The Castle Of Hape. Caves Of Fire And Ice. The Joining Of The Stone

Ram told him, shouting through the rain, of Carriol’s past from the time he had come there twelve years back, leaving out only those things that might, to the wrong ears, be harmful to Carriol. He told him something of the rising power of the dark Seers, though not all of it. The man’s questions were strange, disoriented. Ram thought he was old, the timbre of his voice was of an aged man. And some of his questions seemed strange indeed, given his confusion, implied a knowledge of Ere he should not have if he had been in the mountains for years. He puzzled Ram, but did not frighten him. They rode in silence for a while, each with his own thoughts, and Ram could not touch the man’s mind—though whether that was because of some skill he held, or because of the dark Seers, Ram did not know.

The heavy rain lasted full three hours across the hills to the river Urobb and did not abate as they rode up the last steep rise to the settlement of Blackcob that lay overlooking the river—though one could not see or hear the river, only driving rain. It was near midnight. Not a light shone anywhere; Blackcob was still as death and the rain likely never to end. Ram found Rolf Klingen’s corral only after bruising his shins on some piled barrels and swearing a lot. The stranger followed him obediently, and it occurred to Ram as he unsaddled the gelding that he had not even asked the man’s name; and perhaps he was foolish to bring him here into Blackcob, which had already seen more trouble than it wanted. Yet still he trusted the man. He unsaddled the pack mare under the shed, rubbed the horses down and, because they bumped one another in the dark, knew the stranger did the same. He felt reluctant to ask a name not given. They found grain at last and buckets; and when the animals were cared for, they went to wake old Klingen. Ram badly wanted a mug of something hot, and some food. Knowing he must have the stranger’s name if they were to spend the night with Klingen, he shouted, “How are you called, stranger?” and got a mouthful of rain.

“I am Anchorstar. And you, lad?”

“Ram. You can call me Ram.”

Ram felt the stranger pause in the downpour and stare, then come on again. “Ramad?” he cried, almost softly. “Ramad—Ramad of wolves, then?”

“Yes, I am Ramad. But how . . .” Cold and wet and hungry, Ram spent but little time wondering how the old man had known his name when all else about Carriol seemed so confusing to him. When the old man made no answer, he put it out of his mind and rapped sharply at Klingen’s door, stood hunched under the overhang shivering, the wound in his side paining him abysmally after the long ride. What in Urdd was taking Klingen so long? He pounded again, felt Anchorstar stir beside him and push closer to the log wall. He pounded a third time, fit to break the door, then reached to lift the latch.

 

 

 

FOUR

 

Some five hours ride to the west of Blackcob it was raining equally hard. The town of Kubal showed no light, gone in sleep except for a young girl standing in the darkness of a corral, drenched with rain, weeping so violently her whole body shook with sobs; yet weeping in silence, choking back the wail of anguish that rose and twisted her. She dared not be heard crying in the night or she would be beaten and the winged horse she clung to would be beaten again too. The big mare stood hunched and strangely twisted; Telien had to reach to caress her warm, wet neck, caress carefully so as not to touch the bloody wounds. She had staunched some of the blood, though it was impossible to bandage the whip-cuts across the mare’s back and legs, impossible to bandage, without further hurting, her poor maimed wings: wings once marvels of light-flung beauty, now clipped to the skin like a barn fowl’s, naked and bony and deformed-looking, with a few ragged feathers clinging, and bloody where AgWurt had cut too close. Telien could not erase the picture of her lying tangled in AgWurt’s snare, there in the valley, bound down with ropes; the picture of AgWurt’s face as he lashed her again and again so Telien turned away, sick. “My own father! I would . . . I would kill him if I could!” Though she knew, ashamed, that she was too terrified of him to try.

The mare reached around to nuzzle her in loving warmth. Telien hugged her gently, stood drenched by rain and felt only her warmth and her own sickness at what AgWurt had done.