The Farseekers (7 page)

As with all expeditions, no amount of forethought could avoid the last-minute rush as remembered necessities were hunted up. Feeling harrassed, I looked up with relief to see Ceirwan and Matthew approach.

'See, I've been practisin'' Matthew sent on a tightly shielded probe. The momentary mischief in his eyes faded as he looked around.

'Until today it hardly seemed such a great thing to be doin',' he said pensively.

I had said nothing of Maryon's prophecy. Rushton believed it was better not to let it be known the expedition carried the fate of Obernewtyn on its back. I would tell the others when and if I needed to. Dameon had suggested I tell no one of the part of the prophecy concerning Jik. 'It would not be fair on the boy. Maryon said it may be that his part is something quite obscure, something not apparent until much later, though his presence means the difference between survival and failure.'

Jik was excited, but it was a subdued excitement. He was younger than Lina and Zarak, but more serious and quieter of nature. He seemed bemused by the news that he was to be part of the expedition.

We were delighted to discover he had been to Sutrium before coming to the Highlands, and had seen enough to give Domick some idea of the present shape and disposition of the town. He had also been to Aborium, where we might need to renew supplies for the return journey. All the Herder vessels berthed there. I had the impression Jik had not liked the sprawling seaport and resolved to ask him why.

Jik's dog, Darga, was to accompany us as well. A nondescript short-haired dog with a ferociously ugly face, he was one of a breed used by the Herders to guard the Herder Isle. Darga had been a miscoloured runt in his litter, expected to die when Jik had volunteered to nurse him.

Zarak and Una stood beside Jik, their faces openly envious.

The three horses to travel with us had been supplemented by another. I would ride the black horse, who sent terse instructions that he would answer to the title Gahltha, meaning leader. Domick would ride the newcomer, a small, wheat-coloured mountain pony with doe-like eyes. Named Avra, she had been brought wild to Obernewtyn the previous winter, having injured herself in a fall. Alad told me she was the black stallion's chosen mate. The two mares to pull the carts were Mira and Lo.

The horses stood together as Alad harnessed and installed the hated bit and bridles. Privately Alad had warned me Gahltha had chosen horses that were completely loyal to him. It was clear where their allegience would lie if it came to a choice between equine and funaga aims. They would follow me as leader of the expedition only under instructions from the black horse.

None of the equines seemed inclined to closer acquaintance and I hoped I had not made a mistake in choosing Louis over a full Beasting guilder. I could beastspeak, of course, but the animals had more time for those of the Beasting Guild. Naming his selection, Gahltha had said he had trained the horses to fight funaga. He sounded as if the thought of fighting pleased him. I hoped fervently he would remember which funaga were his allies, if it ever came to battle.

With Kella, Jik and Darga in one caravan, and Pavo and Louis in the other, the caravans were authentically crowded. Gypsies travelled traditionally in extended family groups, begging, singing and dancing for money and providing amusing and impromptu plays. The descendants of those who had originally refused Council affiliation, they were little liked or trusted for all their variety of skills. In some ways it was a dangerous disguise but it was one of the few ways a number of people could travel about without drawing attention. Travel was not undertaken lightly, for people everywhere were suspicious of strangers in their midst.

To complete our disguise, we were unnaturally tanned and wore the layers of the coloured clothing favoured by gypsies. The dark skin was the result of a powerful berry-based dye. I doubted anyone would have the slightest suspicion we were anything but a motley gypsy troop.

The last Guildmerge proved a disorganized affair. Along with a feeling of genuine need to get the expedition underway, and the flurry of last-minute preparations, there was the underlying feeling that time was getting away from us.

'We have been lucky up to now that our secrets have not been penetrated, that we have not been reported or caught out somehow,' Rushton told us. 'But luck and caution will not keep us safe for ever. Sometimes, only an aggressive move will do. Now is the time to begin to fight the Council more openly.' He went on to say that by 'more openly' he did not mean revealing ourselves. He stressed the need to maintain our disguise at all costs. We had all set up coercive blocks that would erase our memories in an emergency. These were Obernewtyn's safeguard in case one of us was caught and tortured. Only Jik had not been able to be blocked, being too untrained. Domick or I would wipe his memory, if the need arose.

Rushton adjured us to work together, and not to forget each of the three aims in the expedition was equally important.

At the last, he wished us good fortune. 'This journey is the beginning of a new stage for us. I wish you success, for your sake, and ours.' If anyone noticed the slightly ominous note in his final words, it was not apparent.

All Obernewtyn turned out to see us go, but the festival air did not last long. We had barely stepped outside when it began to rain heavily.

I climbed awkwardly into Gahltha's saddle, ignoring his derisive whinny. He might not want to be ridden but he knew an incompetent rider when he had one.

Wrapping an oiled cape about my head and shoulders, I nodded to Domick. We had decided he would ride in front of the carts, and I at the rear, at least until we left the main road.

The rain had sent everyone running inside but, looking back, I had a final glimpse of Rushton standing alone on the top step apparently oblivious to the downpour.

Even at that distance, I could see the same odd tension in his stance that had puzzled me in the tower room.

I wondered what he was thinking and impulsively lifted a hand to wave.

Instantly he responded, raising his own hand. I stared over my shoulder until the grey curtain of rain came between us.

I felt an unexpected regret at the thought that I would not see him again for a long time, perhaps many months if we failed to make it back before the pass froze.

I had been nervous about riding, but was relieved to find it less traumatic than I had expected. Under the terse instructions of the black horse, I had tied the reins to the saddle. There was no need to direct the horses until we reached the Lowlands. I had not wanted to ride at all. Gahltha said coldly that I would have to learn to ride properly before we reached the Lowlands. No gypsy would be as inept in the saddle.

I noticed Domick casually slouched into the saddle as if it were an armchair and envied him his skill and confidence.

Gahltha began instructing me the moment we left Obernewtyn. When I did not know what to do with my hands, I clutched at the saddle, hanging on for dear life. He forbade this, saying I must learn to ride by balance. A gypsy did not rely on hands or stirrups. This seemed impossible enough, until he warned me that I would have to be able to ride without a saddle, since gypsies rarely used them.

The steady rain kept me from talking aloud to those in the caravans, so I contented myself with the occasional farseeking observation to Matthew, and concentrated on trying to co-ordinate all the contortions Gahltha seemed to feel riding required.

'Heels out so you do not jab me in the ribs, or I may forget and buck you off,' he sent.

'Knees tight or you will be off the first time I stumble.'

The first hours were punctuated by Gahltha's staccato instructions. He made no comment to me except to give me orders. I had the feeling he was enjoying every minute of my discomfort.

The rain continued throughout the remainder of the day, drumming steadily on my oiled coat and on the roofs of the caravans.

The weather was so bleak that we passed into the realm of Blackland storms almost without noticing. The last time I had passed the stretch of poisoned ground, I had been coming to Obernewtyn for the first time, filled with apprehension for the future. Now I was leaving, still full of apprehension.

We passed the area without mishap, and soon after left the main road for the White Valley. Fortunately vegetation and undergrowth were sparse, or the carts would have been useless.

I felt Jik clumsily seeking entrance into my thoughts. 'Will the caravans be able to go through the Olden way?' he asked.

'Pavo thinks so. The Olden way was once an important Beforetime thoroughfare,' I sent.

'Why doesn't anyone else know about it?' Jik wondered. 'I never heard any of the priests up here mention it, and I never saw it on any of the maps.'

The question had also occurred to me. 'Pavo says it is probably because there has been no need of it. People prefer to travel the main coast road through the towns. And no one much uses the White Valley. The Highlanders believe it to be haunted.'

When night fell, it was still raining. After a hasty conferral, we decided to go on as long as we could, since it would be impossible to make a proper camp or cook in the sodden valley.

To my surprise, Gahltha was the one to call a halt, saying the horses pulling the cart needed to rest. I was surprised at his consideration, then reminded myself this was for horses, not humans. But I was glad to stop just the same. Climbing down from his back stiffly, I was convinced every bone in my body was fractured and wondered if it could possibly be any worse to ride bareback.

Relieved of the hated trappings, the horses wandered off to graze, untroubled by the rain. Domick and I hung our soaking oil cloaks under a thick-leafed Eben tree in the hope that they would dry by morning.

We all climbed in one carriage to talk. Darga had jumped out the moment the cart stopped, even so it was too cramped to change my damp clothes so I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

'We might as well close th' flaps an' keep out th' night air,' Matthew said, untying the strings.

Kella had lit two candles in shielded sconces and the interior of the van glowed dimly in the flickering light. It warmed up quickly with the flaps closed and i felt myself drifting off to sleep watching Jik and Kella prepare a simple nightmeal. I felt so tired it was an effort to eat, but Kella insisted.

I tried to shift my position but my legs seemed to have set in their riding position. Laughing, Kella produced a strongly scented green paste which she promised would ease the muscle strain.

I sighed regretfully at the thought of my favourite chair in front of the turret-room fire. Jik interrupted my weary daydream to ask why he had been included on the expedition.

I had imagined Dameon had provided some plausible reason, but it appeared he had left it to me. Trying to give myself time to think, I asked Jik why he had not asked Dameon himself.

He shrugged diffidently. 'Lina and the others kept saying how lucky I was. I thought somebody would tell me why some time.'

I nodded, knowing I could not burden him with the true reason. 'Your knowledge of Herder Lore was the deciding factor. We know so little about the Priesthood. They seem to be growing stronger and more powerful. You might well be able to keep us from making some obvious mistake. And, of course, there is your knowledge of Sutrium.'

Jik frowned. 'I was only there two days. And novices are the lowest of the low. I don't know any more than you would know,' he added in a troubled voice.

I patted his arm reassuringly. 'Don't worry about why you're here. Just concentrate on remembering everything you can about Sutrium and the Herder Faction.'

I heard squelching noises outside just as Gahltha's cold probe slid into my mind.

I pulled aside the flap and looked into his dark, wet face, almost invisible in the night. Directly behind him, Avra was a pale blur.

'What is it?' I sent, matching his brevity.

'There are fresh equine tracks nearby, less than a day old. Funaga rode the equines. Avra found the tracks,' Gahltha sent. 'They travelled the opposite way to us, making for the main road.'

'Maybe someone else uses the Olden way,' Jik said when I told the others.

I sent a questing thought on an unshielded beam to Avra. 'Do you know how many funaga there were?'

'More than here, two times more than here,' Avra sent, shy as Gahltha was arrogant. I bit my lip. That meant double our number - as many as twenty. I felt suddenly cold remembering Louis's words about the Druids. Louis, too, looked thoughtful.

We had been incredibly lucky to miss the riders, but that did not solve the question of where they had come from. There were no mapped villages in the White Valley. Louis said the Highlands were full of small settlements unknown to Council mapmakers, made up of people who wanted to be free of Council domination without openly opposing them.

'Perhaps this is such a settlement,' he offered without conviction.

'Riders do not have to indicate a settlement. Perhaps they were hunting,' Gahltha sent.

I shook my head slowly. I did not think anyone would hunt in the White Valley. 'We'll stay the night here and go at dawn.'

I asked Gahltha to warn Darga and the other horses to keep an eye out for any sign of funaga that might give us a clue about why they had been in the White Valley. Then I dropped the flap, shutting out the bleak night.

'He doesn't like you,' Jik said in puzzled wonder.

I nodded wryly. 'Gahltha was badly abused by his old masters. I don't think he likes any human.'

'But it's different at Obernewtyn. No one would hurt him there,' Jik said indignantly. 'It's not fair for him to blame us.'

I smiled gently. 'Not much in life is fair.'

I realized Jik had not been able to hear Gahltha, but had sensed the dislike as an emotion. That seemed to be a new use of empathizing, or perhaps a new Talent. I made a mental note to tell Dameon, when we returned.

'What do you think they were doing here?' Kella asked.