Tencendor with

the Skraelings‘ misty bodies at some point or the other.

―Zared.‖

Zared turned. Herme was jogging down the path after him.

―Gods,‖ the older man panted. ―I am glad finally to have caught up with you. Where are

you going? I need something to occupy me. This inaction is killing me.‖

―Something to occupy you, Earl Herme?‖

Zared whipped about. Isfrael—in his irritating, fey way—had appeared on the path before

him. Behind him were six or seven Avar women.

―You need shade, Zared?‖ Isfrael waved at the women behind him. ―I bring it.‖

Numerous possibilities and images jumbled through Zared‘s mind at the thought of just

how these women might provide shade…and none of them were repeatable.

―Ah…‖ he said.

Isfrael grinned, stunning Zared even more. He‘d never previously seen the Mage-King

grin, but even now, there was something slightly malevolent about the expression.

―We need some twenty to thirty of your men,‖ one of the women said, and Zared‘s mind

was now so choked with unspeakable thoughts he could only stare at her. She was young and

comely, with a clear creamy complexion and dark, wavy hair cascading down her back. She was

dressed in a smoky-pink hip-length tunic with a pattern of clam shells embroidered about its

hem, and brown leggings and boots.

―Layon,‖ Isfrael said, ―of the ClamBeach Clan.‖

Layon? Zared opened his mouth to say something, anything, and then was startled by

Leagh‘s voice speaking behind him.

―ClamBeach Clan?‖ she said, and walked to stand close by Zared‘s side. ―Do you live

along the Widowmaker coast?‖

Facing both Zared and Leagh, Layon inclined the upper half of her body and placed the

heels of her hands on her forehead. ―Yes, Queen Leagh.‖

―Then you have travelled far to help us,‖ Leagh said, and smiled, stepping forward to

take Layon‘s hands. ―Will you introduce me to your companions?‖

Zared stepped back and managed to re-order his thoughts as Layon introduced Leagh to

the other women. He turned to Isfrael, and was silenced by the look of cynical amusement on the

Mage-King‘s face.

―No doubt,‖ Isfrael said, ―you wonder exactly what these Clan wives need with your

men?‖

Zared nodded, and then turned slightly to speak with Herme. ―Um, Herme, perhaps you

can fetch thirty men to aid these women.‖

―Make sure they are strong, Earl,‖ Isfrael said as the Earl turned to go. ―Their

constitutions will be sorely tested by—‖

―Oh for the gods‘ sakes, Isfrael,‖ Zared snapped. ―What are you going to do with them? I

need shade, not innuendo.‖

―‗Twas not me who first thought the innuendo,‖ Isfrael said softly, and then spoke

normally. ―The forest is replete in materials that can be woven to form mats. These women can

show your men how.‖

Zared stared at him, then smiled himself. ―Now I have heard of everything, Isfrael. Do

you think to give my army weaving classes?‖

It was exactly what Isfrael proposed. For the rest of that day, and all through the next,

teams of men hunted through the forest for what the Avar women called the goat tree. It was a

variety of beech, but with a peculiar stringy bark that the tree continuously shed. Once a tree had

been located, men spent an hour or two pulling as much of the fine, fibrous bark from the tree as

they could, sweating and grunting as they climbed into the heights to reach the finest bark.

―As long as the men do not pull the under-bark free from the trunk of the tree, it will not

be harmed,‖ Layon explained to a curious Leagh who trailed after the woman from work site to

work site.

―What do you normally use the bark for?‖ she asked.

Layon paused to give a soldier carrying a massive bundle of the bark across his shoulders

directions back to the main camp, and then turned back to Leagh. ―It is useful for weaving into a

rough fibre. We use it, as you shall, to provide summer shelters, although it does not provide

much protection against the rain. Once sufficiently prepared and cured, it dries out to become

very easy to work and then to carry as a woven cloth.‖

―Do we have that long?‖

Layon shook her head. ―Not unless you want to waste two weeks or more waiting for the

fibre to dry out completely. It is workable now, and will dry out further on your trek west. Each

man will be able to carry enough on his horse to provide them both with shade, and yet not have

it prove too heavy a burden.‖

They walked in silence for a while as they moved back towards the campsite. Leagh, as

so many ―Plains-Dwellers‖ before her, was overawed by the forest, especially by the sense of

light and space and music within it.

―I do not envy you your trek,‖ Layon eventually said softly. She did not look at Leagh.

―I fear it,‖ Leagh admitted, equally as softly. ―Not only the march west, but what we will

find on the plains, and in Carlon itself. I, as Zared and every man with us who has a family and

loved ones left behind, worry each moment we are awake about their fate. And at night our

dreams…‖

Layon looked about her, lifting her eyes to study the forest canopy so far overhead.

―The forest remains a haven,‖ she said. ―But for how long? The Demons grow stronger

each day…and even when relatively weak they still managed the murder of Shra.‖

Leagh‘s eyes filled with tears at the grief in Layon‘s voice. ―We will prevail—‖

Layon turned to her, anger in her face and voice. ―We will what? Prevail? And at what

expense? This Drago tells us that we must watch Tencendor be turned into a complete wasteland.

What does that mean? The destruction of the forest?‖ Layon waved a hand about her. ―That this

should burn? I cannot believe that!‖

―We must all endure—‖ Leagh began.

But Layon now let the Avar‘s well-tended harvest of bitterness swell to the surface and

would not let Leagh finish. ―You Acharites know nothing of endurance,‖ she said. ―Nothing.‖

After that there was not much to be said. They walked in silence back to the camp, and

then separated, Layon to one of the groups of Acharite men under the instruction of an Avar

weaver, Leagh back to her husband.

Zared was standing in their personal camp, a bridle hanging from his hands. His face was

set in a frown as his fingers struggled with a particularly stiff buckle, and he cursed and dropped

the bridle as his fingers slipped one more time.

―You are too impatient,‖ Leagh said, and bent to retrieve the bridle. ―Look, work it

gently, so, and…lo! The strap slips through easily.‖

Zared grinned wryly, and then noticed Leagh‘s face. ―What‘s wrong?‖

She hesitated, then threw the bridle down on top of a pile of tack and stepped into the