here."
With Muena Palaiya cut off to us, the only way onward was the cliff road. Between the high whitewashed walls of Muena Palaiya and the edge of the decline to the valley floor ran a wide strip of ground, dusty red-tinged soil broken by patches of scrub. Where the land became sheer, knotty trees clung desperately to its verge.
The road ran right upon that edge. Beneath the late afternoon light, the view was spectacular. The river wending below, the vast green of Paen Acha to the south, and even the distant far bank were all clearly visible, all filigreed with gold. Muena Delorca was just visible to the west, its white walls stained amber, and very far behind us lay the faintest suggestion of what could only be Altapasaeda.
Mounteban had claimed Moaradrid had no interest in ruling the Castoval, that his only desire was to wrest the crown from Panchessa. Perhaps there'd even been a degree of truth to that. True or not, though, I understood now that he would have come back. The man had been a wolf; sooner or later, he'd have needed something new to sink his teeth into.
The Castoval was a beautiful land, its people mostly peaceable and decent. I was glad I'd played some part in keeping it and them out of a tyrant's hands.
Then I remembered Mounteban, nestled like a fat spider in Altapasaeda. I remembered Estrada's fears for Muena Palaiya. The problem with tyrants, it seemed, was that they just kept on coming.
"We're being watched," Alvantes said softly.
"What?"
"From the walls."
I felt a prickling of my neck hairs, an urgent impulse to look around. Was it only because Alvantes had planted the suggestion in my mind? I couldn't say. "We're within range of bowshot," I pointed out. "If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead."
"It isn't us I'm worried about."
Of course it wasn't. "Could it be you're imagining things, Alvantes? I'm sure Estrada has the situation well in hand."
He didn't reply, but for the rest of our passage past Muena Palaiya, his gaze hardly left the walls. It was almost as though he were challenging whoever lay hidden to come out and confront him.
Eventually the road began to curve inward and we passed the north-west corner of Muena Palaiya, coming out upon the wide patch of ground where visitors – and the occasional passing army – were prone to bivouac. The last time I'd been here, I'd been rescuing Saltlick from the midst of Moaradrid's forces. Now, aside from a few charred patches where fire pits had been made, all trace of their presence was gone.
Well, maybe not all trace. Happening to catch Saltlick's eye, I was startled by what I saw there – an unmistakeable glint of horror. He'd been tortured here by Moaradrid's men, probably for hours. Knowing Saltlick, however, I suspected it was more the memory of what he'd done after that, of the violence he'd committed himself, that haunted him so deeply.
"Let's get away from here," I said – and he was quick enough to follow.
We continued north, Muena Palaiya diminishing at our backs until a projection of the mountainside that walled the road to the east lopped it from view. Just before the town vanished, Alvantes stopped to stare behind, shading his eyes with his one hand. I thought he might be about to turn back. But the moment passed, and he rode to rejoin me. Still, the strain of the decision was carved deep in every line of his face.
There were only minutes of daylight left by then. The sun had already dipped beneath the far-distant western mountains, edging their peaks a rich saffron. At the point we'd reached, the road was hardly more than a band clinging between the mountainside and the drop to the valley floor. There was nothing that could be called shelter.
Eventually, by the time a few stray stars were pricking through the purpling sky, Alvantes pointed to a line of stubby trees and said, "That will have to do."
There was a fringe of grass for the horses, and
With Muena Palaiya cut off to us, the only way onward was the cliff road. Between the high whitewashed walls of Muena Palaiya and the edge of the decline to the valley floor ran a wide strip of ground, dusty red-tinged soil broken by patches of scrub. Where the land became sheer, knotty trees clung desperately to its verge.
The road ran right upon that edge. Beneath the late afternoon light, the view was spectacular. The river wending below, the vast green of Paen Acha to the south, and even the distant far bank were all clearly visible, all filigreed with gold. Muena Delorca was just visible to the west, its white walls stained amber, and very far behind us lay the faintest suggestion of what could only be Altapasaeda.
Mounteban had claimed Moaradrid had no interest in ruling the Castoval, that his only desire was to wrest the crown from Panchessa. Perhaps there'd even been a degree of truth to that. True or not, though, I understood now that he would have come back. The man had been a wolf; sooner or later, he'd have needed something new to sink his teeth into.
The Castoval was a beautiful land, its people mostly peaceable and decent. I was glad I'd played some part in keeping it and them out of a tyrant's hands.
Then I remembered Mounteban, nestled like a fat spider in Altapasaeda. I remembered Estrada's fears for Muena Palaiya. The problem with tyrants, it seemed, was that they just kept on coming.
"We're being watched," Alvantes said softly.
"What?"
"From the walls."
I felt a prickling of my neck hairs, an urgent impulse to look around. Was it only because Alvantes had planted the suggestion in my mind? I couldn't say. "We're within range of bowshot," I pointed out. "If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead."
"It isn't us I'm worried about."
Of course it wasn't. "Could it be you're imagining things, Alvantes? I'm sure Estrada has the situation well in hand."
He didn't reply, but for the rest of our passage past Muena Palaiya, his gaze hardly left the walls. It was almost as though he were challenging whoever lay hidden to come out and confront him.
Eventually the road began to curve inward and we passed the north-west corner of Muena Palaiya, coming out upon the wide patch of ground where visitors – and the occasional passing army – were prone to bivouac. The last time I'd been here, I'd been rescuing Saltlick from the midst of Moaradrid's forces. Now, aside from a few charred patches where fire pits had been made, all trace of their presence was gone.
Well, maybe not all trace. Happening to catch Saltlick's eye, I was startled by what I saw there – an unmistakeable glint of horror. He'd been tortured here by Moaradrid's men, probably for hours. Knowing Saltlick, however, I suspected it was more the memory of what he'd done after that, of the violence he'd committed himself, that haunted him so deeply.
"Let's get away from here," I said – and he was quick enough to follow.
We continued north, Muena Palaiya diminishing at our backs until a projection of the mountainside that walled the road to the east lopped it from view. Just before the town vanished, Alvantes stopped to stare behind, shading his eyes with his one hand. I thought he might be about to turn back. But the moment passed, and he rode to rejoin me. Still, the strain of the decision was carved deep in every line of his face.
There were only minutes of daylight left by then. The sun had already dipped beneath the far-distant western mountains, edging their peaks a rich saffron. At the point we'd reached, the road was hardly more than a band clinging between the mountainside and the drop to the valley floor. There was nothing that could be called shelter.
Eventually, by the time a few stray stars were pricking through the purpling sky, Alvantes pointed to a line of stubby trees and said, "That will have to do."
There was a fringe of grass for the horses, and
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