Sylvriss looked at him, her mind full of thoughts of Eldric and the other Lords, facing the unknown power of Dan-Tor and ignorant of the fate of her and of Hawklan and Isloman.
‘Messages could be sent?’ she asked tentatively.
The Goraidin looked at the mountains again. ‘Oh yes,’ he said quietly after a moment. ‘But not easily and not without considerable risk. But troops?’ He shook his head. ‘Not in any worthwhile number.’
Sylvriss nodded. The harsh reality of the Goraidin’s simple comment briefly dimmed the joy of seeing her home at last.
Still, she thought, there would be plenty of time for debating tactics and strategy when they got to Dremark. And at least Eldric and the others were preparing for war. They were not sitting in their castles in guileless innocence anymore.
She looked again at the land spread out below her. ‘Come on,’ she said, easing her horse back from the edge. ‘Let’s go and find the Muster.’
They had to spend one more night camped in the mountains, but the following day saw them leaving the last of the great crags, and venturing out over the empty, rolling countryside.
During the whole of the day the group moved stead-ily southwards. Although the weather was cold and overcast, they were all happy to have left the difficult mountain terrain behind and, for the most part, their progress was at the trot.
Towards evening the sinking sun broke through a gap in the distant clouds, and for a while the landscape was flooded with a brilliant yellow light, peculiarly at odds with the greyness of the low clouds overhead. The riders’ shadows stretched and wavered, long across the short harsh grass.
‘We’ve seen no one all day, Majesty,’ Yengar said. ‘It’s really quite eerie. I seem to recall that Riddin was quite a bustling place.’
Sylvriss smiled. ‘The last time you were here, you were fighting a war,’ she said. ‘There were all manner of temporary camps here then. But this isn’t a very fertile region. It’s scarcely worth settling. And, as I remember, the war blighted what little settlement there was. Such villages as were here had to be abandoned or were simply destroyed. I’m happy to be here now, but it’s not a happy place for the Riddinvolk generally. Too barren, and too many bad memories.’
Yengar nodded. Bad memories he could understand. That was why the place seemed eerie, he realized.
But Sylvriss had been a young messenger in those days and knew of the region’s condition only from the words of her father and his advisers. The countryside itself touched no old wounds in her. If anything, it reminded her of times of bright and youthful excitement when she had thundered, invulnerable, hither and thither from camp to camp at the behest of the line leaders.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, turning to Yengar and laugh-ing a little. ‘There’ll be people enough as we get nearer the River Endamar. And once we’ve been seen, the news will be known all the way to Dremark almost within the day. I hope you weren’t intending to reach there quietly.’
Yengar shook his head. ‘No, Majesty,’ he said. ‘The bigger the escort the better, as far as I’m concerned. I doubt we need to protect you here.’
A fine drizzle was falling when they finally halted and made camp for the night. As she had done through-out the journey, Sylvriss tended the horses while the men erected the shelters, then she joined them for their meal.
Relieved to be away from the constant concern that had necessarily pervaded their journey through the mountains, the group were soon in high spirits, their laughter ringing out into the damp darkness like a celebratory carillon.
Abruptly, the entrance to the shelter was torn open.
The group’s good spirits tempered their immediate surprise.
‘It’s the Muster!’ Sylvriss exclaimed delightedly, struggling to get to her feet in the confined space. But Yengar laid a restraining hand on her arm. He was watching Olvric’s hand.
Nearest to the entrance, Olvric was peering out at the unexpected visitor. He was smiling, but his hand, behind his back, was signalling.
‘It’s armed men, but it’s not the Muster,’ Yengar whispered urgently to Sylvriss. ‘Follow Olvric’s lead until we find out who they are and what’s happening.’
Sylvriss’s face went white but she controlled her expression and nodded. Her thoughts were suddenly in a turmoil. Armed men, but not the Muster? It was unlikely that Olvric would be wrong. But who could they be? Surely Dan-Tor’s treacherous arm couldn’t have reached this far?
Olvric stepped out of the shelter and looked at the newcomers. As one of them made to speak, Olvric raised a hand in apology and looking up into the rain, bent down to the entrance again.
‘Pass my cloak, please,’ he said waving his hand towards it. Marek handed it to him.
Sylvriss heard Yengar catch his breath. ‘Morlider!’ he hissed, almost in disbelief. ‘At least twelve of them.’
Sylvriss felt her stomach turn over, and for an in-terminable, dreadful, moment, she thought she was going to faint. But sterner resolves buoyed her up as her mind cut through the questions about how and why the Morlider should be there, to the certainty that she had not battled alone against Dan-Tor for so long, to become a squealing victim to any fish-stinking brigands.
Yengar caught the light in her eye, and motioned her to silence.
‘Be discreet, but keep your hands by your weapons,’ he whispered to the others as, with wilful awkwardness, he struggled to his feet. ‘Look pleasant and watch for commands.’ Then, crouching, he stepped through the entrance to join Olvric.
‘It’s the Muster,’ Olvric said to him brightly, then turning to the semi-circle of watching men, ‘You gave us quite a fright,’ he said. ‘We haven’t seen anyone all day. We were beginning to think that the Muster didn’t patrol this far north.’
A large, bearded individual holding an axe stepped forward. He was a little taller than Olvric but considera-bly heavier and his whole demeanour was menacing. He seemed, however, a little taken aback by Olvric’s affability.
‘The Muster patrol here, have no fear,’ he said. ‘But who are you, and what are you doing here?’ His voice was as rough as his weather-beaten face and his accent confirmed his origins.
‘We’re travellers from Fyorlund,’ Olvric said, affect-ing to ignore the drawn weapons. ‘To be honest, I’m afraid we’re a little bit lost. We were hoping we’d run into you,’ he added confidentially, wiping the rain from his face, and pulling his hood forward.
The man scowled and knocked back Olvric’s hood roughly. ‘No need to be afraid of the water,’ he said. ‘Let’s see your face.’ Olvric stepped back a little and contrived to look bewildered, but otherwise made no response. Then the man pushed him to one side and, bending forward, peered into the shelter.
Following Yengar’s order, the four High Guards managed to return his gaze with interested courtesy, but Sylvriss, her face flushed, kept her head bowed.
A second, younger man stepped forward. There was a curl to his mouth which, combined with his blond hair matted wet across his forehead, conspired to give him a vicious, unstable presence.
‘Anything worthwhile, Drago?’ he asked.
The bearded man did not answer, but pointed to Sylvriss. ‘You,’ he said roughly. ‘Woman. Here. The rest of you stay where you are!’
Despite her best endeavours, Sylvriss’s feelings showed briefly in her expression as she stood up.
‘Don’t look at me like that, woman, unless you want your face reshaping,’ Drago said, raising a ham of a fist towards her. ‘Come here.’
Olvric stepped forward. ‘Now look… ’ he began, but the blonde man turned suddenly and, with a spectacular flourish, produced a large knife. He placed the point under Olvric’s chin. ‘We are looking,’ he said, his face expectant.
Olvric, looking alarmed, turned as if in appeal to the others standing around. Yengar watched the manoeu-vre: his comrade was assessing the extent and strength of the force ranged against them. While Sylvriss and Olvric had been attracting attention he had surrepti-tiously done the same, forcing discipline and experience to master the familiar fear and self-reproach that were even now tearing his stomach with griping pains and making his whole body shake. He was glad Olvric was there. Both deliberately and instinctively he began to relax his body, to free it for movement.