Child of Flame (Page 295)

He flung seeds and chaff into the air. They bolted across the path as the mixture drifted down, shimmering like sparks around them, and tumbled panting into the scant cover of the trees beyond. Agalleos and his companions ran onward, eager to get out of sight of the road, but Alain turned to look back.

No footprints marked the path where they had crossed.

He saw no sign of their passage at all. Even the seeds and chaff had vanished. A last drifting flower petal, as light as down, spit brightness as it burst into flame and, a finger’s breadth from the betraying chalk trail, winked out of existence.

They traveled all that day overland, resting that night in a ruined town, long abandoned although soot still streaked the tumbled walls. Here they ate a meal of smoked venison and crumbling way-bread, flavored with aniseed and very sour.

“This road is longer than I thought,” said Alain as he reclined on a bed of leaves. Clouds hid the stars, although no rain fell. “How far have we come? How far have we left to go?”

Agalleos knelt beside him, constructing a hidden fire pit with stone and tiles. Shevros and Maklos had gone out to set snares. Birds were easy to catch in the wilderness that the war had made of these lands. “Queen Shuashaana’s magic is too powerful even for the Cursed Ones to defeat. That’s why she’s stayed here when most of our people, those who survived, have walked away to find new homes. The hills of this part of the country have many caves and tunnels worn into them, because of the soft rock. The queen sealed the labyrinth with her magic. There is a gate there, that she wove, where you can step from the land of the Cursed Ones into the loom outside her camp. But to walk is a path that takes many days. We must go north, and then cut back south and west.”

“Except for the worm’s path you spoke of.”

Agalleos grinned. “Truly. The worm’s path cuts back through the underside of the hills into the labyrinth. That saves three days’ walking. But the worm’s path is for young men.” He sat back from his work and patted his midsection. He hadn’t much fat on him, but certainly he was stockier than his young companions, having an older man’s girth. “I fear I’m too round to crawl on the worm’s path any longer, although I knew it well when I was a boy.” He picked up a few tiles. “Nay, friend. Rest your hand. I can do this myself.” A quail’s whistle sounded out of the dark, and he answered it, low and sweet. Shevros appeared carrying a string of partridges and two pheasants. “Be patient,” said Agalleos as he built a fire. “Caution will serve us well. Three more days.”

By dawn, Alain could eat his fill of the juicy meat, and there was plenty to carry for the day’s journey. Soon after they started out they bypassed a watchtower, set on a low-lying hill. From the shelter of the trees, Alain saw helmeted sentries atop the wall.

“That tower belonged to Narvos’ clan,” murmured Maklos, with a look that suggested he still took the loss personally. “The Cursed Ones took it when I was a boy.”

“All this was our country once,” said Agalleos.

“And will be again,” retorted Maklos.

They looked each at the other; something about the lightning shift of expressions, their grim frowns, made Alain shiver as at a touch of cold wind or the frozen lips of an evil spirit kissing his heart. They moved on into the forest, heading north into broken country.

By midday they reached the river. It was nothing at all like the great northern rivers, the Rhowne and the Veser, with their wide banks and streaming current. No Eika ship could have navigated this river; it was too rocky, too shallow, more rapids than river, really. The ford was guarded by an outpost of Cursed Ones, an earthen palisade, a stone tower, and two concentric ditches to protect against attacks. A road struck north, paved with stones, a magnificent piece of engineering.

“Their armies are moving north and west now,” whispered Agalleos, “to fight the Horse people.”

Alain told them about the group that had attacked at Queens’ Grave and kidnapped Adica. “Do you think they can walk the looms? Is that how they came there?”

Agalleos fingered his beard, as if the topic made him uncomfortable. “I’ve heard it said. I’ve never seen it, nor why should I have? I am not a Hallowed One, to be allowed to glimpse the magic of the heavens. The Cursed Ones have strong legs and growing armies. They have roads, and their own cursed magic. Why should they need to steal what little we have?”

“To make us their slaves,” said Maklos. “They would leave us with nothing but our deaths. Even our deaths they take from us, to give to their gods. This isn’t even their land. I wish they’d go back into their ships and let the sea swallow them up.”