The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [174]
“Preth-whatever doesn’t sound anything like Khrwbh Khrwkh,” Winna tentatively pointed out. “At least not to me it doesn’t.”
“No, nothing like it at all,” Stephen mused. “But it reminds me . . .” He paused. “The map is Vitellian, made just as the Hegemony was taking control of this territory. Most of the names on it were originally Allotersian or Vadhiian. But later on, there must have been Vitellian names for towns and landmarks.”
“Do you have another map from later on?” Leshya asked.
“No, not of that region,” Stephen told her. “And I still don’t see how Khrwbh . . .” He stopped again and seemed to stare off into the weird. It worried Aspar, sometimes, how quickly and oddly Stephen’s mind worked, ever since he walked the faneway of Decmanis. Not that it hadn’t worked strangely to start with.
“That’s it,” Stephen murmured. “It has to be.”
“What’s what?” Aspar asked.
“They translated it.”
“Translated what?”
“Names of places are funny,” Stephen said, his voice growing more excited—as it always did when he’d figured something out. “Sometimes, when a new people with a new language come along, they just keep the old name, not knowing what it means. Sometimes they bend it so it does mean something, as with Whitraff. And sometimes, when they do know what the old name means, they translate it into their own tongue. Ehawk, what do your people call the King’s Forest?”
“Yonilhoamalho,” the boy replied.
“Which means?” Stephen pressed.
“The King’s Forest,” Ehawk responded.
“Exactly. In the language of the Warlock kings, it was named Khadath Rekhuz. The Hegemony called it Lovs Regatureis, and during the Lierish Regency it was Cheldet de Rey. In Oostish it’s Holt af sa Kongh, and when Virgenyan became the king’s tongue we started calling it the King’s Forest. But the meaning remains unbroken after a thousand years, you see?”
“All that to spell what?” Aspar asked, a little put off that he still didn’t see where this was going, and knowing he was going to feel stupid when Stephen reached his conclusion.
“I think Prethsoru came from Vitellian Persos Urus,” Stephen replied triumphantly.
“Hurrah,” Aspar said. “What the sceat does that mean?”
“Bent Hill,” Stephen rejoined, too smugly. “Do you follow me now?”
“Sceat, no, I didn’t follow any of that,” Aspar shot back. “It’s a bridge made of mist.”
“Probably,” Stephen admitted.
“And if I take your meaning, you’re saying we should ride hell-bent for a forest in Hornladh based on nothing more than this silly wordplay?”
“Exactly,” Stephen promptly replied.
“And—let’s get this clear—even you don’t think you’re right about this?”
“A blind shot in the dark,” Stephen allowed.
Aspar scratched his chin. “Let’s get going, then,” he said. “That’s twenty leagues if it’s a yard.”
“Wait!” Leshya protested. “If he’s wrong—”
“He’s not wrong,” Aspar said.
“What about the nicwer?” Ehawk asked. “We still have to cross the river.”
“There’s a ford a league downstream,” Aspar told him. “If it follows us there, at least we’ll be able to see it. After that we can double back to the Old King’s Road. It goes straight to Dunmrogh.” He nodded at Stephen and Winna. “You two help Ehawk get mounted. Leshya, you come with me and we’ll get some supplies from the tavern.”
He saw Winna’s frown, and felt a flash of exasperation. Leshya was the only one of them immune to the song of the nicwer. Didn’t Winna know it made more sense for the Sefry to go back to town with him? After all, there might be more than one of the beasts in the river.
He didn’t say anything, though. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself by explaining something that ought to be understood. Winna still had a lot of learning to do.
“Keep a close watch on the river,” he said instead. “Yell if you see anything. And put something in your ears.”
“You should do the same,” Winna shot back.
“Then I couldn’t hear you yell, could I?” he countered, starting off toward town, Leshya a pace behind him.
CHAPTER NINE
SORORITY
FOR A MOMENT, ANNE’S tongue was frozen by surprise.