The sounds of wailing from the fields beyond awoke her in the night. Spirits were often more active in the darker hours, seemingly eschewing the sunlight, though many could yet be found during the day as well. Silver closed her eyes, resting her head back against the stone to listen.
There was music to be found in those forlorn cries, she knew. Listen well enough and one could get a rather decent inkling of what the creatures were about. Tonight, the noises were soft and sad, almost lost as if the owners desired to be found and yet were too scared to call for help.
This was a mixed blessing.
If he yet lived, then they had not discovered his whereabouts either. If he was dead, then they'd have little interest in him.
She pushed the thought away. There could be no room for doubt or sorrow, nor for hope or yearning. That would attract their attention. Such creatures held no fear for her, they never had, but she had no particular desire to have them in her way. That would only slow her down.
Instead, she let their despondent echoes lull her back to sleep.
* * *
Morning found them back at the Norbury Gates.
She had spent a lot of time in this area some years before. Assuming little had changed, then the higher concentration of foes would be to the West. That would make it the more likely direction for a battle between Rangers and denizens, but if, as the letter had suggested, he had survived that battle – even for a little while – then it was likely that he'd have sought safety.
To the East lay the quieter areas. There would be no help to be found there, but the same could be said of the West, where the open plain of Evendim awaited and ghosts guarded the exit. South would be the more sensible option, but in his state, would he have been considering things clearly? It was far more likely that he sought only to get away, with little regard beyond that notion.
She could not be sure exactly when he had been injured, or how badly. Some wounds that would heal with rest were perfectly capable of making one feel such pain that death might be a welcome release to those of a softer constitution. He was not soft. She knew that. But still, best not to assume that he was trailing his intestines behind him just yet.
That lack of information did make matters more difficult, however. It had taken her two days to get to this point, but how long had the letter been sat at her house? Three more, at most. Add a day or two to arrive, yes, but how long had passed between the last sighting of him and the writing and sending of the missive? Beyond that, how far could he have gotten in his unknown state during the course of this wildly imprecise timeline?
There were far too many variables.
Painful though it would be to admit, were she able to feel anything right now, the likelihood of him having survived was really rather low. This wasn't so much a rescue mission as it was a retrieval. To that end, she had Steel turn to the East. It would be easier, and quicker, to search provided she chose their path carefully. There were, after all, one or two orcish fortifications there, but the creatures themselves rarely strayed outside of them. There were no real barrows and only one or two smaller ruins, which made any potential shelters easier to search through.
She let the horse pick his own pace again. He was, and always had been, a canny beast. Whilst he concentrated on the terrain under hoof, she would scan their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary, or anything in need of avoidance. With but a light touch of her fingertips to his strong neck, he would turn when she needed him to turn, stop when she needed him to stop and continue on when that, too, was required. She trusted him, this brilliant wayward horse, more than she had ever trusted people.
A quick search through Ost Nuran, then south toward Amun Amrun and back north to the Falconers Tower. The land between these places was annoyingly hilly, but they covered it quicker than she might have expected. Though there were several sightings of wights and barghests, they remained in the distance and the latter gave no indication of guarding a kill. Unimportant, then, and easily ignored.
The fading of the light found her back at the entrance to the Fields, that little chokepoint between the living Greenway, and the long-dead barrow-lands. She made her camp there, right on the cusp.
Tomorrow would be more difficult. Tomorrow would require an alteration to her state of mind, a careful tweak to her defences. Tomorrow would be perilous, but that was all just part of the job.
