Beyond the Wall of Time by Russell Kirkpatrick Page B

want?”
    “We have no love for you, tree-eater, so do not presume to cow us with your arrogance. Your lives are spared only because
     we do not know if killing you will offend Keppia. And since he is not here, we cannot ask him.”
    Just as well for us then
, Noetos acknowledged silently. “What was a Padouki warrior doing in the Tochar academy?” he asked.
    To his left Heredrew signalled vigorously, but Noetos paid him no attention. While others kept their heads down, it was his
     time to lead.
    “Or are you a Fisher Coaster gone native?”
    The man’s face darkened, but none of the men either side of him stirred at this insult.
None but him speaks Bhrudwan. I have learned something, at least.
    “This is not about me,” the man ground out between clenched teeth. “You have asked your last question. Keppia would understand
     if you end up dying in agony, andali coursing through your veins.”
    “Very well then. What would you have of us?”
    The man ignored Noetos’s impudence. “You are to be taken to the Canopy. There our elders will decide what must be done with
     you.”
    The Padouki did not, apparently, bind their captives, but nor did they allow them to keep their weapons. Swords, knives and
     even Phemanderac’s staff were bundled up in linen ropes and carried on the backs of three of their captors.
We have a few weapons they cannot take from us,
Arathé reminded herself.
Even if they are double-edged.
    The rain ceased as they tramped across the plateau, and by the time they reached the cliff-edge the sun had come out. There,
     a thousand paces above the steaming forest, they stopped for food and to take in the vista. Even the most frightened of captives
     surely could not help but be impressed by the view. Arathé shaded her eyes and gazed down at the dark forest stretching to
     the horizon in every direction save for the plateau at their back and a faint blue line on the eastern horizon, no doubt marking
     the sea. The trees smoked in the heat of the sun, giving back to the sky much of the moisture that had recently rained down
     on them. Above, glorious white clouds formed as the captives sat and ate the fruit doled out to them.
    “Beautiful. Unique. Beyond the grasp of mortal men.” Their chief captor stood beside her father, his arm outstretched. “Every
     tree a sacred pillar of our temple, some of them three thousand years old and more.” Her father was about to imperil them
     again, she knew. Like the old Red Duke of Roudhos, who had been burned at the stake by the Undying Man, Noetos, his grandson,
     never knew when to leave well enough alone. Couldn’t help himself. Yet it was just as well someone in their party had his
     persistence. Whatever had happened back there in front of the Godhouse door had nearly killed them all. Arathé had felt her
     father fight against the relentless stream of time as it seemed to double back on itself; perhaps others had tried, but he
     was the only one to succeed.
    “You’re about to tell me how outsiders have cut down the trees and put the spirit of the forest in jeopardy, aren’t you?”
     Noetos said. “How we evil tree-eaters are always destroying the sacred grove of something-or-other. Do not bother, friend.
     Our journey is more important than a few trees. The whole of Patina Padouk is as nothing beside it.”
    “You
want
me to feather your friends?” the man asked, incredulous, and raised his bow.
    “For Alkuon’s sake, Father, be silent!” Anomer hissed.
    “None of you understand, do you!” Noetos said. “Something happened to us back at the portal that just might make everything
     we’ve done, or might do, completely irrelevant. Did you all sleep through it, or am I the only one with courage enough to
     talk about it?”
    Arathé listened intently. Even the Padouki leader took a step closer, holding up his hands to keep his bowmen from loosing
     their arrows.
    “Are you talking of the double-time?” he said.
    “You have a name for