‘Have all the signallers been reinforced?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Send this,’ Loman said. ‘"Look at the evening light, Orthlundyn. Look at the shadows and the rock. Turn your minds to your carving."’
The man frowned uncertainly. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Just send it,’ Loman said decisively. ‘And tell the signallers to keep repeating it until they get a response from every station.’ Still uncertain, the man looked up at him. ‘Through the night, or until I countermand the order,’ Loman said, anticipating the next question.
The man nodded to a nearby signaller who ran off immediately. ‘But what have I to do about Athyr?’ he asked again, turning back to Loman.
‘Nothing,’ Loman said, ‘Jenna and I will go to camp six alone, now. See that the night duty patrol is alert and that everybody else is bedded down early. Tomorrow could prove to be trying. I want everybody fresh.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Tybek asked.
Loman shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Stay here. Tell everyone what’s happened, and if you haven’t had a signal from us by dawn, move out in force.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘But gently, Tybek, gently.’
While the light held, Loman and Jenna maintained a steady trot, but as it failed they were obliged to slow down to a walk. For a while they had to strike their torches, but eventually a full moon rose above the peaks and filled the valleys with glistening silver light.
Above them, Loman’s message flickered from peak to peak, as torches replaced the daytime flags.
Jenna shivered, and wrapped her cloak about her.
‘Cold?’ Loman asked.
‘Inside and out,’ she replied. ‘Cold, sick, guilty, eve-rything, Loman. And still frightened.’
He leaned over and laid his hand on her arm. ‘The fear, you’ll handle,’ he said. ‘I know you. As for the guilt amp;mdashleave it for another time.’
Jenna made to speak but Loman shook his head. ‘I know we made a mistake in not signalling back what we’d done, but you were quite right, Athyr mightn’t have seen the message while he was on the move. And if he had there’s no saying he would have been as lucky as we were. Save the guilt, Jenna, until we know what’s happened, and until we’re both less tired.’
‘I’ll try,’ she said flatly. ‘But… ’ She abandoned the sentence and for some time the two rode along in silence.
Reaching the end of a long incline, they found them-selves on a broad rounded shoulder between two mountains. Halfway up one of them a signal light moved. Loman lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled.
‘Any news from camp six?’ his message said.
The sudden piercing noise made Jenna start, and shook her out of her preoccupation.
The lights above faltered and, reacting to her imme-diate alarm, Jenna smiled. ‘You’ll frighten them to death, Loman,’ she said. ‘They probably think you’re Alphraan.’ Loman nodded and striking his torch waved it in a wide arc over his head. He whistled the message again.
‘No,’ came back the curt reply. Then, after a pause, ‘Good luck. Will keep sending your message.’
Loman acknowledged with another whistle and a wave of his torch then he peered down into the moonlit valley below.
‘How far’s the camp from here?’ he asked.
‘Not far,’ Jenna replied. ‘A couple of hours at this speed.’ She pointed. ‘It’s round that spur,’ she said. ‘It’s only just out of sight, but you’ll not see it until we’re almost on top of it.’
Loman nodded. ‘And the signal stations?’ he said.
Jenna indicated three well-spaced peaks. Loman glowered into the shining darkness, remembering his own helplessness in the thrall of the Alphraan. How many of his people were lying thus now? He clicked his horse forward.
A wave of anger washed over him at the thought of the signallers, bound and impotent in their high sanctuaries. But something diverted it into more reflective considerations.
There were inconsistencies in what had happened. The predominant weather in the mountains was cloudy, with mist and rain making visual signalling difficult. Presumably therefore the Alphraan had chosen such a clear day for their attack so that some form of investi-gating force would be drawn into the fray. Yet if this were so, why would they paralyse the communications from one and not the other?
Perhaps the weight of numbers was indeed present-ing them with problems? Perhaps they had a strategy whose subtlety couldn’t yet be seen? It occurred to Loman that random and inconsistent behaviour was an admirable tactic for destroying morale. Perhaps again they were random and inconsistent, either through their nature, or because, as Gulda reasoned, they were divided amongst themselves?
‘Riders.’
Jenna’s whisper cut through Loman’s circling specu-lation. He felt his pulse start to race as he reined to a halt. ‘Where?’ he whispered in reply, as if fearful of what the dark shadows around them might hear.
Jenna pointed.
Loman leaned forward, his eyes intent. Slowly weav-ing its way along the valley was an unsteady thread of mottled light and shadow that slowly resolved itself into a long line of riders. It was too far away to form any judgement about their condition.
‘Halfway from the camp,’ Loman said. He looked again at the peaks which housed the signalling stations. Nothing. Just darkness.
‘They were in the shade before,’ Jenna said. ‘That’s why we didn’t see them sooner.’
Loman stared pensively at the distant riders.
‘Should we signal them?’ Jenna asked. Loman caught the flicker of the same request from above.
‘No,’ he replied to Jenna. Then taking her torch he dismounted and signalled a formal reply to the signaller. ‘No. Continue original message as ordered, but report the sighting and our actions back to central camp.’
‘Signals won’t tell us anything about them,’ he said, remounting and handing Jenna’s torch back to her. ‘If they’re hostile in any way, they’ll only lie. We’ll approach openly, as we did at three.’
‘And be ready to run?’ Jenna said.
Loman nodded earnestly, and the two moved for-ward again.
‘This is difficult,’ Jenna said, after a while. ‘I’m try-ing to be at ease, but I’m too tired and anxious to think about carving, or to look at the moon shadows. Or anything except… ’ She nodded ahead.
‘Yes,’ Loman agreed reluctantly. ‘Me, too. I think that’s the best we can do this time. Be concerned. It’ll suffice. At least it’s not warlike.’
In the deceptive perspective of the mountains the route towards the approaching riders seemed like a gently undulating slope, but as Loman and Jenna moved gradually down into the valley, they found that the column disappeared for long periods behind large local variations in the terrain.
Eventually Jenna raised her hand. ‘We’d better wait here. We might pass them if we go much further.’
Loman agreed and they positioned themselves on a conspicuous outcrop washed with bright moonlight.
The mountains around them were patched with shining silver and subtle moon-hazed shade. Here and there, tumbling streams caught by the moonlight shone more brightly than they did on a summer’s day. The whole scene was hauntingly beautiful.
‘I can sympathize with anyone wanting to keep war and violence away from here,’ Jenna said, keeping her voice low, as if it were an intrusion.
Loman nodded. ‘Better here than in the villages,’ he said sadly. ‘At least the mountains are oblivious to our antics. They were here before we were, and they’ll be here when we’re gone.’
‘I know, but… ’
Loman turned to her. ‘I understand,’ he said. But in his mind was the thought that just as the mountains were gradually changed by forces they knew nothing of, so might that not also be the case for humanity also? It was a dark, frightening thought, and he did not welcome it.
As if disturbed by its rider’s sudden unhappy preoc-cupation, Loman’s horse stirred slightly, its hooves scraping on the rock. Moonlight glinted off its harness, catching Loman’s eye like a brilliant evening star. He smiled and patted the animal gently. At the worst, he thought, if he couldn’t see his chains, at least he felt free. At the best, he was free.