The Riddle - Alison Croggon [55]
The horse hadn’t run far after its initial panic, and they soon found it, calmly munching on some sour grass. They then pressed swiftly on their way, all of them alert in case of further attacks. As they cantered through the gorge, the silence between them was broken by occasional deep chuckles from Elenxi. “A rabbit! Brilliant, Maerad. Brilliant!”
They reached Nisa without further incident three days later. Once they came out of the Idoiravis, the countryside before them was flat for many leagues, stretching over the high northern plateau of Thorold before it plunged steeply down toward the coast. This was rich farming country, with many thick forests of larch, beech, and pine interspersed with a patchwork of fields sown with wheat or rye, the heads beginning to turn golden in the sun, or meadows where grazed herds of sheep or goats, or the dark greens of vineyards and olive groves.
Impelled by an increasing sense of urgency, they pushed their horses hard, reaching the edge of the plateau by the end of the second day. Here the land tipped precipitously down toward the sea. From then on, the going was slower; they had to pick their way carefully along steep, narrow tracks winding through the tangles of myrtles and acacias that grew luxuriantly around tumuli of pink granite boulders and mazes of small, noisy streams.
Nisa was a fishing village that hugged a tiny harbor carved into the rose-colored cliffs. To reach it, they had to leave their horses at a nearby village and descend on foot by a path cut into the rock. From there they looked down on the red-tiled roofs of about three dozen houses clustered in a single row against the cliff walls. Maerad, contemplating the blue expanse of the sea, reflected that she was getting better at dealing with heights; she didn’t feel nearly so dizzy.
“You wouldn’t want to climb up here after a few glasses of wine,” she said as they negotiated one particularly sharp bend.
“I believe many do exactly that,” said Elenxi. “And some have even lived to tell the tale.”
“You’d fall right on someone’s house!” Maerad risked another glance downward. No, it was not so bad, though it was better if she didn’t look at all.
Compared to the hive of activity in Busk, Nisa appeared deserted. They arrived when all the boats were out on the sea and everyone else was having their midafternoon break. Apart from rows of seagulls perched on the rooftops, the only visible living thing was a gray tabby cat curled up in a coil of rope. Maerad looked along the stone quay and spotted the familiar red sail of the White Owl bobbing in the water. But there was no sign of Owan, either above or below decks.
“I suppose Owan would be at the tavern,” said Maerad, stooping to scratch the cat’s head as they walked back toward the main road.
“That would be right,” said Elenxi. “I was just thinking it was time for some wine myself.”
They found Owan stretching out his long legs under a wooden table in the back garden of the tavern; he had a palpable air of well-being. When the travelers entered, he gave a cry of welcome and came forward to embrace them. They called for wine and food and joined him at his table.
Owan had been sailing around the island on the same errand as Elenxi, bringing the news of Norloch’s ultimatum to the coastal villages and warning them to ready their defenses in case of war. “They watch for the signal, and are vigilant,” he said. “And each has messenger birds to send to Busk if they are attacked. All is well.”
“But you don’t have an army.” Maerad suddenly realized this fact, and involuntarily said it out loud.
“No, not as such,” said Elenxi. “We don’t need one. All our people know how to fight, and it is hard to defeat an entire population. In this land there is no place for open battle, and Thoroldians fight by other means. When the Nameless One attacked Thorold before the Silence, a great fog came down from the mountains. The entire army was lost.”
“What happened to them?