To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [214]
He was not at once answered, and when the other man spoke, he seemed to be thinking. He said, ‘How lovely the slopes are. But here they alter, and so does the wind. In the desert, a blind man uses his nose. We can be guided by the smell of the sulphur.’
‘And by your magic,’ said Glímu-Sveinn. ‘If it reads true. Can you not tell where to go?’ The wind wailed.
‘That isn’t fair,’ Kathi said. ‘We are all tired.’ It disturbed her to have him called a magician.
He was already answering Glímu-Sveinn, his voice even. ‘I don’t know Hlídarendi. I can take you, without deviation, to the person waiting at the mouth of the Markarfljót.’ He paused and then repeated, ‘Without deviation.’
Glímu-Sveinn put his hand on the saddle. He said, ‘Not even an animal could travel blind from here to the delta. Ravines and rivers, ridges and crevasses stand in the way.’
‘But an animal, even blind, could pass from here to Hlídarendi,’ Benecke said. ‘The terrain is easier, is it not? And Hlídarendi is on our direct route to the mouth of the delta. If Nikolás uses this instinct, he could guide us as far as Hlídarendi by nightfall. And then tomorrow, when we can see, we can cover the worst twenty miles to the coast.’ He looked round. ‘We have nothing to lose. I propose that we start, with Nikolás in the lead.’
‘No!’ said Kathi. She knew the concentration it needed. His senses fixed on the distance, he couldn’t look out for himself.
‘Nei,’ agreed Glímu-Sveinn. ‘He and I will set off together, linked, and leading our horses. The spare horses follow. The junfrú rides after, and then Herra Paúel with the bell.’
‘You need a bell for the leader,’ said Kathi.
‘We don’t,’ said the Banco di Niccolò. ‘The leaders will proceed on their own, singing versicles. Or nídvísur, if you prefer it. Let us begin.’
‘Wait,’ said Kathi. She dropped from the saddle and stepped through the snow to Glímu-Sveinn. He had pulled forward his hood. She took his two thick arms in her grasp and kissed him. ‘Bénédicte,’ she said. The snow from his beard brushed her face; he kissed her in return, the courteous Icelandic salute, his hands on her shoulders. Then she turned and went back to her horse.
‘Now me!’ called Paúel Benecke from behind, but she didn’t look round, although she raised a glove in cursory acknowledgement. They had been joking, and would continue to joke, however little she trusted him. But whether you believed a diviner to be god, or man, or to possess the worst features of both, the person bound to him was staking his life, his one ordinary life, by that deed.
At first, it seemed as if they had made the right choice. After a slow and anxious beginning, the wind dropped and visibility returned, and with it their landmarks. It was evident, too, that the violence within the two mountains was still contained: the smoke was no worse, and the underground movement had ceased, as had the thunder. For a while, the earth seemed to have recovered its voice: the ponies snuffled and blew, their shoes thudding in snow and rapping upon the bare rocks; at one point they heard the croaking of ravens.
Twenty-four hours had passed since the field of the hot springs had become silent. She had thought, as anyone would, that the danger would steadily escalate, but Glímu-Sveinn said that sometimes the shades below could not make up their minds as to which fires to stoke, or decided to tease, by alternately fanning and choking them. He said, however, that once such a force had begun, it could not subdue itself for very long, and that the outcome would be all the more violent. They must not be deceived into stopping.
He had hardly spoken the words when the wind rose, this time from the east and the south, and bringing sulphur mixed with fresh snow. Behind her, Kathi heard Benecke swear, but Glímu-Sveinn simply dismounted again and paced forward, shafting the snow, his head bent to catch the level, spaced observations