‘A few, yes, and after a while that will get the others’ attention. We want her distracted by that as long as possible.’
‘How long will it take us to cross Falkan?’ Mark asked.
‘Maybe fifteen days from here, riding flat-out.’
‘We should travel like we did before,’ Garec suggested. ‘That was incredible. We crossed the plains in just a few days.’
‘Nerak was still in Colorado then. If we do that now, he’ll track us all the way.’ Gilmour closed his eyes for a moment; he was not looking forward to the journey.
‘You’re right, sorry. So we travel the old-fashioned way. That’s fine; it gives us a chance to see the scenery.’
‘A mostly flat, arable plain lying fallow during winter,’ Mark quipped. ‘That will make for some picturesque vistas.’
‘No matter,’ Gilmour said. ‘We’ll travel as far and as fast as the horses can stand.’
‘When we get to that bend in the river, assuming we can find it again, how will we get the spell table out?’ Garec checked the bar to see what was keeping Steven so long.
‘I don’t know,’ Gilmour said matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t seen this place.’
‘Imagine ice and snow over a rushing river and an underwater moraine as big as your mother’s house. There’s nothing south of there but the Blackstones and nothing north except days and days of river, and then that cavern with those bone-collecting things.’ Mark popped one of the aspirins into his mouth and swallowed it dry.
Gilmour filled a pipe and lit it from a taper on the table. ‘I trust you, and that’s why we’re going all the way down there. Nerak thinks he has the best of us – of me, I suppose, because I was too stupid to realise he wouldn’t have left the spell table at Sandcliff. Any half-wit would guess if it isn’t at Sandcliff, then Nerak must keep it at Welstar Palace, but I think you may have stumbled onto it completely out of naked- what was it, Mark?’
‘Pastry-chef luck.’
‘Naked, pastry-chef luck.’ He puffed contentedly at the pipe. ‘Anyway, if it is Eldarn warding the spell table, and it was Eldarn that trapped you down there, then I will need some time to find the root of the spell he’s used to control the ground, the water and the rocks. It will be a slow process.’
‘Can you unweave it?’ Garec wasn’t sure how to ask what he wanted to know.
‘Probably not,’ Gilmour said, surprising them, ‘but I’ll wager he can.’ He nodded towards Steven, standing patiently at the bar.
*
Steven was waiting for the innkeeper. Gita had told him to look for a tall man, heavy around the middle, with flowing grey hair and ruddy, wrinkled skin. His name was Ranvid; he had been a member of the Falkan Resistance for almost two hundred Twinmoons. Malakasian forces regularly moved through Traver’s Notch, so Ranvid was always assimilating bits of news about the occupation which he passed through various channels to Gita and the other Resistance cell leaders. His methods were simple, and effective: the Bowman was known to welcome Malakasian soldiers: they got good service, cheap booze and plentiful meals, and officers always drank for free.
Over time, the local occupation forces had come to think of the Bowman as an establishment sympathetic to Prince Malagon and word spread as the army moved throughout the country. Ranvid gleaned a wealth of valuable information, ranging from which general loathed which down to specific troop movements. He even knew when an enormous force started mustering outside Welstar Palace.
The innkeeper had never participated in a raid, taken up arms against a local patrol or killed a Malakasian soldier, but he was invaluable to the Falkan Resistance, a hero who risked his life daily.
When he finally stepped out from the kitchen, Steven recognised him immediately from Gita’s description.
‘Yes, sir, what do you need?’ He collected an armful of dirty trenchers that had been left along the raised counter.
‘Three beers, and two half-goblets of wine, one red and one white.’
Ranvid froze, then turned to look Steven in the face. ‘You plan to mix them to make a whole pink?’
‘No,’ Steven said, ‘I don’t like to drink that much.’
He placed the trenchers in a bucket half filled with greasy water that made Steven lose his appetite and drew three beers from a wooden cask behind the bar. ‘I knew a woman once who drank pink wine,’ he said conversationally.
‘I hear she died,’ Steven continued the exchange he’d memorised.
No, she’s still around.’
‘I’d like to meet her.’
The innkeeper placed the beers in front of him, then poured out two half-goblets of wine from ceramic pitchers. Steven paid with a few copper Mareks and reached for the drinks, but almost imperceptibly, Ranvid shook his head. ‘You want food?’
‘No, thanks,’ Steven said, his stomach still recoiling from the sight of the oily bucket. ‘We have to be moving on.’
‘You want food.’ It was not a request this time.
Steven sipped the surprisingly good white wine and agreed, understanding belatedly that the man wanted him to wait beside the bar. ‘Actually, why not? What’s good?’ Anything but stew, he thought to himself.
‘The stew is tasty.’
He swallowed hard. ‘Good then. Four stews, and bread, please.’
A fine choice.’ Ranvid turned to the kitchen and shouted, ‘Four up!’
Someone called back, ‘Come get them yourself.’
Ranvid motioned for Steven to wait and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, Steven winced at a loud slap, a shriek and the sound of a large pan full of something wet and sloppy tumbling to the floor.
The innkeeper returned and grinned. ‘Your food’ll be right out.’ He waved away Steven’s thanks and busied himself at the bar, clearing goblets, scraping trenchers and tossing half-eaten loaves into a woven straw basket at his feet.
Steven stayed where he was, content to watch and wait.
Without making eye contact, Ranvid said softly, ‘You wield the staff, yes?’
Steven examined an etched pattern on the side of his wine goblet. ‘That’s right.’
‘The woman is here. Many of her men are in the Notch; there’s a camp on the north side of the wall.’
‘The wall?’
‘The northernmost hill behind Traver’s Notch. There’s a pass; we keep it open through the winter. Any horse can cross with no trouble.’ He waved to three locals sitting near a window, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. ‘Three more, right away,’ he called.
Steven finished the white wine and started in on the red. ‘How do I find her?’ he asked as Ranvid finished drawing the men’s drinks.
Across the western bridge and up the hill road. Near the top there’s a dirt path leading back into the trees. Follow that to the cottage at the end behind the birch trees.’
He disappeared back in to the kitchen and reappeared with four trenchers. ‘Enjoy, sir,’ he said heartily.
‘Thank you.’ Steven left a silver coin on the bar and loaded up the trenchers.
‘She’s a great leader, and a great fighter.’ Ranvid’s voice was barely there. ‘She has great hopes for you.’
‘I won’t let her down,’ he replied.
‘Steven Taylor!’ Gita Kamrec met them outside the cottage, running to him and throwing her arms around him. ‘Gods, but I am glad to see you’re still alive.’
‘Me too,’ Steven replied, returning her embrace one-handed, the hickory staff in the other.
Gita released him and stepped back. ‘Gods! Be careful where you point that thing. It makes me nervous.’ She hugged Garec and Mark in turn. ‘Garec the bowman, and Jenkins, the horseman from the South Coast, welcome to Traver’s Notch.’
Mark smiled. ‘Nice to see you again, Gita.’
‘What happened to your leg?’
‘We met a border patrol in Gorsk.’
‘Gorsk? How long have you been up here? I thought you were going to Praga to find Kantu. What were you doing in Gorsk?’
Mark said, ‘We’ve a lot to tell you.’