But for once, Porto did not seem to mind the mockery, or even much notice it. “I make no claims to being a great hero like Tallistro. I fought because there was no other choice, except to die. But I do not apologize to you or anyone, Nabban-man. Few have faced those howling, hairy things and survived, fewer still have been in on the death of one.”
The very matter-of-fact way he said it convinced Morgan. The prince sat back, examining Porto as though he had never really seen him before. He was still tall and must have been a formidable size in his youth. And Morgan knew that he had indeed been where he claimed, because when they were in Elvritshalla, the king’s friend Jarl Sludig had told him at a gathering that he had caught sight of Porto in Morgan’s company; Sludig did not remember the knight’s name, but had recognized his long-boned face and frame from the days of the siege against the Norns. Morgan had even considered bringing Porto to meet the jarl, but the time in Elvritshalla had been hectic, with the Kopstade to explore and the sudden attentions of the trolls, and he had forgotten. Soon thereafter, they left Elvritshalla and Sludig behind. Morgan could not help feeling a twinge of regret now over his failure to bring the two men together.
“That truly is an astonishing tale, Sir Porto,” he said, “and I believe you. You have memories, brave memories, that most men would envy.”
“Thank you, Highness,” said the old man, and made a slightly creaky imitation of a bow. “But to speak honestly, I wish I were in truth the liar that Astrian and Olveris find such joy in describing. My memories of those days give me no pleasure and still bring me ugly dreams.”
The other two knights seemed to have run dry of insults. They all fell silent. The wind scrabbled at the tent cloth, and for that moment each man seemed to be thinking the same thing—of what might lurk outside in the darkness beyond those flimsy walls.
22
Death Songs
Makho deeply distrusted the mortal, but clearly he did not trust Nezeru much more. When the hand chieftain sent her out to scout the territory ahead, a role for which she had undergone careful training in the Order-house of Sacrifice, he sent Kemme with her.
Does he fear I will run away? Just thinking of it made her furious. Does he think I hold my oath to our queen so lightly that I would desert my people simply because he whipped me—because I am in disgrace? The weals on her back had mostly healed. They still ached fiercely in the cold, but that was as nothing compared to the pain of being thought untrustworthy. The fact that it was true—that she had already failed her hand-brothers twice—only made the pain worse.
“Why come so far south?” she asked Kemme as he followed her down a long, rocky slope, past drifts of snow and patches of yellow winter grass. “Not just deep into Rimmersgard, but almost to the edge of Erkynland?”
“Close your mouth, Blackbird. Do you know more than Makho?” He pushed his way through the long grasses, leaving a sinuous track like a snake. “The hare does not tell the fox where to hunt.”
She knew she should be quiet, but his dismissiveness made her skin prickle. “The mortal Jarnulf said we should cross the great road miles farther north, closer to the mortal city of Kaldskryke.”
“He did, did he? And how do we know what ambush he might be leading us to if we do not scout all this country?” Kemme’s face was full of unhidden anger. “Who are you? I was nobody—a Sacrifice from an indifferent family, stuck in a backwater league of our order under a lazy, self-serving commander. But my lord Makho remembered me—he asked for me to join him. Now I am a Queen’s Talon. Do you think I care what you or some mortal have to say? Enough of your pointless questions, Blackbird.” In fact, this was the first time Nezeru had spoken in a very long time, but he made it seem as if she had been prattling ceaselessly.
The sky was lightening now, but they were still a good distance from their camp, which added to Nezeru’s unhappiness. She did not like these bare, open lands away from the forested hilltops, and she especially did not like moving so close to the mortal road. It was largely deserted this time of the year, with storms still coming down from the mountains and across the Frostmarch, but that was no proof against being seen by enemies. The only fast way to travel east to Urmsheim was to pass between the Dimmerskog Forest and great Drorshullven Lake. Jarnulf had suggested they cross the mortal road just past Kaldskryke, skirting the southern edge of the forest before heading east into the wilderness, but Makho had dismissed the idea, apparently leery of some trap. So now we are here, exposed, practically in daylight, almost begging to be seen, Nezeru thought. Was secrecy no longer a part of their task? Why had they not simply crossed the road nearer to the forest instead of risking the much more populated lands near Vestvennby?
She could think of no answer that made sense, and that troubled her.
? ? ?
After a long time on open ground Nezeru and Kemme started to climb up into the hills that bordered the road. She was reluctantly impressed by how swiftly and quietly he traveled. She knew he had fought at Asu’a during the failed War of Return, and had also defended the Nakkiga Gate against invading mortals. She did not underestimate his strength or his bravery. But his loyalty to Makho made it impossible for him to hear any question about strategy except as an attack on their chieftain.
They crested the hill, and Kemme led them until they reached a little grove of pine trees at the top of a slope whose steep drop to the valley floor was broken only by clumps of trees and a few large stones. On the near edge of the valley ran the ancient track the mortals called the North Road until it vanished where the valley curved at its southern end. Most of the widest part of the valley lay on the other side of the old road, where stands of tall green grass rippled in the wind. The grasses had come with the season, springing up amid the patches of melting snow, and the valley floor seemed a tapestry woven in a wide variety of greens and whites. Here and there Nezeru could make out the dull silver sheen of running water from a tangle of streams snaking across the valley floor that later in the spring would overspill their low banks, join together, and become a single rushing flood beside the North Road. Such an abundance of water and new growth made Nezeru slightly dizzy, accustomed as she was to the hard, dark soil of Hikeda’ya lands, so it was a moment before she saw what Kemme had already seen: something upright was moving in the distance.
Far out across the valley and a bit north of where the two Hikeda’ya stood was a host of two-legged shapes busy at some task, bent, arms swinging. They were too far away for Nezeru to make out clearly what they were doing—mortal eyes would not have discerned them at all—but Kemme gave her a contemptuous look, as though their presence proved some point her stubborn ignorance had denied. He signaled her to follow him northward along the slope above the road so they could get a better view, and Nezeru did as she was told.
As they drew a little nearer to the distant figures the morning sun finally breached the eastern hills and began its climb into the sky, so they turned farther up the hillside in search of cover. Following Kemme silently through the trees, Nezeru was again troubled by what seemed like clear tactical mistakes, first by Makho and now by Kemme. If their goal was to cross the mortals’ great road safely and vanish into the waste, far from spying mortal eyes, why had they come so far south in the first place before crossing, and why bother now to approach what almost certainly would turn out to be the mortal inhabitants of some nearby village? Even the stealth of trained Sacrifices could be betrayed by accidents, by unexpected noises or the appearance of unforeseen others. What could be learned here that was worth taking such a risk?
Finally they drew close enough to see that the people on the far side of the road were indeed mortals, about two or three score of them, all garbed like peasants. Most were cutting grass with sickles, but some seemed to be uprooting it with their bare hands. Moments later Nezeru saw that the mowers seemed to be protected—or perhaps prevented from escaping—by a handful of other mortals who watched them from horseback.