Chapter 4

Mak quickly decided that he enjoyed the simple routine of caravan life. Most of the traders spoke at least a few words of his language, and he soon picked up enough of their speech to get by with. He got along well enough with the other traders, but was slow to make new friends. He was kept too busy scouting out the line of march to do much mingling during the day, often being sent out with hunting parties to bring in fresh meat for the evening meal as well. The hardest thing for him to learn was that the quickest route for a man on foot wasn't necessarily the best path for a loaded pack train.

He wasn't at all surprised when he wasn't immediately given the traders' full trust. Nurm always made sure that one or another of the pack train's guards was with him the first few days. They were no match for him at stealing silently through the leafy glades, or following the spoor of a wounded animal. On the other hand, he soon learned to respect their speed and accuracy with spear and arrow. He continued picking up a working knowledge of their language, finding that it had many words in common with his own.

"How much farther to Arlund?"

Mak glanced around at the hills before answering Nurm's question, comparing their appearance with his memories of past journeys. Their surroundings had been veiled by a light mist when the caravan started out that morning, but the sun was fast burning it off. Today would be clear and hot, just like most of the summer had been so far.

"Another half a day, or a little less," he guessed in answer to Nurm's question. "This isn't the way I usually come, but I think that we're just about where we should be. We should reach there before dusk."

"All right, go on ahead and take a look, just to make sure. Come on back as soon as you've scouted out the trails."

Mak moved swiftly and silently through the forest, following dim trails left by animals. He was glad to be off by himself for a change, instead of partnered with another of the caravan's scouts. Not that he blamed Nurm for being careful and slow to trust this newest member of his caravan, but he wished that he wasn't in a position where he felt that he had to prove himself all of the time.

There had been a light summer rain the evening before, making the ground damp to sleep on and the fires smoky and hard to light, but now the sun was climbing high in an almost cloudless sky. The air was filled with the scent of green and growing things, and from somewhere far overhead came the cry of a hawk as it circled on unmoving wings. The only other sounds Mak could hear were the padding of his own footsteps against a background of insect noises, counterpointed by the infrequent rustling of small animals going about their own business.

The trail was nothing more than a faint path trodden by the hoofs of deer on their way from water to forage, leading up the side of a low ridge. Mak followed its meanderings through the underbrush until he reached the top of the ridge, then left it and turned to his right, trotting lightly up the slope of a nearby hill. The trees overhead were thick enough to keep the brush to a minimum, and he had little trouble pushing through the sparse growth. Reaching the crest of the hill, Mak tried once more to see what lay ahead, but there were too many trees in his way.

Only slightly encumbered by the bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulders, Mak kicked off his sandals and clambered up the trunk of a towering elm as easily as the squirrels that scolded at him from the higher branches. As soon as he was clear of the tops of nearby trees, he could make out the glint of sunlight on the waters of a long, narrow lake at the bottom of the next valley. Peering through the clear air, he even thought that he caught a glimpse of a smudge of smoke against the distant hills, about where he knew that Arlund should be.

Mak nodded his head, satisfied. "That's the place, all right," he muttered in the manner of someone who was used to spending much time alone, talking to himself for want of a better companion. "I thought that we were about there." He quickly climbed down from his perch, trotting back along the game trail that he'd been following.

"So, Mak. Back so soon? Did you find anything?" was Nurm's greeting when Mak joined him at the head of the line of pack animals.

"Arlund is just a short way ahead," he reported, trying not to show his pride at correctly finding his way to their desired goal. "We should reach there well before dark. It's just over the next ridge, and then along the floor of the valley by the south side of the lake."

"That sounds good to me." Nurm's even white teeth flashed in a pleased smile. "Take Gortain with you. He'll help you mark the trail for us to follow. Gortain! Go on ahead with Mak. He'll show you where we're headed."

The fields tilled by the Arlund villagers made a broad fan between the hills and the shore of a small lake, their crops tinted varying shades of green and brown under the late summer sun. Beyond the fields, where a steep ridge pinched the fields down to nothing, the village of Arlund lay wedged between a rocky cliff and the lake's deep blue waters.

Mak dropped back to join the guards who walked by the sides of the caravan. A single deepvoiced horn sounded its warning as Nurm led the way past the fields. Up ahead, a single gate was the only opening in the low stone wall that cut the village off from the rest of the valley. Villagers in the fields looked up apatheticly as they passed, but most of them turned immediately back to their work.

Mak stayed well away from the village gates as Nurm met with the leaders of Arlund. He didn't really know whether word of his disgrace had preceded him, but there was no shame in being cautious. He busied himself with unpacking the caravan's donkeys, then helped to prepare the evening meal. When he had finished eating, he walked over to where Nurm, Amy and Jewel sat quietly talking.

"Yes, Mak." Nurm looked up at him. "You wanted to talk?"

"I need to go into the village," he answered. "I have words for friends from my father."

"Is that a wise thing to do?" The words came from Amy, who frowned as she studied his expression in the fire light. "The gates are closed and barred for the night."

"They won't see me," he answered confidently. "I know ways in and out."

"All right." Nurm nodded abruptly. "Find out what you can from these friends, and let me know anything that you find out that can help us."

Mak could feel Nurm's gaze centered on his back as he strode away into the darkness. Amy still frowned, but he thought that he'd caught a hint of an enigmatic smile on Jewel's lips as he turned away.

Clouds were gathering once more, and the moon had not yet risen, but the ground was clear this close to Arlund's wall. He followed it along to his left, away from the fields they had passed as they left the forest. The roughhewn stones had once been a stout barricade, but now they were increasingly tumbled and worn, even more so where the end of the wall butted up against the steep hillside near the head of the lake.

He listened, holding his breath and standing unmoving, until he was sure that no sentry guarded this stretch of Arlund's defensive wall. The night was silent, no trace of breeze moving the still waters of the lake to break in ripples against the shore. Longago storms had beat against this section of wall, wearing the stones into strange shapes, but this time of year the lake level was lower, leaving a gravelled stretch of shore on past the end of the village.

The stones were rough enough so that he didn't even have to remove his sandals as he quietly scaled the wall. The top of the wall was nearly flat, and the drop on the far side was slight enough to cause him no trouble. He moved carefully by the light of the few stars that peeked through rents in the clouds, hoping that no dogs would wake and draw the attention of the villagers. More than once he froze in place, waiting to be sure that nobody was about, but the noises seemed to be only those of ordinary nightlurkers, rats and such that scurried along the dark backalleys of Arlund.

The cobbles of the street were dry underfoot, not damp and slimy as they'd been the last time he visited Arlund. His feet made no noise as he moved through the shadows, and at last he reached the house that he was seeking. It lay far from the central plaza, well away from the homes of the welltodo farmers whose wives who sat on Arlund's council.

"Who's there?" The voice that answered his tapping at the door frame sounded quietly apprehensive.

"Mak the Hunter, son of Chamur the Strong."

The man who opened the door was even shorter than Mak, and slender, his graying hair and wrinkled face betraying his advanced age.

"Inside, quickly! What are you doing here? The word has been passed that you've been outlawed."

"Not outlawed, Borvenne." Mak answered as he moved away from the doorway, seating himself at the square wooden table that took up nearly half of the room. "Not outlawed, only banished. Not that there's all that much difference."

In a few quick sentences, he outlined the events that had led to his banishment, emphasizing the part that the clandestine messengers between city councils had played.

"The traders offered me a chance to travel with them," he concluded, "so I accepted. Now, what's been happening here in Arlund?"

"It's not so much what's been happening," Borvenne answered grimly, "as what's about to happen. The messenger from Wallen arrived a couple of days ago, and the councillors about had fits. They'd been warned by Larnent, our new shaman, that traders were returning to the forests, but they hadn't really believed it. They've made up their minds that trade is bad, and that they have to put a stop to it. Myself, I don't see it, and neither do my friends. We don't have any power to do anything about it, though."

"Have the councillors also made up their minds what they're going to do?"

"The word was passed this evening, after the caravan settled down for the night. In the morning, when the traders have their booths set up for business, guards will arrest them. No, I don't know what grounds they'll claim," he answered Mak's exclamation of anger. "Just that they'll take away all of their trade goods and donkeys. After that, they'll probably turn them loose. After all, why not? They'll figure that the traders won't be able to do any more harm, and even if they do make it back alive to where they came from they'll certainly never want to return."

The laterising sliver of moon cast its faint light past the clouds as Mak headed back toward the wall that stretched along the lake shore. He sternly reined in the anger that sorely tempted him to hurry, even more careful than before not to make any unnecessary noise. As he reached the base of the wall, he caught the distant sound of tramping feet. With a quick look around he scrambled up the wall and dropped to the beach on the other side. The gravel of the beach crunched beneath his feet, but now he no longer worried about making a little noise as he ran lightly toward where the caravan rested. A word to an alert sentry, and he moved on to where Nurm's tent bulked large in the darkness.

"What's up?" Nurm's voice greeted him from within the tent, even as Mak scratched lightly against the fabric by the door. A faint light blossomed as the trader unhooded a tiny lamp. "Mak? Come on inside."

"Trouble," Mak answered. "Lots of it! Runners have already reached here from Wallen, and the Arlund council has decided that they don't want any more traders coming here. They think that if you don't make it back, nobody else will follow your trail."

"What have they decided to do?" Jewel's voice came from just behind Nurm. "Will they attack us, try to kill us?"

"Probably not kill us, since there's no real need for them to. Capture us, most likely, and take away all of our trade goods and packanimals. They think that if they turn us loose with only the clothes on our backs, we probably won't make it back to where you came from."

"Did your friend tell you just how they plan to take us?" Nurm gestured, and Amy and Jewel began bundling up their belongings.

"He wasn't sure, but he's got a pretty good idea of what the bastards are apt to try. Probably wait until we've got our booths set up, then grab us. If we weren't expecting them, there wouldn't be much we could do about it."

"Amy, Jewel, pass the word to our people. Have them pack up everything, as quick as they can. Don't show any more lights than you can help, but get the donkeys loaded as fast as possible. Mak, what's the best way out of here?"

"On past the end of the lake and up over the hills," he decided after a moment's thought. "They won't be expecting us to go that way. It'll be rough going, slower than back the way we came, but the animals can make it all right."

Mak was amazed at how quickly the encampment disappeared into packs and was loaded onto the backs of the donkeys. The moon was higher now, and luckily the clouds were rapidly thinning. By the time the sun rose, they should be far enough from Arlund to begin feeling fairly safe.

He scouted ahead as the caravan wended its way along the shore of the lake. The way seemed clear, and he turned back to rejoin them.

"Halt, who's there?" Ahead of him, a voice rang out clearly through the darkness as an armed guard moved out from the base of the wall to confront the vanguard of the caravan. "Ho, the... Ugh!"

The guard went sprawling as Mak's fist caught him behind the ear.

"Bring him along," Nurm commanded when there was no answer to the guard's aborted call. "We'll let him go when we're well away from here."