The Shadow Roads

Thirty

The river had narrowed and increased its speed while thecliffs had fallen way to rolling banks, which rose and dipped a little as theypassed. To either side, dense forests of pine and fir mixed with oak and maple,beech and ash. There were trees growing there that Dease Renne had never seenbefore: a tree with bark white as a wave crest and branches that hung down likethe weeping willow, a maple with leaves larger than platters. He watched thehidden lands roll by between his turns at the oars. No one who could manage asweep was exempt. Even Elise, he noticed, took her turn, and the men in herboat were hard-pressed to match her pace. A gift from the river, shecalled this strength, but it was arcane, Dease knew, and it unsettled themen-at-arms, even A’brgail’s Knights.

“Do you smell smoke?” A’brgail asked, sitting up and turninghis head, nostrils flaring as he tested the air delicately.

Toren turned and gazed back the way they’d come. “Wind is inthe north, so it must be coming from behind. Did we pass a camp-fire?” Deasesaw Toren reach over for his sword, which he now kept buckled to a thwart.Hafydd was somewhere on this river before them, or so Elise claimed.

“The winds eddy and twist among these hills, Lord Toren,”Theason said. “The smoke might be coming from anywhere.” He too sniffed theair. “Forest fires can occur in summer. I have seen the places where they’veburned-vast stretches, soon green again with new life, but the skeletons of thegreat trees stand for many years, like gravestones.” Theason was silent amoment, then went on. “Do you know, the name Eremon, which Hafydd uses still,is the name of a shrub that grows up where fire has destroyed the forest? Theseeds of the eremon bush can lie dormant in the ground for two hundred years,but the heat of the fire cracks their shells, and they sprout up only daysafter the fire has passed.”

No one had any response to this, and the boat fell silent.

“Do you smell the smoke?” Elise called a moment later. Shewas standing in the stern of her boat, wrapped in a Fael cloak, her hairwafting in the breeze. She twisted it into a rough tail and tucked it behind anear, and then inside the collar of her cloak-a practiced motion that was allElise. Sianon, Orlem had said, cut her hair short.

“Yes,” A’brgail called, “but where is it coming from?”

Elise shrugged. “The wind comes from all directions.”

And so it did. North for a while, then from the west, thensouth by southwest. It even veered east for a time. The smoke seemed to becarried on any wind, now stronger and more pungent, then weaker or gonealtogether.

They rounded a bend in the river, and Dease’s eyes werestung by smoke, the smell even stronger. Flakes drifted down from the sky, likesnow, but this was a gray snow.

“Ash!” Theason said.

“Bring the boats together!” Elise called out. She had unsheathedher sword and thrust the blade into the river.

“Is it Hafydd?” A’brgail asked, as the boats came alongside,oarsmen swinging high their sweeps and taking hold of the other craft’sgunwale.

Elise did not answer but held her blade in the back of theriver, eyes closed, her head cocked to one side as though she listened intently.Then she shook her head, drawing her sword from the water and drying it in afold of her cloak, all in one motion.

“He is ahead of us yet-and some distance, too. But still,fire is I his greatest weapon, and we must be wary.”

“Theason said he has seen forest fires in the hidden lands before,”A’brgail offered.

Elise nodded. “Then let us hope this is such a fire andnothing more,” she answered, but she stood again in the stern of her boat andsurveyed all that could be seen, her manner stiff and apprehensive.

Ash continued to snow down, dappling the water, where theflakes soon became a leaden scum spread over the surface. Smoke could be seennow, hanging among the low hills that bordered the river.

“Rain would be welcome,” Theason remarked.

“Fire is a way of rejuvenating the forest,” Eber said, “forit sweeps away the ancient trees, cleanses the soil, and allows the long cycleof growth to begin again.” He held his son, asleep in his lap, and Deasethought the old man looked overwhelmed by sadness. “Young trees appear,flourish, and are replaced by others, like generations, until you again havethe mature forest we see here. It is the natural cycle and keeps each breed oftree strong, for the forest is full of scourges, even for the oak and thewillow.”

“If anyone is wearing mail, he should take this opportunityto shed it,” Elise said, but work at the oars was hot, and mail shirts had longsince been rolled into oiled sheepskins and put away out of reach of water.

The smoke was thicker ahead, a cloud of it wafting out overthe river, casting a shadow on the dark waters.

“What is it you fear, Lady Elise?” A’brgail asked. “SomethingI think.”

But she answered with a question of her own. “Who among youcan swim?”

A few voices answered in the affirmative-not enough, Torenthought.

“Those of you who cannot swim find another who can. Do as hesays and do not let fear get the better of you.”

Eber turned in his seat in the bows, fear across his face. “Butwhat of my son?” he said, his voice shaking with anger and apprehension. “Youswore that you would protect him.”

“And I will,” Elise said. “Pass the boy back to me.”

Llya was wakened and passed quickly down the row of oarsmento Elise, who took him up gently, smiling at him and caressing him as though hewere her own.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I am of the river. No matterwhat happens, you will be safe with me.”

The boy made some sign with his hands, and Dease wondered ifhe had understood at all.

They rounded another bend, and there the smoke was thick.Fire climbed a tree in the distance, branches breaking away and tumbling inflames. Despite cloaks stretched over mouths, smoke burned into the lungs allthe same, and everyone coughed. The boats drifted into a gloom, like a dry fog.His eyes stung and watered so that he could see almost nothing. The heat beganto grow, so that Dease’s face ran with sweat, and he could feel it spreadingdown his sides beneath his clothes.

“Douse your cloaks in water!” Elise yelled.

Dease pulled his cloak off and thrust it into the river. Ina moment he had it over his head, crouching within this small tent. He couldfeel his cousin beside him, hear him coughing.

Dease was racked by a fit of coughing himself as the smoketore at his lungs. He opened his cloak a little and tried to pick out anythingin the obscurity. To run ashore would be a disaster.

“Flames!” he yelled. A wave of heat struck him like a blow,knocking him into the bottom of the boat. His cloak was quickly steaming itselfdry.

“Into the water!” he heard Elise yell, and Dease threwhimself blindly over the side. The cool water washed over him, drawing off thescalding heat. He struggled out of his cloak and threw the sodden mass intothe boat. He kept one hand on the gunwale, but the wood was growing almost toohot to hold. Quickly he switched hands, splashing water up onto the wood.

In the water beside him were others, faces blackened and obscuredby smoke. Something burned his wrist, and he drew his hand away from the boat,only to find the burning did not stop in the water, and he scraped away at hisskin for a moment before he was free of the scalding material.

Paint, he realized. The paint was bubbling off.

“Splash water on the boats!” someone yelled, but Deaseturned quickly around, staring into the smoke that burned his eyes. The boatswere gone!

Flame appeared overhead, the heat unbearable. Dease dove beneaththe water and swam. The forest fire, if that’s what it was, leapt the river.The desire to cough was strong, but he fought it down, pressing himself forwardinto the cool water. To surface there would be to die. There was no light inthe water, though he swam with his eyes opened. He didn’t even know for surethat he was swimming downstream.

When he began to see black spots about the edge of hisvision, Dease rose toward the surface, emerging into a smith’s forge, the heatsearing his face, wet though it was. Even the water seemed hot, steaming aroundhim. Flames shot out of the smoke, and the sound of fire was deafening.

He drew in a lungful of smoke and coughed uncontrollably.The heat was more than he could bear, but he could not dive without air, andthere was nothing to breathe but smoke.

Dease rolled on his back, gasping and hacking. Water chokedhim, but he could no longer find the strength to struggle. The world seemed torecede, fading, darkness swirling out of the air.

The river took hold of him, and he was pulled down, downinto the waters. He did not resist, nor could he have, but slipped into adream, a cool dream where he drifted within the river, held gently in its maw,carried off, where he did not know.

Toren felt they were in an oven, close, utterly dark, hot asa bed of coals. He could hear the others breathing, coughs echoing beneath theoverturned hull. For a moment he rested, clinging to the inwale with hisfingers. When he felt he had enough strength he reached an arm out and splashedwater onto the hull, his fingers roasting in the heat of the fire.

In a moment he pulled the hand in again, dousing it in thequickly warming water.

“Call your names …” A’brgail said, almost at Toren’selbow.

Names were croaked in the darkness.

“Dease?” Toren called. “Dease? Are you here?”

There was no answer. One of A’brgail’s Knights was missingas well-their numbers down to eight. Toren cursed between fits of coughing. Hedidn’t think anyone would survive outside the boat, the heat was too great, thesmoke overwhelming. He took a breath and ducked under, surfacing in a kind ofpurgatory, flame and smoke roiling overhead, hotter than a blazing hearth.

“Dease!” he called. “Dease …” For a moment he listened,then went back into the relative safety of the overturned boat, drawing in alungful of smoky air.

The current seemed to be infinitely slow, and the firespread over a greater area than he had hoped. It even occurred to Toren thatthe boat might be circling in an eddy, not escaping the fire at all. He reacheda hand out into the oven and splashed water up onto the hull, as did theothers, but still it was growing dangerously hot. He reached up and pressedhis palm to the planking-then pulled it quickly away. The wood was almost toohot to touch.

“It can’t be much farther,” someone lamented.

“How big can such a fire be?” a voice asked.

“Very great,” came a small voice in response. “I have seen afire scar the hillside for leagues.”

“We’ll not survive for leagues,” A’brgail said low to Toren.“Another few moments, and this shell will be on fire, and all the turtles willbe forced out into the flames.”

“Let us hope …” Toren said. But A’brgail was right;another few moments, and they would be gone. He dipped his head under, for theair beneath the boat was growing hot. As he surfaced something scalding-hotdropped onto his cheek, and he wiped it away-pitch from the seamsbetween the planks! He heard someone surface into the boat.

“We’re afire!” Theason gasped.

Toren ducked under the gunwale and surfaced into theswirling smoke. He rubbed at his stinging eyes, trying to clear them withwater. Squinting, he could see flames spreading over the turtled hull. Hestripped off his shirt and beat at the flames.

“The paint is aflame!” he called to the sooty face thatsurfaced beside him-Toren could not begin to guess who it was.

Whoever it was followed his example, and after a moment theyhad doused the flames. They ducked back into the boat, gasping, choking, hisscalp feeling as though it had been seared.

“The paint,” he managed. “It is aflame. We have to beat itwith sodden shirts.”

Three men-at-arms ducked under immediately. A dull thumpingsounded on the hull. When these three returned, three more went out-not ashirker among the group.

“I think the smoke is not so thick,” one said as hereturned, and Toren felt his hopes rise. Perhaps they would not be baked afterall.

But it seemed a long time, even so, before the air began toclear, and glimpses of sunlight heartened them. They were a bedraggled lot whenfinally they washed ashore upon a narrow strip of mud and sprawled upon thegrass. Smoke still filled the sky, drifting up in great, molten clouds. Theair, however, could be breathed without promoting spasms of coughing. One of A’brgail’sKnights called out, and Toren sat up to see the other boat, overturned, menclinging to it. It was brought ashore with some effort.

Dease was not there among the smoke-stained faces, thoughEber, his white beard dirty gray, crawled out onto the bank.

“But where is my son?” he rasped. “Is he with you?”

“No, but he was with my mistress,” Orlem Slighthand said. “Hewill be safe. Don’t waste a moment in worry.”

A head count turned up two others missing besides Dease-oneof A’brgail’s Knights and a Renne man-at-arms.

The tall man from the wildlands was soon up, assessing thedamage to the boats. Most of the gear was lost, though weapons and some othernecessities had been tied to the thwarts, and these had not been jettisonedwhen the boats were overturned.

Toren was on his feet, but Slighthand had assumed controland was seeing to the men, tallying their weapons and tools-a natural leader.He stood overlooking the boats with Baore.

“Can they be put to rights?” Toren asked, feeling small betweenthe youth from the wildlands and the giant.

Baore tugged at his sparse beard, thinking. “I will take aday to make them somewhat riverworthy. Some of the pitch melted out of theseams, and the paint is gone. The wood is scorched black in places, but not toany depth, luckily. We might find some of our oars washed up along the bank;otherwise, we shall have to fashion them with an axe. They’ll be rough, butserviceable.”

“I’ll lend a hand,” Orlem said. “I’m not a stranger to wood,though I’m no shipwright.”

Toren waited until Baore had gone off a few steps, then saidquietly to Orlem, “What has become of Elise? The old man is worried to thepoint of distraction about his child.”

The giant crouched and ran his hand over the blackened planking,rapping it with a knuckle. “The fire was not natural,” he said in his deeprumbling voice. “Caibre created it to destroy us-to destroy Sianon … Elise.I cannot say what other snares he might have left to catch her. Caibre wasbrutal and cunning. I only hope she was equal to his art.” The giant glancedback up the river. “I don’t know how long we’ll be safe here. The fire isspreading south. It will soon catch up with us. Whoever has skill with wood orboats should lend Baore a hand. A meal would hearten the men-at-arms. I don’tknow if we have a bow that can be used, but Baore has hooks and line. If thereis a fisherman among us-other than Baore, who cannot be spared-then we shouldset him to finding food.”

Someone called out and pointed. Toren stood to find Elise,her golden hair awash, swimming toward them.

Eber sat watching over his sleeping child. The child who hademerged from the river sickly pale, his lips blue-looking too much like a nagarfor anyone’s liking. But he was alive and sleeping gently as though nothing hadhappened, his natural color restored. Eber kept glancing over at Elise, who satapart, wrapped in her Fael cloak. She might have saved Llya, but Toren thoughtyou would not know it by the looks Eber gave her-as though she had violated hisson in some way or turned him into a monster.

He had been kept alive within the river, Torenthought, kept alive in its dark depths. Many a man among themwould have chosen death instead. Toren was not sure what choice he would havemade. He was as disturbed by the arts as many of his less-educated men-at-arms.

The nobleman looked up into the night sky. Tendrils of darkcloud wafted over, blotting out the stars-smoke. It appeared to be growingthicker, and Toren feared the north wind was carrying the fire down upon them.He wondered what had become of his cousin. Had he been consumed by the fire?Poisoned by the smoke, for certainly they had only survived beneath theprotection of the boat, and even that had been a close run thing. Poor Dease.He seemed to Toren to have been afflicted by ill luck since he had been struckby Beld. His whole manner had changed, as though he blamed himself for Arden’sdeath. Guilt seemed to consume his life’s fire. And now he was gone. Lost tothe unfathomable river.

Orlem, Baore, and some others slid the first boat into theriver to groans and halfhearted cursing. Toren walked over to see if he couldlend a hand in any way, though he had no skill as a woodworker or shipwright.

“The seams have opened up from the heat and from losing muchof their pitch,” the young giant from the wildlands announced. “The other isno better. The planks will take up after a while, but I don’t think we can bailfast enough to keep them afloat, now.”

Elise rose up from the shadow where she rested. She strodedown to the water where the boats lay and stood looking at them a moment, hermanner more imperious than Toren remembered. The shy girl of memory was gone,replaced by this woman who unsettled everyone-frightened them, in truth.

“Carry the other boat down to the water,” Elise ordered, andshe shed her cloak, letting it slide to the ground in a pile.

The other boat was borne quickly down and hissed over themud as it splashed into the river. Without taking notice of anyone, Elisecontinued to drop her clothes onto the riverbank, and in a moment she hadsplashed into the water. There, she spread her arms and seemed to hum, herpalms flat on the surface. At intervals she scooped up a double handful ofwater and splashed it into one boat or the other. The water where she moved herhands appeared to become faintly green and luminescent, as Toren had once seenin the wake of a boat on the open sea. The planking of the boats took on thisgreenish cast and glowed softly. The water in the boats receded, appearing todrain through the cracks between the planks, and in a moment the boats werebobbing gently upon the waters, glowing as though bathed in faint greenmoonlight.

Elise came out of the water, where Orlem immediately wrappedher in a cloak.

“Load the boats,” the giant ordered as he supported Elise,who appeared weak, her knees wobbly. Orlem bent and scooped up her clothing,bearing her up the low embankment. In a moment the two returned, Elise dressedand tightly wrapped in her cloak, her gaze cast down and shoulders slumped,like one overwhelmed by fatigue.

The men-at-arms stood about the boats, no one wanting tostep into a craft that had been bespelled. Toren could see the men, lookingdown, none meeting Orlem’s eye. Toren stepped forward and shoved the first boatout into the water, scrambling aboard and taking up one of the oars that hadbeen found adrift. A’brgail followed, taking up an oar himself. Eber set Llyadown in the bow of the other boat and climbed aboard after him.

Orlem turned to the men-at-arms, who still hesitated on theshore. “There will be no harm to any of you,” he said reassuringly. “Do notfear.” He pointed to the north. “But you will be hard-pressed to outdistancethe fire on foot through this dense forest. Any who cannot bear to encounterthe arcane arts might be better taking his chances with the fire. Before thisjourney is over you will see arts enough, that is certain.”

Reluctantly, and with many a measuring look to the north,the men climbed into the boats, taking their places, shipping the oars. Theyall appeared apprehensive but in a moment they were in the current and strikingout for the south, in the wake of Hafydd, who had tried to kill them with fire.They were silent boats passing beneath the stars, and still very faintlyaglow.

Toren looked back, seeing tendrils of smoke reaching out towardthem, but thinning and breaking apart before they could come so far. He dug inwith an oar and thanked the faint stars that he had not been washed up at Death’sgate. Not yet.