The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [3]
Clae saw none of this, because he was pawing through the grass. Finally, he picked out a bit of stick and began chewing on it.
“Get that out of your mouth,” Neb said. “And come on, we’re going to have a look at the waterfall after all.”
Clae grinned and tossed the stick into the river. An undine caught it, bowed, and disappeared into foam.
In a crowd of Wildfolk the two boys headed upstream, following a grassy path beside the noisy river. Now and then Clae seemed to feel the presence of the gnomes. When one of them brushed against him, he would look down, then shrug as if dismissing the sensation. For as long as he could remember Neb had seen the Wildfolk, but no one else in his family had the gift of the Sight. He’d learned early to keep his gifts to himself. Any mention of Wildfolk had exasperated his literal-minded mother and made the other children in town mock and tease him.
The two boys followed the river to the white water churning around fallen boulders. They panted up the steep path that zigzagged along the cliff face, then turned to look back. Under a black plume the distant village was burning. Neb stared, unable to comprehend, unable to scream, merely stared as the bright flower of flame poured black smoke into the sky. Little people, the size of red ants from their vantage point, scurried around and waved their arms. Larger ants chased them and waved things that winked metallic in the sun. A cluster of horses, the size of flies, stood on the far side of the village bridge. The farm—it too burned, a blossom of deadly gold among the green meadows. Two horses and riders circled the earthen wall.
“Raiders!” Clae’s voice was a breathy sob. “Oh, Neb! Horsekin!”
Overhead a raven shrieked, as if answering him. The two riders suddenly turned their horses away from the farmstead. They broke into a gallop and headed upstream for the waterfall.
“Into the forest!” Neb said. “We’ve got to hide!”
They raced across the grassy cliff top, plunged into the forest, and ran panting and crashing through the underbrush among the pines and brambles. Twigs and thorns caught and tore Neb’s shirt and brigga, but he drove his brother before him like a frightened sheep until at last they could run no more. They burrowed into a thick patch of shrubs and clung together. If the slavers caught them, they would geld Clae like a steer. And they’d kill me, Neb thought. I’m old enough to cause trouble.
Neb could see nothing in the tangled mass of forest. He could hear only the waterfall, plunging down over rock. Had they run far enough? Voices—Neb thought he heard voices, deep ones, muttering in what sounded like anger, then a crash and a jingle, very faint, as if someone had dropped something metallic on to a rock. He did hear a shout that turned to a scream. Clae stiffened and opened his mouth. Neb clapped a hand over it before he could speak.
Whether voices or not, the sounds died away, leaving only the chatter of the waterfall to disturb the silence. Slowly the normal noises of a forest picked up, the distant rustles of small animals, the chirping of birds. The yellow gnome appeared to perch in a nearby bush and grin. It patted its stomach as if pleased with itself, then disappeared. Slowly, too, the gray twilight deepened into a velvety night. They were safe for now, but on the morrow in the sunlight the Horsekin might return to search the woods. Neb realized that he and Clae had best be gone as soon as it was light enough to see.