The Way to Babylon

Author:Paul Kearney [Kearney, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantástico
ISBN: 9781781081891
Publisher: BernyBenuyas
Published: 2015-01-04T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

THEY DID NOT linger in Ivrigar. Murtach and most of the company came in late that night, and by early the following afternoon, they were preparing to go on their way again. Over thirty grypesh had been slain, and the rest of the pack had dispersed in the western hills. Little damage had been done to the surrounding farms, since the beasts had concentrated their efforts on following the patrol and striving to enter Ivrigar. Riven, remembering the Rime Giant’s attempt on his life in Ralarth Rorim, wondered how many more times he was to be the focus of a battle.

Aelin wished them goodbye, members of her household helping the injured Hearthwares to mount their steeds. She kissed her husband dutifully, and for a moment Riven saw her and Ratagan exchange a look which had in it something of despair. Then they were formal again, and the company was trooping out of the courtyard and into the cold breeze that billowed down from the distant mountains, their faces set towards the east.

They rode through the stink of pyres where local men were burning the bodies of the beasts killed the night before, and then the land dipped and they were back in the Dales proper, with the hills behind them and some of the chill wind cut off. Riven pulled his cloak up about his neck, his bones aching and stiff and his legs still complaining about the horse between them. But he would have a drink and a warm bed awaiting him when he got rid of it. And Madra there, also, he suddenly remembered, and groaned aloud as he thought of the complications ahead. This world was more complex than his stories had ever made it.

Because it is real. It is not a story. It never was.

Then why Jenny, and Hugh? Why the spillover from his own life? He thought of his books. If anyone knew the answers in this country, it was the Dwarves. But how to get hold of them? There were none in Ralarth, none in the south. The only place they lived was in the northern mountains, the Greshorns. He shivered, remembering a dream where he had been riding north into the mountains with a woman who was not his wife.

Time to move on, maybe, to search for some answers before the whole thing comes down around my ears.

‘Riders ahead,’ Tagan, the black-bearded scout, said up front. ‘Half a dozen. ’Wares, I think.’

‘Not Ralarth’s ’Wares, though,’ Murtach said, his blue eyes narrowed against the wind that watered them.

They rode on at an easy trot, eating up the ground, until finally Murtach said in disgust: ‘Bragad’s lady—out for a ride, it seems, with five of her husband’s escort for company.’ And he spat over his mount’s shoulder.

The small group of riders spied them and altered their course to meet the patrol. In minutes, they stood facing each other across a few feet of upland grass, the fresher horses of Jinneth’s escort stamping impatiently. She was

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