‘It’s all right,’ Farnor said. ‘I shouldn’t ask so many silly questions.’
‘Not very silly, I suppose,’ Edrien said. ‘I’m sure I’d ask a lot of strange questions if I suddenly found myself in the open lands with lodges all piled up on top of one another.’
Farnor looked at her uncertainly, and then gave a little laugh. ‘They’re not piled up on top of one another,’ he said. ‘They’re next to each other, side by side, with spaces in between – big spaces.’ He demonstrated.
‘Oh,’ Edrien replied, flatly, her eyes flicking from one moving hand to the other. ‘Are you sure that everywhere isn’t covered with lodges?’
‘I’m certain,’ Farnor replied.
Edrien looked at him. ‘You look a lot less grim when you smile,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh since we found you.’
But the laugh was already echoing reproachfully through Farnor. It mingled with the residue of the excitement that Edrien’s enthusiasm for the first climb had created, to fill him with a bitter sense of betrayal. Laughter and celebration were not his to enjoy now. They were for other people; people whose slaughtered parents were not crying for revenge. Guilt welled up, foul, inside him.
His face darkened. ‘I thought we were nearly there,’ he said starkly.
A slight spasm of pain passed over Edrien’s thin face, but it was gone on the instant. ‘Yes,’ she said, pointing. ‘They’re just here.’
Farnor found himself following her down a wide pathway that had been cut into the hillock. Neatly trimmed embankments rose up steeply on each side of the path, and an almost vertical face sealed the end of the artificial chasm. Set well into this face was a large double doorway. Edrien swung expertly on one of the doors and dragged it open, then stepped inside. Farnor glanced dubiously at the embankment lowering ominously above him before following her.
He did not know what he had expected to find in this underground chamber, but images of cold and damp and darkness had predominated. He was thus considerably surprised to find himself in a huge space which, despite the pervasive smell of horses, contrived to be light, airy and dry. It was also very high and, at seemingly random intervals, great irregular pillars swelled up from the floor and shouldered themselves purposefully under the unevenly curved roof. Farnor gave a soft ejaculation of surprise. ‘This is amazing,’ he said, staring around.
Edrien glanced at him. ‘It’s only another root worn,’ she said, though had Farnor been listening carefully enough, he would have heard no small amount of proprietorial pride in the casualness she affected.
Inquisitively, Farnor walked over to one of the large pillars and examined it closely. It had a rough-hewn appearance, giving the impression that it was simply a column of earth or rock that had been left by the excavators of the chamber, but as he looked at the surface carefully he saw that it was an irregular and complicated weave of what he took to be tiny roots. His eyes drawn inexorably upwards, he saw that the roof was similar to that in the room in which he had first awakened, though here the twisting timbers were both bigger and more numerous. And the place was filled with light, he realized. Further, it seemed to be daylight. He looked around for lanterns and lamps, but though there were one or two illuminating odd corners there were none that could account for the general brightness. ‘Is there a hole in the roof?’ he asked in bewilderment.
With a concerned frown, Edrien looked upwards urgently. ‘Of course not, no,’ she said, with some indignation, after a brief inspection.
‘Where’s the daylight coming from, then?’ Farnor retorted.
‘Mirror stones, of course,’ Edrien replied. ‘How else could we get the daylight into here?’
Farnor was tempted to pursue this intriguing an-swer, but part of him foresaw an endless tangled skein of inquiries ensuing about these strange people, and little profit to be gained from it in the end if he was going to be leaving shortly.
He nodded, as if the answer had been adequate, and then turned his attention to the lower reaches of the chamber. Around the edge were stalls in which the horses were kept. Some were small rooms cut into the sides of the main chamber, others were just fenced areas. In the distance, there was a large corral in which several horses were grazing quietly, bathed in a brilliant sunlight. Looking up, Farnor saw that the brightness came from a great swathe of tiny lights, sprinkled almost like stars across the broad, uneven dome of the roof. The mirror stones, he deduced in some awe, though the sight told him nothing about them, and again he deliberately chose not to pursue the matter.
Edrien was talking to him. ‘I said, your horse is over here,’ she repeated, pointing to one of the stalls. ‘It’s been groomed and tended and, unlike you, doesn’t seem to be much the worse for wear after its journey, apart from being hungry and tired. What’s it called?’
‘Called?’ Farnor echoed vaguely. ‘I’ve no idea. It’s just one of the inn horses. It doesn’t have a name.’
Edrien’s forehead furrowed. ‘I’ve never heard of an inhorse,’ she said. ‘Do you have outhorses as well?’
Farnor paused as his mind teetered abruptly side-ways in search of a meaning to this remark. ‘No, no,’ he said, hastily, as he discovered it. ‘It’s not an inhorse, it’s an inn horse.’
Edrien looked at him blankly.
‘The horse belongs to the inn,’ Farnor explained. ‘It’s the innkeeper’s in a manner of speaking. Everyone provides food for it and the others that are kept there, and the innkeeper tends them. Although actually, he usually gets some of the children to do all the hard work.’
Edrien nodded sagely at this last remark; perhaps after all there was not a great deal of difference between the Valderen and these outsiders, but she could not forebear asking, ‘What’s an inn?’ as they reached the stall which held Farnor’s horse.
‘Just a place where people sit and drink, and talk, after they’ve finished their work,’ Farnor answered.
‘What, everyone?’ Edrien exclaimed. ‘All together? Like a great communal hall?’
Farnor felt the bounds of normality slipping away from him again. ‘No,’ he said, with a hint of desperation. ‘It’s just a… house… a lodge… where people can go and… drink and talk,’ he repeated, adding weakly, ‘If they feel like it.’
‘A meeting house,’ Edrien decided. ‘Where commu-nity matters are decided.’
Farnor shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said, rather than risk becoming entangled in any further discussion.
‘It sounds like one of our ale-lodges,’ Edrien said.
The distinct note of disapproval in her voice how-ever, encouraged Farnor not to pursue the topic further.
They entered the stall, and Farnor began to examine his horse. There were some cuts on its legs and flanks, obviously caused by the undergrowth through which it had careened, but he could find no serious injuries. ‘You’ve looked after it very well,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Edrien said, patting the horse’s nose gently. ‘It’s a nice animal, even if its colour does make it look grim.’ She looked at Farnor’s hair. ‘Does everything have black hair, out there?’ she asked, frowning.
Farnor reached tentatively to run his hand through his hair but stopped halfway and gesticulated vaguely. ‘No,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Horses – and heads – come in all sorts of different colours.’
Edrien looked relieved. ‘I thought everyone couldn’t be quite so fierce-looking,’ she said. ‘It’d be awfully depressing.’
Farnor looked at her helplessly. ‘The horse is fine,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I’ll pack my things and be on my way, then. Unless your father’s found anything he wants me to do.’
Edrien looked at him enigmatically. ‘Your horse isn’t fine yet, Farnor. You can see that. It’s still tired. A day or two more will make a big difference to it. And to you. And…’ She stopped.
‘And?’ Farnor prompted.
Edrien turned away from him as if gathering up courage. Then she looked squarely at him. ‘You don’t know what a disturbance your coming here has caused,’ she said, calmly, though Farnor could see that her whole body was tense. ‘You really don’t. Outsiders just don’t come here. Not to the lodges of the Koyden-dae. It’s something that hardly ever happens even in our great tales. If they come to the Forest at all they come from the north and the east, to the Koyden-ushav and Koyden-d’ryne. But we’re the deepest dwellers of the Valderen, the oldest of the old. No one ever comes here.’