Illengond Page 13

  Noaem shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Send the tiger after them. Get them back here.”

  Noaem nodded. The great cat had come back to his side. He put his hand in its deep fur and stared into its eyes. The tiger turned and raced back toward the trees.

  Elynna looked around now at the panicked faces glowing in the firelight. Undeani and Ceadani and Andani, Plainsfolk and Westwasher and Northlander. “Get moving,” she yelled over the wind’s roar. “Everybody. Grab all the gear. Wake the others. Get them all moving at once.”

  Some jumped up, but others—the Undeani—continued to stare in bewilderment. She turned at Braga. “Tell your people. Let them know. And send somebody up the hill to get whoever is on watch.”

  Braga nodded. He should have been doing this already. He cast a last look at Regon, then turned the rest of his people. They were watching him now. “The time has come,” he said in their language. “Our enemy approaches. It will be here before the moon has set. Now we must show the courage of our people so that we will not be shamed.”

  “What do we do?” Amark asked.

  “Gather your gear,” Braga answered. “If our work this day was not in vain, then we will spin the wool of Breanga’s labors. We will float away on this miracle boat. And if we cannot, then we will fight.” Braga measured each face, naming his people in his mind. “Where are Kreeg and Arreg?”

  “It is their turn at the watch,” Amark replied. “They’re still on the ridge.”

  Braga took a deep breath. Again he wondered what he was asking his people to do. How easy it would be for them to disappear into the woods and leave these outsiders to their own battle. He shook his head, ashamed at his thoughts. “I must stay here,” he said to Amark. “I speak the outsider’s tongue. I must translate for our people. I need you to go up the ridge. You know where the watch is set? You must tell Kreeg and Arreg to return. Their watch means nothing now. We know already that our enemy is coming.”

  “I will get them,” Amark replied. Still gripping his spear fiercely, he started up the hill at a run.

  “Wait,” Elynna shouted. “Don’t send him alone.” She glanced around. The only one of her people nearby was the young Andani. “Theo,” she said to him. “Go with Amark. Keep together.”

  Theo nodded and sprinted off to catch up with Amark.

  Braga watched them for only a moment, and then turned. The rest of his people were all busy now, rolling their blankets, gathering their packs and weapons. He wanted to tell them more. But he didn’t know what to say. He went to Elynna’s side. But before he could ask her what to do, the Northlanders Aram and Cathros came running over to her. Bandor strode up right behind them.

  “We heard the news,” Aram yelled through the wind. “Where will we fight? Which direction do they come from? Can we defend the ridge?”

  “Fight?” Elynna stared at Aram as though he were crazy, and she almost screamed her reply. “We can’t defeat Golach’s whole army!”

  “How many are there?” Aram asked. “We can set a trap for them. I’m done with running.”

  Elynna shook her head. “We don’t know. The news came from the tiger. But what does it matter? It isn’t just soldiers we fight. Don’t you understand that now?”

  Cathros’ voice was quieter and lower, but to Braga it seemed more intense. “How many Daegmons?”

  Elynna glared back at him for a moment, as though his question were an affront to her. But then she closed her eyes. Almost instantly her face grew pale. What did she feel? Braga wondered. What awareness did her strange power give her? Her jaw dropped and she moaned, stumbling backward a step. She opened her eyes. They were full of dread and pain. “There are four of them.”

  Cathros shook his head gravely.

  “But the boat is ready,” Bandor said excitedly. “This is what we built it for. We can depart by the lake. It will take Golach all winter to build ships. He’ll have to traverse the whole shoreline to follow us.”

  “But not the Daegmons,” Cathros said.

  The tall northlander was right. Braga knew it. This was the flaw in their plan all along. The boat was a wondrous thing. But what good was it against the winged Daegmon-beast? And even without the Daegmons, going out in the middle of the night in such a wind was madness.

  “It will not attack us on the water,” Elynna said.

  “What?” Aram cried. “How can you be sure of that? What would prevent it?”

  Elynna looked at the ground, into her hands, at Cathros, and back at Aram. “I don’t know. I just sense it in their thoughts. They cannot walk on water. I think they may be afraid of it. When we crossed Umgog to escape Golach many days ago, a Daegmon followed us, aware of where we were—or where I was. Our boats were separated. We were vulnerable. But it never approached.”

  “Then let us make haste,” Cathros said. “Every minute that passes brings our enemy closer to us.”

  Elynna turned to Braga. “Are your people ready?”

  “Kreeg and Arreg—” he began.

  “I know,” Elynna said, cutting him off before he could complete his answer. “And now Amark and Theo also. But what of the others?”

  “They are ready to do as you ask.”

  “Bandor,” Elynna said. “Get Keet. Find out what needs to be done. How do we get the boat in the water?”

  “He is here already,” Bandor replied, nodding behind Elynna.

  Elynna turned. The young Plainsman had just walked up behind her. “Is the boat ready?”

  “We don’t have oars yet,” Keet replied. He looked tired, but calm. To Braga’s surprise, his eyes showed no sign of fear. “Breanga will have to make them. We’ll need four at least. Behind that, we need only to lift the boat to the water and board her.” Then a look of embarrassment came across his face. “There is no dock here. We have no way to launch the boat save by wading out into the lake. I’m afraid we will all be cold and wet.”

  “Better than being dead,” Bandor said. “You’ve done well.”

  Elynna turned to Braga. “Go with Keet and get Breanga. Help them make the oars. And have your people help carry the boat down to the water.”

  “Should we put it in now?” Keet asked.

  Elynna shook her head. “Just get it ready. We can’t leave without Tienna and Namha.”

  “Nor without Kreeg and Arreg and Amark,” Braga added.

  “How much time do we have?” Cathros asked.

  “An hour,” Braga answered. “Or less.” Then he turned and strode over toward the boat, calling his people as he went and looking around for Breanga. Bandor came beside him, calling some of his own people as he went.

  The wind was intensifying by the moment, picking up sticks and dust and hurling it through the air, threatening to tear off their loose clothing. Braga gripped his axe more tightly, as though it also might blow away. He found Breanga and motioned for him to come. Soon he and his own followers stood in a circle around the boat that lay upside down.

  “If they don’t return soon, we’ll have to leave Namha and Tienna to themselves,” Bandor said. He was almost shouting to be heard over the wind. “They’re capable of surviving if anybody is.”

  Braga did not answer. He did not know if Kreeg and Arreg were as capable. And if he left his nephew Amark behind, his sister would never forgive him. But what if he had no choice? He looked at the boat. With three of his folk gone and Breanga also busy with the oars, only Jama, Krag, and Regon were left to carry that boat. It wasn’t enough. He turned to Bandor. “Help my people get the boat in the water.”

  He did not wait to see how they would accomplish the task. He walked over to Keet who stood alongside Breanga by the pile of logs and limbs they had gathered the previous need. “Will your boat survive in these waves?” He asked Keet. “Are we mad going onto the lake in the night?” As though to accentuate his concern, the stronge
st gust of wind yet came off the water. He heard the rending of fabric somewhere nearby and mixed with all the creaking and bending of trees came another loud crack of a trunk snapping.

  Keet looked out at the wind. He didn’t answer. Braga didn’t expect one. What choice did they have? “Tell us what to do,” he said.

  “We need oars,” Keet said. “Breanga must fashion them.”

  “Tell us how,” Braga said.

  And so Keet began to describe the length and shape of the oars, as Braga translated for Breanga. And then, in the midst of all the turmoil of wind and hurried preparations, Breanga sat in intense concentration by a bundle of logs, slowly shaping them into oars under the direction of Keet.

  When he was sure Breanga understood, Braga turned to check on the other work. The boat now lay right side up on the rocks by the edge of the water, where the spray of the waves began to soak it. The others were gathering their gear and preparing to depart, throwing it all into the bottom of the boat or piling it beside the boat. Despite their frantic efforts, however, the work proceeded at a painfully slow pace. The wind. The confusion of languages. Braga’s own fingers were cold and stiff. Others were having a difficult time picking things up too. And the dark didn’t help. A thin layer of fast-moving clouds dimmed what little moonlight remained. Attempts to light a torch in the wind were futile.

  Braga’s fear grew. How much time did they have left. He ran back to where Breanga worked with Keet. They had finished only two oars. Breanga was working on the third. Where was Amark? And Kreeg and Arreg? They should have been back.

  He looked southward into the shadows of the trees hoping to see some sign of his nephew. A torch appeared on the distant hillside. He was surprised. Why had Kreeg and Arreg lit their torch.

  A second torch appeared an instant later. And a third. Then several more poured over the hill. It was difficult to judge distance in the dark, but they looked no more than half a mile up the hill. “They’re coming,” Braga yelled in his native tongue. He grabbed Breanga. “Run. Quick. To the boats. Bring the wood.”

  He didn’t have to repeat the message in the outsiders’ tongue. Keet was already on his feet running toward the boats. Breanga stood up. He was holding an unfinished oar in one hand and a long thick limb in the other. “The other oars,” he said, nodding toward the finished oars that Keet had left on the ground. “Or my work is for nothing.”

  Braga nodded. “Go,” he said. He leaned over and sought to pick both oars up with one arm, still holding his battle ax in the other. It took a moment to get a good grip with his cold hands, and he couldn’t run quick. He made it back to the shore several seconds after Breanga. The others had seen the torches also. They were already hauling the boat out into the water.

  Elynna ran over and grabbed Braga. “Theo. And the others. Your people. Where are they? And Tienna? We can’t leave without them.”

  Both turned and looked toward the woods. Braga knew what he had to do. He turned and threw the oars into the boat, then started toward the trees. At that moment, a lone figure came charging out of the trees. “Theo,” Elynna shouted.

  “Where—?” Braga started, but before the word could get out of his mouth three more shadows bolted from the trees behind Theo. Amark, Kreeg, and Arreg. It had to be. But now the torches were only a few hundred yards up the slope behind them.

  “In the boat,” Bandor ordered. “Get ready to push off.”

  The four figures continued racing down the hill toward the shore. The wisp of clouds to the west blew past, and rays of light from the setting moon lit up the rocks beneath their feet, revealed the whites of their faces, the white of the Undeani sheepskin garb. Nearly everybody was in the boat now save Bandor and Braga who held the craft, the four figures charging down the hill, and Elynna who still stood at the edge of the water.

  “Tienna,” Elynna screamed, her voice in complete panic now.

  Theo rushed headlong toward the boat, splashed knee deep into the water, and with Bandor helping threw himself over the gunwales and landed in the bottom. Amark was only a step behind him, with Kreeg and Arreg behind him. Soon they were all in the boat. And still Elynna stood on the shore.

  A sudden gust of wind caught them off guard, throwing the bow of the boat back toward the shore. It knocked Braga backward and would have sent him sprawling into the waves if he had not been holding the boat. “This is crazy!” he shouted over the wind. “We’ll never survive the lake.”

  In answer to his call, a loud screech ripped through the night air. Braga did not need Elynna to tell him what it was. “Push off,” he shouted. “The Daegmon-beast comes.”

  15

  LYN

  A short time later, Thimeon’s company—now more than double in size—started along the road toward Gale Ceathu. Rhaan and Armas scouted the way ahead. Kachtin and Banthros returned to rearguard. As they made their way northward, Dhan gave Terrid a brief recounting of what had happened since their escape from the dungeons of Citadel. Thimeon listened, adding only a brief word here and there, until the prince ended with a description of the battle at Gale Enebe.

  Terrid whistled. “So the creatures are real. I heard the horrible rumors coming down from the Westwash—from my family and others. But sometimes it was just easier to believe the lies of Citadel.”

  “Believe the lies no longer,” Thimeon said. “The Daegmons are real. And they are not the only enemy we face. Ancient tales say that over them all is a Daegmon-Lord, as much more powerful than the Daegmons as a man is more powerful than a young boy. There are other beings too, that possess great power: immortal beings like the Daegmon, but in human form. Koranth is one of them.”

  “So the question is no longer what is true,” the prince said. “The question is what we will do. What you will do. What all of us will do.”

  “What will you have us do?” Terrid asked. “We came to follow you. As for me, I will do whatever you ask of us. But—” he paused. “But what hope do we have with such a small company trying to fight against your father’s armies? Or against these creatures, if they are as powerful as you say?”

  Thimeon shook his head slowly. “They are powerful. And they—the Daegmons and not the soldiers of Citadel—are the real enemy. Though it may be that we must fight soldiers as well. But if we do not defeat the Daegmons, regardless of what else happens, Gondisle will be destroyed.”

  “How do we fight them?” Terrid asked. “You say there are many of them, and that even when you have defeated one in the past, they somehow returned from death?”

  “Yes,” Thimeon replied. “I will not offer you false hope.” He lifted his eyes and looked up the road. Far to the north, above the line of trees, the very top of Illengond’s triune peak was silhouetted against the blue sky. Then they rounded a corner in the road and he lost sight of it. How often had he looked there for hope? Was he clinging only to a false hope, even now? “The Daegmons have been defeated in the past,” he finally said.

  “But how, if they can’t be killed?”

  Thimeon took a deep breath. He began to understand how Elynna must have felt so many weeks ago, trying to explain her gift, to assure her followers that she was not leading them astray. “I believe that the Daegmons were defeated with a type of power that prevented them from rising again for many years. Not by swords or spears or the weapons of mortals, but by a power much greater.”

  “But what power is that?”

  Thimeon looked again toward the north. But Illengond was not in sight. “The Holy One who dwells in Illengond—the All-Maker as my people call him—has given gifts of power to men and women. These gifts are of different kinds. But some provide might even over our enemy. There are some even in this company who have been given such gifts.”

  Terrid looked around, a mix of fear and awe on his face. Thimeon cast a backward glance at Cathwain and Gaelim who rode side by side several horse lengths back, unaware of the conversat
ion. He turned back to Terrid. “Part of the Daegmons’ power is to invoke terror. Someone in my previous company had the power to resist that fear—to protect those around him from the terror. Another had the power to communicate with animals. One could read the thoughts of the Daegmon. In addition to these, we have weapons of power as well. Dhan already told you of our current quest. The sword we carry, if we can deliver it to the right person, is supposed to give the power to defeat the Daegmons.”

  Terrid did not reply for some time, and Thimeon fell silent as well. Finally, Terrid spoke. “I do not understand any of this. It seems that all I know of battle will be meaningless in this war.”

  Not meaningless, Thimeon thought. Despite all he had said, they would likely have no choice but to fight against the soldiers of Citadel. And then the aid of Terrid and his men might prove vital. But he kept this thought to himself.

  “Nonetheless, we will follow you,” Terrid went on. “Even if the only thing we accomplish is getting that sword into the hands of one who can use it.”

  These words brought some new hope to Thimeon. They had defeated a Daegmon in battle—at least momentarily—and rescued Gale Enebe. And now they had the help of Terrid and his band of followers loyal to the prince. At least for a little while he no longer bore the burden of leading them. His thoughts turned to the three young women now part of the company. Cathwain had a gift, but no experience in battle against human or Daegmon. The two sisters from Citadel weren’t even among the gifted. He let his horse slacken the pace and dropped back to the middle of the company to ride alongside Jhonna and Corandra. He should have taken the opportunity to leave them behind in the cliff village. They would have been as safe there from the Daegmons and from Golach as they would any place in Gondisle.

  But they wouldn’t have stayed. He knew that. Not unless he tied them.

  He thought of his sister Siarah. He was a mere two days’ ride from her now. It was the closest he had been to home since Golach had taken him prisoner. That seemed like forever ago, and yet it was but the last green moon near the start of the very same month. And now? If they continued their course to Aeti, they would ride within a few miles of home. But of course she was not there; she was off in the care of their aunt and uncle and cousins. Still, he longed to see her. To know she was safe.