“Ryshad thinks he knows somewhere that might make a secure encampment,” Halice explained.
“Go on,” Lessay urged us to elaborate.
I was grateful he was prepared to take Halice’s word at face value; Arest was the sort to test word or coin in every way short of melting it down. Taking a deep breath, I tried to look at the river bank through Temar’s eyes, or was that wrong? Should he be looking through my eyes? I shook my head absently, searching my memory for any dreams of the settlement that Temar had inflicted on me. The scene before me melted abruptly away and the daylight faded to be replaced by a winter’s dusk. Bright radiance put the darkness to flight, warm orange flames denying the chill of the year’s end. The stiffening wind carried the scents of incense and perfumed woods burning on braziers, while more purposeful fires sent the savor of roasting meat into the air. Laughter and snatches of music rebounded from the stony heights to carry the festival to the ships. I flinched as a gust threw a handful of sleet into my eyes, but when I raised my hand I found my face was dry.
“Ryshad?” asked Livak gently.
I looked down at my fingers, the nails blued with cold, now fading fast in the hot still warmth of the morning as Livak laid her own hand over mine in mute reassurance.
“It’s over there.” I looked at the view with new eyes, Temar’s memories overlaying the indistinguishable hummocks and thickets to show me houses and alleys in a disconcerting manner that I didn’t want to examine too closely. “Do you see that crag on the skyline? Take a line down from there—see where the rock outcrops at the water’s edge. The inlet used to run pretty much from that lone tree to the thing with the yellow blossoms. The steading should be just about in the middle of those stands of that long grassy stuff.”
“Let’s get to it.” Lessay let loose another of those piercing whistles the mercenaries used among themselves and waved in the rowing-boat from the shore. “Maraide, Jervice, fetch some axes and the like.”
The longboat was uncomfortably laden when we pushed off from the ship, with entirely too little freeboard for my peace of mind. We landed without mishap, however, and gathered some more help from Minare’s troop, who were only too glad to leave off wrestling with fallen blocks of masonry knee deep in the mud. I led the way confidently across the hidden remnants of the settlement toward Den Rannion’s steading, my feet on oddly familiar ground. My boot heel rang on stone and I halted, looking down to see the flagstones of the marketplace, broken and tilted at odd angles.
“Watch your footing,” I called back over my shoulder, moving more cautiously and testing any slab before I put my weight on it. A curse from behind made me turn and I saw one of the mercenaries up to his shin in a hidden pit of dirty water. Arest drew level with me, sword in hand as he scanned the increasingly dense undergrowth on all sides. A large bird with a curious twisted beak burst out of a nearby bush, squawking in harsh alarm.
“That’s it.” I raised a hand to sketch the outline of the ivy-covered walls, almost invisible against the dense leaves of the close set trees all around, blurred by the man-high grasses that clumped thickly where the flagstones were absent underfoot.
Arest nodded slowly. “Where’s the main gate?”
I pointed with my off hand. “Round past that bush with all the purple fruit on it.”
As we drew closer, the outlines of the steading became clearer and I had to fight to keep Temar’s memories from overwhelming me. I drew a deep breath and concentrated on seeing it as it had been, without letting the waves of sorrow and regret that were hammering at the doors of my mind sweep over me.
“Here’s the gate-house!” The mercenary Minare, a short but thick-set man of unquenchable optimism with the reddish hair of some old Forest blood in his line waved his billhook to summon help. Standing back to let the others hack down the vines and bushes, I saw the still intact arch of the doorway, now low enough to touch as the generations of windblown soil had suffocated the entrance, raising the ground level. The stout hardwood of the gate was still there, now dark and immovable, tied close with creepers and debris.
“Should we put it in?” Minare’s usually cheerful face was doubtful as he hefted his sturdy billhook.
“Not just yet,” Arest mused as he looked up to scan the walls thoughtfully, still well above our heads in their shroud of greenery. “We might want it intact. Is there another way in? There’s no point in putting a hole in our own defenses, if we don’t have to.”
About to ask what he thought he might be defending against, I blinked away Temar’s recollection of the Elietimm attack. I thought carefully. “There was a sally port on the off side of the hall.”
Arest took a pace backward and studied the long curve of the wall. “I’d like to know what’s inside,” he murmured to himself.
“Let me.” Livak pushed past a mercenary who was examining a scratched hand with an expression of distaste. She gave the finger-thick vines an experimental tug and grinned at us. “If I start yelling, just blast that door in, will you, Shiv?”
“Be careful.” I stifled a protective urge that had to be Temar’s; I knew well enough how Livak could take care of herself, didn’t I?
“Of course,” she said dismissively as she climbed deftly up the obscured stonework, gloved hands finding fingerholds with the ease of long practice, albeit at getting into other people’s houses uninvited. Reaching the top, she peered over before swinging herself cautiously down to what remained of the walkway.
“This looks a bit doubtful,” she commented. “I think I’ll climb down.”
I glanced around to see a ripe mixture of frustration and anticipation on the upturned faces of the mercenaries all around me as we waited in silence, long moments sliding past like the sluggish waters of the broad river.
“Come on, lads, let’s try and find that sally port.” Minare laid his billhook on his broad shoulder, looking to Arest for his approval. At the big man’s nod, he and a handful of others began slashing down the undergrowth to carve a path around the base of the wall.
“If we’re to get any anchorage cleared, we’re going to need help from you mages,” Arest turned to Shiv abruptly, looming over the slighter man in a frankly intimidating manner. “It’s plain stupid to have my lads exhausting themselves when you could do a better job in half the time. We don’t mind doing the hard work—that’s what we’re being paid for—but there is a limit to what I’ll ask of the troops.”
“I see your point. I’ll speak to Planir,” answered Shiv hurriedly.
“Is anyone still out there?” Livak’s voice was muffled by the blocked doorway, but her irritation came through clearly enough. “Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“What have you found?” I shouted hastily.
“That sally port, for a start,” came the reply. “Minare and his lads are clearing it at the moment.”
“Let’s go,” Arest slapped his hands together in a decisive gesture and everyone moved, hurrying down the newly hacked and trampled path around the base of the wall.
I had to duck my head to enter the sally port, looking doubtfully at the crumbling stonework of the lintel. The courtyard was surprisingly clear of undergrowth; the pale lines of the shingle paths showed faintly through a blur of low level weeds. As I crushed them underfoot the scents of thyme and pennymint rose sharply around me, dizzying me with the ever present threat of D’Alsennin’s memories. The roof of the hall had fallen in but the walls still stood four square and defiant, fine-dressed stone still visible through the stains of age and decay. I took a deep breath to clear my mind of the shadowy image of the place as it had been.
The hall’s tall, stone-mullioned windows had been glowing with lamplight when Temar had last seen them, the harmonies of the Maitresse’s harp floating above the noise of the court-yard, guests’ horses being stabled now the colony had sufficient beasts to let people ride the young stock. The kitchens, set to one side of the hall, had been bustling with activity, the two new maids busy fetching and carrying through the covered walkway, giving as good as they got when the outdoor men had whistled and teased them, begging for a mouthful or, better yet, a taste of honey from their lips. Workshops either side of the gate-house were idle now, tools laid aside after the day’s labor and neatly stowed. The tall gates, newly black with pitch, stood hospitably open, the gate-wards resting on their bench, greeting everyone by name.