“You still haven’t said what scared her, but never mind.” He called Barskalin to ask which way the queen had gone.
But the Zhadars’ leader did not know. “My men were following her. We were watching the surrounding area, we weren’t watching her and the actor,” he explained to Ireheart.
“You were spying on us?” fumed Rodario.
“No. Or this would never have happened,” muttered Boindil bad-temperedly, turning to Tungdil. “Scholar, wake up. We’ve got to find the maga and catch her. The nervous little filly has been shocked by a trouser snake and has run off into the undergrowth somewhere.”
A very sleepy Tungdil opened his eye reluctantly. The glance he shot at Rodario promised him a long, unpleasant death.
They raced through the thickets downstream in a long line.
They could not take the ponies with them so the Zhadar and dwarves had to go on foot to pick up the queen’s tracks.
The Invisibles easily found her trail but the maga had a head start. Their short legs put them at a disadvantage, but they could not let Rodario or Mallenia run off ahead under their own steam, for neither had the skills needed to follow the faint marks left by the maga’s feet.
The part of the forest they were in now was not welcoming. There must have been a forest fire there about a quarter of a cycle ago, one that had left ruined tree trunks behind. Scorched and shriveled and dead, these hulks stood eerily on the black empty ground.
Men and dwarves ran through the ash, their feet disturbing it so that it rose in clouds to clog mouths and noses, and make eyes smart. Half-burned branches crumbled under their feet, and their boots and clothing turned gray.
Then they came to the ruins of an old building. The fire must have taken hold of a little forest hamlet. Ireheart could see skeletons. Why did the people not flee from the flames-perhaps they were not able to run? The thought of magic occurred to him at once…
“Over there!” called Tungdil, pointing to the right. “I can see someone running.”
Ireheart could not see a thing. “I think…”
“Yes,” agreed Barskalin. “It’s a human.”
Mallenia nodded to Rodario to put on a spurt of speed. “We’ll catch up with her,” the latter told the dwarves, as he followed Mallenia.
Strange emotions were swirling within him. On the one hand he was reproaching himself, but on the other he was not sure why: Coira had taken flight because of his cry of horror, which she had misunderstood. But there was no time now to put things right. First of all they would have to catch up with her.
Mallenia had shot ahead, but he would not be shaken off. The group of dwarves were now some way behind.
The forest was changing again. The trunks now seemed to have been bent and twisted by the force of the fire, taking on the strangest of shapes. It was already growing darker here, so that the trees appeared terrifying, and the deathly hush that surrounded them made Rodario deeply uneasy. He was glad he had his sword at his side. And Mallenia, who was definitely a better warrior than he was.
“Coira, stop!” he called out after her as she ran through the trees. She was extremely agile. “We are really worried about you!”
But the fugitive was not listening.
“Come on, call yourself a hero? Get a move on,” said Mallenia, increasing her speed. “I don’t like it. Everything here is dead. This forest is scary.”
He silently agreed with her. There was nothing here, however, that could harm them: The fire was long gone, having consumed everything living and turned it all to ash.
The queen had changed course and was heading off to the right.
Between the scorched tree trunks they spied the outline of a fortified house, a defended barn or similar. Judging from the marks left by the flames it seemed the fire must have broken out in this building and then spread to the forest.
The queen ran through the small gate and disappeared inside the ruin.
“What’s she doing?” panted Rodario. “Is she trying to hide from us?”
“That’s just stupid. Childish and stupid.” Mallenia left the forest and headed for the entrance. “Queen Coira! Come out of there before you fall down some hole or get buried by falling masonry!” She went into the courtyard with Rodario at her heels.
They waited, listening out and watching the broken window panes, which stared back at them like empty eye sockets.
“Coira?” Rodario called, very worried now. “You misunderstood me back there at the pool. If you come out I can explain.”
“So it is your fault.” Mallenia seized on this possibility. “I bet you said the wrong thing.”
Rodario had decided not to speak about the ghastly discovery he had made. He wanted to speak to Coira first. “Something like that.” When he saw a face by one of the downstairs windows he raced off. “Coira! Wait for me!” He grabbed hold of the crumbling wooden supports and peered into the dark room.
He was staring at a pair of light-colored eyes that were watching him fearfully-they were the eyes of a man!
XXII
Girdlegard,
Former Queendom of Ran Ribastur,
Northwest,
Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle
Rodario sprang back and turned to Mallenia. “It’s a man in there!”
“Are you sure?”
He leaned further in over the wooden frame and surveyed the stranger’s face. “Absolutely sure. The stubble is a strong clue.”
“Indeed, then it won’t be the queen. Unless she has meta-morphosed.” Mallenia came over to the window to see for herself.
She guessed the man to be in his late thirties; once upon a time the garb he clutched about his body must have been a luxurious robe the color of malachite. Now it was a shabby tattered rag: Thorns had torn holes, and the forest floor had stained it. The man was wearing a greasy leather cap on his dark blond hair.
“What is your name?” she demanded.
The man cringed and crawled further back inside the room. As he did so, ash and charcoal crunched under his hands and feet.
Rodario caught sight of four costly rings on his fingers. “He’s no beggar, that’s for sure.”
“Perhaps he managed to escape the fire but lost his mind?” Mallenia kicked the wall sharply. “Where is the queen?” At the gate Tungdil was arriving with the other dwarves; she told him quickly what they had found.
Rodario climbed in through the window and slowly went up to the man. “Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you.”
“Says who?” came Ireheart’s voice from the open window. “If he’s a villain, then we will.”
“But you aren’t a villain, are you?” Rodario crouched down by the man. “You’re some rich man who has lost his way? Perhaps you were robbed? Or have magic plants been your downfall? Have you caught sight of a woman with long dark hair? In a dark-blue dress?” Behind him there came a crash and metallic clang, and gray dust rose up, settling on the sweaty face of this unknown figure.
It was Tungdil, who had just jumped in at the window. The man whimpered and cowered, his arms round his head for protection.
Tungdil grasped the man’s right hand and pulled it hard, then brushed the dirt off the man’s sleeve to reveal an embroidered symbol. He frowned and his face grew dark. “You are one of Nudin’s followers,” he challenged the man, grabbing him by the throat. “You have the effrontery to copy his style of dress and even his rings!”
Rodario stood up and placed a hand on his sword hilt. “One of Lot-Ionan’s famuli?”
“Ha!” said Ireheart, triumphantly. “What a good thing I didn’t agree we wouldn’t harm him.”
“He looks like one.” Tungdil dragged the man over to the window and hurled him out into the courtyard. “We’ll find out what he was doing here. And how much magic he still has.” He instructed the Zhadar to increase their vigilance, then climbed back out. “Did he tell you his name?”