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upright in a boot by his right toe, and was clad in armor of boiled leather
reinforced by plates of metal. He also wore a helmet of antique style, with a
nasal bar that left his facial area open. Hanging from his waist was a dark
leather scabbard that held a slim, flat sword with a small silver hilt.
Behind the nasal bar, his face was tanned and sharp-boned, with keen brown
eyes. There was something restless, eager, and potentially explosive-as Owen
had been-about him.
 Do you speak English? Jim asked him.
Madog shook his head, but half turned his horse and pointed ahead along the
road they had been following. He said something in the same liquid language
that he and Dafydd had spoken together.
 Clearly, said Brian,  he waits for us to follow him.
Jim nodded. They put their horses into motion, the sumpter horse shrugging as
she necessarily followed on her lead rope; and, behind the Drowned Land
soldier, they went on their way, now at a trot instead of the walking pace
they had been using before.
 Meseemeth, said Brian judiciously,  that this fellow is eager to discharge
the duty Dafydd laid upon him and get back to others more familiar.
 I wouldn t doubt it, answered Jim.
They followed Madog in silence for perhaps half an hour; and though the
landscape on each side of the road continued much the same, they began to see,
along the horizon ahead, either rugged hills or distant mountains. Shortly,
they also saw a whiteness ahead but off to their left; and as they moved on,
it resolved itself into a city, its buildings-some of them of surprising
height-apparently constructed of some marblelike material. A little later the
wide road they were on divided, sending another route, equally wide, off in
the direction of the city.
Madog, however, continued to lead them straight on for some distance, then
branched off onto a narrow road to their right. Jim looked ahead with some
surprise. It did not seem that they had covered so much distance, but now the
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mountains ahead were a great deal closer.
As they went on, their new road narrowed; more so when the ground began to
slope upward into the flanks of the nearest mountains. Shortly, it had
dwindled to little more than a bridle path on which it was only just possible
for two to travel side by side.
They were higher up now, and the mountain was beginning to live up to that
name. Under the horses hooves earth had given way to rock, loose chips of
reddish white stone on which the metal of horseshoes slipped; and uneven
surfaces of the same rock, unbroken. The sumpter horse, not usually taken far
from Malencontri, had not been considered worth horseshoeing, and was having
an easier time of it. So, Jim noticed, was the horse of the royal guardsman up
ahead. Of course, he told himself, the Drowned Land must almost certainly have
sunk beneath the waves long before the medieval invention of the horseshoe.
 James! said Brian in a low voice, behind him.
Jim turned his head. Brian was reining Blanchard close in beside him as they
climbed; and Jim could hear the hard breathing of the warhorse.
 What is it? he asked in an equally low voice, for Brian was clearly not
trusting to the soldier s claim that he could not understand English.
 Have you noticed? Brian said.  The shadow. Does it not seem to you to be
going along with us?
Jim, deep in his own thoughts, had not. But now he looked up at the sky,
clear and blue save for a few puffy clouds on the northern horizon,, and at
the mountainside, brightly lit in the afternoon light, with its wealth of dry
stone riverbeds and spires. No visible shadow showed; but he knew what Brian
meant. Now that he gave it his attention, he felt its presence-the darkness
they had noticed in the Great Hall. There was no doubt.
 Yes, he said.
 It is watching us, you think?
 Maybe, said Jim,  but also maybe it seems to follow everyone who knows it s
there.
 I think it follows us, especially, said Brian. He reached for the hilt of
his sword and loosened it in its scabbard.  I would counsel that we be alert
for attack.
 I wouldn t think-since we re only just into the Drowned Land, not Lyonesse-
began Jim, then checked himself.  But maybe you re right.
Now that he had taken notice of this shadow of the Dark Powers, he felt the
same instinct to be wary that was moving Brian. Half unconsciously, he reached
for the hilt of his own sword; and followed Brian s example by breaking the
tightness that riding and gravity had brought it to in his scabbard.
 Darkness... and mist, he said to Brian.  Remember the mist that held about
the marsh and the Loathly Tower before Carolinus showed up with his staff to
hold it back so we could fight what they sent against us. We might watch for
any sign of mist or fog.
 No sign of such, yet, muttered Brian. He scanned the peaceful sky overhead.
 But you say well, James. From now on let us be on watch-though our guide does
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not seem concerned about it.
He frowned at the back of the soldier ahead.
 If our way grows much steeper, he added,  we will have to dismount and
walk, leading the horses.
This was correct, Jim realized now. The soldier was not sparing his own
horse, or acting as if he was about to. But just then they entered a cleft
running upward in the rock; and when at last they emerged from this into the
open again, the way they were following had struck a long downward slope that
continued until a belt of trees could be seen. The soldier broke into a
gallop.
 Hold! shouted Brian furiously, reining in Blanchard.  Damn your bones and
guts! Fellow! Come back here!
The language might be unintelligible to the rider ahead, but the tone of
Brian s voice was not. The other pulled his horse to a stop and turned in his
saddle.
 Come back here! roared Brian, beckoning him with full arm movements. The
soldier turned his horse and rode back up to them.
 Are there no wits at all in that wooden head of yours? exploded Brian.  Do
you think I d risk the legs of a warhorse the worth of Blanchard by galloping
down a slope like that-just because you don t give a damn if you break the
neck of that screw you re riding? By all the Saints in the Calendar, I ll see
you in Hell and roasting first! We go down as carefully as we came up, or you
can...
Brian s language became very colorful indeed. Once more, the words in which
they were uttered might mean nothing to the soldier, but Brian s obvious
anger, reinforced by emphatic gestures at his mount and the rock underfoot,
could not be misunderstood. The expression on the soldier s face hardly
changed. Only his mouth tightened. Without a word he turned his horse
downslope once more and walked it forward.
Jim and Brian followed at the same pace. Brian, deprived of a target for his
outrage, snorted and grumbled for several minutes to Jim, gradually bleeding
off what was left of his fury.
 It could be, said Jim diplomatically, when his friend finally fell silent,
 his horse is used to a pace like that on such a slope.
 Bloody fool, anyway! muttered Brian.  But you may be right, James. He may
not have thought it a danger any more for us than it was for him.
With that, the fit of anger, like all such with Brian, was gone, and already
half-forgotten.
They reached the trees in a very short time, after all. Distance seemed
strangely foreshortened here in the Drowned Land, thought Jim. Perhaps that
was part of its innate magic for those who had chosen to stay with it-to have
a kingdom larger than it seemed. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]