The Paths of the Dead Page 30

  "For my part," said Teldra, "I cannot help but wonder if, had we been able to communicate, they'd have sold us the horses."

  Morrolan shrugged. "Well, it was a pretty enough little fight at all events, and I doubt this place will forget us soon."

  "Oh," said Arra, "there is no doubt that you are right."

  "Nor will I forget," said Morrolan. "After all, while I have, now and then, been involved in a scuffle, more or less serious, this is the first time I have bloodied my sword."

  "Bloodied it?" said Arra. "I nearly think you did! You brought four of them to ground entirely on your own, and I should be astonished if there were not two of them who will never rise again."

  "Well, but, as you have already observed, I have a sword, and they, well, they had only knives."

  "Nevertheless, it was no mean feat."

  "Well."

  "And yet," said Teldra, "I do not understand why we were attacked."

  "You do not?" said Arra. "Consider, my lady, that to a human, you and Morrolan are demons."

  "Are we? That astonishes me."

  "Does it? And yet, how are those like myself considered in lands inhabited by your folk?"

  "Well, there is some justice in your observation."

  "You think so? Then I am satisfied."

  Morrolan turned around and observed, "They are not following us."

  "That is well for us," said Arra, "and better for them."

  "Yes," said Morrolan, "I nearly think you're right."

  "And I," said Teldra, "believe that this is a far better way to travel than walking."

  "Of that," said Morrolan, "there can be no doubt."

  "Let us turn here," said Arra, "for if I do mistake the meaning of those wheel-tracks that are so abundant upon the ground, we will soon strike a road that will not only bring us south, but, moreover, will lead us to a bridge over whatever the next river is in these lands where it seems one crosses a river, or at least a deep stream, twice each day."

  "Well," said Morrolan, "I agree with turning here, since you believe it is the best way."

  "And tonight when we stop," said Arra, "you must not forget to offer up your thanks to the Demon Goddess, who must have had a hand in guiding your blade today."

  "I will not fail to do so," said Morrolan.

  They stopped that night, and had just spread their blankets on the ground—which was, we should add, pleasantly soft, they having crossed into grassland in the last few hours—when Morrolan felt a drop of rain upon his uncovered head.

  "Bring out the equipment, Arra, and quickly," he said.

  "Very well," said the Priestess, and hastened to bring out the supplies required by the heathen art practiced by Morrolan, which equipment involved braziers, candles, and other paraphernalia, all of which he hastened to use according to the system he had been taught, and, either his gestures, chants, and invocations had some effect, or the rain-cloud, for reasons of its own, passed them by, for they were spared being drenched.

  "Well done," said Arra.

  "I'll take the first watch," said Teldra.

  Morrolan did not respond, because, after finishing his arcane activities, he at once fell into a deep sleep.

  Among historians—who, as the reader may know, spend a great deal of time arguing amongst each other about issues that can have no interest except to other historians—there is an ongoing debate concerning a general question: Under what conditions can one travel more quickly by horse than by foot? It is, without doubt, a complex and difficult question, whether addressed by theory or through the use of historical examples. When addressed by theory there are so many aspects, or "variables" as the arithmetists say, as to provide an endless source of argument and counter-argument: the exact distance under discussion, the physical condition of the man, the nature of the ground, the breed of horse, the sorts of food consumed by the man, the sorts of fodder consumed by the horse, even the footgear or lack thereof on each of the contestants. Attempting to solve the problem by referring to history is no better, because there will always be enough differences in circumstance to render a precise comparison suspect.

  Of course, one can set up extreme conditions: It is beyond argument that a rider will outpace a man on foot over a distance of half a mile of level ground; similarly, there can be no question that in a race of a thousand miles, an athletic man will handily and easily outpace the rider no matter what sort of horse or what sort of ground is considered.

  The number that is most often used in casual discussion (and which, we admit, is the number that most often results in dissension) is something like three days. That is, should a mounted man set off in a straight line over a good road on a good horse, such as a Browncap, and should another man who is skilled at running over long distances chase him, and should these improbable conditions continue, the running man will catch the rider sometime on the third day. We should add that all attempts to test this have produced nothing but arguments over validity, as well, we should admit, as a great deal of money changing hands, because while historians may conduct tests for knowledge, there is no shortage of those who cannot see a race without placing a wager upon its result.

  We have brought this up to point out that, in the event there are very few cases of a man chasing a horse over long distances (although, to be sure, there is the incident that gave inspiration to the popular ballad "Lord Stonewright's Revenge"), rather, when comparing speed mounted to speed afoot in any practical situation, there are almost always determining factors beyond the simple issues of speed and endurance. In other words, the naive observer might believe that Morrolan, Teldra, and Arra would, in fact, slow down upon procuring mounts. Yet, in this situation, there was one factor that outweighed all others: This factor was nothing more or less than comfort.

  To be precise, the fact that they were able to ride made the journey so much easier and more pleasant to the three of them—all three, we should add, being experienced riders—that instead of traveling ten or twelve hours a day, as they had been accustomed to do, they now began, without anyone making a decision to do so, to make stages of eighteen or nineteen hours a day, with the result that, though at no time did they consider themselves to be in a hurry, nevertheless they significantly increased the pace at which they made their way toward Morrolan's ancestral holdings—to be precise, toward the county of Southmoor.

  After a good week of riding, Arra observed, "My lord Morrolan. it seems to me that we are nearing the end of our supply of food."

  "Ah," said Morrolan. "In fact, I had noticed this very thing."

  "And have you a plan?"

  "It seems to me that this is a district full of wild norska, and moreover, it is one in which certain game-birds are available in abundance."

  "And therefore?"

  "Why, therefore I propose that we catch some of them, and, having caught them, eat them."

  Arra nodded. "I think your plan a good one, and, for my part, I subscribe to it wholeheartedly."

  "Well," said Morrolan, "but, do you hunt?"

  "I?" said Arra. "Not the least in the world. I had hoped you did."

  "No, I'm afraid I have never had to acquire this skill. Lady Teldra, do you, by any chance, have any abilities as a hunter?"

  "No, I'm afraid I do not. Why, have we no food left?"

  Morrolan shook his head. "Just a piece of hard rock candy. But—"

  "Come then," said Arra. "There are villages nearby, and I think we have sufficient silver, and even a certain amount of gold, so that we can purchase what we require."

  "Well, that is true," said Teldra. "And yet, if you recall the last time we came to a village—"

  "I could go in by myself and purchase what we need," said Arra. "Apropos, we could use more fodder as well, as the grass is becoming thin."

  "Bah!" said Morrolan. "How, am I to fear setting foot in a village because of absurd superstitions that may or may not be held by the populace?"

  "Well then," said Teldra, "let us find a village and go there."<
br />
  "Yes," said Arra, "let us do so."

  In the event, it was some few hours of riding before they saw signs of habitation, by which time they were all more than a little hungry.

  The village of Keybrook was entirely different from Kliuev. It was, for one thing, rather lower in the mountains, and thus was less of a freehold for highwaymen. Next, instead of goats and rye, the economy was based on beef, chicken, and maize. It was also rather larger, and substantially more prosperous. Yet the most significant difference was simply that, as the mountains were lower here, and contained many passes and valleys, it was hardly a barrier, and hence, like Mount Bli'aard far to the north, there was more commerce than is usual between human and Easterner. The result, therefore, was that, though they were treated in a way that was only barely cordial, they were nevertheless able to purchase those items they needed without difficulty. "Well," said Arra, "what do we have, then?"

  "Let us see," said Morrolan. "Two sacks of corn meal, ten pounds of jerked beef, some sort of cheese that crumbles before it can be cut but is not bad for all of that, three loaves of soft bread, plenty of hardbread, several smoked bowfins, which will be wonderful if they are half as good as our hosts claimed, and a whetstone of which I, at least, stood badly in need, and four sacks of fodder for the horses. What else?"

  "Plenty of ediberries," said Teldra.

  "How, ediberries? I do not recall buying those."

  "You did not, my lord. But, if you look ahead, you will see them growing wild along the path, so that we can pick as many as we like."

  "Well," said Arra, "I see nothing wrong with this plan."

  "Nor I," said Morrolan, "though we should not eat too many, as they serve to drive away sleep."

  "How, do they?" said Teldra. "I had not known this fact."

  "It is known by those who study the Art."

  "How," said a stranger. "You study the Art?" Morrolan turned, and found himself confronting a small, swarthy Easterner whom he had not seen before, and who had evidently been resting by the side of the road near the edge of the village. At the Easterner's side was a medium-sized dog colored a sort of dirty white, and between his feet was a black cat.

  "Well," said Morrolan, "I give you good day, sir. I had not heard you approach. I am called Morrolan e'Drien. This is the Lady Teldra, and Arra, the Priestess."

  The other bowed, "May I present my friends, Awtlá and Sireng," he said, indicating the dog and the cat. "As for myself, alas, I cannot give you a name, as I am searching for it."

  "How," said Morrolan, "you are searching for your name?"

  "Exactly."

  "Then you are a practitioner of the Art?"

  The other bowed.

  "Well, I know of these things. It does not seem so long ago that I was also searching for my name, only I came across a coachman who seemed to have a good supply of them, and gave me one."

  "Well, then perhaps I should search for a coachman. You perceive, I have been looking for my name since I was twelve years old, and, as I am now, well, considerably older, I would just as soon find it and be done."

  "Well, I understand that. Have you had your journey yet?"

  The warlock nodded. "Many years ago."

  "And you have found a soul-mate?"

  "Two of them," he said, indicating the animals at his feet.

  "So that all you require is a name?"

  "You have understood me exactly."

  "Well, I wish you well."

  "Thank you, Morrolan."

  "Do you know, warlock, it has just occurred to me that you speak the language of Faerie."

  "Well, it seemed useful to know."

  We should mention that Morrolan, Teldra, and Arra had been speaking only the language of the Empire since they set out because Teldra pretended such practice would help Morrolan and Arra become more fluent.

  "Well, it will be if you journey across the mountains. Or even around them, as we are now doing."

  "How, you are going to the land of Faerie? Ah, but then, why should you not? For a moment, I had forgotten I was speaking to elf's. You perceive, it is not usual in this district."

  Teldra smiled. "We are not so bad, you know, once you become acquainted with us."

  "Oh, I have spoken with elfs before, I assure you."

  "And?"

  "As you say, my lady."

  Teldra bowed, and the warlock, turning to Morrolan, said, "What of you?"

  "Oh, I? Well, you perceive I have my name. Moreover, I have journeyed to a place where I learned many things not available to plain sight. And, as to my soul-mate, well—"

  "Yes?"

  "At first I thought it was Arra."

  "At first?"

  "Yes, but then I came to believe it was the Lady Teldra."

  "And yet, you were uncertain."

  "Oh, but I am certain now."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes. I am utterly convinced."

  "That it is Teldra?"

  "No, that it is the Demon Goddess."

  "What do you tell me?" cried the warlock.

  "The goddess, herself, is my soul-mate."

  "Bah!"

  "It is," said Arra, "exactly as he says."

  "Well," said the warlock. "I must tell you I have heard of nothing like this. Do you not think it, well—"

  "Presumptuous?"

  "Exactly. The very word."

  "Yes, I think it is."

  "And so?"

  "It is the truth, nevertheless."

  "In that case, well—"

  "Yes?"

  "Have you any objection if my friends and I accompany you?"

  "Not the least objection in the world," said Morrolan. He looked quickly at Arra and Teldra, both of whom signified that the warlock's company would be welcome. The dog wagged its shaggy tail. The warlock, putting a thumb and finger into his mouth, gave off a loud, piercing whistle, after which a black horse trotted up, snorted, and shook its head.

  "How," said Morrolan, "you have your horse trained to come when you whistle?"

  The warlock smiled. "In fact, I do not."

  "You do not? And yet—"

  "Much is illusion, my brother in the Art, is it not?"

  Morrolan bowed. "Perhaps you are right, and yet, if I do not err, your horse is not an illusion, and I have never seen one so strong."

  "You have a good eye for horses, my friend."

  "Tell me, of what breed is it?"

  "Oh, as to that, well, I couldn't say. But, believe me, he has a certain lineage."

  "Oh, I do not doubt that in the least. What is his name?"

  "Duke."

  "Well, I should think at least Prince for a horse like that."

  "He is not presumptuous."

  "That is good," said Morrolan, smiling.

  After a few miles, the warlock said, "Tell me one thing."

  "One thing? Ah, having gotten our fill of supplies, and the day being so pleasant, well, I would answer three questions."

  "But I only have one, so I hope you will be content."

  "Entirely, my good warlock. So come, ask your question."

  "This is it: Exactly where are we going?"

  "Oh, you wish to know that?"

  "Awtlá, the dog, well, he is curious."

  "Ah, I understand that. Well, the answer is, we are bound for my ancestral homelands, a county called Southmoor."

  "Southmoor? Well, but that is near Adrilankha, is it not?"

  Teldra answered him, saying, "Perhaps fifty leagues from Covered Springs, in the southwest corner. But wait, you know Adrilankha?"

  "Know it? I nearly think so."

  "How, you have been there?" said Morrolan.

  "Oh, indeed. I lived there for some time."

  "The trey!"

  "It is true. And you, have you been there?"

  "Never. I have only heard of it from Lady Teldra."

  "Well, perhaps we will go there, and I will show you some of the places of interest."

  "I should like that."

/>   That night, Morrolan asked the warlock which watch he preferred.

  "Oh, I have my choice?" he said.

  "And why should you not?"

  "And yet, are you certain you trust me?"

  "I do," said Arra, with no hesitation.

  Morrolan shrugged. "If Arra trusts you, well, that is sufficient for me."

  "And for me as well," said Teldra.

  The warlock bowed. "Well then, if I can choose my watch, I should like to select—"

  "Well?"

  "All of them."

  "All of them?"

  "Yes, if that is acceptable."

  "And yet—"

  "Well?"

  "Will you not require sleep at some point on the journey?"

  "No, for I shall sleep while I am on watch."

  "How, that is your intention?"

  "More than my intention, my dear elf, it is my plan."

  "And yet, it seems to me—"

  "Come, I know what you are thinking. I believe I can convince you."

  "Do you think so?"

  "I am certain of it."

  "Very well, then, I am prepared to be convinced."

  As darkness fell and they made their camp with the practiced ease of old campaigners, the warlock walked out of the camp along with his two companions, and, some few minutes later, came back without them.

  Morrolan said, "Your friends, then, are on watch?"

  "Exactly."

  "And they are trustworthy?"

  "Without meaning to give offense, my good Dragonlord, I aver that they are more reliable than any of the rest of us."

  "Very well, then," said Morrolan. "I have said I trust you, and, therefore, I do."

  "That is best, believe me."

  That night, Morrolan found that, as he lay wrapped in his blankets, his head was near Arra's, and he said very softly, "Do you know, it almost seems as if, in the flickering of the fire, I saw a large, grey wolf circling about our camp? And it was, moreover, an extraordinarily large wolf, if I am not deceived."

  "And I," whispered Arra, "am convinced that I have a seen a dzur padding about at the very edge of the light."

  "Well?"

  "Well, I think he is more accomplished in the Art than he pretends."