She looked skyward into the blue mists that still enveloped them.
―When we emerge from this vaporous horror, we shall set the Hawkchilds to ravage and
tear and punish this land for Rox‘s death. If his terror cannot haunt the night, then our winged
friends can. We may still feed.‖
It took StarDrifter, WingRidge and SpikeFeather almost half a day to reach the
waterways, and when they did, WingRidge and SpikeFeather stood back to watch StarDrifter.
Perhaps he had connected pattern to dance, and thus to power, but the Ferryman had never used
obvious enchantment to work his way through the waterways. Even if he had, and StarDrifter
knew the enchantment, how could he know how to transfer the music, or words, into movement
and dance?
But StarDrifter did not dance, nor sing, nor even wave his hands about and plead.
Instead, he merely climbed gracefully into the flat-bottomed boat that awaited them, and
sat down on the bare plank in its stern, arranging his wings carefully behind him.
―Well?‖ StarDrifter enquired. ―What are you waiting for?‖
WingRidge and SpikeFeather glanced at each other and climbed in.
―How—‖ SpikeFeather began.
―It has become obvious to me,‖ StarDrifter said, ―that these waterways are intimately
connected with the Sacred Lakes and with the craft those lakes nurture. Correct?‖
The two birdmen slowly nodded.
―And,‖ StarDrifter continued, ―are not the craft intimately connected with Drago?‖
―Yes,‖ WingRidge said. His forehead was crinkled in a slight frown.
―Then,‖ StarDrifter said, and laid a hand on the smooth wood of the side of the boat, ―I
ask only that this boat, and the waterway on which it rests, takes us to Drago.‖
Instantly, the boat glided forward.
45
The Twenty Thousand
Move twenty thousand on foot, through territory that would be hostile to say the least,
and with the entire night and much of the day spent scurrying for shelter? Some might say it was
an impossible task, and one only a fool would contemplate, but Theod had no choice. They
would die in the mines within a month, whether from the lack of food and water, or disease, or
from the dark itself. He had to get them out.
The only thing in his favour was that at least they would not have to move through the
open plains. The grain fields of Aldeni or Avonsdale were no different and the odd apple tree
would do little to shelter his twenty thousand.
But Theod had the Murkle Mountains, and then the Western Ranges, and once he got
them to a spot directly north of Carlon, then he could sigh with relief and send a farflight scout to
beg Zared to aid them back to Carlon.
And so he began.
First, Theod sent scouting parties ahead, heavily protected by Wings of the Strike Force,
to pick likely shelter spots through the lower Murkles and into the Western Ranges. These scouting parties would leave clear signs for the coming exodus to follow.
The twenty thousand could not move as one group, so, from among his own soldiers, the
Strike Force and those sheltering within the mines themselves, Theod picked ten men and
women who could lead groups of some two thousand each. These groups would leave the mines
at intervals of twelve hours, in the hour after dawn, or dusk (now that the night had suddenly
become inexplicably safe), and travel through each hour that they could and resting when they
were forced to shelter. Of the ships Theod never spoke. They could have guaranteed the survival
of the greater portion of these helpless and innocent people. Now, the Duke was certain he was
about to lead many of them to their deaths.
When the time finally came for the groups of two thousand to leave, one group every
twelve hours, day by day, their passing was noted by the Hawkchilds, and the information passed
on to the TimeKeepers.
And, via the TimeKeepers, the information was sent to their legions in Aldeni and
Avonsdale and, in particular, the brown and cream badger and the patchy-bald rat. The rat,
emerging from his burrowings deep under the walls of Carlon, thought he had a plan—and the
friends in right places to carry it through.
The badger‘s piggy eyes gleamed, and he approved.
The Hawkchilds agreed to carry messages north.
The Demons laughed, as Theod led his twenty thousand forward.
The way was difficult and fraught with hardship, but as the days passed Theod dared
believe they might manage it. He led the first group, including Master Goldman, Gwendylyr and
his two five-year-old sons. When they moved, a Wing of the Strike Force drifted overhead,
keeping watch. When they sheltered, the Icarii fluttered down to huddle with them. They
marched, walked and scrambled through landscape that was not hostile, but fatiguing. They
generally moved among rocky slopes where there were no paths, they had little in the way of
food supplies, and the weather remained cold and bitter during the early spring. It would have
been difficult with a well-trained and hardened army unit; with groups of two thousand men,
women and children it was sometimes heartbreaking.
Everyone bore up as best they could, but children stumbled and sprained ankles, or grew
tired and fractious. The adults already carried packs of blankets or food, and for many hours
when they moved some of them also had to carry children, often as old, and as large, as eight or
nine.
Whenever they set out, almost immediately everyone in the group began to worry about
finding shelter before the next wave of grey madness oozed over the peaks. It did not matter that
the Icarii wings above could spot adequate shelter ahead, people only worried that they might not
make it. Some mornings and afternoons several, maybe even a score, among the group did not
make it. Perhaps they misjudged the time, perhaps their exhausted limbs just could not get them
into shade before the Demons consumed their minds. Whenever Theod heard the scream of
terror, and then the screech of madness coming from beyond the shade of shelter, he flinched and
lost a little more of his youth.
Then he would tighten his arms about his sons, and hang his head and weep.
So they struggled.
The Icarii kept Theod in touch with the groups coming behind him. They progressed hour
by hour, day by day, as did he, and, as he, they occasionally lost a soul to the Demons, although
because Theod could give them details of forward shelter it was that little bit easier.
They moved, and they kept on moving, for they had no other option.
Days passed, and Theod eventually managed to swing his group eastwards into the
Western Ranges.
―DareWing,‖ he asked the Strike Leader softly one evening as they sat about a cold and
cheerless canyon deep in shade. ―I will need to send word to Zared soon about what has
happened, and what we do. When do you counsel to be the best time?‖
DareWing rubbed his tired face and thought. ―To give the farflight scouts the best chance
of getting through, we should get close to the ranges directly north of Carlon before we send
scouts.‖
―How long will it take them to fly south to Zared?‖
―My fittest and strongest scouts would take perhaps a day, but that would be flying
non-stop, and they can‘t do that. Every few hours they will need to seek shelter. Two days,
maybe three.‖
―But they will get through?‖
DareWing‘s mouth twisted grimly. ―If we send enough, then perhaps two or three will get
through, yes.‖
―What is enough?‖
DareWing looked Theod in the eye. ―I cannot answer that question.‖
DareWing and Theod may have hoped they passed through the southern Murkle
Mountains and into the Western Ranges unobserved, but their every move was noted. Not by the
Hawkchilds for they would have been seen, but by snails and grub worms and rodents and birds,
once loyal only to their hungers and the land that fed them. Now mind and soul belonged entirely
to the Demons who fed off them and now, in their madness, friends and comrades of the
patchy-bald rat.
Early one morning, when the stars still sprinkled the predawn twilight, DareWing peered
outside the entrance of the cave in which they‘d sheltered and nodded.
―I can start sending scouts tomorrow,‖ he said to Theod, who sat with his arm about his
still-sleeping wife.
―Are you sure?‖
DareWing nodded. ―With luck, Zared can be preparing to meet us within the week.‖
Theod allowed himself a small glimmer of hope. ―Then perhaps we will save some of
these people.‖
He looked down to Gwendylyr‘s dark head cradled against his chest. Born an aristocrat,
she‘d lived a life of ease until the past few months, and yet she‘d not once complained nor asked
for favours. On the trek through the mountains she‘d spent most of her time helping the elderly
and sick who found the forced march difficult at best, and almost impossible for the rest.