Deepwood: Karavans # 2 (30 page)

With the lead-rope rein in place again, Bethid grabbed mane and swung up onto Churri’s slick back. “Of course. But first, well, I believe I’ll undertake a little exploration.”

He knew at once what she meant.

“Beth, that’s dangerous. It’s too close. You put yourself at risk.”

“I have every intention of being remarkably careful.” Bethid smiled crookedly. “But if you like, I can make another vow to the Mother concerning this reconnaissance. And I did return from the other one.”

Jorda gestured at Ilona to step into his linked hands for a boost up behind his saddle; he clearly didn’t trust her left arm to stand for pulling her up. “This is very much different, and you know it.”

She sighed, nodding. “I know. But it must be done, Jorda.
Something
happened to Ilona. We need to learn where she went.”

Jorda thrust Ilona upward and gave her time to settle her legs and skirts into place, then mounted by placing left foot in the stirrup and swinging his bent
right leg forward and across the horse’s neck and saddle, since Ilona’s presence behind him prevented a normal mounting. “I don’t like it.”

Bethid expelled a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t
like
it. But I think it needs to be done.” She made a shooing gesture. “Go on, Jorda. Get her back to her wagon. I’ll return shortly. I’m not expecting to find anything, but that in itself may be an answer.”

Jorda said nothing more, but his eyes were unhappy. He nodded and turned his horse. Bethid watched them go, then reined Churri in the other direction and rode straight toward the deepwood.

T
HE COURIERS’ GUILD in Cardatha opened onto Market Square, as did all of the major guildhalls. It was a hollow square of hewn masonry, with three sides consisting of stable blocks, stalls, and paddocks for the horses; in the very center stood a large round pen for breaking and training mounts. The fourth side of the Guildhall contained the barracks: refectory, meeting chamber, private chambers belonging to the Guildmaster and his assistants, and one large communal chamber hosting sleeping pallets. At any given time, the sleeping chamber was inhabited by weary couriers. Those awake, if not seeking amusement in taverns, generally spent their time in the refectory near food and drink, seated around a huge rectangular slab of table, trading stories and jests.

Brodhi rode in through the main gate just off the Market Square, the clatter of shod hooves on stone becoming a quieter thump on the packed dirt. As usual, one of the junior couriers was there to meet him and
take his horse; Brodhi dismounted, collected his scroll case, saddle pouches, and personal belongings, then handed the reins over. His first task, now, was to report to the Guildmaster. Later would come food, drink, and rest. Too much later, likely, for the balance of the day and night promised to be short; Brodhi had no doubts that the Hecari warriors would arrive at the Guildhall just after dawn, and he had much to do before he fell into bed.

He made his way through the heavy front door of the main hall, strode down a corridor, and came to a halt before a chamber door. The door stood open. Brodhi placed himself in it, but did not enter. The Guildmaster, going over a logbook at a table, looked up, registered his identity, beckoned him in. Brodhi walked in and waited before the table.

This chamber, too, was of hewn stone, with candle racks in each corner, three chairs set against walls bedecked with tapestries, wooden shelving stacked with unrolled scrolls pressed flat by the weight of others. Pinned to the tapestry directly behind the Guildmaster’s table was a large map of Sancorra province made of fine, scraped vellum, carefully inked in rich colors to show roads, passes, rivers, lakes, waterholes, hamlets, villages, cities, forests, and other various landmarks couriers might encounter on the roads. An ornate compass rose in the lower right corner showed the cardinal points, and the entire map was bordered by rich colors touched with gilt. It was art, and it was utility, and it was very nearly priceless.

The Guildmaster, dressed in black, cropped dark hair beginning to silver, set aside his logbook and quill pen and sat back in his chair. Gray eyes were shrewd but unwelcoming; Brodhi knew full well that his attitude irked the Guildmaster. He dropped scroll case, saddle pouches, and other belongings into a chair, then skipped the preliminary courtesies. “Alisanos has moved.”

The Guildmaster blinked; Brodhi knew he hadn’t been anticipating any news of that sort. “Good Mother,” the man said, “tell me this is a very poor jest.”

Brodhi shook his head. “I was present.”

The Guildmaster closed his eyes briefly, then sat forward and rested his arms on the table. “Where, exactly? Such as you can tell me, of course. What about the roads?”

“There is a settlement where folk gather to join karavans headed out of Sancorra. Near a shortcut to Atalanda, which has been used only rarely in the past forty years because of its proximity to Alisanos. It’s not precisely a hamlet or village, just a gathering place. It has no name. But I went there too, when I found it, to announce that Sancorra of Sancorra was executed, as bade by the warlord. Several days later the deepwood moved, swallowing much land. No one knows, now, how its boundaries lie upon the earth. But I can tell you that a portion of the road to Cardatha from this gathering place is now blocked by the deepwood. I had to find another way.”

The Guildmaster rose, handed Brodhi a thin, glyph-carved map-stick—skin oils and grime would stain the vellum—and indicated the map on the wall behind him. “Show me.”

Accordingly, Brodhi rounded the table, found Cardatha on the map, and began to move the stick westward from the city along the established road. Then he halted the movement and tapped lightly. “Here is where Alisanos encroaches. I went this way …” He traced the route he had made, pointed out the crossroads for the northbound and southbound roads, then drew an invisible circle in the midst of emptiness on the map, save for a blue-inked river. “Here, approximately, is where the settlement lies. Because of the northern road, because of the river and two immense groves, karavans began using this area as a gathering place. But some people remained. Now, there may be one hundred people here at any given time, even when there are no karavans.” He caught himself. “Fewer now, because of Alisanos going active. But here is where a portion of the deepwood lies now. Very close, as you’ll see.”

The Guildmaster’s eyes seemed distant, as if he were looking elsewhere. Then his gaze sharpened. “I lived through the last movement of Alisanos. I prayed there would be no more.”

“There will always be more. Those who believe otherwise are shortsighted, and place themselves in harm’s way.”

The Guildmaster studied him a moment, evaluating,
Brodhi knew, whether the comment was intended for him personally, or was about people in general.

“Alisanos cannot be predicted,” Brodhi continued. “I have land-sense enough to know when it’s on the verge of going active, and in what direction part of it might go, but no one alive may predict what may come. All we can do is try to avoid it.”

After a moment the Guildmaster nodded. “We need new maps.”

“I’ve begun.” Brodhi gestured toward his pile of belongings. “But it will take time to reconnoiter the new footprint of the deepwood. Until then, I can only offer a limited amount of information.” He paused. “The warlord is sending men tomorrow to ride back with me. He wishes to be certain I’m telling him the truth. There was a decimation there not long ago; he wants to know how many folk Alisanos killed or swallowed, and how many remain.”

“Was he aware of Alisanos, and what it is?”

“Until I told him, no.”

“Were any other couriers present at this settlement when Alisanos moved? Were any killed?”

“None killed. Timmon and Alorn are there, and Bethid.”

“Bethid.” The Guildmaster grimaced; he had been one of those most adamantly opposed to Bethid joining the guild. “Well, we are fortunate that none were killed. They remain there?”

“Many folk were killed. Those who survived have no alternative for the time being and are determined to
rebuild. Timmon, Alorn, and Bethid stayed to help. I came here.”

“Very well.” The Guildmaster’s mouth was set in a thin, flat line. “By the Good Mother, it is difficult enough having to deal with the warlord, may the Mother one day lift that presence from us. And now Alisanos?” He shook his head. “By morning I need a map of this area, Brodhi, as clear as you can make it under the circumstances; it will be incomplete, of course, until we can send members of the Mapmakers’ Guild to survey the area, but any knowledge is vital. For now, with four of you in this place, I need send no more couriers there. Finish the rough map before morning, if you will, and I’ll have it sent to the mapmakers for fair copies. When we know more, it will be added to this master.” He turned back to his table and chair. “Eat and drink first. Then begin.” His casual gesture was dismissal.

Brodhi inclined his head briefly, gathered up his gear, and departed the chamber.

WITH AUDRUN GONE for water, Rhuan felt more motivated to climb to his feet, if at all possible, because then he would have no audience if it proved more difficult than he hoped. What he had told her was true: despite being capable of dying in Alisanos, he healed more quickly even here than a human, as he did in the human world. Her ministrations
had indeed kept the wounds clean, so the healing process was not delayed. The abdominal wounds remained the worst, but they too, despite the remaining pain, had begun to heal.

Kneeling, he placed one hand against the earth and pushed himself up. The effort required two tries to gain his feet and he felt a little light-headed, but he managed to stand. Triumph indeed. No doubt after he had a normal meal instead of mashed melon he would begin regaining strength. In the meantime, he wished to reenter the dreya ring, if only briefly. Fortunately it was only a few paces away.

The trees themselves were charred skeletons, many with broken limbs. Living wood had burned through, so that little force was needed to break other limbs. It was possible that if Rhuan leaned on one of the burned trunks, he could knock the tree down entirely. He walked through ash, crunched across charcoal. The heaps at the bottom of each trunk were not recognizable as women, or even as formerly living beings.

Rhuan stopped in the center of the ring and turned in a circle, looking up into the hole left in the forest canopy. The light from two suns, unhindered by leaves and limbs, shone blindingly bright. He dropped the membrane over both eyes, now viewing the world through a red scrim.

He felt plenty of guilt. Had he and Audrun never set foot in the ring, the dreya and their trees would still be alive. He had asked them for help, explaining things to the queen, and they had offered it. Now all were dead
because of providing that help. At the time it had felt more than worth the risk, to protect an infant. But now, with Sarith stolen, the dreya had died in vain.

He saw a drift of ash, and something protruding from it. It appeared to be leather. Rhuan bent and caught the thing and pulled it free. His tunic. It was charred in spots, scuffed, with spark holes here and there, but it was mostly whole. He shook it out, a cloud of ash wafting into the air, and saw that it was still wearable. It had been, as enumerated to Audrun, a sling for a newborn, employed to hold blackfruit and seedpods, then served as clout for the infant. Some of the ornamented fringe that ran down the outer seam of the sleeves was burned, but the tunic still resembled clothing. Rhuan shook it out again, wiped it down with his hand, slipped off the baldric with its weight of throwing knives, then finally worked his head and arms into the leather tunic despite the pain it caused. Whatever odor Sarith may have imparted to it was gone; all he smelled now was smoke and burned leather. That, he could bear. It wanted cleaning, but then, so did he.

“Rhuan?” Audrun’s voice, calling. “Rhuan!”

“I’m here.” He walked out of the circle, settling the baldric across his leather-clad chest. “What is it?”

She was somewhat out of breath. Tangled tawny hair looked worse than ever, and her clothing was filthy. “The creek,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “The creek is gone!”

“Did you take a wrong turn?”

Audrun shook her head. “I followed the route markers. When I reached the last one, no stream was there. It’s just brush and trees!”