CHAPTER TWELVE
The third morning dawned as bright and valiant as the two before; and still slightly bemused but cheerful, Corlath's entourage made itself ready to follow its leader back down the mountain. Harry contrived to be the very last of the file, and she looked around her as the penultimate horse and rider left the clearing before the hall and disappeared down the close-grown trail. She had been standing where she was standing now when Corlath had stepped into the clearing before the hall, Fireheart at his heels, to bid farewell to the man he had come to see. They spoke a few words, too low for her to hear as she skulked in the background, as well as anyone on a tall bright chestnut horse with a hunting-cat at its feet could skulk; and then she saw Corlath hold out one hand, palm down and fingers spread, toward Luthe. They held each other's eyes for a long moment, and then Luthe reached out two fingers to touch the back of Corlath's hand. Corlath turned away and mounted, and the Riders began following him into the mouth of the trail.
Narknon was yawning hugely, leaning against one of Sungold's forelegs. She had been grumbling to herself all morning, although she seemed to know they were leaving, since she had at last deigned to climb out of bed and follow Harry as Harry took her saddle and gear and went to fetch Sungold. Harry thought with surprise that in just two days she had grown fond of her surroundings and was sorry to leave. This place felt like home; not her home perhaps, but someone's home, accustomed to shelter and keep and befriend its master. Its emptiness did not have the hollow ring of Corlath's castle, for all that the proud City castle was more richly furnished. She told herself straitly that her affection for this place could too easily be only that she dreaded what the path away from this haven was leading her toward. She found Luthe standing beside her, with a hand gently laid on Sungold's crest—a familiarity Sungold rarely permitted any stranger.
"Harry," he said, and she blinked; no one had called her by her old nickname since that last day at the Residency, and it gave her a disconcerting flash of homesickness, for the Hillfolk could not say it as a Homelander would: Mathin called her Hari. "I believe all will go well with you: or at least that you will choose to stay on the best path of those you are offered, and that's the most any mortal can hope for. But I don't see so beautifully that I have no doubts, for you or anyone; and I am afraid for you. The darkness coming to Damar will not temper itself for a stranger. If you should need a place to come to, you may always come here. You will find it quite easily; just ride into these mountains—any Damarian mountains will do, although the nearer here the better—and say my name occasionally. I will hear you, and some guide will make itself known to you." There was a sparkle of humor in his hooded blue eyes, but she understood that she might take his words seriously nonetheless.
"Thank you," she said, and Sungold walked forward, into the trees. Narknon, with a last stretch and tail-lash, bounded off before. Harry did not look back, but her peripheral vision told her how the sunlight dropped back, and the trees closed in behind her, and Luthe's clearing was only a spot of gold, a long distance away.
The road down was much easier than the road up had been, for all the uncertainty of stepping downward and downward, Sungold's hocks collected under him, his hoofs delicately feeling the safety of the footing; but some cloud of foretelling, or chance, had been left behind them in the pleasant vagueness of the three days in Luthe's hall. Whatever doom lay before them now, it was a definite doom of definite shape, and the swifter they rode, the more swiftly they might meet it and have done with it, for whatever result.
They camped at the edge of the foothills that night, and the army re-materialized around them; and everyone looked easier, and more relaxed, even obscurely comforted, by their few days' break, loitering in the forested feet of the mountains, listening to the birds, and catching hares and antelope for the cooking-pots. It was not all idleness, however, for Corlath's army on that morning after leaving Luthe had swelled by a few hundreds more.
Terim rode up beside her as they set out, and stayed near her all day; they rode at the front, with Corlath and the Riders, and Murfoth, and the few other chieftains who led more than fifty riders to Corlath's standard. Harry saw Senay once, not many horse-lengths distant—for the riding was close—and she caught her eye and began a smile; but suddenly uncertain how the winner of the laprun trials was expected to behave to one of those defeated, and one who besides wore a sash with one's own slash mark in it, dropped her eyes before the other had a chance to respond. In the evening, however, when Harry dismounted, she found herself staring at a bay flank she did not recognize for a moment; its rider dismounted also, and was found to be Senay. This time the two young women looked at each other directly, and both smiled.
So several more days passed, and Corlath's little force made a glorious and frightening thunder when it galloped; and even as Harry thought that her Outlanders did not guess there were so many in all the Hills, she thought too of what each of the Hillfolk knew: of the Northerners there were many more. Harry rode now with Terim and Senay on her either side, and the three of them ate together. Harry noticed that while the Riders as a group stayed in the same area, all seemed to have friends or blood kin from the army outside who came closer to stand by them, as Terim and Senay, for whatever reason, had chosen to stand by her. Corlath's small force would fight shoulder to shoulder and friend to friend; it was a little comforting.
Mathin found her once, head against Sungold's neck and brush hanging limply in one hand. "Hari—" he said, and she started and snapped upright, and began to brush Sungold's shoulder. "Hari," he said again, "it is only your old teacher, and there is no shame to your thoughts. We all have them; but it is the worst for you, and for all those riding with us fresh from the trials, but worst of all for you as laprun-minta and bearer of the Blue Sword. Do not be too hard on yourself."
Harry said, "I am not too hard on myself."
Mathin smiled grimly. "I don't believe you. Even young Terim, who worships the ground you walk on—" Harry snorted—"has spent the past three years riding the borders, under his father's wise and watchful eye, that he might strike his first angry blow and draw his first blood with his newly earned sword before the great battle of the Bledfi Gap. You do not have three years. It is not your fault."
"It does not matter that it is not my fault, does it?" Harry tried to smile, but Mathin's dark face was too worried, and she gave it up. "Thank you, my old teacher; I will try to remember what you say."
Mathin said softly, "You are still the keeper of my honor, Harimad-sol, and I have faith in you, whatever happens. If you forget all else, do not forget that."
"I will not," Harry said.
They had left the slight shelter of the mountains now, and rode northwest across the plain to come to the great gap in the northern range as soon as they might, where the Northern invaders would pour through. They rode quickly but without driving, for the horses and their riders needed to have the strength to engage the other army; and Corlath further hoped to arrive enough in advance of their enemy that he might choose the ground where they would meet. They had ridden over little true desert; soon after they left the foothills' border the scrub fringe of desert began turning green, and they passed the occasional carefully irrigated small holding, now silent and empty.