Chapter 6

Reiffen started as he heard the splash. It came from his left, beyond the looming darkness of the hill where the two bandits had taken Avender. Ahead he could see the dancing flicker of a fire. Mindrell and the other thieves were leading him toward the flame, carefully picking their way through the jumbled rocks. Quietly the bard sang, with some slight difference, the words Reiffen had first heard in the Great Hall what felt like days and days ago.

“And so he sank beneath the play

Of wave and boat and cold and spray,

Beyond the touch and feel of day.”

Reiffen flushed, but instead of lashing out at Mindrell, listened hopefully for a moment as he stumbled forward. Maybe there would be a cry for help to follow the splash, or some further sound of struggle. But there was nothing. All he heard were scuffing feet as Mindrell led them through the rough stones to a low campfire at the center of the island. Small shadows swam across the rocks as Boney pushed his prisoner roughly to the ground. Reiffen sank down wretchedly, hardly feeling the warmth of the fire. A grim, empty feeling crept across him as he realized Avender was gone.

Mindrell poked at the fire with his boot. “I said I wouldn’t kill him in the Manor. I never said a thing about letting him live forever.” Several sparks leapt up into the night, yellow stars beneath the clouded sky.

“There’s no time for that,” said Mindrell harshly. He turned to the one called Ike and ordered, “Give over the pack.”

From the darkness beyond the stones Ike brought out a large knapsack and handed it to the bard. Boney continued to crouch over the coals until Mindrell kicked him away. Then the rhymer told his two confederates to fetch fresh wood for the fire while he began to unpack the knapsack.

Reiffen had seen enough to be fairly certain they had taken him to Nokken Rock. He recognized the hill on the other side of the fire. But knowing where the Bard had taken him was no help at all. There was nowhere to run, and no sign of any nokken to send for help. He leaned back miserably against the nearest rock, his arms still bound to his side, and watched helplessly as Mindrell removed a small pot, several short sticks, and a carefully wrapped bundle from the knapsack. Opening the sticks into a small tripod, the bard set the pot beside them on the ground. Boney and Ike added the wood they had brought to the dying coals. When the flames were leaping once again, the bard set the tripod over the fire, poured water into the pot, and hung the pot over the burning wood. Then he carefully unrolled the bundle and added the contents one by one to his makeshift kettle, stirring the mixture with his knife all the while. First came some pale, powdery stuff, then what looked like a shriveled ear, and several whiskered roots. Lastly he held the knife to his left palm and, using the sharp point, cut a thin red line in his hand. One, two, three drops of dark blood dripped into the pot. Each drop hissed as it fell into the nasty broth. Ike and Boney backed away from the fire. Mindrell wiped his wound on his pants and wrapped a cloth tightly round it.

“You’ll be warm again soon enough,” said the bard with a shameless grin. He tapped the knife blade against the side of the kettle. The boy made no reply, but swallowed hard in an effort to hold down the dread rising in his throat. What Mindrell was preparing looked like magic, or what Reiffen supposed magic might look like. Until that moment he had thought the only magic in the world was what was worked by the Wizards in far away Ussene. But, if the bard was working for his uncle the king, what was he doing with magic?

Mindrell watched him carefully from beside the fire. He seemed to know exactly what the boy was thinking. “You’re right,” he said. “It is magic, your Majesty.”

“It must be hard,” the bard went on, “knowing what your life might have been. I know I wouldn’t like it. But that’s all going to change now. Maybe where you’re going they’ll let you brew a trick or two yourself, like the one they’ve given me.”

Reiffen’s throat thickened fearfully. It was the Wizards Mindrell was working for, not his uncle. A terrible dread crept along his spine at the thought of why the Wizards might want him. No one ever escaped from Ussene. He was only going to live a little while longer than his friend.

Terrified, he watched as the bard let the potion cook a while longer, stirring it from time to time with the knife blade. When Mindrell was satisfied the mixture had cooked enough, he picked the tripod up with the flat of the knife and moved both pot and tripod away from the fire. Some of the potion tipped over the rim. The flames below spat and sparked, and sent up a burst of dark, stinking smoke. Reiffen sneezed violently: the smell was unbearable. His nose stung as if it had been rubbed in bitter charcoal. Ike and Boney also sneezed, but Mindrell had covered his nose with his bandaged hand and wasn’t bothered.

Mindrell looked up from the pot. “But you trust the pay, don’t you,” he said with a smile.

“Sure I do,” replied Ike. “Same as you. Gold don’t take a tarnish, now, do it?” He grinned, his scruffy face leering evilly in the low light of the fire.

They waited a few minutes for the brew to cool. Avender might be at the bottom of the lake, thought Reiffen bitterly, but the bard still took care his prisoner didn’t burn his throat on the vile potion.

Hurl squatted close to the fire and rubbed his hands. “That one’s gone,” he said. “Sunk like a stone.”

Reiffen hung his head. The bandits’ return left no doubt about Avender’s fate. Not that it really mattered. Avender was probably better off drowned. At least that way he wouldn’t be taken to Ussene.

Satisfied with Hurl and Tipps’ report, Mindrell turned back to his potion. Gingerly he touched the side of the pot with his hand. First a quick touch, then a longer one as he felt the concoction to be almost ready. Finally he dipped the tip of his finger carefully into the oily mixture and judged it sufficiently cool. Wiping his hand carefully on his pants when he was done, he brought the pot to Reiffen.

Ike and Hurl stepped forward. Reiffen scooted backwards away from them and banged his head on the rock behind him. The two bandits took hold of him firmly by the neck and shoulders and forced him closer to the fire.

They pulled Reiffen’s head painfully backward by the hair. A filthy hand forced his mouth open. Above him stood Mindrell with the reeking kettle. The metal lip was still hot, but not scalding. The boy choked as the awful liquid was poured down his throat. The taste was even worse than he had imagined. Old mice came to mind, and the insides of insects, and dirt mixed with blood as he coughed and gagged. He swallowed despite himself, and enough of the mixture passed into his stomach that he soon felt horribly sick. Dizziness followed. The glowing fire, the black sky, and the sneering faces of his captors all began to spin around him. They swirled faster and faster until finally they dissolved into a whirling mix that drained him off to some place far away. He thought for a moment of what Mennon must have felt as he was pulled down beneath the earth by the rush of the river; and then he no longer thought much of anything at all.

After that there was only a distant numbness. The bandits let him go and he fell heavily to his side. It seemed to take the better part of a midsummer’s day before he finally hit the ground. The world was very far away. He could see it, but it had become so remote that seeing it really didn’t matter. He was quite comfortable where he was. What happened in the world outside was completely unimportant. It had nothing to do with him at all. As far as he was concerned he was asleep at home in his bed, the quilt pulled up snugly against his chin. The birds that nested in the eaves beyond his window were already busy with the morning. Any minute he would wake, and the sky would be blue, and boats would be flying freely across the lake below. And he and Avender would have many things to do.

Reiffen was almost surprised when he did wake and found no sign of his friend. Nor was there any soft mattress beneath him, and no cozy comforter pulled up to his chin. Instead he found himself lying cold and wet upon rough ground, all his muscles aching and sore. He felt as if he had been walking for days. But the worst ache of all was the one in his head. It throbbed painfully, far worse than the first time he and Avender had sampled Hern’s best ale. With a groan he opened his eyes. Boney’s grimy face stared down at him.

“He’s wakin’ up,” said the thief. “Just like you said he would, harper. But I still don’t know why you don’t just put him out again.”

“Because now we’re too far away for him to try running off. Right, your Majesty?” The bard’s face loomed behind the big-nosed thief.

Reiffen remembered. He wasn’t safe at home in the Manor, and Avender was dead. He had no idea where he was. Around him it was bright day, and the peaks of high mountains rose on every side. He sat up and found his hands were bound before him. Boney scowled and kicked him once, just to show he could.

“None of that.” The bard pushed the bandit roughly aside. “You don’t want to make our employer unhappy, do you?”

Boney ducked nervously at the mention of who had hired him and moved off to sit with the other bandits. They were camped in the lee of a high ridge, a jumble of fallen boulders around them. The sharp peaks above shone brightly with fresh snow. Reiffen recognized none of them, but he guessed they had to be somewhere in the High Bavadars, deep in the mountains where he had never been before.

Mindrell approached, blocking his view. Reiffen recognized the pack on the bard’s back, and the handle of the lute protruding over his shoulder. “So, how’s your head, king?” the rhymer asked. “Feeling much like a hike?” There was no real sympathy in his voice, so Reiffen didn’t bother to answer. Instead he tried to stand up, only to sit right back down again as his head spun and the steep slope swirled around him.

“You’ll be all right in a minute.” As he spoke, the bard reached for the knife in his belt and Reiffen started back in alarm. Mindrell laughed.

“I thought you were smarter than that, your Majesty.” With one stroke of the blade he sliced through the cords binding the boy’s hands. “You already know I don’t want to kill you. The one I’m working for requires you alive.”

“You killed my friend,” countered Reiffen sullenly. He would much rather have shown Mindrell he didn’t care what was done to him, but the man’s constant ridicule upset him, and he couldn’t help but answer.

The bard shrugged and pulled the boy to his feet. This time Reiffen felt only a slight uneasiness. “We already went over that,” said Mindrell grimly. “What’s done is done.”

He turned back to his men. “Hurl,” he ordered. “Give his Majesty something to eat and we’ll be off.” Reiffen rubbed his wrists where the rope had burned them. Still a little wobbly, he put a hand against the rock to steady himself. For the first time he noticed there were only two other bandits besides Boney.

None of the thieves made a move to do what Mindrell had ordered. He gave them a hard stare. “You heard me,” he commanded. “Get on with it.”

Reiffen, his head still throbbing, watched as the three bandits stood up. Hurl took a slight step forward. He was a stronger looking fellow than Boney — almost as large as Mindrell. But there was something in the way the bard looked down at the thief that made the boy see Hurl as no more than half his leader’s size. The bandit thrust out his chin and puffed up his chest, but he still stood with his comrades close behind him.

“The lads and me been havin’ a little talk,” he began, “and we made up our minds. We want what’s comin’ to us, we do. All of it. We don’t want what Tipps got. We’ve had enough of mountains.”

“That’s right.” Boney poked his big beak cautiously out from behind Hurl’s back. “What’s to say you ain’t just leadin’ us round in circles till we all fall an’ break our necks, like Tippsy. Then you’ll have all our pay to yourself.”

Mindrell put his hands on his hips and faced his three mutinous associates. Reiffen watched closely. Perhaps he might find a chance to escape while they were fighting among themselves.

“We done what we hired on for. No one said nothin’ about riskin’ our necks in the mountains.”

“You can keep the boy,” said Hurl. “But like I said, we want what’s ours. What you got on your belt, there, ought to do for a start.” He nodded toward the meager-looking pouch that hung from Mindrell’s belt.

“This?” Mindrell untied the pouch, keeping his eyes on the three men in front of him. Reiffen found himself wondering what Hurl and the others would do if he helped them. Somehow he doubted they would treat him any better once they got rid of the bard, whether he helped them or not.

Mindrell took a step closer to the bandits, and a step farther from the boy. “This?” he repeated, dangling the thin purse before their eyes. “You fools think I’m carrying something around in this? Here. It’s yours.”

He turned the pouch upside down; a few small coppers fell out onto the mountainside and rolled off down the slope, glinting in the sunlight. Hurl did his best to ignore them; but, when the other two went scrabbling greedily after each piece, he said over his shoulder, “We’ll share that out later, lads. You know he’s probably got more he ain’t showin’ us.”

“I assure you, that’s all I have.” Mindrell dropped the pouch to the ground after the coins. “But if the three of you think you can overpower me, now’s the time to have a try.”

He held his arms carefully away from his sides. Something told Reiffen that Mindrell was quite ready for an attack from his direction as well. Glumly he realized he had never had a chance to escape at all. The bard was more than a match for the four of them.

“Maybe you can kill me,” Mindrell went on. “Maybe not. But you’ll have to kill me if you try, or I’ll kill you. And, even if you do kill me, you’ll still get no more than what I just gave you. If you want anything else, you’ll have to come along the rest of the way. Where we’re going is one more day’s travel, and that’s where you’ll get what you have coming to you. Without me you’ll never find the way yourselves, or the way home, either.”

The three bandits muttered uneasily as they tried to decide whether Mindrell was telling them the truth. Reiffen could see it was a hard matter for them to balance their cupidity with their fear. On the one hand they were tired of climbing through the mountains, afraid that what had happened to Tipps would happen to them as well. On the other there was the promise of pay.

Slowly the bard lowered his hands. The moment of danger had passed. “Don’t forget,” he added with one of his easy smiles, “Tipps died when he tried to go his own way back there on the ice. Didn’t I tell him that bridge would never hold his weight? Stick with me and you’ll all be fine. You know you can’t find your way out of these mountains without me. Or that the Boss would even let you, if you don’t show up with the boy.”

The last of the thieves’ determination dribbled away. “Okay,” said Hurl, still determined to save a little face. “We’ll follow you for one more day, harper. But see here, if we don’t get to where we’re goin’ by nighttime, well then that’s the end of it. And we should be gettin’ a little somethin’ more for all our extra trouble, too.”

“Deliver this one where I’m taking him,” said Mindrell coldly, “and you’ll get what I said you’d get. If you want to dicker with the Boss, that’s your nightmare. In the meantime you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll kill you here and now. The boy will do what I tell him, with or without your help.”

Hurl grumbled a moment longer, but his two companions were over their rebelliousness. With Ike and Boney still nosing around the rocks for any coppers they might have missed, Hurl grumbled and dug a chunk of stale bread out of one of the packs on the ground. He tossed it to Reiffen, whose hands were too stiff to catch it. But the coarse loaf tasted just as good once he picked it up. With the first bite he realized he was ravenous, and wolfed the rest.

He was still working on the crust when Mindrell led them off westward along the ridge. It was early morning, and the sky was a clear, light blue, with a few thin wisps of cloud chasing one another through the peaks to the south. Had he not been a prisoner, Reiffen would have enjoyed himself immensely. He had never been this far into the mountains before. An eagle soared in lazy circles high in the air above their heads. At the top of the ridge the bard halted for a moment and shaded his eyes with his hand. He stared at the bird and the peaks around them for a long moment before leading them on.

They followed no trail. Deep in the mountains this far from Valing there were no trails. All the same, there were only so many routes one could follow through the lonely peaks. Everything else was impassable to all but mountain goats and birds. Steep cliffs and slopes made treacherous with broken rock forced the bard to follow the easiest way along the ridge lines and through the few passes that could be climbed. In the valleys far below Reiffen saw distant streams foaming through high falls and narrow chasms, with all the pent-up tumult of spring.

Mindrell led the way, with Hurl and Reiffen in the middle and Ike and Boney bringing up the rear. The ground beneath the boy’s feet was an endless crumble of dirty ice and stone, except in the passes, where they found fresh snow. Strong winds buffeted them from the north whenever they came out of the lee of the cliffs; and in all the narrow clefts and chimneys the wind was funneled against them. The thieves’ cloaks cracked about them like sails in a full breeze. Reiffen had no cloak, but his clothes dried quickly in the wind, which made him a little warmer. He realized it must have rained while he was under the bard’s spell; but he had no memory of a storm at all, or even of how much time had passed since his friend had perished.

Pausing in the first of the passes, he looked back the way they had come. A sea of peaks glistened behind him in the sunlight. The lake was nowhere in sight. High as they were, the mountains seemed small in comparison to the vast blue barrel of the sky. He thought he recognized Whitetooth among the tallest of the mountains, but it was hard to tell, since he had never seen it from the west before. Desperately he wondered what was happening in the Manor. Had search parties already been sent out to look for him? Had Avender’s body been found?

His thoughts were cut short as Boney, who was next behind, gave Reiffen the first of many shoves to get him going again. The boy held his temper and moved on. Ahead the mountains loomed taller than those behind, and even the sky seemed lost and small. Somewhere in the midst of all those bright peaks was High Enossin, tallest of all the mountains in the world. But Mindrell had said they would reach the end of their journey before nightfall and that was surely far too soon for Reiffen to catch sight of the king of the Bavadars.

They halted for a brief rest shortly after noon. Hurl handed out another ration of stale bread and hard cheese. Reiffen did as the others and scooped up handfuls of the rapidly melting snow to quench his thirst. It was their only stop of the morning, but Mindrell was not pushing them hard. Reiffen was glad of that; he still had moments when his head spun slightly and his eyes glazed. He had been glad of the chance to pick his way slowly across the pitted snowfields and up the steeper slopes. Even so, the boy was much more at home in the mountains than the thieves, who slipped and fell constantly, complaining all the while. Without Mindrell to cut steps for them from the ice in the steepest passes, they would never have kept up. And they frequently had to be reminded not to make too much noise while they complained. Everywhere they went higher snowfields loomed overhead, frozen crusts just waiting for the right amount of thaw, or some sharp sound, to send them crashing onto the slopes below. Reiffen wondered if perhaps he ought to try and start an avalanche himself, counting on the snow to bury him in the mountains before he was buried in Ussene. But that would mean giving up, and he found he wasn’t yet ready for that, no matter how frightened he was. He still had some hope of rescue. At that very moment, for all he knew, Redburr and Nolo might be in the pass behind him.

It was mid-afternoon when they began to descend. Reiffen followed Mindrell down a long arm of the mountain; below them a twisting net of steep valleys and deep gorges opened out between the peaks. To his right the slope fell sharply away into a wide chasm, a dark green wood lining the bottom. On the other side a much shorter drop led to a broad plain of cracked and dirty ice. Finding a spot to clamber down, the bard took them to the edge of the frozen field, where they picked their way carefully among great boulders and sudden fissures in the snow. Reiffen heard the sound of running water everywhere, though he saw no stream.

The ice ended suddenly in a steep drop to the valley. Mindrell was careful to keep away from the frozen edge, which looked to Reiffen as if it was about to crumble away from the top of the cliff at any moment. He followed the bard onto the bare rock at the side and looked out upon the prospect before him. Several streams gushed from the bottom of the glacier, bounding down the rocks to a small pool below. The path beyond appeared to be cut off, but the cliff was so filled with ledges and easy handholds that the climb down wasn’t difficult, even for the thieves. Mindrell led them on a route that was fairly dry, the wind blowing the spray from the waterfall in the other direction. Not ten minutes later Reiffen stood at the base of the jagged cliff, the green line of the trees still in the distance below. Beside him the cascade crashed into a field of broken stone.

They drank quickly from the pool and went on. At first they found the going easy beside the beck, despite the broken rock that covered the mountainside. But when they came to the wood, where the small firs shrouded them in a bright, piney scent, they found the only open path was right down the middle of the stream. Every stone was slippery and slick. Reiffen stumbled and fell into the water more than once, almost as often as the thieves. Only Mindrell never lost his balance, no matter how poor the footing. Boney and Ike complained loudly every time they dipped so much as a boot heel in the water, but Hurl said nothing. His mouth, however, grew tighter with each fresh wetting, and his scowl blacker.

They stopped again late in the afternoon at a place where a second, smaller brook from the north joined the stream they had been following. Thin birches grew along its banks. In among the rocks where the two watercourses met were a few small pools. Reiffen took another meager meal from Hurl, then went off to sit by himself as far from his captors as possible. He tried to look back the way they had come, but the trees had grown too tall for him to see more than a few yards up the course of the stream. His slight hope of rescue had faded completely as the long afternoon wore away. Numbly he gazed at the water. At the other side of the pool Mindrell lay easily on his back on a boulder, his hands behind his head as he watched an eagle in the sky.

Hurl, who was busy keeping an eye on the bard while he ate, squinted upwards a few times himself. He wiped the crumbs from his chin with the back of his sleeve and said, “That hawk’s been up there a long time.”

Reiffen, hoping for another quarrel he might be better able to take advantage of, watched the bandit carefully.

The bard shrugged. But it was the sort of shrug that suggested he did indeed think the bird might be a spy.

“It’s too high to shoot.” Hurl shaded his eyes and looked upwards again. “But we don’t have any bows, do we?”

The bard crossed one leg comfortably over the other. “The question is,” he observed, “if the eagle is a spy, whose side is it on? Ours or theirs?” He turned to Reiffen. “What do you think, your Majesty? Is that your Shifter friend up there trying to spy us out? Or is it someone my employer has sent along to make sure I do my job?”

Reiffen set his jaw firmly and made no reply. This time he was determined not to respond to the bard’s mocking scorn. But Reiffen hadn’t thought of Redburr looking for him as a bird, and for a moment his hope returned. He looked up at the sky. The eagle circled lazily, its feathers crimson and gold in the westering sun. Most likely it was just a hunting bird. Had it had been Redburr, it would have swept down at once to save him. It was just like Mindrell to tempt him into getting his hopes up.

The bard laughed softly. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s probably not your friend. Whatever it is, though, right now it can see the color of our eyes—”

At the other end of the pool there was a loud splash and much cursing from Boney.

“Now look what you’ve gone and made me do!” he exclaimed. He scrambled out of the pool, his clothes plastered against his skinny body. “Just when I was dry again, too!”

Mindrell sat up on his rock and looked at the aggrieved thief. “You’ve gotten your own self wet,” he pointed out. “No one else had a hand in it.”

“If you’d brought some decent grub I wouldn’t have to try my hand at fishin’ with my hat.” Boney set himself down on the nearest boulder, water pouring off him. “Not my fault my foot slipped.” He grumbled on as he removed his boots and poured two long draughts of water back into the stream.

Mindrell stood up and crossed over to the smaller beck. He didn’t look back at the sky. “We’ve wasted enough time,” he said. “This is the way we’re going now. It’s not much farther.”

“Of course I’ve been here before,” snapped the bard. “How do you think I know the way?” He shook his head at the misfortune of having to work with fools and walked off up the stream, leaving the others to follow.

Reiffen eyed the other way, where the two streams flowed on down the mountainside through the trees. But Boney was a quiet one and before the boy could make up his mind about trying to make a run for it he felt the thief’s wet hand poking him in the back.

“Get along, you,” snarled the little man. “I’ve half a mind to push you in too, just to keep me company.”

It was nearly evening by the time they followed the second brook up a short cliff to the last of the woods. Through the trees Reiffen saw a high meadow that reminded him of the fields back home. He thought of the pasture that stretched up Baldun on the other side of the Neck from the Manor, and of the times his mother had held his hand and walked with him up that green slope when he was small, to the woods and his father’s grave. For a moment he felt very sorry for himself. At least Avender had died quickly. No one had ever said the same about the Wizards’ captives. Reiffen brushed his welling tears away, not wanting the thieves to see his weakness. But the sadness lingered all the same.

Not until he came out of the trees did Reiffen realize this wasn’t a pasture like the ones back home. Halfway up the slope a circle of tall white stones rose ominously from the lush green of the grass, like the tips of some great and terrible claw buried deep beneath the meadow. Mindrell headed straight toward them. Already he had crossed half the distance, and was walking steadily up the course of the stream.

Reiffen halted, wondering what was waiting for him at the center of the stones’ frozen grip. Boney gave him another exasperated shove from behind. Reiffen, his patience finally exhausted, whirled around. Better to be killed here, he thought, than taken to Ussene. He caught the thief a quick blow on the side of the head. Boney staggered back and tripped across the rocks in the stream, cracking his shins on the stones.

The small thief had also had enough. Quick as a flash he pulled his knife from his belt and scrambled after Reiffen. “That’s about it right there, that is,” he said as he advanced. “You’re gonna get yours now, boy.”

Reiffen backed into the meadow, his heart beating wildly. He had never actually been in a real fight before, and saw at once that a training match didn’t even begin to approach the desperation of the real thing. This wasn’t the same as wrestling with Avender, or practicing swordsmanship with Ranner. Especially when he had no weapon of his own.

Ike rushed up from the woods below. “Hey, Bone!” he cried. “What’s wrong with you? That’s our meal ticket you’re lookin’ to slice.”

Boney turned on Ike and menaced him with the knife in turn. “Watch yourself, friend. You just leave me be. I’m not gonna kill him. I’m just gonna leave him with a few marks to remind him of old Boney. Maybe I’ll keep me an ear or two to remind myself.”

He turned back to Reiffen and came forward slowly, his smile almost as sharp as his nose. Reiffen didn’t doubt Boney knew his way around a knife. The boy backed deeper into the grass, trying his best not to trip over the thick clumps. And to keep from covering his ears with his hands.

Boney took another step forward. Reiffen readied himself to turn and run. There was a sharp, stinging sound as something whizzed quickly between the two of them from the direction of the tall stones.

Boney looked at Mindrell, who was standing close to the nearest stone, a second missile already in his sling. But Reiffen never took his eyes from the knife. He knew the brave thing to do would be to charge the thief while he was distracted, but at the same time he doubted he would be successful if he did. Letting Mindrell handle the situation seemed a much better idea.

“You keep off, harper,” warned Boney, his gaze returning to the boy. “This ain’t none o’ yours. Ike saw him knock me down. It’s about time his Majesty here got a taste of where he’s goin’. I don’t think the Boss is gonna care if he ain’t got both ears.”

“Now, that’s just where you’re mistaken.” Mindrell began to walk forward, quickly cutting the distance between him and the thief. “Our employer was quite specific about the boy’s condition. ‘Untouched’ was how he put it.”

“I’m not gonna touch him,” said Boney with an evil laugh. “It’s my knife’s gonna touch him.”

He took another step forward. Almost immediately there came a loud crack as Mindrell banged a stone off the thief’s skull. Reiffen saw the missile bounce high in the air after it struck. By the time it came back down Boney was stretched out flat on the ground.

Reiffen froze. The sound of rock on bone was worse than Avender’s splash. He hadn’t known then what the sound meant until after it had passed. This was different. This time a man had been struck down right in front of him. Ike started forward, to see if his fellow bandit was still alive, but Mindrell cut him short before he reached the spot where Boney had fallen.

“Leave him be. He’s gotten his pay. Now there’ll be more for the rest of us. Hurl, go on back and help Ike bring the boy up to the circle.”

Mindrell went back up the valley toward the stones. Trembling fearfully, Reiffen tore himself free of his trance and followed. Mindrell’s skill with a sling had taken away any idea the boy might have had left about escaping to the trees now that there was only one bandit behind him. He got one look at Boney’s body as he went by, and the sight of the dark blood oozing from the thief’s head onto the thick green grass made him come close to fainting. He stumbled over the stones, not caring how wet he got as he lurched up the icy stream. His heart pounded as hard as before and his head spun, though neither knife nor potion threatened him any longer. Even the threat of Ussene paled beside the quick violence thrust so sharply into his life.

Somehow he managed to regain a measure of control by the time he reached the ring of stones. As he stepped between the slabs he forced himself to look at the circle, if only to get his mind on something other than Boney and Avender. The stones were tall and white, and unlike any rock he had ever seen before. Their smooth paleness was more like the bleaching of old wood at the edge of the lake than any rock he had ever seen. There were thirteen of them altogether, each half again as tall as Mindrell but not much wider, spaced irregularly around the circle. None had fallen, but only one or two stood straight. Mostly they leaned this way and that, left and right, forward and backward. They looked far older than anything Reiffen had ever seen. And then he realized that was what made them seem so odd. Exposed stone was always pitted and worn; the surface of the rock always showed the signs of age. But these stones, though they were smooth as his own face, were plainly very old. He couldn’t tell how he knew, but still he knew it all the same.

Despite himself, he shuddered. The strain of his encounter with the thief would not go away. He sat down with his back to the nearest stone and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as bone.

Mindrell stood just inside the ring on the short, yellow grass, which was not at all like the lush growth of the meadow beyond. Much of it was blackened, and the earth blackened around it, as if recently burned. Here and there the ground itself had heaved and crumbled, as if whatever had seared the grass had not been content with the burning, but had needed to rip up everything by the roots as well in some places, before trampling it all back underfoot. It was a dead, evil place. Even the smell was different, as if the very moisture of the air had been boiled away, leaving only dry dust in its place.

The wind freshened, ruffling Reiffen’s shirt as it swept through the stone ring from the north. Hurl and Ike stepped warily into the circle behind the bard. Outside, the grass bent in waves of mottled green. An edge of dark cloud appeared behind the wind and began creeping toward them. Mindrell shaded his eyes with his hand and looked up at the thickening sky. There was no sign of the eagle at all.

Ike flopped down in fatigue with his back against one of the rocks, but Hurl looked about in evident anger.

“Is this where you been leadin’ us?” he demanded. A clap of thunder rolled out of the north, though they had seen no lightning. “What’re we supposed to do here? There’s a storm comin’. Least we can do is get back under the trees.”

“This is where we get paid,” said Mindrell. He ignored the swiftly growing darkness to the north, and the wind whipping his dark hair around his face. “You have to expect a little weather when you work for the sort of people we do.” He leaned back against the stone closest to Reiffen, careful not to knock his instrument against the rock. A heavier gust of wind swept over the ridge upon them.

Ike scuttled nervously back outside the edge of the circle. “I don’t like this place,” he said. “Maybe we should just take our pay and go.”

Hurl said nothing, but cast a careful eye around the stones. Whatever he was looking for, when he didn’t find it his eyes narrowed and he looked at Mindrell suspiciously.

“Say, where is our coin, anyway?” he asked. “You said you had it here, harper. What’d you do, bury it?”

Mindrell remained at ease against the stone. The slabs seemed to grow whiter as the evening darkened.

“I didn’t say I had the money here myself. What I said was you’d get what you’re owed once we delivered what was wanted. Now we have to wait for our employer to show up. Judging from the wind, I don’t think it’ll be very long.”

“Listen here.” Hurl took an angry step forward, his temper breaking. “There’s magic here, clear as can be. Now we don’t care who we work for, long as the silver’s right. And we’re not afraid of anybody, neither. But we don’t like all this moonshine and mystery—”

His voice was cut short by a tremendous bolt of lightning that struck the stone two over to his left, and a clap of thunder that made everyone’s ears ring. Reiffen leapt up, his heart thumping in answer to the blast. Hurl also jumped about two feet, but when he came down he had his sword out and was facing the stone with the air of someone who expected something else to follow the thunder. Beyond the circle, Ike peered fearfully above the grass. Reiffen’s eyes darted about in the growing darkness. He could see plainly enough something was coming. But how important that something was, or what it would be, he still wasn’t sure. Then the thought occurred to him that another bolt might strike the stone behind him and he stepped deeper into the circle.

Mindrell remained unaffected. “You’d better put your sword away,” he said to Hurl. “He won’t like it if he thinks you’re threatening him.”

There was another bright flash of light and instant clap of thunder, this time at the center of the stone ring. Reiffen jumped backward and wondered if any place inside the circle was safe. He watched as Hurl turned round and round uncomfortably, trying to make sure nothing was sneaking up on him from behind. The air itself smelled burnt.

Reiffen looked, but there was no one in the circle. He turned to the bard, who was no longer leaning easily against the stone, but had regained his feet and was looking to the north. Reiffen followed his gaze and saw, out of the darkness, a tall man walking toward them. A very tall man, he realized, as the figure entered the circle, his head higher than any of the slabs.

He knew at once it was a Wizard. Nothing else could be so large, or have such power. Awestruck, the boy crouched back against the smooth slab behind him, almost wanting to kneel more than flee. He wondered which of the Three had come to fetch him, and knew it hardly mattered.

Into the middle of the circle the Wizard strode easily, his hand resting on the pommel of his massive sword. Except for his great size, he looked no different from a human. He wore a doublet of dark velvet and loose trousers of the same material. A circlet of silver crowned his dark hair. With his beard trimmed short he looked every inch the powerful king, only twice the size. Even Redburr would look like a mouse beside him.

“Ah, Mindrell. You have completed your task.” The air quivered as the Wizard spoke. His voice was as deep as the earth.

“Thank you, lord.” Mindrell bowed low before his master, sweeping the ground with his cap. “It is my pleasure to do your bidding.”

The Wizard’s gaze flickered once outside the ring, where Reiffen knew Ike was cowering in the meadow, then turned back to Hurl, who still crouched at the ready in front of one of the stones. When the bandit realized the Wizard had turned his attention toward him, he dropped his short sword quickly. It looked like a stickpin compared to the Wizard’s blade.

“I had to hire others to help me, my lord,” answered Mindrell easily. “The boy would not just come away. He had to be taken with force. They’re waiting to be paid.”

“Are they? With swords drawn?” The Wizard laughed and the sky rattled darkly along with his laughter. It was a vibrant laugh, filled with vigor and power, and rolled through the air like a swollen river despite the approaching storm. Reiffen was reminded of Cuhurran in Mindrell’s song, and realized at once that this was Ossdonc who had come for him.

The Wizard stepped closer to Hurl. Drawing his great weapon from its sheath, Ossdonc sliced the bandit’s head from his shoulders in one smooth motion before the bandit could move. So fast was his stroke that the blade remained unbloodied, flashing darkly as another burst of lightning crashed across the stones. Still chuckling, Ossdonc sheathed his weapon.

Stunned, Reiffen sat back upon the withered grass, his back scraping the stone. Behind him he heard Ike scrabble at the dirt, trying to bury himself; but the Wizard ignored them both. With great good nature he turned to his chief hireling.

“I suppose you want your payment also?” Ossdonc boomed, scattering the thunder with his voice like a hawk chasing sparrows.

Reiffen fully expected to see the bard’s head fly across the ring after Hurl’s, but Mindrell stood easily at one side of the circle, as if he were without fear.

“I seek no payment, my liege,” he replied. “Your good will is my satisfaction.”

Ossdonc threw back his head and laughed again, his voice bounding back and forth between the stones. “You were always the cozener, Mindrell. Tell me what you will, I know you will never be pleased unless your pocket grows heavier from our acquaintance. Here.”

Ossdonc held out his hand. A small pouch appeared between his fingers. Lightly he tossed the bag to the bard, who caught it heavily. In the Wizard’s grip the prize had seemed a trifle; but Mindrell had to hold his sack of plunder with both hands.

Mindrell could not shrug under the weight of his reward, but he still managed to give the appearance of the gesture. “It will take some time to spend this, my Lord. Your generosity is, as usual, greater even than that of the Bryddin.”

“That is why you work for me and not them.” Ossdonc put his hands on his hips and laughed again. The ground shook beneath his feet, and the thunder boomed against the ridges around him.

“But perhaps you would rather return with me to Ussene?” The Wizard raised an eyebrow as he suggested this course to his hireling, as if he did not expect Mindrell to particularly like the invitation.

“I am yours to command, sire,” replied the bard, playing to Ossdonc’s vanity rather than his jests. Mindrell bowed his head in submission and spread his arms, his bag of gold falling to the ground with a thud that was lost beneath Ossdonc’s fresh peals of laughter.

“Pick up your ransom,” Ossdonc told him. “It offends me to see you neglect such treasure. I must begin my preparations, and you, if you truly do not wish to return to Ussene, must leave the henge.”

All this time, though the Wizard had paid no attention to Reiffen, it had not once occurred to the boy to try and sneak away. There was no spell over him; yet Ossdonc’s presence was more powerful than any spell. Reiffen had seen what had happened to Hurl and had no doubt that escape was impossible. So had he sat with his back to the stone and watched in horror as the Wizard killed one bandit as casually as he might swat a fly, then toyed with Mindrell like a lion with an ant. He was still sitting with his back to the same stone when the Wizard turned and said to him, in a tone that was both enchanting and commanding:

Ossdonc held out one hand, a king beckoning to his small subject. Reiffen rose at once. Were it not for the taunting in the Wizard’s eyes and mouth, he might almost have appeared before Reiffen in benevolence. The boy barely noticed as Mindrell chose that moment to recover his bag and haul it heavily out of the ring.

With Reiffen beside him, Ossdonc drew his sword once more and pointed the blade toward the sky. Reiffen could feel the weight of it as the weapon passed before him. It was twice the size of any sword he had ever seen, black as cold iron. Nothing reflected in that blackness, not the flashes of lightning that increased and blazed around them as the Wizard raised the weapon, nor the face of Reiffen as he realized finally that no one was going to rescue him.

The great sword pointed toward the heavens. Lightning crashed and struck. Then Ossdonc began to speak. The constant thunder was so loud that even the Wizard’s voice could scarcely be heard. Reiffen felt it, though, in the rumbling that seemed to pass down Ossdonc’s velveted legs and through the earth to freeze him to the ground. As the Wizard spoke, the sky began to whirl about his head and the flashes of lightning to swirl along with it. He gathered the tempest’s power into himself, to use in the wizarding he would employ to take them away.

Their gaze was torn from the sky as a sudden rush of wind passed by them from the south, separate from the storm. Reiffen felt himself lifted and carried beyond the Wizard, who gave a roar of rage far more fearsome than any din of thunder. Great wings beat round the boy’s face; a pair of heavy talons painfully pierced his shoulders. For a brief moment he looked up and saw the cruel beak and dark eyes of a huge eagle, and knew the bird was Redburr. But Reiffen had never seen those eyes look less human. They were jet black, as black as Ossdonc’s sword, and glared as fiercely. But their ferocity was for his sake, and his fear suddenly gave way to thrilling relief.

But he was too heavy for even Redburr to carry far. As the Shaper strained to lift them past the stone circle, a blast of light and thunder smashed against one of the bird’s great wings. With a cry of pain the Shaper let go of the boy and fluttered clumsily on. Reiffen fell heavily to the ground, stunned by the twin shocks of his fall and the closeness of the Wizard’s blast.

Ossdonc stepped forward to retrieve his captive. Redburr flapped weakly on the ground just beyond the stones, his left wing smoking. There was no sign of Mindrell or Ike, but all of a sudden a new figure came rushing out of the darkness toward the Wizard. He caught Ossdonc a great blow on the leg behind the knee. The tall Wizard howled with pain. Nolo, for it was the Dwarf who had come from beyond the circle, raised his axe for another swing. He was no more than a third of Ossdonc’s height, yet such was the Dwarf’s ferocity that the struggle seemed more than equal.

The rain began to fall in buckets. Ossdonc warded the Dwarf’s second blow with his black sword, and the clash of the two weapons sent great sparks soaring upward against the storm. With a twist of his wrist the Wizard spun Nolo’s weapon out of his grasp, but the Dwarf closed to grapple with the giant before he could be struck by the blade. The two of them locked tightly together as the rain poured down around them. Ossdonc twisted his sword arm free of the Dwarf’s grasp and raised it for a mighty stroke. But even the Wizard’s great strength was useless against the stony Dwarf. Nolo caught the blade in his hand — not even that weapon was sharp enough to cut through a Bryddin’s skin — and twisted it away, almost knocking Ossdonc over in the process. The Wizard responded by catching the Dwarf a heavy kick in the side. Nolo swung off the ground like a rag doll under the blow, but kept his grip on the Wizard’s sword. Ossdonc swung the blade quickly from side to side in an attempt to dislodge him, but the Dwarf clung with all his strength even as he was waved back and forth above the burnt grass of the circle.

Reiffen rose groggily to his knees. His head hurt from the force of the bolt that had wounded Redburr, and his chest ached from his fall. For a moment he forgot where he was and what had happened to him as he tried to clear his head and catch his breath. Then he looked up just as Ossdonc kicked the Dwarf free from his blade with a blow that would have broken every bone in any human body. Nolo tumbled several feet through the air and landed on the broken earth at the far edge of the circle. With a cry of triumph the Wizard leapt at Reiffen and seized his arm. A look of anguish crossed Nolo’s face as he called out, “Run, Reiffen! Run!” But he was too late.

A bolt of lightning knifed into the grass in front of the Dwarf; a clap of thunder boomed across the stones. Ossdonc jerked Reiffen to his feet and dragged him back to the center of the henge. He pointed his sword straight up at the sky and cried,

A single flash of lightning reached down out of the storm to lick the tip of the black sword. For a brief moment Ossdonc glowed brightly; Reiffen hung limply in his grasp. Thick gouts of flame boiled out from the standing stones toward the center of the circle, where they twisted together and spat upwards in a writhing rope of fire. The heat blasted the Dwarf, drying him completely. Then fire and Wizard were gone, and Reiffen with them. Rain-soaked darkness followed.

Chapter 6

The Standing Stones