The Iron Grail Read Online Free PDF Page B

the raid.
    When movement came on the other side it was nervous and fleeting, hesitant and illusory. But as soon as Ambaros and his men withdrew, the cloaked and cowled figure finally slipped from the woodland’s edge and scurried over the rocks towards the small inlet in the bank of the river. It was hard to see her across the wide flow of Nantosuelta—that waterway separating two worlds. A haze of mist hovered over this border between realms. But I saw how her cloak rippled with colour, making her meld with her background. She was grey as she paused by an outcrop of grey weathered rock, then green and dark as she came against the far trees, then like yellow reeds as she crouched down by the water and watched me.
    Her face was pale, almost featureless, save for her eyes, dark and wide as she studied me carefully.
    This was another of the Mothers who guarded Kymon and Munda. I tried to remember her. By her appearance, she was the youngest of the three.
    She did not invite me to cross Nantosuelta at that moment, though I could have made the crossing in the spirit boat, which waited patiently in the high reeds, her swan-prow just showing. But the Mother and I could not speak through the separating distance, this no-man’s water between worlds. So I summoned a bird. The darkness in the distance, above the deep forest of Ghostland, suggested the storm that was coming, but the crow seemed inappropriate for this urgent interchange. I summoned, instead, a skylark, the most vociferous of birds.
    The lark appeared above me, circled me, singing noisily, then took my simple message across the river to the woman.
    I’ve seen your sister. She sent me to you.
    The bird flew back with her reply.
    Are you the one who will guide Urtha and his children into their future?
    The question took me by surprise. Into their future? For the next few seasons, perhaps; but the Mother’s words contained more significance than my own limited aspirations for my friend, should he return alive.
    I sent the lark to tell her: I once came with Urtha across the river; I brought him to see his children before he went in search of vengeance against his foster brother. We came and went by a boat, not this one, but very similar. I can cross to you easily.
    The lark flew up and away, winging towards the storm-skies in the far hills. The cowled woman rose to her feet and beckoned to me, then turned and hurried back to cover.
    I called for the spirit boat and she bobbed towards me. I clambered in, settling on the cushions with their old and strange designs, and she drifted across the river without difficulty, nosing gently into the soft mud of the inlet.
    I was back in the hinterland of the Shadows of Heroes.
    I met the modron in the bosk of the wood. I could hardly see her; like a clever cat, she merged with her background. But that moon-pale face smiled at me, and the pool-dark eyes welcomed me.
    She asked me about her sister, who had gone to find me, and seemed unsurprised when I broke the news that she was dead. Then she talked of Urtha’s children.
    ‘They were safe here for a long while,’ she whispered to me as we moved swiftly along the track. ‘There are many places at the edge of this land which are safe. That’s why they were brought here when they escaped the terrible raid. This is a place where we guard exiles, and have done so over the ages. They should always have been safe here, but recently there have been too many raiding bands, searching the edge. There is something deadly growing in the deep hills, spreading out, and all the signs are of danger.’
    ‘Are they searching for the children?’ I asked, panting as I followed her fleet form through the moist underwood along the twisting path.
    ‘We have reason to think so. Their names are called out at night, though from a great distance. So far we’ve managed to keep our hiding place secure. But the Dead are crossing the river and settling on the Thunder Hill, making it their own.’
    ‘I