The Riddle - Alison Croggon [90]
“I dare not try to work the winds here,” said Cadvan. “It would alert any evil creature for leagues around to our presence. Our best bet is to go on as we have, unseen.”
“It’s easier to hide in a storm,” said Maerad stubbornly. “It’s not that bad.” As if to spite her, the wind rose suddenly into a high screech.
“Yes, and your body might never be found. Don’t be foolish.”
Maerad sulkily prepared herself for sleep. The idea of being trapped in this bay for days on end appalled her beyond measure; even walking through the sleet, as they had today, could hardly be worse.
The next day the wind had dropped, and the world was white with fog. It was possible to see only a few paces ahead, but Maerad, panicking at the thought of being stuck in the mountains, argued that they should continue regardless. Cadvan was dubious, saying that the fog could as equally thicken as lift, and that in a thick fog it was quite possible to get completely disoriented and turn back without realizing it, or fall down an unseen precipice. But Maerad was adamant, and after anxiously testing the wind, Cadvan agreed to chance it, as long as they waited to see if the fog was getting worse.
After a while, it seemed to have thinned slightly, and so they mounted and cautiously pressed on. Riding through this whiteness was eerie; it seemed as if they were suspended in midair, in the middle of nothing. All they could see was the road, still dark and wet after yesterday’s sleet, twisting for a few paces in front of them before it vanished into a white haze. The standing stones by the side of the road would loom over them suddenly, as if they appeared out of nowhere.
It wasn’t long before they were soaked with dew. Maerad felt as if her ears were stuffed full of cloth; hoofbeats died instantly on the air, and there were no other sounds except the snorting and puffing of the horses.
By midafternoon, the wind suddenly rose — a chill, buffeting blast. The fog began to break up, flying past them in wisps and rags. Every now and then, Maerad could see a glimpse of a mountain slope or a crevasse or a stand of trees, only to have the veil of mist instantly drawn over it again.
“Look out for a bay,” called Cadvan over his shoulder. “There’s going to be a storm.” The wind whipped his words away as he shouted.
Maerad was too cold and tired to say anything. She just hoped there would be wood in the next bay, so they could have a fire. She started looking along the left wall; there should be one not so far ahead, she thought. There seemed to be one every league or so, and they must have gone that far by now. She scanned the rock face anxiously. It remained obdurately blank, and the wind was getting stronger every moment. Then a fierce hail started, driving almost sideways, so Imi and Darsor shied, snorting. The hailstones were big, like pebbles hurtling at them out of the sky; they hurt; and they made the stone road treacherously slippery. Cadvan signaled to Maerad to dismount, and holding their horses’ reins, they fought their way forward against the wind.
“If we make it to the next turn, we’ll have some shelter,” Cadvan shouted. Maerad could barely hear him, but nodded. On the mountain’s flank, they were directly exposed to the gale, and even a little relief from the wind and hail would be better than nothing. Visibility was not much better than it had been in the fog, but at least it wasn’t night, though with a sudden stab of fear, she realized that they didn’t know how far the nearest bay was, and evening was coming quickly. In the fog they might have already passed one without seeing it. A night in the open in weather like this didn’t bear imagining. She gritted her teeth and forced herself on, her legs feeling as heavy and cold as iron.
Then Cadvan stopped suddenly, and Imi nearly ran into Darsor’s rump. Cadvan turned around to Maerad and shouted something, but she couldn’t hear him over the howling wind. With a leap of hope, she thought perhaps he had found a bay at last, but his final words were drowned in a huge