"The Solitary Plain is a vast flat area – very few trees, mainly covered in rock outcrops and long grass," Halt told him, "The wind seems to always be blowing, no matter what time of year you go there. It's a dismal, depressing place and the Stone Flutes are the most dismal part of it."
"But what are…" Will began, but Halt had only paused briefly. "The Stone Flutes? Nobody really knows. They're a circle of standing stones built by the ancients, smack in the middle of the windiest part of the Plain. Nobody has ever worked out their original purpose but they're arranged in such a way that the wind is deflected around the circle, and through a series of holes in the stones themselves. They create a constant keening sound, although why anyone thought they sounded like flutes is beyond me. The sound is eerie and discordant and you can hear it from kilometers away. After a few minutes, it sets your teeth on edge – and it goes on and on for hours." Will was silent. The thought of a dismal, windswept plain and stones that emitted a nonstop, keening wail seemed to take the last vestige of warmth from the late afternoon sun. He shivered involuntarily. Halt saw the movement and leaned forward to clap him on the shoulder encouragingly.
"Cheer up," he said. " Nothing's ever as bad as it sounds. Now let's get some rest." They reached the outskirts of the Solitary Plain by noon the second day. Halt was right, Will thought, it was a vast, depressing place. The featureless ground stretched out before them for kilometer after kilometer, covered in tall, gray grass, made rank and dry by the constant wind.
The wind itself almost seemed to be a living presence. It rubbed on their nerves, blowing constantly and unvaryingly from the west, bending the tall grass before it as it swept across the flat ground of the Solitary Plain. "Now you can see why they call it the Solitary Plain," Halt said to the two of them, reining Abelard in so they could come abreast of him. "When you ride out into this damned wind, you feel as if you're the only person left alive on earth." It was true, Will thought. He felt small and insignificant against the emptiness of the Plain. And with the feeling of insignificance came an accompanying feeling of impotence. The wasteland they were riding across seemed to hint at the presence of arcane forces – forces far greater than his own capabilities. Even Gilan, normally cheerful and ebullient, seemed affected by the heavy, depressing atmosphere of the place. Only Halt seemed unchanged, remaining grim and taciturn as ever.
Gradually, as they rode, Will became aware of a disquieting sensation. Something was lurking, just outside the range of his conscious perception. Something that made him feel uneasy. He couldn't isolate it, couldn't even tell where it was coming from or what form it took. It was just there, ever present. He shifted in his saddle, standing in the stirrups to scan the featureless horizon in the hopes that he might see the source of it all. Halt noticed the movement. "You've noticed them," he said. "It's the Stones." And now that Halt said it, Will realized that it had been a sound – so faint and so continuous that he couldn't isolate it as such – that had been creating the sense of unease in his mind, and the tight cramping of fear in the pit of his stomach. Or perhaps it was just that as Halt said it, they came into proper earshot of the Stone Flutes. Because now he could isolate it. It was an unmelodic series of musical notes, all being played at once but creating a harsh, discordant sound that jangled the nerves and unsettled the mind. His left hand crept unobtrusively to the hilt of his saxe knife as he rode, and he drew comfort from the solid, dependable touch of the weapon.
They rode on through the afternoon, never seeming to advance across the empty, featureless Plain. With each pace their horses took, the horizons behind and before them seemed to neither recede nor draw closer. It was as if they were marking time in an empty world. The constant keening sound of the Stone Flutes was with them all day, growing gradually stronger as they traveled. It was the only sign that they were making progress. The hours passed and the sound continued and Will found it no easier to bear. It wore at his nerves, keeping him constantly on edge. As the sun began to sink at the western rim, Halt reined Abelard in. "We'll rest for the night," he announced. "It's almost impossible to maintain a constant course in the dark. Without any significant land features to set a course by, we could easily wind up going around in circles." Gratefully, the others dismounted. Fit as they were, the hours spent at forced march pace had left them bone weary. Will began scouting around the few stunted bushes that grew on the Plain, searching for firewood. Halt, realizing what was in his mind, shook his head.
"No fire," he said. "We'd be visible for miles and we have no idea who might be watching." Will paused, letting the small bundle he had gathered fall to the ground. "You mean the Kalkara?" he said. Halt shrugged. "Them, or Plainspeople. We can't be sure that some of them aren't in league with the Kalkara. After all, living cheek by jowl with creatures like that, you might well end up cooperating with them, just to ensure your own safety. And we don't want them getting word that there are strangers on the Plain."
Gilan was unsaddling Blaze, his bay horse. He dropped the saddle to the ground and rubbed the horse down with a handful of the ever-present dry grass.
"You don't think we've been seen already?" he asked. Halt considered the question for a few seconds before answering.
"We might have been. There are just too many unknowns here – like where the Kalkara actually have their lair, whether or not the Plainspeople are their allies, whether or not any of them have seen us and reported our presence. But until I know we have been seen, we'll assume we haven't. So, no fire."
Gilan nodded reluctantly. "You're right, of course," he said. " It's just I'd happily kill someone for a cup of coffee."
"Light a fire to brew it," Halt told him, "and you might end up having to do just that."
Chapter 26
IT WAS A COLD, CHEERLESS CAMP. TIRED FROM THE HARD PACE they had been keeping up, the Rangers ate a cold meal-bread, dried fruit and cold meat once more, washed down with cold water from their canteens. Will was beginning to hate the sight of the virtually tasteless hard rations they carried. Then Halt took the first watch as Will and Gilan rolled themselves into their cloaks and slept.
It wasn't the first rough camp that Will had endured since his training period began. But this was the first time there wasn't the slight comfort of a crackling fire, or at least a bed of warm coals, to sleep by. He slept fitfully, uncomfortable dreams chasing through his subconscious-dreams of fearful creatures, strange and terrifying things that stayed just outside his consciousness, but close enough to the surface that he felt their presence, and was unsettled by them.
He was almost glad when Halt shook him gently awake for his watch.
The wind was scudding clouds across the moon. The moaning song of the Stones was stronger than ever. Will felt a weariness of spirit and wondered if the Stones had been designed to wear people down like this. The long grass around them hissed a counterpoint to the far-off keening. Halt pointed to a spot in the heavens, indicating an angle of elevation for Will to remember.
"When the moon reaches that angle," he told the apprentice, "turn over the watch to Gilan." Will nodded, rousing himself and standing to stretch his stiff muscles. He picked up his bow and quiver and walked to the bush Halt had selected as a vantage point. Rangers on watch never stayed in the open by the campsite but always moved away ten or twenty meters, and found a place of concealment. That way, strangers coming upon the campsite would be less likely to see them. It was one of the many skills Will had learned in his months of training.