Liar's Oath

Chapter Twenty-three

Climbing up to the forested top of the mountain took longer than Luap would have expected. He was winded and sweaty when he finally made it over the rim and into the cool shade of the trees. It had been too long, he told himself, since he had climbed even as high as the terrace now below. The Rosemage looked almost as tired, but Seri and Aris were bubbling with energy.

“It’s easy walking from here,” Seri said. “And we marked our trail, the first time.”

Luap nodded, still out of breath, and turned to look behind him, out over the rim. Now he could see much that had been hidden from the level below, while whole clefts and canyons had disappeared—they might have been only surface cracks in the rock. Others showed more clearly; be thought he could see a narrow green valley up the main canyon and then southward. Gird should have seen this, he thought. Northward a great gray angular mountain loomed, very unlike the red rock around them. Eastward, the higher mountains were white; he could not tell if it was rock or snow.

“We haven’t explored all of this yet,” Aris said. “Only toward the west, and only part of that. But we’ve found so many things . . . trees like this in places, and in others low round trees hardly larger than bushes. Grassy meadows, even a little creek right up here on top of the mountain.”

“And game,” Seri said. “Tame enough to touch, some of these animals.”

“All right,” he said, smiling at the Rosemage. “Let’s see your marvels.”

The two led them along the southern edge of the trees, where Luap could see between the trunks a plateau with similar trees across the canyon. It was, as they’d promised, much easier walking than the canyon itself; they reached the low end before the sun had moved three handspans on its way.

On this end of the mountain, no intermediate terrace broke its sheer cliffs. Luap crept cautiously to the dropoff and found himself staring down into a well of blue air, still shadowed by the cliff. Perhaps a bowshot away, a stone tower rose to a lesser height, partly eroded from the cliff behind. Below the steepest slopes, the hollow was filled with trees.

When he looked west, he saw across a lower cliff a vast low plain, with mountains rising from it in the distance. “Is that where you thought you saw a caravan?” he asked.

“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.”

Aris glanced back at the way they’d come. They could no longer see the Thumb, having come around the next outflung wall of rock—the pointing finger, he thought to himself. After a brief rest, they started off again, this time downslope and angling as much sunsetting as winterwards. They could see the notch in the western wall where the stream went through, but little of the land beyond.

“Should we head straight for it, or just go downhill to the stream?” he asked as they came out of the angle of the cove.

“It’s easier walking up here,” Seri said. “If we go to the stream, there’ll be a lot of twisting about. And it looks as if deer use this—there’s a trail here.”

“Fine with me,” Aris said. They worked their way down a rib of rocky soil that gradually narrowed on both sides, falling off more steeply to the north. Soon they were on exposed rock again, this time a ledge overlooking a sharp drop to another perhaps a man’s height down on the north, though it sloped more gently to the south. “It didn’t look like this from above,” he said. Ahead, they’d almost reached the western wall, which came down in great steps to close off their ledge. “Maybe we should start heading for the stream.”

Seri peered downward. The ledge below their ledge dropped to another, and then another. “If we get down, can we get back up? Remember that place up the main canyon . . . if someone came the other way, and dropped over, there’d be no way back.”

“Not without wings,” Aris said. “You’re right; we’ll go on to that wall. Maybe there’s a way around.” When they reached the wall, a narrow, well-scuffed trail seemed to lead along the very edge of the wall into the notch.

“My turn to lead,” said Seri. Aris chuckled.

“You want to be the first to see out . . . go ahead then.” Aris looked back at the rampart behind them, the steep rocky slopes changing abruptly to vertical walls . . . he could not guess how high. He glanced back once more as the angle of trail was about to cut off his view. Then he heard a confused noise in front of him, a muffled cry from Seri, and he ran forward.

The trail turned sharply back into a crevice of stone; Aris nearly went headlong over the edge. He dropped his stick and grabbed at the rockface. The rock he grabbed came loose in his hand but slowed him just enough that he could keep his footing. Then he could see them: Seri, struggling with two men, one of whom had a good grip on her braid, holding her head back while the other choked her. Aris charged, slamming the rock he still held against the first man’s unprotected head with a satisfying thunk. The man dropped; Aris stepped on him with intent, and swung at the second, who had to let go of Seri’s throat to block the swing. He didn’t dare look at Seri; the man had a curved blade longer than a knife.

Aris shifted the rock to his left hand and drew his own dagger. The man grinned, and swung the curved blade in a complicated pattern. Aris ignored that, and threw the rock at the man’s face, using magery to improve his left-handed aim. The man flinched aside, which gave Aris time to grab another rock. The man swung, not at him but at Seri. Aris lunged, trying to protect her, but he stumbled over the man he’d knocked out. Seri managed to jerk her legs aside: the blade rang on the stone but did not shatter. Aris pushed his stumble into a roll, hoping to get under the man’s guard with his dagger. It might have worked, but the man stepped back too far and fell backwards off the trail with a yell. A series of thuds and clatters, and a very final-sounding shriek suggested that he would be awhile climbing back.

Seri was on her feet now, still gasping; Aris could see the purple bruises at her throat. She smiled at him, and waved him away. He wanted to heal her, but he understood—first make sure no more attackers appeared. He checked the man he had hit with the rock, who lay unmoving, but alive. Farther down the trail—Aris lunged and yanked Seri to the ground just as an arrow clattered against the wall where she’d been. Now that he was touching her, he could heal her; he struggled to keep the anger he felt from contaminating the healing magery.

“I’m fine,” she said a moment later. “Stupid, careless, and clumsy, but alive and well.” Another arrow rang on the rock just below them. “How many?”

“I don’t know,” Aris said. “I saw one with the bow, and another behind, but the trail twists. It’s an awkward aim for the archer. Notice they aren’t yelling at us.”

“I did. No help to yell for, or other enemies?”

“I don’t know that, either,” He looked back up the trail. Had they really been so stupid, walking along an obvious trail without any precautions at all? Game trails, he reminded himself bitterly, go up and down to water, or connect food sources, not along ridges where people would prefer to walk. “But we can’t get back up there without making a very good target, and even if we did there’s that long open stretch of ledge.” And all the way back to the stronghold, they would be leading trouble home. And hadn’t both of them decided it was too hot to wear helmets, and that swords were awkward weapons not likely to be needed? Two sticks and Seri’s dagger, he thought, might not be enough.

“So we have to settle it here,” Seri said. In that tone of voice it almost sounded reasonable. Aris heard a faint noise and glanced up in time to see that the unknown archer knew about lofting his arrows into difficult places. No—two unknown archers: there were two arrows rapidly falling. Luckily, a wind-current near the cliff deflected them, and both fell harmlessly beyond the trail. Others, Aris knew, might not. He did not know if his slight magery would work on arrows shot by someone else. Seri touched his shoulder. “That man—the first one—had a bow over his shoulder.”

Of course. Aris had not really looked at him, beyond making sure he stayed quiet. Together, they got hold of a foot and pulled the man closer to the cliff. An arrow struck the man only a handspan from Aris; the man did not stir. Seri reached for the arrow that had struck the cliff first. “Now we have two arrows,” she said. “Unless he’s got more.” It was harder than Aris would have thought to wrestle the bow and string from the man’s shoulder, and when he had it in his hands he wondered how a little twisted bit of a bow could be much use. But when he had it strung, he realized it was more powerful than most. He yanked the arrow free of the man’s body, and set it to the string. It felt strange, but he hoped what he knew of the longer, straighter bows of Fintha would serve. He peeked around the rock and saw the other archer also leaning far out to look. Release . . . and a touch of magery as the archer, seeing the arrow on its way, tried to dodge. The man yelled then, in terror at seeing an arrow follow his movements. Aris saw two others get up and start running back down the trail; the man he had shot lay still.

“Odd sort of quiver,” Seri said, behind him. He looked back; she had found six more arrows stored in a length of hollow bone.

“They ran,” Aris said. “And wherever they’re going, they’ll report strangers up here. I think we should follow them.” He was ready to say why they should do something so foolish, without proper weapons or anyone knowing, but as usual Seri understood.

Seri nodded. “Not good neighbors. And you’re right; we don’t have time to go back and get tangled in arguments. We need to know more before we tell the Rosemage anything about this.” Aris was sure she felt the same pull he did, the same urgent call to follow the fleeing men.

Nonetheless, they would not be so incautious again. Aris retrieved his stick. They stripped the first man of his leather tunic, a small round shield, and a curved blade. He had dark hair and an unkempt dark beard; under the leather tunic he wore a long sand-colored tunic or shirt that left his muscular legs bare below the knees, and peculiar openwork shoes of leather thongs. Aris looked over the edge of the trail, and saw a crumpled figure far below; it didn’t move. The dead archer, when they came to him, yielded another bow, another blade, and more arrows, as well as a helmet that didn’t fit either of them until Seri tucked up her braid. She decided that the first man’s tunic didn’t offer enough protection for its weight and smell; they discarded it. The trail beyond that was both steep and exposed; Aris caught a glimpse of those they followed more than once. Now he thought he saw four of them. He thought about shooting across the angle of trail, but they were moving fast, and he was not sure how far this bow would send an arrow, even with magery behind it. He didn’t trust his judgment of distance in the clear air.