"Not from here," Aris said. "Come along this edge, now." He led the way around a cove or bay of stone, toward another outlying point; it occurred to Luap that this end of the mountain had a shape rather like an outflung hand, fingers of stone defining angled coves between them.
"That's what we thought." Aris pointed back to the tower. "We called that one the Thumb." The next prominence was farther away than it looked—everything in this country, Luap thought, was farther away than it looked—but from it he could look through a break in the western cliffs. "There's a stream in there," Aris said. "But it's not the same one that's in our canyon. It comes from the north, and cuts through to the west."
Through the break, he could see a pale line, like a scratch, in the even tan of the distant plain. "That could be a trail, I suppose," he said. "You saw something moving along it?"
"Yes. And if you look south—there—you can see what might be a town."
Luap could see nothing but a jumble of shadows that might come from a pile of rocks or low buildings the color of the plain. Certainly it looked like no town he had ever seen—but nothing out here looked like anything he'd ever seen.
"There's nothing green until the next mountains," the Rosemage said. "What could they live on? Is it just bare rock?"
"I don't know." Seri flung out her hands. "But I think we could find a way out of here . . . look." She leaned out and pointed. "If you come down the canyon to that lower fall, and then angle around the Thumb—that tower—and then up the slope that sticks out from this . . . then you're close to the stream that goes out through that cliff. It's rugged, but we could build a trail—"
"After we've made sure our cropland bears," Luap said firmly. "We aren't here to explore; we're here to settle."
Seri looked a little disgruntled; Aris spoke up. "But, sir—if we can get out, then others—those we saw—could get in. It's only good planning to know if there's a back door in your house, and how to secure it."
"Why would anyone come into such rugged country?" the Rosemage asked. "As level as that plain is—"
"What you said before: here it's green, and there's water. Or perhaps they hunt up here; surely we have more game than the plain."
"Hmm. Well, I don't see that we'll have people to spare for that this growing season. Perhaps next year. Although if trade is possible, there are many things we could use." Luap looked around. "Just as I see things up here that we can use. More timber, for one, and game."
"And we found pine-nuts very different from those on the taller pines," Seri said, her enthusiasm rekindled. "And other plants to eat."
Luap glanced at the sun, now well past midday. "Show us what you can on the way back; I don't want to be benighted up here." Seri nodded; she and Aris led away from the western cliffs back over the mountaintop. In some places, the ground was broken; scrubby bushes and small trees struggled among the tumbled stones. In others, the groves of tall pines rose straight from level rock; little undergrowth impeded movement or sight between them. They came upon small meadows in little hollows; in one of these a gray stag in velvet looked at them a long moment before stalking away. And by the time they had reached the eastern rim and the trail down, the mountain threw its shadow over all below, so that dusky rose rock melted into dusky blue shades, layer after layer. Far to the east the white cliffs of the higher mountains still caught the light.
The Rosemage climbed down the trail first, then Luap; he thought his legs would give out before he stood at last on the level stone of the terrace. And he still had to climb down the stairs to the main level of the stronghold. Behind him, he was aware of Seri and Aris, both still full of energy. He rarely felt his age—he had been younger than many of Gird's companions in the war—but now he felt the years that lay between him and the two younglings. Even between him and his own youth. That war, he reflected, had been years ago: they had been children, and he had had children. No wonder they were excited with each new hill and valley they found. He wished he had as many years left to enjoy this land.
He pushed that worry away. He was younger than Arranha, younger than the Rosemage. He would live to see his dream fulfilled. And these two would be part of it. In this mood, he was willing to grant Seri and Aris leave to explore father, so long as they took their turn at the necessary fieldwork. Perhaps it would make them decide to stay; surely they would come to love this country as he did.
Arranha, at dinner that night, had his doubts about exploring the lands beyond the canyon. "Would it anger the elves or dwarves?" he asked. "Did they place any limits on your dealings with those folk?"
"They didn't mention them," Luap said. "They said I was not to claim ownership of this hall—or that I had built it. Of course I would do neither."
"That gray mountain we saw," the Rosemage said, changing the subject with less than her usual grace. "It looked to me as if it might have ores: did the dwarves say aught about that?"
"Not a word." Luap shook his head. "Why?"
"If there's silver, or gold," she said. "Even iron, for us to make our own tools and pots; you'll have no trouble getting a smith if we have metal. Or if we have gold to pay."
"That's much more sense than frolicking off to follow desert caravans around," said Arranha. "You brought the mageborn here to learn the use of magery in privacy, in safety. Involve us in someone else's business, and you're asking for trouble. But using the land's own wealth to trade back to Fin Panir, that's another matter."
"It's not far," the Rosemage said. "Even allowing for the way things seem close . . . I'm sure we could find a way to it."
Luap felt a vague discomfort; he had a vision of his folk flitting away in all directions like a flight of small birds when a cat pounces. "You're eager to leave, then?" he found himself saying.
"No—I don't think it's leaving," the Rosemage said, and gave him a steady look. "I think Arranha's right: our safety here depends in part on being unknown. We are few; surely whatever land lies there has more people in it. But if we can find materials we need, be they trees or metals, something to trade back to Fin Panir or hire artisans here, that makes more sense to me."
Luap raised his brows and looked at Aris and Seri, whose expressions wavered between wistfulness and chagrin. "And you two? You wanted to find out who lives out there, did you not?"
Seri gave the Rosemage a look. "It's—it's
practical
. In the military sense. Surely you see that we need to know who's at the back door, and how easily they could find us. Suppose someone's living in those western canyons—suppose they get a taste for the fish in our stream?"
"How far away do you think the gray mountain is?" Luap asked Aris. "Do you think it's as near as the western cliffs?"
"No—but I'm not sure how far." Aris looked worried, as he did sometimes when asked about things outside his competence.
"If it's just a matter of distance," the Rosemage said, "then the western cliffs—even that town Aris thinks he saw—are closer. I won't argue that. But there's nothing to the caravans and towns but danger—and the mountain might offer something better."
Seri looked stubborn. "It's dangerous not to find out what's out in the plain."
The Rosemage started to speak, then stopped, shook her head, and began again. "Seri—I know your Marshal's training covered defense; I know you are competent. But is this something you really think is important that way, or just an itch to explore?"
"We need to know," Seri said. She seemed to grow more compact, more peasantlike, even as they watched her. Aris leaned into the conversation.
"She's right—we do."
The Rosemage flushed; Luap felt a momentary tremor of excitement—was she going to lose her temper? She had not since they came, though he had seen her lips pinched more than once. Arranha spoke up.
"If the gods are telling you that, Seri, then there's no argument. You must find out, or someone must. We can look at the mountain later; it will still be there. Or one party could go each way."
"We can't have everyone going off at once," Luap reminded them. He felt again that vague disturbance inside, but had no time to attend to it. Later—later he would consider whether it had most to do with age or something else. Perhaps it was the thought of danger; danger either way, whether they left their neighbors unknown, or went to meet them. "Why not have Aris and Seri take a look at the western cliffs, see if there's any trail or road there? They need not explore so far as the town, not at first—not even leave the cliffs. That should take only a couple of days, I would think—?" He looked at Seri, who nodded happily. "In the meantime, you—" He looked at the Rosemage. "—you could be planning your route to the gray mountain, perhaps from up on the high level. When they get back, you could leave, and not be too long delayed." He smiled at her. "Would that do?"
"Yes . . . of course. Arranha?"
"I don't even know how far my bones will take me," Arranha said, smiling. "Perhaps you should choose another, younger companion for the journey. Find me an easy trail, will you?"
"That I will. I have no more love than you for clambering over rough ground."
The mood around the table now seemed lighter, warmer. Luap basked in it; he had headed off a quarrel. "I'll check the schedules," he said. "Perhaps Aris and Seri could start tomorrow or the next day."
The lowest terrace in the main canyon had been placed just above a turn, where the canyon angled south away from a tributary stream. That far, the trail had been made smooth, and Aris and Seri had jogged down it easily. Now they turned north to follow the smaller stream around the Thumb. The tower looked taller from below. They came through the shade of the big trees that formed a grove where the streams met—not pines, this time, but broad-leaved trees whose deeply furrowed trunks and softly clattering foliage reminded them of riverside groves in Fintha. Small, bright-colored birds flitted through the leaves like butterflies; a bird they did not see gave a sweet rippling call. Up the smaller stream, the trees quickly disappeared and they walked among head-high bushes of juniper and thorn. Soon the stream disappeared, and though its steep bed rose steadily, it was incised even more deeply in the slope around it. They had started walking in the streambed when the water disappeared, because the thick growth close beside it made it impossible to walk on the bank. Seri, leading Aris up the narrowing bed, stopped suddenly with a little yelp.
"What?" asked Aris. He was not exactly grumpy, but the streambed seemed to hold every bit of the sun's heat, and he itched with sweat.
"That snake." Seri pointed; Aris looked past her. The snakes in Fintha were shy creatures, small brown or green serpents that looked like an old thong left on the ground until they moved. Here they had found similar snakes, though more brightly colored, curled on rock ledges. Aris had had to heal several snakebites. But they had not seen anything like the big yellow and brown patterned snake, longer than a man's leg and thicker than his arm, that moved with deliberation across the sand in front of them, worked its way up the bank, and vanished among the junipers.
"If that bit someone—" Aris said. He didn't know how to finish that. Was the snake venomous? In Fintha, snakebites were rare, and although some children suffered woundfever, no one died. Here they'd found that the bright-colored snakes could kill—the first person bitten had not bothered to have the wound treated, thinking it like the snakebites back home. But Aris could heal those bites, with no more drain on his power than a sprained wrist would cause.
"If they come that big, they might come bigger," Seri said. "I almost stepped on that one—for all its color, it looked remarkably like a stick until it moved."
The dry streambed led them back sunrising, into the sheltered cove between the Thumb and the next promontory. Sandy banks gave way to soil, then soil and rock. Seri climbed out, using the root of a pine to help.
"Plenty of trees here," Aris said. "Though it would be hard to get the wood back upstream." The search for timber had been one reason for this expedition.
"Until we build a road." Seri looked around. "Though it would really make more sense for someone to live here, at this end. I wonder how far back into the mountain the stronghold extends."
"Not this far." Aris looked across the slope to the mountain that blocked their view to the west. "If we could terrace this, it would give enough space for a pasture."
"Too far from the main settlement," Seri said. "Unless someone lives here to watch—they could be stolen by those folk below, or even escape." She drew a deep breath. "Well. We'd best go looking for that pass, if we're going to find it today."
That meant coming back out of the shady cove, into the glare of the sun, to scramble uphill between clumps of juniper. The ground here was shattered rock, obviously the outfall of the cliffs; in places it had worn to sand, but the nearer they came to the base of the cliffs, the steeper and more rugged their way. They seemed to struggle on forever, but the sun had not quite passed noon when Aris realized they were going the same direction without climbing. He was in the lead, then; he turned back to see Seri's head still below his, and a view that took his breath away. He stopped, panting, and waited for her to catch up.
"Look at that," he said, when she came up beside him. They were now, if he judged aright, at the level of the Thumb's base. Beyond it, he could see to the south, a better view of the canyon's new direction than he had had from the mountain-top. Looking north, the ends of the first two promontories showed clearly; he could not see the stream that had made its way among them to an outlet west, but he assumed that going downhill would lead him there.
They moved downslope and toward the next cove to find shade; both of them were unusually careful about the ground on which they sat. Aris thought that the people of the caravans might avoid these mountains simply because of the many things that stung and bit—that huge snake, the little crawlers with their poisoned tails. He said that to Seri, who shrugged it off. "Each land has its own hazards; I think it's the rough terrain. Horses would find it difficult unless someone built trails. And if they have no magery, building trails could take years."