The Wanderer's Tale (66 page)

Well, just in case, they had lit a campfire which, on this high place, would be visible for many miles around. But it was not only the shaman that might be drawn to this beacon; during the previous night strange noises had been heard in the distance, like sounds of something big moving about in the trees, something on the hunt . . .

Bolldhe’s teeth kept rattling in his mouth, but he hardly even noticed. He sat with his back against the bole of a mossy tree, surveying the mist-shrouded forest thoughtfully. The night sky was cloudless, and he could already see the stars. Apart from a low chattering of wind in the treetops, there was little sound to disturb his thoughts that night. Zhang was champing the grass nearby, but everybody else had turned in for the night.

Appa had taken on the first watch that night. Bolldhe could hear him now, muttering to himself in that mad, fussy way of his, tapping his ring against his Torch amulet with one hand and scratching his belly with the other.

Tired after the day’s gruelling march, Bolldhe’s eyes closed without him realizing it. Soon he was drifting in semi-consciousness, the old priest’s muttering threading indistinct images of his companions through his thoughts; his companions, and all that had brought him here to this strange, unknown land. How bizarre they all were, he thought lazily. What an odd bunch he had fallen in with, to be sure: a ragtag crew of experts and amateurs, all from completely different worlds and walks of life, all with completely different beliefs, all motivated by completely different purposes.

And the two priests, they alone of all the party who should be united, even they were as opposed to each other as any of the rest. One would have thought that they at least would share the same ideas. But, no, it was as if they were fighting separate battles.

There was Finwald: he of the keen intellect, the good looks, the affable manner; a man who could have anything, be anything, he desired, and yet had elected to become a mage-priest, of all things. And not only a mage-priest, but one with such unshakeable beliefs, so uniquely devoted to his calling, as to abandon his betrothed, Aluine, for a terrible quest in the Far North. A man of understanding, a cunnan, he knew exactly what he believed in and exactly what he must do.

Then there was Appa: a spectre of a man as empty of life as the dogma he preached. Yet he too was a baffling enigma. For he, more than any other, knew what it was to suffer for what he believed in. He was old and frail and, though he possessed a constitution that was surprising in one so elderly, his health was deteriorating with every passing day. They were all aware of just how hoarse his coughing had become lately, and his skin seemed more ashen every time Bolldhe looked at him. How long he could last in the frozen wastes of Melhus, Bolldhe did not care to think. But there was something deep inside Appa, too, that was driving him on, forcing his aged bones northwards mile by mile, every painful step of the way.

A wrinkled old prune
, ha! That was a good one.

So what drove an old man to such efforts? What indeed drove Finwald? Or any of their company, for that matter, even its newest member? Yes, a rag-tag bunch of strangers that Fate had thrown together for a quest that none of them truly understood.

Story of my life
, Bolldhe considered,
never knowing what I’m doing, where I’m going to end up, or why . . .

Within moments he was asleep, and the forest’s murmurings followed him.

There was now only silence. A deep silence that numbed the brain and deadened the nerves. Silence, and darkness. Bolldhe was asleep with his companions, he knew, but it had been so long since he had heard them that he was beginning to doubt they were there any more.

Had they left him? Was he really on his own? It started to feel as if everyone had died and he was the only person in the world. Fear crept into his heart, and with it a black despair that could only be the work of nightmares.

His hand stole from the warmth of his bedroll and reached out into the cold, dark air. Tentatively he felt about himself, but there was nothing except cold rock, and at once he withdrew his hand.

Again there was that familiar nagging at the back of his mind, and he was worried about something. What it might be, though, he knew not. His unease felt just like it had a month ago, in the Blue Mountain cave as he had listened to the words of Finwald, Appa and Wodeman. Their words came back to him now, twisting and turning in his mind like coiled serpents: Appa’s muttering, Finwald’s rhythmic enunciation, Wodeman’s chanting. But above all it was that chant, which droned on, deep and insistent.

Bolldhe could not even decide where he was. It indeed felt as if he were back in the Blue Mountains, but that had been weeks ago, surely? He could not still be there, could he? And if he was, that would mean he would have to do all that travelling again . . . once more he would have to defend himself against the wolves and the Leucrota, leave the mountains, leave the company, and then all that stuff with the huldre, and then the swamp-town, and, and . . .

And the horror that awaited him down the silver mine!

Suddenly two pale hands reached out for him from the darkness. They were the same ones as had come out of the darkness of the side shaft and slapped him across the face. Instantly he recoiled, and almost gagged in terror.

But they did not strike him. This time they held something in their grasp. Their bony, thievish grasp. It was a little wolf! A tiny wolf-cub, all grey fur and needle-sharp teeth.

Still frightened, but desperate to overcome his fear, Bolldhe reached out and took the cub. It wriggled in his grasp like a worm, and laughed with the voice of a demented child. Grinning, for what reason he could not say, for he was as terrified as ever, Bolldhe began stroking the wolf-cub. He stroked and stroked until before long its fur began to slough off in great, sodden clumps, and he was left with a raw, bleeding lump of lupine meat that still laughed in its shrill, childlike voice.

He gagged in nausea, longing to thrust this vile obscenity from him. But he somehow could not let go. The air grew heavy about him, and he realized that he was paralysed in this darkness. All he could see was this wolf carcass that should have been dead but was very much alive. It glared at him with eyes that were as red as burning embers.

Then the full horror bore down upon him from all sides, a deep, instinctive terror that assailed his every sense.

The wolves were coming to get him.

He broke into a run, and he ran and ran and ran, still clinging on to the jabbering monstrosity that dripped its life-blood down his arms. The whole pack was after him, led by the cub’s mother, the Leucrota, getting closer with each second. Her feet pounded upon the ground behind him like a quake, her mane flew about insanely, and the hoarse rattle of her hot breath grew louder and louder; even now he could smell its carrion fetor heavy in the night air. Even as he could feel the agony from the arrow imbedded in her eye.

He could not hope to outrun them. His friends were now running with him too, crying out desperately for him to drop the howling bundle of meat.

Then the pack was upon them. Within seconds, Bolldhe and all the company would be devoured. But the seconds seemed to last for an eternity –

Suddenly he sat bolt upright and fully awake. Dripping with sweat, he looked about himself. It was still night-time, but he was back in the foothills of the Giant Mountains, above Fron-Wudu. His companions were all sleeping peacefully, and the comforting smell of wood-smoke drifted up his nose, but still the scent of Beast was heavy in the air.

Looking across at the campfire, he caught sight of the wolf-like figure that crouched just beyond the dying embers. Glowing like a demon in the darkness, its eyes glinted wickedly and its teeth were bared.

‘Dreaming?’ it said in a voice loaded with meaning.

It was the sorcerer, and his smile was wider and sharper even than a Leucrota’s.

‘
Pel’s Bells!
’ the wanderer breathed in anguish. ‘I wish you’d send me some pleasant dreams for a change!’

B
OLLDHE WAS STILL DWELLING
on his dream when the company finally reached the gateway to Eotunlandt.

‘What?’ he said vaguely. ‘Were you talking to me?’

Nibulus sighed. It was already two hours to noon, and Bolldhe had not said a single word to anyone all morning. Everyone else had worked their way up the slopes with steady determination, yet also with an uncharacteristic buoyancy in their step. The thought that they would soon be entering the fabled Land of the Second Ones was like a hand on their backs, both lifting and driving them upwards to the promised gateway. Bolldhe, however, had remained aloof from them, guiding the nimble-footed Adt-T’man upwards with one hand permanently gripped on the beast’s shaggy withers, intractable as ever. Something was clearly preoccupying his thoughts, something which had caused him to brood sullenly all morning.

‘Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?’ Nibulus demanded impatiently, ‘We’ve been awake for over four hours now, and you still don’t seem to be with us. Something bothering you, is there?’

Bolldhe stared at him dumbly. ‘No. No, it’s all right, I’ve just been feeling a bit restless lately – haven’t had much
sleep
.’ This last word he directed towards the shaman nearby.

‘I was just saying,’ Nibulus went on, ‘that Kuthy’s going to be off scouting about for this gateway of his for a while, and would you like to share a tot of sloe gin with me?’

Bolldhe glanced at the pewter hip flask extended towards him, with its strange burn-marks and metallic ‘growths’, and shook his head. He allowed himself to be led by Zhang over to a small pool of spring water nearby, and went back to his thoughts.

Nibulus let him go without a word. He himself was red-faced and sweating from the effort of the climb, and enjoyed a good swig of the gin. Though the lower slopes had only a light patching of snow, the ascent had been steep in places, and the gullies that had taken them far into the mountains had been choked with thorny bushes, boulders and scree. There were no visible paths to be seen, not even a goat-trod, and the whole company had been forced to backtrack several times before the Tivor decided that he knew where he was. The only breaks in this gruelling climb had been when Appa’s coughing fits had forced them to pause for a rest.

But the Peladane’s flustered exterior belied the excitement that churned within him. For they had finally found the cleft in the rocks that would lead to Kuthy’s secret doorway. Not only that, but Wodeman had returned to them, and also they were about to leave the dreaded Fron-Wudu well behind them. In addition to all this, it appeared that they had managed to escape that Beast, whatever it had been. Things appeared to be looking up for a change, and he was as happy as he could be.

They could now all afford to take a well-earned breather. Nibulus looked away from the grumpy old wanderer, and instead viewed the lands stretched out below. He breathed in deeply the mountain air, and stretched his arms wide to embrace the vast wildlands below him. In various shades of grey, green and brown, the whole terrain stretched before him as far as his eye could see, not a cloud nor any mist to obscure his view. He could see right the way across to the Blue Mountains, now no more than a thin line of jagged peaks on the very edge of the horizon.

The rest of the company preferred to take it easy in this last opportunity before journeying down into the depths of the mountains. While their guide scouted ahead, they started to prepare a hot meal. Only Appa did not join in. He was flat on his back, staring up at the empty sky, a look of pain on his face and pleading in his eyes.

After only a few minutes Kuthy returned to them from the far end of the cleft, and summoned the men around him. There was a slight consternation on his face as he spoke, whether genuine or not, they could not tell.

‘Well,’ he announced, ‘I’ve found the portal.’

There was a general buzz of guarded satisfaction at this news.

‘. . . And?’

‘And there is something else I feel I ought to tell you. It may not be of any consequence, in fact I’m sure it isn’t, but you may as well be warned, just in case.’

‘Well, what is it?’ Nibulus prompted irascibly. ‘Come on, man, spit it out.’

‘It’s probably nothing,’ Kuthy went on, ‘but the last time I was here, the door was locked. It’s like a great millstone, you see, and you roll it aside to gain entry to the passage beyond. There’s a mechanism that holds it in place, actually draws it into the rock-face, and then holds it there. And, once inside, there’s a similar device for locking the door. But . . . now it seems to be unsecured. Anybody could get in there if they wanted.’

They looked at one another doubtfully, not sure what this could imply.

‘What are you saying?’ Finwald asked apprehensively. ‘Did you fail to lock it the last time you used it? Or is there something else?’

‘I don’t know, it may be just that; I could well have forgotten – or just not bothered – to re-secure the door on the inside once I’d got in. At the time that would have been the least of my concerns. Or it may be that others have used the doorway since . . .’