Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar v(-101 Page 25

  His brother gave him a skeptical glance. “It’s not a predator like a mountain cat,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I suppose I don’t.” Bayne was silent for a moment, then stared up at the stars again. “When I was young, I was afraid of the dark,” he said.

  Trey smiled. “I remember.”

  “I still am sometimes.”

  “What?”

  Bayne shrugged. “Why not? The things I thought might attack me in the dark could still be there—now more than ever since we’re heading into foreign lands. But it doesn’t matter if they’re there or not, and it doesn’t matter if I’m still afraid or not; I can’t hide from the darkness anymore, I have to stand against whatever might be hiding behind it for your sake and for Kellisin’s. It’s what I do. I protect. But I’m not that scared little boy anymore either, I’m a man now with a man’s strength, just like you are. And predator or not, you may have to dig that coat up and put it back on; make it a man’s coat instead of a boy’s coat and make it your own.” He squeezed Trey’s shoulder. “And whatever comes of it, brother, we’ll face it together as kinsmen. As clansmen.”

  “And what if I see your death?” Trey shot back. “Or Kellisin’s?”

  “We’ll face that together, too. That’s what families do. They stand together so that no one has to stand alone, be they hunter, trapper, or shaman. Yes?”

  Trey gave a long, resentful sigh. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Bayne stood. “Then pull yourself together. You’re scaring Kellisin.”

  That night, drawing on the warmth of Bayne’s back pressed against his for courage, Trey reached out, past the avalanche of snow and the deaths of his people, and drew the blue coat from its hiding place. In his dream it was damp and cold and covered in dirt, much as it might have been in the waking world. Shaking it out, he studied the silver trim along its length, something he’d never noticed as a boy, before pulling it over his head. It settled across his shoulders with an all but forgotten familiarity, and once again he stood by the bright, swiftly flowing water of his childhood dreams. Taking a deep breath, he looked down, but instead of bodies floating beneath the surface, he saw a great walled city spiraling outward from a wide river valley. A broad belt of green land lay beside a beautiful structure of stone and timber and he could almost hear Vulshin’s music and poetry in the distance. Fighting back tears of relief, he turned to the hazy figure standing in a meadow of spring flowers.

  “Thank you, shaman,” he breathed.

  That night he had the first peaceful slumber since before Dierna’s death, and two days later the three men left the hills and looked down upon a vast, open plain covered in tiny purple-and-yellow flowers. Beyond that lay a wide, swiftly flowing river.

  Bayne glanced over at Trey. “The Terilee?” he asked.

  “That’s what Vulshin called it.”

  “Whatever he called it, I call it fresh water for drinking and for bathing,” Kellisin said excitedly. With a shout of joy, he urged his mount into a gallop, the pack pony close behind them.

  The two older men followed more sedately, but neither of them could hide the pleasure the sight of the clean, blue water gave them as well.

  That evening as they made camp, Trey collected a handful of the tiny blossoms and wove them into his pony’s mane and that night he dreamed again. He saw a wide but shallow quarry where strangely garbed people labored to cut great blocks of stone from the ground which were then loaded onto rollers pulled by great horned beasts and then loaded once again onto three oddly-shaped flat-bottomed boats. The cloudless sky above promised a clear and stormfree day, but the dark forest beyond the southern bank whispered of hidden dangers behind the trees and the water below wavered with the hint of bodies beneath the surface.

  He awoke with the familiar twisting fear in the pit of his belly. After a cold breakfast, they broke camp quickly and turned southeast, following the river with their bows near to hand. They saw no signs of settlements or encampments as they rode, but rather than have this allay their disquiet, after the initial excitement of reaching the river had passed, all three men began to feel both uneasy and exposed. The gently rolling countryside was too open and too empty for their passage to remain hidden, the strips of woodland that grew right up to the water’s edge too dark and the underbrush too thick to maneuver in easily. Time and time again they had to leave the riverbank to bypass some soft and crumbling escarpment or boggy patch of ground and strike north.

  After three days of this, Bayne’s mood began to darken and Kellisin started to lag behind, his eyes constantly scanning the unfamiliar terrain. Trey was unable to break the tension. His dreams had become as impenetrable as the woodlands themselves, almost as if the blue coat were laughing at him for thinking he could overcome his childhood fears so easily.

  However, nineteen days after they’d left the familiar peaks and paths of the Ice Wall Mountains, the river flowed through a series of lightly wooded hills, then opened up to reveal a group of huts built about a wide but shallow quarry. A dozen people labored to cut away great blocks of the exposed stone while a dozen more loaded them onto log rollers pulled by heavy-set horned creatures that looked like a cross between huge ponies and hairless mountain goats. Another dozen figures stood at key locations, obviously guardsmen protecting the settlement, while two women shouted orders from the first of three flat-bottomed boats tied up at a sturdily built wooden and stone pier. Two of the boats were already loaded with the stone blocks, the third half full.

  Hidden just beyond the tree line, the three Goshon stopped dead and Kellisin’s mouth fell open.

  “Isn’t that . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Trey answered.

  “And look at the color the guards are wearing,” Bayne added meaningfully.

  Trey squinted down at the settlement.

  “It’s the wrong shade,” he declared after a moment, trying to mask the sense of foreboding the sight of the bright blue uniforms caused him.

  “Does it matter?” the other man asked.

  “Yes, it matters,” Trey snapped back with rather more force than necessary and his brother raised his hands in a sarcastic gesture of submission.

  “All right, so it matters, but you have to admit, it’s an interesting coincidence. Have you ever seen anyone wear any kind of blue cloth?”

  “No I haven’t, but until this moment I’d never seen anyone stand on floating rocks either.”

  Beside them, Kellisin stirred restlessly, impatient with the argument. “So, are we going down for a closer look or not?” he demanded. “If you dreamed this place, there must be a reason.”

  “True.”

  “Then, let’s go down and find out what it is.”

  Trey and Bayne rolled their eyes at each other over his head.

  “Life is always simpler for the young,” Bayne noted sagely.

  “Life is always slower for the old,” Kellisin retorted.

  “And life is always a pushy series of inevitable events for the shamans, old or young,” Trey added.

  “So we’re going?”

  “Yes, we’re going, but cautiously,” he added, grabbing the younger man’s halter before he could go galloping down the hill. “Cautiously, little cousin.”

  All work ceased immediately as the three clansman broke from the trees and rode slowly into the open towards the riverbank. One of the guardsmen gave a whistling signal and, by the time they reached the pier, an older woman in a leather apron and a man in the guardsmen’s bright blue uniform were waiting for them, ringed by people. Most held their tools or weapons loosely but resolutely, and Trey gave Bayne a casual, sideways glance.

  “Keep your hands away from your own weapons, brother,” he said quietly.

  “Believe me, I’m trying to.”

  Reining up, Trey dismounted. “I am Treyill of the Goshon,” he said. “This is my brother Bayne and my kinsman Kellisin. “We’re traveling south. We have goods to trade. You understand, trade?”

&
nbsp; The woman nodded warily. “I am Kith Arkarus of Waymeet, the Quarry Master here,” she replied, her accent thick and exotic but understandable. “This is Captain Danel of the Valdemar Guard.”

  Trey couldn’t help but show his surprise. “Valdemar?”

  Captain Danel gave him a measured look. “You came through the Crook Back Pass?” he asked.

  “The Feral.”

  “Ah, then you’ll have passed through no villages to tell you. You crossed Valdemar’s northwestern border some days ago. We’re the farthest settlement in the area, and the newest.”

  “King Restil is expanding the palace,” a new voice said excitedly. The three Goshon glanced up just as a young woman, perhaps a year or two older than Kellisin, appeared on the top of one of the blocks of stone on the halfloaded barge.

  “This is Gabrielle Post,” the Quarry Master said dryly. “My niece. Apprenticed to Haven’s Master Builder . . .”

  “My father,” Gabrielle supplied.

  “Sent north to gain experience in the building trades.”

  “Haven?” Trey asked.

  “The capital of Valdemar.”

  “And you will float this stone there?”

  “Tomorrow morning if the weather holds.”

  Trey and Bayne exchanged another glance.

  “You’ll be passing through a lot of wild country,” Trey noted.

  “Wild for the unwary, maybe,” Captain Danel answered. “But we’re not unwary,” he added meaningfully, “and we’re not unprepared.”

  Bayne smiled at the unsubtle warning.

  “I’m sure of it,” Trey replied smoothly. “I’m told that a sharp eye and a courageous arm are always welcome in Valdemar if they’re offered honestly. For passage to Haven, I offer ours. If any of your people have heard stories of mine, you’ll know that this offer is made honestly.”

  The captain and the Quarry Master exchanged a glance while both Bayne and Kellisin tried not to look surprised.

  “We know of the Goshon in Waymeet,” the Quarry Master acknowledged. “Though we’ve not seen any of your people in a generation or more.” She tipped her head to one side, her expression speculative. “It’s said that you have an uncanny ability to track and trap the creatures your clan is named for.”

  Trey smiled. “What’s said is true, and yes, we have pelts to trade as well.”

  “I think we can come to an arrangement then, if the captain is willing.”

  “What a strange craft this is.”

  An hour later, with the negotiations between the Quarry Master and his kinsman complete, Kellisin lay stretched out on the pier, studying the underside of the barge intently as the setting sun cast long, orange fingers across the water.

  Crouched beside him, Gabrielle bobbed her head happily. “It’s a much better mode of transportation than sleds pulled by oxen,” she explained. “The river does all the work, you see.”

  “Yes, I do see. But how does it stay on the surface with such a heavy load upon it?”

  “Magic.”

  “What? Truly?”

  Gabrielle’s laughter rang out like the pealing of bells. “No, of course not. The barge is built to distribute the load evenly and since it’s made of wood and wood floats, so does the barge and whatever is placed on it. Evenly. Do you see?”

  He smiled up at her, obviously content to simply hear the sound of her voice. “Not really, Gabrielle.”

  She grinned down at him. “Call me Gaby.”

  “I shall.” He glanced back at the barge. “What if winds or storms redistribute the weight?”

  “Oh. Then the barge would sink.”

  “But if the barge sinks you’d never be able to get the stone up from the riverbed, would you?”

  She shrugged easily. “We’d better hope it doesn’t sink, then. My father said to bring him his stone or don’t come home at all.” She laughed again. “I’m mostly sure he was joking. Mostly.” She cocked her head to one side. “Did you want to see how we load the stone upon rollers?” she asked, suddenly a little shy.

  He smiled back at her, suddenly less so. “Yes, I should like that very much,” he answered.

  Seated by a small fire on the edge of the settlement, Trey and Bayne watched as Gabrielle tucked their kinsman’s arm into hers and led him off toward the quarry.

  “Well, it looks like he, at least, has ridden into our new life smoothly enough,” Bayne chuckled.

  Trey nodded wordlessly.

  “That’s good, yes?” his brother prodded.

  “Yes.”

  “But?”

  “But he isn’t there yet,” Trey said in a cautious tone. “And neither are we.”

  “Hmm.” Staring up at the starlit sky, Bayne rubbed at a small scar on one knuckle. “This new idea of yours will likely see us there that much sooner though. I wasn’t expecting to float our way south. When did you dream that?”

  “I didn’t, and it might be a terrible mistake, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “But as Kellisin said, I dreamed this place and its floating stone boats for a reason. Vulshin told me to that my dreams would make sense when I trusted them to do so.”

  “And do you?”

  Trey sighed. “Not yet.”

  Standing, Bayne swiped at his trousers. “Well, let’s hope you do by the time we need you to. I’m going to check on the ponies.”

  Left on his own, Trey scowled at the image of the blue coat which seemed to form and reform in the flickering campfire. “Yes,” he said doubtfully. “Let’s hope I do.”

  That night he dreamed of a hail of arrow fire coming from the southern trees and the next morning, warned, the settlement guards mounted an extra vigilant watch while Gabrielle and the Quarry Master oversaw the loading of the final barge.

  After giving her a curt hug, the older woman held her out at arm’s length. “I’m sending you three masons and three laborers to help unload at Haven, but I want them back, understood?” she said. “And the captain has steady company to see you safely there, so don’t be afraid.”

  Gabrielle laughed at her. “Granite makes an excellent shield, Auntie,” she said in a condescending tone. “And besides, I have my fine northern clansman to protect me.” She shot a dazzling smile in Kellisin’s direction and the Quarry Master scowled at her.

  “Yes, well, be safe and come back to us if your father allows it. You’re a good worker. Tell my sister I said so.”

  “I will.” Catching Kellisin by the hand, Gabrielle drew him onto the lead boat, then waved jauntily as it cast off while, beside them, Bayne and Trey shared another rolling of their eyes.

  “That’s all we need,” Bayne whispered. “Another colt to look after.”

  “Shh.” Catching hold of one of the ropes lashed to the stones to steady himself, Trey elbowed his brother in the side as the three barges began to move slowly out into the water.

  Once they’d made they way into the current, the barge captain, an old man with a grizzled length of long, braided gray hair, squinted across the river with an egregious expression. “We won’t be able to hug the northern bank for long,” he warned. “Sooner or later we’re going to have to move into deeper water.”

  Captain Danel nodded. “Let us know when it’s to be,” he said.

  “Shafts!”

  At Bayne’s shout, Gabrielle and her workers dove for cover while the six guardsmen and three Goshon answered the hail of arrow fire with a volley of their own.

  They’d been traveling for two days down the center of the river and in the last few hours had fought off three attacks from the southern bank. One of the masons had taken an arrow through the arm and another had caught a graze across the cheek before the barge captain had pulled him to safety. Everyone had gotten much faster at reacting but, as Trey made his cautious way to Bayne’s side, he knew it wasn’t going to last. Sooner or later they were going to suffer a real casualty.

  His brother shot him a swift glance before rising slightly to send a shaft of his own stre
aking towards the trees. The answering volley showed plainly that the enemy had not yet broken off the attack. “It’s a good thing they don’t have any boats of their own or we’d be in real trouble,” he declared.

  “They likely do. They’re just softening us up first, seeing if they can take out a few of our combatants before they make their primary attack.”

  “And thank you for that, my ray of sunshine. Do something, then. Dream us out of this.”

  “I have.”

  “What?” Bayne’s head snapped around. “When?”

  “Last night, but you won’t like it, neither will Captain Danel. There’s going to be a fog. We can either use it to slip past them or . . .”

  An enemy arrow cracked the stone block just above Bayne’s head and he turned an exasperated look in Trey’s direction as he ducked instinctively. “Or what?” he demanded.

  “Or they’ll use it to mount an attack against us and, warned, we can set an ambush. Either way, we risk injuries and deaths.”

  “If it’s either way, I’m all for an ambush myself.”

  “As am I, but there’s a problem.”

  “What?”

  “The fog won’t be for two days.”

  “Will they wait that long, do you think?”

  Trey gave the southern bank a narrow-eyed glare. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  That night, huddled beside the ponies tethered in the center of the barge, Trey struggled to sink down into sleep, but the unfamiliar movement of the deck beneath him and the faint sounds of guards maintaining a constant watch all around him kept jerking him back to wakefulness. With a growl of frustration, he pulled the blanket over his head. Everything he’d seen or dreamed and every decision he’d made since leaving the vale seemed to hinge on this one final night and it looked as if he were going to spend it fighting his own restless fears. In his mind’s eyes the blue coat seemed to shimmer with life, hovering just out of reach, its silver trim sparkling in the pale moonlight almost menacingly.