Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 11.1

Eleven

The next day the weather broke. It was still cold, but the clouds cleared out to the east as the day grew older. Beneath the blue afternoon sky the Green Hills crested above a horizon of trees and mist. Unlike the steep and jagged peaks of the Gray Mountains, they did not challenge the heavens. They were old and worn. Time and weather had exhausted them past caring. The earth was enough.

The first men to come up out of the sea to this land over two millennia ago called them the Green Hills, since not even the highest peaks of their humped backs were bare of trees. From their deepest glens to their summits dense forests covered them. Pine and fir spread across their heights; below oak and maple, ash and hickory clothed the lower slopes, which rolled downward into the foothills and forests of the eastern border of the Plains of Rheith. Even during a mild winter they were well watered on their western flank by the rains and snows that came in from the west. To the east the damp sea air, coastal fogs, and storms off the ocean gave them all the moisture they needed to grow thick and green.

But neither the autumn nor the early winter of this year had been mild so far, and as the companions looked from beneath the trees along the river, they could see snow gleaming from the top of the range all the way down to the western edge of the woods at their feet. As the sun sank westwards and the tide of night flowed up and over them, the river they had been following for over a week made a sweeping turn towards the mountains. Their road now ran directly east. From here, Jalonn said, the eaves of the forest were no more distant than a day’s journey, and the nearest of the mountain passes two days away.

“But from the look of things,” he added, “the snow there already lies deep. We may need to seek another way.”

Arden and Niall reluctantly agreed to Jalonn’s assessment, but none of them wished to consider the alternative of which Jalonn did not yet speak openly. For if they could not make their way over one of the more remote passes near the source of this river, passes that would bring them down into the coastal plain a hundred miles north of Narinen, they would have little choice but to travel some twenty miles south until they reached the open pass at the scholars’ town of Prisca.

From there the road led southeast until it joined the Great Road fifteen miles west of the City. It was this road Arden had been set to travel one morning thirty years earlier. He did not wish to go that way. His father and elder brother had studied with the loremasters at Prisca, and Rangers he had spoken to told him that its wonderful library had been razed. In Arden’s youth and long before, there had been much coming and going between the City of Narinen and Prisca, but few besides soldiers now lived in this once beautiful town, for centuries the greatest seat of learning west of the sea, a school for kings and statesmen, scholars and soldiers. At times even the loremasters of the elves had crossed the wide ocean to visit Prisca for consultation and debate.

There from the tower of the library, which rose high above the pass itself, one could look down upon the fair town and the narrow road winding up to it from the tawny fields and shining rivers of the Plains; or gaze eastwards through the pass over the green, grassy lowlands of the coast and the sea beyond. At sunrise the first ruddy light of dawn spilled though the pass to gleam like a beacon off the tower’s golden roof. Arden’s father used to tell him how as a young, homesick scholar he had often climbed the tower’s long stairway to look upon the sea and catch the scent of salt air on the morning breeze.

Little remained of the town these days, only shelter enough for five companies of the dragon’s men. A few of the taverns, which long had been full of song and of students debating history and literature over pints of ale, had in the dragon’s time become the haunts of ignorant troopers and hunters, who sang coarse songs and argued over coarser women. The library had fallen before the fire of the red dragon, who had himself come to reduce all learning to ashes: any knowledge but his own was hateful and dangerous to him.

But the tower was there yet, rising above the library’s broken walls. A watch tower it had become where keen eyed men kept ceaseless guard over the pass and road, which the garrison labored to keep open for the many troopers and spies, hunters and messengers who came that way. Rangers had at times stolen into the ruins at the feet of the tower to salvage what books they could from the ashes. A few had escaped the tower’s vigilance and brought away treasures; most instead lost a treasure and never returned. Yet, though the Rangers who dwelt in the nearby hills still kept a watch of their own on the town, none came near it any longer. No Ranger had ventured inside in a dozen years.

“We’ll know more in a couple of days,” said Evénn. “No need to consider other ways just yet.”

They continued on for a few hours more, then bedded down for the night. The next day was warmer and they found the snow less deep as they moved steadily closer to the forest. It was the first promising sign they had seen in some days. The thought that perhaps the storms might have spent themselves in the lowlands raised their spirits as the Green Hills grew taller before them. A pass might still be open.

Niall and Arden exchanged a few hopeful looks. Neither of them had been this far east for many a year. Arden had always asked to be posted to the west. He had never been within sight of the old mountains since he had come west with Jalonn. Niall had been back once about twenty years ago. When at last he had returned to the Valley, he had answered Arden’s look of inquiry with a frown and a shake of his head.

That was as full an answer as Arden had wanted. He had of course listened to official reports over the years, and overheard snatches of the conversation of others, but he had also made every effort to avoid news of home whenever possible. Once, several years ago, the Masters had suggested to him that he would be ideal for a posting in the east. He replied that he would not obey if they commanded him to go, unless they also ordered him to seek out the dragon. The Masters let the matter drop, and Arden returned to the west, where only his duty took him. His heart and his home lay by the sea.

In the dusk the next day they stopped and made camp for the night a half mile or so from the small road which led down from the northern town of Tusk – so called from the tusks of a huge, shaggy creature like an elephant whose remains had been discovered in a bog there when men first settled the town seven hundred years ago. It ran along the forest’s edge, leaping the Valané on a single arch of stone, crossing the road which climbed up to Prisca, and vanishing into the remote south.

Twice before Arden had walked this road. Once as a boy he had come this far north, hunting for a week in the fall with his father and brother. It had been a spectacular season, with warm days and cool nights beneath rustling leaves of red and gold. Though they had not seen a single deer, Arden remembered that trip fondly when he allowed himself to think of it at all, as he did today. His second time on this road was fresher in his mind. The year after the Fall he and Jalonn had hidden in the woods beside it for months, hunted themselves by the dragons’ men and the packs of mountain wolves they had begun to use as trackers. But that was over three hundred leagues south of where they stood this evening.

The companions slept little that night. While Niall remained in camp with the horses, the others scouted in pairs for miles in either direction. This close to the City the roads and paths were closely watched. The garrison at Prisca patrolled in force, and often set luckless spies to keep an eye on the land. Few of them owned the cunning to elude the Rangers of these woods. Weeks later they were found, long dead and blinded, bound in the middle of the road. The rare survivors had little to report, because they saw nothing, or only what the Rangers wished them to see.

In the mean, chill hours before dawn the companions decided it was safe, and by the time the sun was up, the road was miles behind them. On this side the land rose quickly. The trees began to change. The river grew narrower as they approached its source. Soon it was no more than a swift, shallow stream. Since the camp of the Rangers who dwelt here lay south of the Valané, Jalonn led them across to the other bank before the hills grew too steep. He hoped to encounter them soon, or at least before the end of the day. After a month of hurried secrecy and isolation, it was essential to hear the news of the enemy they had gathered, and to learn whether the snow had already closed the passes. Messages may also have come in for them from Master Raynall. He was also looking forward to the possibility of a fire and a warm meal.

Jalonn of course knew the site of the Rangers’ camp, halfway up the mountain they were climbing and some miles further south, but he felt it was wiser simply to follow the river upwards, and allow the Rangers to find them. Wiser and more cautious. For, while there were no tracks in the snow behind them, even eyes that did not see their tracks might still see them. Jalonn wished no further encounters with hunters. The two at the river had been reckless, even if they could not have known of Mahar’s bow. Shrewder hunters – and many were quite shrewd, skilled in the wild, and fell handed in combat – would have shot down Agarwen and Evénn before revealing themselves. If anyone were on their trail today, and dared enter these woods, the Rangers would isolate and cut them down.

Knowing that he would surely be recognized by any Ranger who saw him, Jalonn scouted ahead with Argos. Since Niall and Arden were old enough for many of these Rangers to know their faces, Arden came not far behind Jalonn, accompanied by Agarwen, Evénn, and the wolf, whom the elf kept close by him today. Niall came last some two hundred yards back. Each also gave the sign that all was well – quivers closed and reins held in the left hand.

Shortly after midday, Evénn indicated with a look and a nod that they were not alone. His sharp ears had detected the faint sounds of others in the woods on either side of the stream. The wolf, too, had noticed them. He kept stopping and staring into the distance, but with a soft word Evénn bade him stay with them. The companions were being shadowed, an unusual experience for Rangers. While the best hunters could track them, rarely could anyone come so close undetected.

Up ahead Jalonn rode on quite calmly, his hand on his hip. For some time he had known that other Rangers had found them. Argos, too, like the wolf and Evénn, had heard the faintest sounds above the voice of the stream. The Rangers would appear, Jalonn knew, once they were satisfied that he and his companions were not being followed. He guessed they had been moving along on either side of the stream for about an hour. That is what he would have done. Presently he rounded a large boulder overlooking the water and saw a man of about thirty five sitting on a rock. He was peacefully waiting for them. His sword lay sheathed across his knees and in his hands he held a small knife, with which he was carving a piece of wood. He let the chips fall into the stream and hurry away downhill. The Ranger looked up casually as Jalonn drew near.

“Master Jalonn, welcome,” he said. “Your party covers its tracks exceptionally well.”

“Hansarad,” Jalonn answered with quiet pleasure. “I’m glad it’s you. Your father is well and sends his greetings.”

“Thank you,” he said, rising and advancing. “That is good news.”

Jalonn dismounted and clasped Hansarad’s extended hand.

“Any sign of pursuit?” he asked.

“No. Who could pursue without a trail to follow? You must tell me how you managed that.”

“Perhaps when you are older.”

“You’ve been saying that for years, Master Jalonn.”

“Yes, and when you have proven yourself, I will tell you what you need to know.”

Hansarad laughed and said, “There are only five in your party?”

“Yes, it seemed a better way to preserve secrecy.”

“Niall and Arden I know, and the woman’s face is familiar.”

“She is Agarwen, daughter of Ramas.”

“Of course, I remember her now. The other is the elf, I suppose? We were all astounded when Master Raynall informed us that the dragonslayer was among you, and that we have two of the ancient weapons. He is truly Evénn?”

“Yes, unexpected as that might seem.”

Hansarad shook his head and shrugged.

“I suppose that if the monsters of legend can return,” he said, “so can the one who slew them.”

Argos walked up to Hansarad, sniffed him, and wagged his tail slightly.

“And you, sir,” Hansarad said to the hound, “what are you doing here? It seems you and your wolf friend would not be left behind.”

Argos wagged his tail more enthusiastically. Hansarad stroked his head, then looked at Jalonn.

“A week ago we received word that two nights after you left Argos and Evénn’s wolf broke out of the kennels and went after you. Apparently, not even the Guardians of the Forest could capture them. Master Raynall was particularly keen to warn us that a wolf would be with you, lest we slay it on sight. First the dragonslayer, then a friendly wolf. It is all very surprising.”

“My life has been one continuous surprise to me, Hansarad, and Evénn would have taken it rather ill, had you shot the wolf. Did Raynall say anything else?”

“No. He said there was no other news, except that the other Rangers have departed the Valley as planned.”

Jalonn nodded his head. Raynall had set the pieces moving. Parties of Rangers would be in place across the land by the time he and his companions reached the City. Just then Arden and Agarwen appeared around the boulder, followed a moment later by Evénn with the wolf by his side. They had dismounted and were leading their horses. Hansarad and the wolf eyed each other.

“He’s all right,” Evénn said, coming up to Hansarad with his hand held out. “He’s been a good friend to me. Thank you for not shooting him. My name is Evénn.”

“So I have heard,” Hansarad answered, taking his hand and looking him over. “As for him,” he said, nodding at the wolf, “we try not to kill our friends, even on the rare occasions that they are wolves.”

They stood for some time by the brook, speaking in low voices, waiting for Niall to catch up. Hansarad questioned them about their route and what they had seen in the woods and on the plains. Jalonn’s account of their clash at the crossing of the Rheith with the hunters interested him most, especially the shot Arden had made over its broad waters. When Niall arrived, the company moved on, guided by Hansarad. Several miles further uphill they turned off to the right, and for the rest of the day traced a winding course through pines at the foot of a lofty cliff. Near sunset they descended from a ridge into a small dell of ancient hawthorns and maples and entered the Rangers’ camp. In the heat of summer it must have been shady and cool, but a cold mist shrouded it now, soaking their hair and clothing as they moved through the gathering gloom. When the dark mouth of the caves where the Rangers dwelt loomed suddenly up through the fog, it seemed like a door to a grim underworld where their ghosts would sleep until the world’s ending.

“This has always been a cheery place in winter,” said Jalonn.

“And it has lost none of its charms over the years,” Hansarad answered, his wry tone matching that of Jalonn, whom he had known all his life.

“At least you can offer us a fire and a warm meal, I think.”

“Master, the scholars at Prisca would have told you that our distant ancestors lived in caves like this one, but even if the dragons have driven us back into them, I believe we can still make fire, and a decent venison stew.”

With that Hansarad called in a louder voice into the cave. Soon their eyes detected a faint glow growing within. It brightened steadily until another, much younger Ranger, emerged with a torch. Immediately they followed him within, and after a few twists and turns found themselves in a large well lit cavern. Its walls were rough and unfinished, unlike those of the citadel, but they glittered and sparkled in the flickering light of many torches. To one side was a hearth, with a large iron pot bubbling over the fire. Above it a chimney of hewn stone mortared together ran up to a natural vent in the cavern’s roof. The aroma of venison was most welcome after weeks in the cold, rain, and snow.

“It’s warmer in here than I expected,” Agarwen said.

“The caverns further back have hot springs,” Hansarad replied. “They make this place bearable in the winter, though you would never know that from outside.”

“I knew there were such springs scattered about these mountains, but I was unaware of any here,” Niall said.

“They allow us to stay warmer than most of our brother and sister Rangers. Somewhat cleaner, too. After our meal, you can soak the chill from your bones if you wish.”

“That would be welcome indeed,” said Niall and the others agreed.

At a word from Hansarad, the younger Ranger who had brought the torch was joined by another who had been tending the hearth and stirring the stew occasionally. They went out to fetch the horses and lead them off to other caverns which were used as stables. Evénn and Niall went with them. In the chamber it was warm enough for the companions to remove their mist soaked cloaks and hang them by the fire to dry. Jalonn sat himself on a bench beside the hearth and drew out a long clay pipe, which he lit and drew on thoughtfully. Other Rangers came in by ones and twos over the next half hour. They paid their respects to the Master and reported to Hansarad, their captain, that there had been no sign of any enemy throughout the day. All was quiet. Four of the two dozen Rangers present in the camp remained outside to keep watch, two at the entrances to the dell, two roving ceaselessly through the woods beyond.

When Niall, Evénn, and the two young Rangers returned from grooming the horses nearly an hour later, all sat down on long benches around rough tables to eat their meal, which they did without much conversation, thankful for fire and hot food at the end of a cold winter’s day. But if Arden’s companions were aware that their arrival here marked only the end of one stage of their journey and that the greater challenge lay ahead, Arden himself was reflecting with a mixture of ruefulness and irony that the next fire to greet them would not be so welcoming. After their meal, he got up and walked over to stand staring into the hearth, thinking of the kindness of the glowing flames before him and the cruelty of those to come. In his mind he could hear the screaming of men and women long dead whom the dragons’ fire had consumed, while brief pieces of friendly conversation and sometimes laughter reached his ears from the table behind him.

This dark turn of thought, he knew, came from the disquiet that had been growing within him since they first sighted the Green Hills two days ago. His ancient yearning for vengeance, his reluctance to see the fallen City of his youth, his dread of failing now as he had failed then, were knotted in his soul. Through all the years of single-minded waiting he had not expected to feel this way when the time came. This thought, too, amused and annoyed him in equal measure. Then the voice of Master Jalonn asking Hansarad about the enemy roused him, and he turned from the hearth to listen.

“During and after the harvest, of course,” Hansarad replied, “they were quite active, moving about the land to make sure that no one had hidden away more than enough grain to keep themselves barely alive for another year. They oversaw the gathering and transportation of it to the City. They drove off the surplus cattle, sheep, and pigs as well. Since then, however, they have been quiet. The weather this last month has not encouraged anyone to venture out. Their patrols along the Tusk road have been perfunctory, with little interest in looking into anything that might keep them away from their barracks and the taverns of Prisca longer than necessary.”

“Any hunters about?” Agarwen asked.

“No, not for several months. A half dozen of them came over from the City late last summer and tried to track two of my men back here. We let them come deep into the forest, far beyond any aid from Prisca, before we dealt with them.”

“So the woods are safe. But tell us, what of the passes?” Jalonn said.

“I fear they are buried deep, Master. As you know, they are steep and narrow, treacherous even for those who know them best. But with all the snow that has already fallen this winter, I doubt anyone could make it over them safely. If you could reach them at all, that is. You saw how deep the snow is here? It grows rapidly deeper as the mountains rise.”

“What if you guided us?” Arden broke in impatiently.

“That would only endanger more lives, Arden,” Hansarad replied, “and bring you no closer to the City. I believe you know something of these mountains, Arden. You were raised near them. The snow must be more than ten feet deep up at the passes.”

“But you don’t know?”

“Easy, Arden,” said Niall calmly. “Hansarad probably knows these mountains better than we do. He has lived and served here for many years.”

Arden glared at Niall, then frowned and turned his attention back to Hansarad.

“Your pardon, Hansarad. I was not questioning your ability or courage. The passes would simply serve us better.”

“No doubt they would,” Hansarad answered, taking no offense, “but not this winter. You must live to reach Narinen. Still, if you wish, tomorrow we can climb up to the higher slopes and see for ourselves.”

“Thank you,” Arden said. “I would be grateful for that.” Then he paused. “But now I think I had better go outside and clear my mind. “

Arden took his cloak and left the chamber, closing behind him the door that kept out the cold. Outside he retraced his steps back out of the hollow, where he found one of the four Rangers on watch. He told her that he was going to try to climb up above the mist and have a look at the stars. As he was working his way up the mountainside through the snow, he heard behind him the call of an owl. It was one of the signals Rangers used to let the others know there was a friend in the woods.

The stars slowly faded into sight as the mist began to dissipate. Once clear of it entirely, Arden settled himself on the top of a rocky overhang. The crowns of the pines growing on the slopes below reached high enough to screen him from the western breeze and the view of anyone further down the mountain. As he brushed away the light, dry snow and sat down, he repeated the owl call to give the Rangers on watch a notion of his position. The call was returned from several directions over the next few minutes.

Up here the night was cold and clear, and the glow from the numberless stars washed over him and down the mountainside to the forest and plains below. The dark tree lined course of the Valané emerged from the woods and ran west towards the waxing moon. On either side of the river and stretching as far as the eye could see, the snow covered fields shone white in the starlight. The peace of the night made him regret his abruptness with Hansarad, who would not have been the captain here if he did not know what he was about; and everything he had seen on the mountain tonight told him that the young captain was certainly right about the passes.

He realized that he needed to meditate, which he had not done since they left the Valley a month ago. The thought amused him, since for so long he had done without it, had rejected it, yet now he felt the need of its benefits. To spend an hour each day focused on something outside himself had done him good. He could only admit that. For so many years he had been isolated, serving alone in the west; meeting other Rangers only seldom and at appointed times to send reports back to the Masters; or more often concealing messages in remote locations where days or weeks later another would retrieve them and pass them along; returning infrequently and briefly to the Valley; traveling constantly, often in disguise, friendless and speaking to few. Those like the innkeeper at Kinabra, who recognized him for what he was and welcomed him discreetly, were very rare.

In constant, silent conversation with his younger self and with his memories, all the while on guard against the enemy, against the treachery of his frightened countrymen, and even against himself, he had long kept himself apart from those who offered him friendship. Yet in the few months since he had met Evénn he had let others come closer to him than anyone had in years; and it had been a pleasure for him. Now he was retreating again, for fear that he would lose them all: Jalonn who found him; Evénn who saved him; Niall who was bound to him in a strange unspoken friendship; and Agarwen who had been his apprentice and desired what he could not give. He had been alone too long.

With a sigh and a frown, he pulled his cloak more tightly about him, looked out upon the night, and began to meditate as they had taught him in his apprenticeship years before, and as he had done sitting beside Jalonn each day of their last month in the Valley. He counted his breaths, slowly in and slowly out, until he was calm within; and he tried to think his way through the old prayers and litanies that directed his thoughts away from himself, out to others, to the world, and to god, to a life of which he was not the center.

When his own thoughts and feelings intruded themselves, clamoring for his attention, he considered them one by one, then let them go and returned to the point at which they had interrupted his meditation. Slowly he moved forward; he cleared his mind; for a little while he let slip the bondage of self. All his other thoughts, emotions, and memories were still present, but his perspective on them shifted. They did not clamor so insistently when he was aware that he was only a part of the whole.

Arden heard the owl call again from below. The stars told him that about an hour had passed since his meditation began. He became aware of how cold he was, nearly at the point of shivering. But the call indicated that someone else was also outside the dell. Rising, he moved about to restore his circulation and warm himself. A cloaked figure soon appeared from beneath the shadows of the trees to his right. It was Evénn. The gray wolf walked beside him, shining in the last of the moonlight.

”I thought it would be you,” Arden said. “It’s your time of night to leave camp.”

“You’ve been meditating,” he replied. “The tension has left your voice.”

“Yes. I did without it for so many years that I’d forgotten how much it calms me.”

“It’s easier to notice the difference when you’re not alone. Turmoil within us becomes our normal state after a time, till we cannot see it without a point of comparison. The same is true of serenity. We forget it is there until we meet others who do not know it.”

“Serenity?” Arden laughed with a hint of bitterness. “I’ve never known that.”

“But you know a piece of it right now. Your voice tells me that. It is often not a tranquility, but a clarity – as when we call a clear sky serene – that allows us to see the disturbance within us as if from afar. It allows us to recognize that what disturbs us is not all there is. The wound is still within you, is it not?”

“Yes,” Arden replied, not liking the question.

“And it still aches, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But right now you see it differently.”

“Yes,” said Arden, though it felt a betrayal to say so.

“Just so."

Arden gave him a dubious look, which he was sure the night would conceal.

“Do you think I’ve stopped feeling the pain of my wounds, Arden?” Evénn asked, his eyes not deceived by the night. There was no anger in his voice, no edge of passion, as there might have been, only a sorrow for lost things that was as certain and silent as stone. There was only one answer.

“No, Evénn, I don’t.”

“Have you ever wondered,” he asked after a pause, “what I do when I leave camp at night?”

“Of course, we all have.”

“One of the things I do is meditate, just as you have done tonight. The dragons took everything from me, too. All that remained was the small hope that, with the ancient weapons, I might be able to save what is left of my people. That’s what brought me here. But it’s been twenty five years without a single word of news. What if they’re all dead? That’s long been my fear, and now that the possibility of going home is before me the fear grows only worse. Without prayer and meditation, I could never face it.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Evénn asked.

“Yes, I do. It is coming home again, Evénn, to the mountains and the sea, to the City and the graves of my people that disturbs me. I’ve been away for so many years, waiting and longing to return, yearning to strike back at the dragons; and now that I’m almost there, I feel myself cold and at a loss when I think a fire should burn within me like a furnace.”

“You fear you will fail, after all your waiting.”

“Yes.”

“And in failing you feel you will betray those graves you dug as a boy, and betray your father who has none.”

Arden did not answer, and Evénn continued.

“You will not betray them, Arden, even if we do fail. You did not fail them thirty years ago when you could not accomplish the impossible and save them. You will not do so now. The only failure would be not to try, not to fight with all your strength. You will not fail before the dragon. We all know that. It is not the dragon that daunts you. It is yourself. You will prove true when truth is needed.”

“Your words are kind,” Arden murmured, not sure that he was right.

“Now, I think I will walk in these woods,” Evénn said, “and look upon the stars.”

Evénn and the wolf disappeared into the trees, and Arden turned back down into the dell. The owl calls haunted the night behind him. Inside the cave he found Jalonn and Hansarad deep in conversation. Niall was on a cot asleep, his face turned to the wall.

“Arden,” Hansarad said to him as he came in, “why don’t you soak in one of the hot springs? I imagine you won’t have much chance of a bath for some time. The men use the one at the end on the right.”

“Perhaps I will. At least it will loosen some of the grime.”

Arden went out of the cavern into another chamber and down a passage. The springs sounded like a pleasant ending to a long, cold day and a colder hour and more in the night outside. Torches on the walls lit his way. Near the corridor’s end he passed another chamber with an arched entrance on his left. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed in the torchlight a slender white form through the steam of the spring. It was Agarwen rising from her bath, and he could feel her eyes upon him. He did not look. Then the doorway was behind him and he continued on down the corridor.

In the chamber Agarwen listened to Arden’s footsteps dying away, and wondered whether she had truly seen an instant’s hitch in his stride or whether she deceived herself.

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Chapter 11.2

Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 10.2

Despite the encouraging warmth of the last few days, it was winter again by morning. Frost crunched beneath their boots as they packed up their camp and saddled the horses. Today they would come to the River Rheith, which even this far north was a mightier river than any they had yet crossed. Every brook, stream, or river that came down from the mountains on either side of the plain sooner or later fed the Rheith until it was swollen with rain and chill with winter. There were no bridges. The companions would have to swim their horses across.

Before an hour had passed, they could hear the river through the trees, and by the time they they reached its banks two hours after sunrise the voice of the waters had grown so loud that they could hear little else. They conversed in near shouts as they looked out over it from under the trees. It lay shining in the morning light, racing southeast in haste to find the sea. Here the Reith was still only one hundred and fifty yards wide, far less than the eight hundred it spanned in the south, but the channel was deeper.

When they tested the waters, they found them as cold and their current as swift as they had feared. Without horses they would have been without hope. Niall waded in and was soon almost out of his depth. Though not even ten feet from the bank, he was nearly swept away. Jalonn had to ride in to assist him, breaking the stream’s force by placing his horse upstream of Niall, who came out shivering.

“Well, we must get across,” Niall said. “So we’d better start at once. We must load everything of any weight onto the horses. They are better swimmers than we are and won’t be pulled under so easily. We should also loop a line around the horns of our saddles in case we lose our grip. Our fingers will soon grow numb in that water. It would be frozen if it weren’t moving so fast.”

The companions removed their cloaks, boots, swords, and daggers, and made them fast to their horses’ saddles. They also redistributed some of the pack horse’s load to the other horses, taking care to bind the oil cloths tightly around their bundles of food. Once across, they would still have a long way to travel before they reached the Rangers in the Green Hills. So they could not let their food be lost or ruined in the river. They had no time to lose in hunting, which would be difficult this late in the year. Even the bow of Mahar needed a target.

Once their gear was secure, Jalonn decided that Agarwen should go first, followed by Evénn and the wolf, then Jalonn with Argos, and Niall with the pack horse. Arden would wait on the nearer shore until they were all across. Before she left, Jalonn took the hundred foot long coils of rope each of them carried and tied their ends together. That looked to be enough rope to span the river. Arden tied his end to a tree and Agarwen looped the other around her saddle horn. Once on the other side she would secure her end, so that all who came after her would have a life line to hold on to as well as their horse.

As she walked into the river beside her horse, the cold shock of the water drove the air from her lungs in a rush. Bufo resisted. She did not want to go in, but Agarwen did not pause or look back. She took a deep breath and coaxed the horse forward into the stream. In a moment they were swimming. Soon her head and Bufo’s were all that could be seen above the water. The others watched from the shore. Agarwen made good progress and was soon far out into the stream, but the force of the current was bearing her downstream much faster than they had expected. Niall grabbed the two spare coils of line from the pack horse, while Arden untied the end of the rope from the tree. Working quickly, they bent the ropes together, and hitched the new end to the tree once again.

By the time Arden had coiled down the extra rope on the bank Evénn was already in the river, encouraging Moonglow to swim after Agarwen. He was low in the water, too, on Moonglow’s upstream flank. The wolf was swimming on the downstream side, but soon began to outdistance them, as if trying to overtake the Ranger thirty yards ahead. Agarwen was nearly halfway across when Jalonn and Argos plunged in, with Niall and the pack horse not far behind them.

Arden watched them from the shore, shading his eyes against the glare on the water, but he was worried. The coil of rope at his feet was diminishing rapidly, and Agarwen was only now about three quarters of the way across. She was not going to make it. The river was too swift. Once the rope became taut, the current would swing her and the others helplessly back towards the shore they had just left. They would have no choice but to let go and take their chances.

There was only one thing Arden could do. He had to follow them downstream, hoping to gain back some of what the river had taken. He untied his end of the line, picked up what was left of the coil, and mounted Impetuous. As he rode along the riverbank, his eyes shifted constantly back and forth between Agarwen, gauging her progress, and the banks of the nearer shore, in search of another tree to use as an anchor. Although he was paying out the rope more slowly now, he did not yet know if there was enough.

At last Agarwen was near the bank. He could tell that Bufo was no longer swimming. The mare had found her depth on the stony bottom, but her struggle was not over. Though Arden could hear nothing but the river, he imagined Agarwen shouting to her horse, urging her on against the current and cold and the pull of the rope behind her. The line grew more and more taut. Slowly he and Impetuous entered the stream, half willingly, half dragged. The river’s icy grasp made him shudder. An instant later the pain of the cold seemed to crush his bones. Soon the water was above his horse’s withers, and Arden could feel him battling to keep his footing. When there were perhaps two dozen feet of line left, he threw another loop around his saddle horn. His eyes never left Agarwen.

Numb, shivering, and weak, she and Bufo came stumbling up the bank. As they staggered together towards the nearest tree, Agarwen had to watch herself walk because she could not feel her feet. Only her grip on the mare’s bridle kept her from falling. The weight of the rope was terrible, and each step a day’s labor. Agarwen shouted. She pleaded. She promised. Bufo neighed, wild eyed, and tossed her head furiously. By insensible inches the tree crept closer.

As soon as Arden saw Agarwen make her end of the rope fast to the tree, he began backing Impetuous out of the river. His hooves slipped on the stones, but step by step they climbed backward up the bank. Once they were out, he wheeled his horse around and leaped from the saddle. It was their turn now to replay the scene they had just witnessed, fighting the current and the rope to reach a distant tree, not ten feet from the shore. But they were not yet frozen by the river, and Impetuous was young, huge, and strong. Arden threw a hitch around the bole of the tree. Both ends of the rope were now secure. They had done it.

Arden now prepared to cross himself. He removed his quiver and secured it to his saddle, making sure that it was tightly sealed. The well-oiled leather and oiled silk lining would keep out any moisture. As he was strapping it down, he watched the progress of the others. Niall and the pack horse were just past the middle of the river. Jalonn and Argos were about forty yards ahead of him, much closer to Evénn, who was nearly across now, only about fifteen yards from the shore. He would be there in a minute or so. Agarwen was sitting beneath the tree, her head hanging down. She seemed exhausted. The wolf stood beside her, shaking a great spray of water from his fur. He was looking back at the river.

Then the wolf’s head came up and swung around to stare over his shoulder into the woods upstream of them. Slowly he slowly turned and lowered his head. Even from his side of the river Arden could see his ears go back. Agarwen noticed nothing until the wolf broke into a run towards the forest. She raised her head and looked just as two mounted men burst from the trees not thirty yards away and came galloping towards her, the first armed with a bow, the second a drawn sword.

They were not Rangers, or soldiers of the dragon, but hunters, men who wandered the wilds trying to track down Rangers and collect the price on their heads. Normally they were not so bold as to attack a group of Rangers who outnumbered them, but they had seen them crossing the river and decided to risk it while more than half the party was still in the water. With one isolated and exhausted on their side, they needed only to kill her and then turn their bows on those crossing the river. They could collect the bodies downstream later. The one still across the water was too far away.

As Agarwen rose and went stumbling for her horse, the wolf made straight for the first of the riders. The gap between them closed rapidly, and the wolf’s sudden leap at the head of the first hunter’s horse caused him to rear and kick. The wolf fell stunned to the ground, but the rider lost control of his horse and could not shoot. As he was wrestling with his mount, the second hunter rushed past him, straight at Agarwen, who was struggling to pull her sword free from its scabbard, which was lashed tightly to Bufo’s side.

Just in time she freed it, but could do no more than block the heavy blow from the rider who slashed at her from a dead run. Her sword flew from her hands as the impact knocked her to the ground. Agarwen rolled over and scrambled to recover her sword, but too late. The rider had spun around and was upon her before she could reach it. She dodged his second blow and tried to rise, but the hunter pivoted his horse’s haunch into her, and sent her sprawling once more. Now he was between Agarwen and her sword. He drew his own back to thrust it between her shoulders, just as a long arrow appeared between his own. Dropping his blade, he stiffened and raised one grasping hand to his breast. He looked desperately around for his attacker. There was blood on his lips. His eyes came to rest on Arden standing on the Rheith’s other bank, far beyond any bowshot the hunter had thought possible. The bow of Mahar was held low and half drawn in his hands, another arrow already notched. Astonishment showed in his eyes as their light faded. He fell to the ground.

Agarwen wasted no time, but seized the hunter’s sword from the ground beside her. Yet even as she did so, Evénn reached the bank, rising from the Rheith, now mounted on Moonglow. The clear, icy waters of the river sparkled and shone in the morning sun as they ran off them. The sword of adamant flashed out from its sheath at Moonglow’s side, and the sound of his neighing as he climbed the shore towards the second hunter echoed above the din of the rushing river. Evénn reached him in an instant and struck him from his horse. When he turned to look at Agarwen, she let down her guard.

“I am unhurt,” she said, holding up her hand. “See to the wolf. I must check the rope.”

Evénn leaped from Moonglow and ran to the wolf. He knelt down and examined him with his free hand, but he never took his eyes from the woods for more than a moment. There may yet be other hunters there. He stroked the wolf and murmured to him. Finally the wolf lifted his head to look first at Evénn, then Agarwen further down the river bank. Satisfied, he put his head back down briefly, then slowly rose to his feet and stood next to Evénn, who remained beside him peering into the trees until Agarwen approached.

“My thanks to you both,” she said. “I was careless.”

“The chill of those waters is enough to dull anyone’s senses. We must look after one another if we wish to get very far. Come let us help Master Jalonn from the water. He’s looking even grimmer than usual.”

“That was an astounding shot Arden made,” Agarwen said as they walked to the water’s edge, leaving the wolf to keep watch. “Despite all our practice, I can hardly believe it.”

“The bow still surprises me. Few ordinary bows could have even spanned the stream, let alone struck their target effectively. I confess I have never found its limits.”

“I’m glad it cannot be used for evil.”

“If only more things were so,” said Evénn as they came to Jalonn who was leading his horse from the water. Argos stood already on the shore, shaking himself.

“Well, Master, here you are at last,” she said.

“Somewhat worse for the swim, maybe,” Jalonn replied. He looked at her carefully. “At least you are unharmed. That was a near run thing. The wilds are not as empty as we could wish. Two of us should have crossed together. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

Jalonn and Evénn left her there to wait for Niall, while they went to examine the bodies. Now that the danger was past, Agarwen grew cold again, from her marrow to her sodden clothes. The sun was no help at all. Niall looked as miserable as she felt when he came laboring up the bank. His lips were blue, and he was muttering curses about the benefits of cold water for the soul. He passed her the reins of the pack horse and Graymane, his own.

“Master Jalonn says we’ll have to be more careful next time,” she said.

“Oh, next time,” he answered, bent over, gasping for air. “What joy. I can hardly wait.”

After Niall caught his breath, they signaled to Arden, who cast off his end of the rope and rode into the water. The force of the stream swung him and Impetuous across the river in a great arc. At times the tension between drive of the current and the tautness of the line threatened to pull Arden under, but he clung fiercely to Impetuous’ mane, and the two arrived in well under ten minutes.

With all now safely east of the Rheith, Jalonn said, “We must get back into the woods. We've been in the open too long.”

“What shall we do with the hunters’ bodies and their horses?” Niall asked.

“Give the dead to the river. Take their food and arrows. Strip the horses and let them go.”

“Aye,” he replied. “Come, Arden, lend me a hand. It will warm you up.”

Soon they were on the move again. For the rest of that day they walked their weary horses south through the woods along the river. They were cold, wet, and miserable, with a steady northwest breeze on the back of their neck. Jalonn was guiding them here. He knew the lands east of the Rheith and north of the Road quite well. Ahead were some rocky hills that could shelter them somewhat from the wind, and back about a mile or so in a narrow valley were nestled a long deserted stone house and barn, where they could build a fire and rest while their clothing dried.

On foot they could not reach it before night, but darkness would cover them while they crossed the open plain between the woods along the Rheith and the hills some five miles away. In this way they would also shorten their journey to the River Valané, which flowed ten miles southeast of the hills and which they intended to follow up into the Coastal Range.

By the time dusk gathered like a mist over the plain and the shadows began to deepen in the woods, they stood looking southeast towards the hills of which Jalonn had spoken. The last rays of the sun were just glancing off the bare and rocky top of the highest of them. In a moment it was gone. The companions rode slowly over the plain in the growing darkness through winter grasses that hissed and waved in the breeze of their passing. Jalonn, who had ridden ahead to scout the way, was hardly to be seen, and the wolf and Argos who had run beyond him had vanished entirely. Arden was in the rear, his bow in his hand. He stopped briefly now and then to listen for pursuers now that they had left the cover of the trees. But all he could hear was the night wind in the grass and the water in the many streams which ran down to the Rheith or the Valané.

He also kept hearing in his mind the one word with which Evénn had greeted him as he came out of the river that morning. Faith. The long shot he had made stunned him even more than it had Agarwen. For he had stared without hope over that broad stream at the distant hunter who was about to kill her. Once more it had seemed to him that he was in the wrong place when his friends were in need; and, with all the scene of the swimmers in the river, and of Agarwen alone with the hunters on the shore, displayed before him, he knew that Evénn could not arrive in time to save her. Yet even as he had thought this, Mahar’s fight with the dragon and their weeks of practice with the bow flashed through his mind.

Because he could do nothing else, he had drawn the bow and loosed the arrow, watching it arc unerringly through the sky to its mark. He remembered the expression of the hunter as he saw him far off, another arrow at the ready, and he had wondered if it mirrored his own. Hours later, riding through the night towards shelter and warmth, while the river rolled the hunters’ bodies down to the sea, he thought of that look on the man’s face and of Evénn’s single word of greeting that morning. Perhaps desperation was the final faith of the hopeless.

Soon they came to the hills and Jalonn led them into a narrow valley out of which ran a noisy brook. Before long they came to a stone house without windows or door, but from what they could tell in the budding starlight, the roof was mostly intact. Jalonn went inside for a few minutes, then came out to say that it appeared no one else had been there for some time. While Niall and Evénn gathered firewood, Arden and Agarwen explored the woods nearby, but found no signs that they were not alone. Their horses they stabled in the remains of the barn.

Within the house they kindled a fire in the old hearth and huddled around it, grateful for the warmth and the chance to dry their clothes. Their first hot meal in days was also welcome. Despite the feeling of security fostered by the fire and the partial roof above them, that morning at the river had been uncomfortably close to disaster, and they took turns keeping watch, two at a time. All were drained from the crossing and the long day spent walking cold and wet. Even Evénn slept in his turn.

For the watchers the night was still and silent, with nothing to report as each pair relieved the pair before them. By midnight the heavens were awash with stars blazing in the cold, clear air, and across the zenith of the sky a broad, gleaming belt spread like the wake of some gigantic ship that sailed forever unseen through the deeps of the night. Several hours later a shower of falling stars lit up the sky streaking westward before flaring out. In the gray silence before dawn the morning star shone out eastwards, beckoning them onward. After another hot meal, they mounted their horses and left the small comforts of the empty house. By the time the sun was fully above the horizon they had crossed the open ground between the hills and the Valané, where they turned east once more.

Their hope was that they had encountered the hunters by chance, that no others were on their trail or watching them from the woods close by. Yet they went more slowly and with greater caution. Argos and the wolf scouted ahead, with Evénn or one of the Rangers close behind them; another of the companions lingered in the rear and off to the side of the path the others were taking, to make sure they were not being followed. This made their days longer than before, and each night they set a watch. They lit no fires. For the first few days they spoke in whispers and only at need.

In the fields beyond the narrow belt of trees lining the Valané they glimpsed farmsteads or, more rarely, a village. Homeless and unwelcome in their own country, the Rangers shunned the risks they posed and kept out of sight. If a town or farm was particularly large or near the river, they passed it in the middle of the night rather than waiting till daylight, when someone might have an errand in the woods, seeking firewood or game. Only Jalonn could remember being openly welcomed as a Ranger. For the others, it was rare that any would dare speak to them or do business with them openly. There were too many who watched the doings of their neighbors.

Three days after they left the stone house the rain began again. On the fourth day it turned to snow and continued, by turns light and heavy, for three days after that. It spread a beautiful, silent blanket over the woods and fields beyond them, which blazed like silver in the rare minutes of sunshine they had each day. Yet it was not a loveliness without peril. Not even Rangers could avoid leaving tracks in snow. No one who stumbled upon their trail, whether hidden friend or open foe, would think that the tracks had been left by troopers or hunters, who had no need to travel in secret through the woods along the river in this wretched weather. It could only be Rangers or other outlaws.

After noon on the third full day of snow, Arden was scouting in the rear, on the watch for any sign of pursuit. There had been none so far, but the fear kept nagging at him that it was only a matter of time before someone found their tracks and informed on them. The discovery would call forth several dozen troopers and their wolves at once, while the word spread down the roads to the east that a party of Rangers was on the move nearby. More troopers would then converge on them from several directions.

Every time he crossed the trail they were unwillingly blazing through the woods, Arden cursed under his breath. To him it seemed as broad and well-marked as the Great Road itself. He found it even more vexing that over the last few hours the day had grown warmer and the snow had all but stopped. The odd tiny flake drifted here and there, catching the light like motes of dust, barely cold enough to keep from dissolving into mist. Around him the alders and maples were shedding their coats of frost. He cursed again, wishing it would snow again, much more heavily than it had done for the last two days, enough to bury the tracks that betrayed them. To him it did not matter that so much snow would also make their journey harder. In his frustration he recalled that some people believed god tested the faithful, and put obstacles in their path for them to overcome, but he felt that he and his people had been tested quite enough by the dragons as it was. He wondered what Evénn would say to that. Probably his answer would be another elvish riddle. Raynall, he decided, would only laugh at him and ask if he thought himself so important that god spent his time devising tests of his patience and slender faith.

Out across the fields to the south the sun flashed out briefly from between the clouds. Among the branches, dark against greyish white clouds and the blaze of the sun, the faintest arcs of indigo and violet became visible. Arden stopped in the middle of the Rangers' trail and sat gazing at them for several minutes, looking from different angles to see if he could catch sight of more colors. He listened while he paused there, far enough behind the others that he could not hear them at all. The boughs creaked in the sparse breeze, and the Valané murmured placidly on. There was nothing else. After a few minutes Impetuous shook his head with a snort, and looked back at him, to ask if they were going to stand there all day freezing. Arden started him moving again.

“Is the rainbow supposed to be a sign?” he asked the world with a smirk. “If we live through this, I’ll make sure it gets into the song they’ll write.”

Arden laughed to himself, but with the sight of their deep tracks in the snow his worries returned. Yet now something seemed odd. He reined Impetuous in and bent low over his neck to inspect the snow more closely. What he saw was all wrong. He dismounted and knelt down. For a moment he could not believe what he saw, but it was there clearly before him. He looked around to check the other tracks, ran up the path his companions had plowed ahead of him, then back down it for some distance. Their tracks were going the wrong way, as if they had come from the northeast and were moving southwest rather than precisely the opposite. He had never seen anything so strange before.

He was still standing there perplexed, his arms folded, when he heard someone coming back down the trail, the muffled triple beat of a horse cantering through the snow. Presently Niall came riding through the trees. A dozen feet away he stopped, a look of inquiry on his face. Niall swung his leg over Graymane’s neck and slid off his back.

“I’m here to relieve you,” he said, coming up to him. “What is it?”

“Look at our tracks.”

“I know," Niall replied. What a splendid trail we've left.”

“No. Look at them.”

Niall stared down, then up at Arden. He, too, knelt to study them more closely. He walked back and forth along the path in the snow, eyes on the ground, one gloved hand over his mouth, the other perched on his hip.

“They’re going the wrong way,” he said at last, incredulous.

“Yes, they are. I've never seen the like. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Niall answered. “I checked the tracks I just made on my way here, and they are facing in the proper direction. They come from up ahead where the others are.”

“Before you arrived I was beginning to think I had lost my way and gotten turned around, though the sun was all wrong for that.”

“No, we’re all heading the right way. It’s just that our tracks … aren’t. Do you know where it starts?”

“I’ve crossed them several dozen times in the last three hours, but I wasn’t looking that closely at them. Mostly I was regretting that they were there at all. They will lead – or would have led – anyone straight to us.”

“I know what you mean,” Niall nodded. “I’ve been thinking that all day. So has Jalonn. After you relieved him three hours ago, he said that with all this snow we might as well put up a sign telling the enemy where we are. He was muttering about it for quite a while, but finally he stopped.”

“Do you think Jalonn used an enchantment?” Arden asked after a pause.

”Well, nothing else explains this, and who else could it be? You certainly didn’t do it. Agarwen wouldn’t know how, and the spells I know all have to do with horses.”

Until this moment he had been unaware that Niall knew enchantments of any kind.

“What about Evénn?” Arden went on. “He could’ve done it.”

“Yes, but he’s been riding up ahead with Argos and the wolf all day. It has to be Jalonn. I did notice that after he finally stopped muttering to himself, he seemed rather pleased, and a number of times he stopped and stared back this way for a while, wearing that smirk of his.”

“That sounds like him,” Arden said. “He would do it and say nothing, but I’ve never heard of him casting spells before.”

“True, but he is one of the Masters. He is often very quiet about the things he does.”

“Well,” said Arden, mounting his horse, “I shall have to ask him. To see the tracks leading the other way is a comfort, but we need to be sure that one of us is responsible. How far ahead are they?”

“By now, probably at least ten minutes at a quick walk. Have you seen anything else?”

“No, aside from the tracks, everything has been quite as it should be.”

“Good,” said Niall. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Let me know what Jalonn says.”

“I will,” Arden replied and urged his horse to a canter. Several times along the way he stopped to look back down their trail. All the tracks, including his own, led back the way he had come. He shook his head. Once he concentrated and stared closely at the tracks. After a while the spot he was studying seemed to blur and shimmer. For an instant he thought he almost saw them the right way around. Jalonn had done his work well, if one who knew what was real and what was not could barely pierce the illusion, and then only briefly.

Arden resumed his pursuit of the others. Impetuous responded eagerly, glad to be moving again in the cold. He had been impatient of all the stops Arden had made to peer at their tracks, snorting and tossing his head with his eagerness to be gone. Whether by the scent on the wind or whether his eyes were not deceived by the spell, the horse knew which way their companions had gone and wished to follow. Arden kept him at a canter, but could tell he wished to run to catch them.

But, though Arden checked Impetuous’ pace and kept his own eyes on the improbable path before them, his mind was deep in thought and far way. The rainbow he had seen through the sunlight and falling frost was not an illusion. He could not touch it, could never reach it, and it was visible only from a certain perspective: move but a little to one side and it was gone. Yet it was real. It was there. Rainbows he had often seen, and moonbows, too, a few times. In his youth by the sea, when the wind blew the spray up and backward from the crest of a breaking wave and the light was just right, a bow of many hues would shimmer just above the wave. Sometimes in those days as the green curl of a breaker was rushing him to the beach he had tried to glance over his shoulder to see the arc of colors. He never had, though he knew it was there.

How different were the tracks in the snow. For they appeared real, but were not. The real tracks of their horses were there in fact, no doubt to be seen clearly by one able to look beyond the illusion created by the enchantment. As the weaver of the spell, Jalonn was surely not deceived by it. Of that Arden was certain. Evénn could likely see through it also. A spell of great power and subtlety would be needed to deceive him.

Arden thought of the shot he had made back at the river. He had stared over the water, feeling utterly helpless. His eyes and mind had told him that he could not hit, or even reach, the mark he intended. Yet even as he released his arrow at the hunter beyond the Rheith, his heart knew he would make the shot, no matter how impossible it seemed. Was this discernment between what appeared to be so and what was so the faith – or some part of the faith – that Evénn and the others spoke of?

Up ahead the woods thinned to a small clearing, bright with snow even under a sky that had turned mostly gray again. Across his path at the far side of the clearing a narrow brook ran down to the Valané on his right. Arden saw Jalonn, Evénn and the pack horse entering the woods again beyond the clearing. Impetuous neighed a greeting and Arden allowed him to break into a run to overtake them. Jalonn and Evénn rode on a bit until they were completely under the trees, then stopped to wait for him. As he splashed through the shallow waters, Arden glanced up the stream and saw that both banks were lined with dense blackberry brambles. He smiled at the thought, and was still smiling when he caught up to the others.

“Why do you smile?” Evénn asked.

“The blackberries,” Arden answered. “To be here at midsummer.”

“Yes,” Evénn said as he looked at them, “it would be quite pleasant.”

“It is,” Jalonn said. “The air along this stream – the Bramble, as the folk who live nearby call it – hums on summer days with honeybees that hover about and visit the berries. When I was a young Ranger – several years before I met you, Arden – I used to enjoy sitting beneath that tree right over there in the late afternoon. The shadows would grow long, the bees would hum and dance, and I would eat the blackberries I had gathered. I regretted leaving here, even to go to the City with Mahar.”

Arden regarded Jalonn with surprise. He would not have guessed that Jalonn had once sat at his ease beneath a tree on a hot summer day eating blackberries he had picked himself. It scarcely fit with his impression of the man, gray, ironical, dour, and disciplined. This was the second surprise from Jalonn today. The Master noticed his expression.

“That was before,” he said with a shrug. “We were all different then.”

Arden saw Evénn look down and smile the pained smile of one who knew a sorry truth for what it was. Then the elf turned and looked down the trail ahead of them, blazed only now by Agarwen, who had ridden ahead to scout with Argos and the wolf. Seconds later Argos came back down the path, bounding high through the snow on his long legs. He stopped next to Arden, rose up on his hind legs, and leaned against the horse, who looked back at him. So tall was the wolfhound that his paws reached the saddle. Arden caressed his shaggy, black head as the dog’s tail whipped madly back and forth. The glee of Argos at seeing Arden restored their humor.

“Master Jalonn,” said Arden, “I noticed something peculiar before Niall relieved me, and he and I both think we should ask you about it.”

“And what would that be?”

“Our tracks are going in the wrong direction.”

“What tracks?”

“Our tracks through the snow. They look as if we were going the other way – or as if someone has cast a spell. Was it you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Arden. I see no tracks.”

Arden glanced at Evénn, but grew suspicious when he saw only laughter in his eyes.

“I don’t see any tracks either, Arden,” he said, lifting his head and gazing past Arden.

Arden looked back. The snow behind him as far as he could see, back to the stream and beyond it across the clearing and into the trees, was as pure and unmarked as if it had just fallen. There was no trace of their passing that way. Behind him he heard a sound beginning that he had seldom heard before, the sound of Jalonn laughing loud and heartily and long. When Arden turned again, he saw the Master’s face transformed by pure mirth. He saw his face as it might have been in another world. This was the third time Jalonn had surprised him today. Evénn joined in his laughter.

“Forgive me, Arden,” Jalonn said, struggling for once with his composure, “for making game of you. Evénn and I knew you would notice the tracks. Yes, I cast the spell, the first spell in any case. Making the tracks disappear completely was the elf’s idea, and his doing, not mine. But when the trail began vanishing behind you as you asked your question, what could I do but play along?”

Arden smiled in spite of himself, then laughed. The Master and the elf joined him. All the cold, drear wood rang with their laughter. Far ahead, Agarwen heard it echoing through the trees and reined Bufo to a halt. A moment later the wolf came trotting back and stopped alongside her. He stood with his head and ears up, listening. Agarwen shook her head in disbelief at their foolishness. Laughter in so still a place was not wise, but the pure delight of it lifted from her heart the burden of days of cold and silence and the thought of the truceless war to come. She could not help but smile.

The echoes soon died. The woods were quiet again. She urged her horse onward.

_____________________________

Chapter 11.1

Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 10.1

Ten

In the darkness two hours before dawn the company assembled, eager to be gone. It was a chill morning near the dead end of autumn. Stars blazed everywhere in the black sky. Six horses stood saddled, five for the companions and one pack horse. The Masters were there and gathered round them in the night were dozens of Rangers, looking on in silence, hard to see in their gray or green cloaks, hoods thrown over their heads against the cold. In the distance hounds were barking loudly.

“I still don’t like it,” Arden grumbled to Evénn at the noise.

“Leaving the dogs and wolf, you mean?”

“Yes. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know,” Evénn said sympathetically. “I don’t like it either, but it makes sense. If anyone sees us, they will know at once who we are. Wolfhounds are the mark of Rangers, and the wolf will draw even more unwanted attention. Master Raynall is correct. We cannot afford to be recognized.”

“But they’re damned useful, and Argos always goes with me.”

“None of us likes it, Arden,” said Master Raynall, walking up to them, Keral and Falimar by his side. “In my youth, and in yours, parties of Rangers and their hounds were a common sight. No longer. You and your companions must get as far as you can unnoticed, and without giving battle. That would only bring more dragon’s men.”

“I understand, Master, and I will comply. I feel we shall need them before the end, however.”

“That may be so of many things, Arden. But it is time for your journey to begin. It will be long and winter is pressing upon us.” Then he turned to the entire company and said “May god guide your hearts and your hands. Now go.”

Arden and the other Rangers mounted their horses. Evénn stayed a moment longer to clasp Raynall by the hand.

“Farewell again, old friend. I’m glad we had this chance to meet once more.”

“Old friend is right,” Raynall said, and shivered against the cold. “Yet maybe we shall see each other once more, in a time of peace.”

“That is my hope also,” said Evénn. “Fare well, Master of Rangers.”

“And fare you well, dragonslayer.”

Evénn then let go his hand and smiled upon him. He mounted Moonglow, and with a look and a nod to the others, he began to ride away, side by side with Arden. Behind them followed Jalonn and Agarwen. Last came Niall, leading the pack horse, and gazing steadily off towards the woods to the south. Not until he passed the part of the Valley where his cottage stood did he look forward, setting his eyes firmly on the road now before him.

All along the way across the Valley, the company passed groups of Rangers and others, dimly visible, their faces unseen and names unguessable. Some raised their hands in a gesture of parting, several could be glimpsed bowing deeply, a few called out words of encouragement in low voices. Each time, one or another of the party answered with a wave of the hand. Even to Arden, who seldom saw other Rangers and had not visited the Valley for this long for many years, the kindness of their encouragement was welcome. The unity the Rangers had shown in supporting the Council’s decision and in stepping forward to offer help in any way made him recognize that he had not been as alone as he thought in disliking the Council’s former policy. He also knew that his party would not be the only one to go abroad in the next few weeks. Many others would also scatter alone or by twos or threes across the land to wait upon the events at Narinen, and their repercussions. The Masters wanted the Rangers to be ready when the storm broke.

Throughout the crossing of the Valley, the hounds never stopped barking. It had been difficult to coax them into cages to keep them from following. They seemed to understand that they were being left behind. The wolf had bared his teeth and snarled as soon as he saw the cages. It was only when Evénn spoke to him in a soft voice and whispered in his ear that he consented. And how long the wolf and the hounds would need to remain confined, no one knew. Evénn suggested the wolf might have to be kept there a very long time. Arden had seen how it pained him to say so. The wolf had never before been restrained in any way, and it seemed a betrayal of his willingness and his friendship. For, as Evénn said, the wolf had chosen him and was his own master.

Arden shared several glances with Evénn, and once looked back to Agarwen. She shrugged when their eyes met, looking as ill pleased as the rest of them. Arden turned forward again, listening to the confusion of the hounds’ voices as they echoed off the Valley’s stone walls. The closer the companions came to the gorge of the River of the Stars, the louder the desperate noise seemed to grow, until Arden realized that every wolfhound and other dog in the Valley had joined in. Arden did not envy the Master of Hounds this morning.

Then a single voice, haunting and melodious, soared above the rest: the wolf howling of grief and betrayal. Evénn stiffened, the reins tightening in his hand, but he rode on into the gorge, where the deeper darkness and the water roaring through the mist drowned their senses. It reminded Arden of riding waves in the sea as a boy, of being buried in that salty, foaming, turbulent rush, and knowing no other life. Yet this moment was not the same, not as complete. There was too much of himself in it, too many thoughts of what was, what had been, and what was to come.

When they emerged into the winter-bare forest, the colors of dawn filled the sky, and tinted the high snows on the Mountain of the Stars above and behind them. Turning north the companions began their long ride, first to the gore of the North and South Deer rivers, then east towards the sea, the City of Arden’s youth, and the red dragon.

All that day they rode through the forest, seeing no one, but at times they felt the watchful presence of the Guardians silently letting them pass. Now and then Evénn cocked his head slightly to one side to listen, then nodded to himself and smiled, but he gave no other hint that he heard any sound but those natural to the woods late in the year. The forest had changed of course since Arden and Evénn had first ridden through these woods together nearly two months ago. The scarlet and golden canopy – the flowers of red handed autumn, as a poet in centuries past named them – which had arched over their heads on the road south, now lay strewn across the forest floor before their horses’ feet in an equally glorious carpet of many colors.

In places the horses waded through leaves as high as their knees; and here and there in some small hollow of the land or against the thick bole of a fallen oak luxuriant drifts of leaves piled themselves far deeper, harbingers of the snow drifts that would soon succeed them. The persistent rains this year had left the leaves sodden and at times slippery beneath their horses’ feet, and they moved through the drifts with care. But the snows had not yet come, and all that day they hurried north, now trotting, now cantering through the bare trees and beneath a blue sky. In the dusk they stopped for the night.

By noon of the next day they passed the clearing where Jalonn and the guardians had first met Arden and Evénn, and evening saw them well to the north of it. On the third day they began to push their horses harder since they were far enough away from the Valley that they need not worry about leaving tracks. That night the sky clouded over, followed by a cold, soaking rain which lasted for days. Its chill penetrated their bones. The next night they built a fire in a cave to regain the warmth the rains had stolen, but for the two days after that they had to shelter under the lee of rock walls. Not the least patch of blue broke through the clouds by day and the mountainsides above them grew white. Each day dawned colder than the last, and each morning the snows had crept further down the mountains.

Late on the seventh day after they left the Valley they came to the Great Road. Across the first blue sky Arden had seen in days clouds went scudding, their edges sharp and luminous when they crossed the face of the sun. In their swift progress they reminded Arden of ships he had seen as a boy running for port on the ragged wings of a storm. All day he had kept his eye on the clouds as they sailed in succession over the Gray Mountains and raced eastward across the plains. They held the promise of more rain, a promise Arden had no doubt they would keep.

Still he watched them now as he lay beneath a thicket on a hill overlooking the road. Two hours ago a strong company of the dragon’s men, sixty all told, had marched by heading east. Since then nothing had moved on the road except shadows, first of the clouds, then of the mountains themselves as the sun sank behind them. Night would soon fall and the party had spread out in a long line, fifty yards apart from each other, to keep watch on the road. Trees, rocks, and brambles lent them cover while they waited. There they would lie concealed until it was fully dark. If they saw nothing, they would gather and cross the road one by one. While the Rangers had no knowledge of a hidden force of troopers in this area now, in the past the enemy had established small bands of spies in unexpected places, both here and elsewhere, to observe any who passed by.

Whenever the Rangers discovered such a post, they destroyed it. But the troopers were many and the Rangers few, and there was good reason for the enemy to spy on the Great Road, which left the Mountain Gate of the City and traversed the mountains and rivers, forests and plains of Narinen to end at the port of Sufra beside the Western Ocean. For hundreds of years it had been the main route east and west for troops, merchants, and other travelers. Countless feet had walked and ridden its wide stone paved course. Cisterns and wells bordered it at intervals, and a high curb on either side ensured that no one could easily wander from it even on the darkest night. Towns and cities flourished where it crossed other roads – lost Osenora had been the greatest of these – and between them isolated taverns and villages sprang up beside it.

But that was before the Fall. These days the road was mostly frequented by patrols of the enemy or couriers or the few licensed merchants who still existed. Only at harvest time was there much traffic, when the grain was gathered to Narinen or other strongholds, and herds of cattle or swine were driven to the slaughter pens to feed the dragon’s soldiers.

From where he lay at the eastern end of their line Arden looked down this road that led to his long ago, far away home. Now his path led back there at last. But this time, he hoped, it would end differently than it had when he was a boy. He could see nearly a mile down the road to the east before it ran out of sight around a bend between two low hills. And if his eyes could see that far, so could those of any enemy who might be watching. He found himself wishing the hounds and the wolf were with them. Here they would have proved their worth. They could have scouted far down the road and through the woods, where even Evénn could not see – as good as his eyes were, they could not see through hills and trees to find a hidden foe – and run back through the woods to alert the party to any threat. Arden and the others may have had a good view of a long stretch of road, but with Argos, the wolf, and the others’ hounds, they could have seen farther and deeper.

In the darkness an hour after sunset, they drew together. In three patient hours none of them had seen or heard anything. Evénn crossed the road first, quickly and quietly, on foot with Moonglow and the pack horse behind him. His eyes and ears were less easily fooled in the darkness, and if he detected any danger in the woods beyond the road, he would signal them. But no signal came. Ten minutes later, Niall followed with his horse and Arden’s. Afterwards they let a half hour go by, long enough for any watcher, who might have thought he saw a shadow moving on the road, to decide he had been mistaken. Then Agarwen slipped across with Touchstone and Bufo. Jalonn and Arden let nearly an hour pass before they came over together, bows in hand and arrows notched. To Arden’s relief no wolves howled as they crossed the road.

For a time they kept near the road, only listening. Then they walked their horses about a half mile into the forest, and rode for several hours before making camp for the night, safe again in the deep woods that were their home. Evénn, tireless as always, took the first watch while the rest slept. In the night Arden dreamed he had ridden down the whole length of the road to the City and was approaching the Mountain Gate just as the sun rose. It looked just as it had in his childhood. The gates were intact and the banners of the Republic rippled in the breeze off the sea. For a moment he thought his whole life had just been a bad dream. Then a passing shadow made him look up. A dragon sailed high overhead and when he turned his eyes back to the City, the other three dragons sat perched upon the walls and gate, watching him. He felt they were waiting for him. A pall of smoke spread behind them, and the early sun glowed redly through it. Arden then awoke to find it was almost morning. Evénn was sitting with his back to a tree, his eyes upon Arden. It was raining again. He joined the others in preparing to move on.

On the afternoon of the eleventh day as they were drawing close to the South Deer, Agarwen called out to them to halt. Since dawn she had been riding at the rear of their line, taking her turn leading the pack horse. Several times in the last few hours she had stopped and let the others draw ahead. Once the hoof beats faded, she sat in the silence for a while before hurrying after her companions. Now she rode forward.

“What is it, Agarwen?” Master Jalonn asked.

“We are being followed,” she said. “All day I have felt there was someone behind us. Now I’m sure.”

“Who do you think –” Niall began, but stopped when Evénn raised his hand. The elf was listening closely.

“She’s right,” he said after a moment. “Someone is back there, coming up fast. Not horses, though.”

“What, then?” Jalonn asked, as he gestured to the others to get out of sight.

“I can’t tell yet.”

The Rangers had already scattered into the forest, leaving Evénn and Jalonn alone. Even at this time of year, they could vanish almost at will. Without a word, Evénn slipped from Moonglow’s back and handed the reins to Jalonn, who rode off to conceal the horses. For a moment Evénn peered back the way they had come, then withdrew behind a nearby beech. He was still listening, his head cocked to one side and a look of intense concentration on his face. No one moved, except to loosen their swords in their sheaths and unsling their bows. They wondered how they could have been discovered so soon.

Strangely, then, Evénn began to smile, a compact, mischievous smile, which gave way to a burst of joyous laughter that amazed his hidden comrades. He leaped from cover, just as Argos and the wolf trotted into sight. Arden stepped out to greet Argos, who knocked him to the ground and licked his face. The wolf was also glad to see them, but he gave Evénn a dark look, and laid his ears back.

“I’d say that was a look of reproach, Evénn,” Niall said as he walked up.

“Which I deserve,” the elf answered, gazing happily down at the wolf. “Being caged was a sore test of a loyal heart.”

“This complicates matters,” said Jalonn, not entirely displeased, “but they are here now and will prove useful.”

“Yes, they will,” said Arden, as he wrestled Argos off his chest and stood up, “and we can hardly take them back.”

“Not that they would go,” Agarwen added, patting the wolf, who was rather fond of her. “Their pens were strongly built. I’m surprised they escaped. It’s a pity they didn’t all get away.”

Not long after they resumed their journey they came to the South Deer. The current was strong with rainfall and the water icy cold. Still with care they made it across safely, then turned east towards the Plains of Rheith. At dusk they made camp. Their plan was to rest the horses here for a day or two and take stock of their situation. Now that the dog and wolf were here, some attention would also have to be devoted to them. At the very least they had to be exhausted, hungry, and footsore. After bolting down the food Niall set before them, they curled up and went at once to sleep.

It was a bitter night, lit by fierce stars and a moon three days past full. The sap popped and cracked in the maples around them. Since the edge of the woods was miles away, or perhaps because he silently approved of the heroic efforts of Argos and the wolf to overtake them, Master Jalonn agreed to a small fire. While Agarwen kindled the wood gathered by Niall and Arden, Evénn sang a whispering song of concealment. Though glad of the fire, none of them wished to take any chances. For Rangers were not the only ones to wander in the wild.

As they warmed themselves, they assessed their progress. All agreed that Arden’s route had proved a good choice, since north of the Great Road the Gray Mountains began to bend eastward towards the Coastal Range, until, not far from where the companions crossed the South Deer, they split into two smaller ranges. One spur, at the end of which lay Caledon, ran back to the northwest; the other turned sharply eastward until, another few days' ride to the north, the gap between the Gray Mountains and the Green Hills was no more than two hundred miles wide. Jalonn calculated that they had already shortened their journey across the less sheltered plains by nearly three days.

From here it was about three days’ ride down to the tip of the gore, where the North and South Deer joined to form the Great Deer. Men who knew only maps often scoffed at this river’s name, Arden told them, because it was so short, no more than a long day’s ride. They did not grasp how impassable its racing, narrow stream and its banks cut deep into the rich black earth made it, winter or summer; and the closer to the Rheith, the more perilous it became to try crossing it. So powerful was the Great Deer that it did not flow, but struck into the Rheith, turning its waters, which ran broad and swift themselves, into a maelstrom of treacherous, conflicting currents. For this reason the companions would cross the North Deer before it met the South, and, following the northern bank, come down to the Rheith above its confluence with the Great Deer.

In the morning Evénn and Niall examined the legs and feet of the horses closely, to make sure they had taken no harm from the long days and fast pace of their journey. For over ten centuries the Masters of Horses had been breeding horses, selecting always the hardy and the swift. And by their care they had provided the Rangers with mounts almost matchless in speed and endurance. But there were many leagues to travel yet, and the companions were glad to find no sign of injury or weakness.

Not so with Argos and the wolf. Their paws were swollen and almost raw from constant running, and they were still clearly very tired. There was no telling when they escaped, yet every day in the Valley meant another fifty miles they had to make up. With tears in his eyes, Evénn fetched herbs and a salve from his saddlebags. After steeping the herbs in hot water, he bathed their feet and applied the salve. Then he murmured a spell of healing sleep over them, and let them rest. That afternoon and evening he repeated the treatment and fed them. In the morning the two were much improved, and the wolf began to look upon Evénn with a kinder eye. Though they wished to move about the camp, Evénn allowed them to do little more than eat and sleep that day and the next.

On the morning of the fourth day the companions set out again. The sky was bright, without a cloud, and as the sun mounted towards noon the wind dropped away to nothing. It even grew warm enough for them to think of removing their cloaks. As she rode along, enjoying the day after so many days of cold and rain, Agarwen summoned up the image of the maps of this region they had studied before leaving the Valley. She had never been in this land before, though Arden and Jalonn had. They seemed to know it well. Every now and then the other night Jalonn had nodded in confirmation while Arden spoke of the rivers and where they should cross them. In her mind now she envisioned the gore narrowing to its point as the rivers drew closer to each other. She wondered how far away the North Deer was right now, and when they would be close enough to hear it.

She also noticed that the land began to drop steadily the further they travelled from the mountains. It grew moist and full of brooks and rills. The maples they had camped beneath on the nights they were resting slowly gave way to alders and willows, tress that rejoiced to grow on the banks of streams and rivers. By the time they finally crossed the North Deer just before noon on the third day, there was not a maple to be seen. The forest had transformed itself.

Evénn had changed as well. All afternoon he kept quiet, dwelling in some thought or memory, an absent look in his eyes. At times his fingers brushed across a tree trunk or hanging branch. That evening in camp he seemed unaware of the mad roar of the Great Deer that filled the woods around them. Even as the twilight faded into night he kept staring off into the woods, running his hand over the branch of the willow beside him.

“What is it, Evénn?” Agarwen asked him when it had become so dark she could barely see. “What are you looking at? Or maybe I should ask where you are instead?”

“Oh? Forgive me, Agarwen,” he answered, a little startled. He came back to sit among them. “This place has made me think of the Forest of Willow in Talor. I dwelt there once.”

“That place has an ill name, Evénn, especially for those who seek the dragon.”

“But it is an ill deserved name,” he said. “For thousands of years the Forest of Willow has been a place of magical beauty and peace, beloved by my people, and by all who know it. Your people loved it once, too, before they crossed the sea. It’s true. The black dragon bewitched Conaras there. But the dragon’s spite doesn’t make the forest itself evil, does it? We were on our way home to visit our families, and Conn went walking in the woods that night.

“In the springtime there, Agarwen, the meadows and woods are awash with the color and fragrance of flowers. In the light airs hosts of daffodils gently nod to the violets growing beside them. Their numbers are greater than the heart of elf or man could hope for; and the willows around them blossom as well, with catkins, green above and gray below, gracing their supple limbs. Dogwoods and cherry trees are scattered among the willows and fill the eyes with their profusion of white and pink blossoms. At night frogs sing in chorus until the songbirds of morning return.

“Summer shimmers with heat and warm, moist breezes from the sea. Under the grateful shade of the willows, forget-me-nots grow, and endless lilies spread throughout the forest from the banks of countless brooks. The red lilies beside the waters are bright as lanterns that light your way into the dusk. Farther from the banks are white and yellow lilies, mixed with hyacinths and nasturtiums and wild raspberries with their red fruit and white flowers. And all the meadows that were so full of daffodils and violets are now covered in poppies, white, yellow, orange, and red. At night the nightingale sings and fireflies laze on the balmy air.

“On the northern edge of the forest not far from the sea there is a hill. It is not a tall hill, but it rises high enough above the tree tops for one at its summit to see the waves rolling in from the ocean to the long, white strand. To me it was the best place in all the forest. For there, sitting beneath the hickory trees which grew on the crown of the hill, I could be surrounded by the forest and all its joys and yet still see and hear the waves, and smell the salt in the air. It was not far from my house, and I spent many an afternoon and evening there, reveling in the heart’s ease I felt there, and watching the sun sink into the ocean at the day’s end. Afterwards I would sit among the fireflies and gaze up at the stars, and listen to the sound of the waves mingling with the rustling of the leaves on the trees. Sometimes when the breeze would come and go gently, it was hard to distinguish the two sounds. For the rustle of the leaves would ebb and flow just like the murmur of the waves running up the beach and back again. And the difference did not matter. They both were blessed with the loveliness of things that grow and move and change from one moment to the next.

“Rocks and hills and mountains have their own beauty, and they do change, but so slowly that even we scarcely notice it. They are the constant stage on which the drama of living, growing, and moving things plays out. There is a comfort and hope in their timelessness, just as a promontory or fixed sea mark is a comfort and a hope to mariners; but it is the beauty of the sea, ever changing and ever the same, that captures their souls and gives them joy.

“Once I was fortunate enough to live beneath the eaves of this forest, to walk its paths, and to think my thoughts in peace while I watched the beauty of living things – both the forest and the sea – come and go and come again. For a time I also had my family beside me there as I sat through evenings of summers long gone. The Forest of Willow is a wondrous place. For your sake I hope that one day you will walk there in peace. Maybe we shall do so together.”

Evénn’s voice, so gently persuasive and longing for ghostly pleasures, conjured in each of them a vision of those woods. Though they were thousands of miles across the sea from the Forest of Willow, beneath other willows which slept in the wintry night, Arden could see the sunlit sea, and hear the sounds of leaves and waves; for a moment he remembered without bitterness the peace he had known for much of his youth. Niall could see these things, too, but his thoughts returned more to the wife and children he had left behind in the Valley, and to how much he missed them already.

Agarwen had never seen the ocean, but she had seen its light shine in the eyes of Arden and Niall when they spoke of it. She wondered if it could truly be more beautiful than the Forest of Tasar and the peaks of the Gray Mountains, which were the only home she had ever known. The trees and the flowers of those forests were different from those of the Forest of Willow, but she knew what he meant when he spoke of the heart’s ease he had felt there.

Though Jalonn’s childhood off in the south of Narinen was hardly a memory of peace, he was not unmoved by Evénn’s words. Without parents or any kin except his grandmother, he had fought to survive as a boy, but the Forest of Willow sounded not unlike his own land: a profusion of growth in the spring and sultry summer that he had not observed with his senses as much as his senses were so filled to brimming with their colors, shapes, sounds and fragrances that he became lost in them. It gave Jalonn pleasure to recall these things, but only for themselves, not for any pleasant associations they might have had with his childhood. For he had none, and did not trust the emotions that memory inspired.

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Chapter 10.2