Flight of Vengeance (Witch World: The Turning) Read online

  Pruett searched her face for an instant, then, with a muffled, “Wait!” he darted back inside the herbarium. He returned with a sprig of flowers that Nolar had never seen before. The slender stalks were crowned by nine-petaled flowers, pure white at their tips, but shading through azure to a center as dark blue as the night sky of summer. Nolar was aware of a faint sweet fragrance as she accepted the flowers.

  “These are beautiful!” Nolar exclaimed. “What are they?”

  “They are rare,” Pruett replied. “To my knowledge, our one nearby site in the uplands is the only place where they may be found. The shepherd who first brought them to me called them ‘Noon and Midnight,’ but I call them ‘Lormt Flower.’ I know of no medicinal use for the plant, but it holds its scent very well. Remember Lormt by it, if you will.”

  “With all my heart,” said Nolar. “I thank you for the beauty of both the plant and the thought. Now I must go.” She longed to stay and learn more from Pruett. She was wishing that she could just listen indefinitely to his quiet, patient voice when she was struck by a fanciful thought: if a plant could speak, it would probably sound very like Pruett of Lormt. That moment of light relief was swiftly superseded by her crushing sense of urgency. The shard in her pocket weighed upon Nolar both physically and mentally. She could not linger at Lormt; she had to ride to the south and east.

  Derren, meanwhile, had been favorably impressed by the sturdy mountain ponies he had been shown in Lormt's spacious stables. He had asked for the use of four ponies—three for riding and one for carrying their additional supplies. With Wessell's zealous assistance, Derren had decided what they should take with them and how to divide it up and secure it. As he fastened the last few straps, Derren was surprised to realize that in one sense, he was sorry to be leaving Lormt. He had found it to be a curiously restful place, although he had been occupied in strenuous physical work during his entire stay. Somehow, time seemed to run slower at Lormt, almost as if Lormt were not affected by time. It must be all the scholars, Derren decided, poring over their scrolls day after day, studying the records from the far past. They could take a longer view of life, setting it in the ordered ranks of so many years, that present squabbles between dukes and Witches seemed but a minor ripple in the broad stream of Estcarp's past.

  Derren shook himself. What was the matter with him? He was being lulled into a perilous tranquility by the pernicious influence of this place. The sooner he escaped from these numbing walls, the better. Derren forcibly wrenched his thoughts away from Lormt and concentrated upon his prospective journey. He had to admit to himself that he was uneasy about the magical stone that Nolar had found.

  Magic was the province of Estcarp's fearsome Witches, and although Nolar had said that she had no Witch training, still she had received a Sending. Now she possessed this ancient stone fragment which Morfew agreed was an object of Power. What if Nolar's quest led them to the parent stone, and by its Power, Elgaret the Witch regained her senses? Derren would simply have to flee before the Witch could turn her attention toward him.

  He did not consider himself a coward, but he did not believe that he could stand, even armed and wary, against a Witch. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of such a confrontation. No, he decided, he must be practical. The likelihood that they could even find the fabled Stone of Konnard after countless years of its total obscurity had to be so slight as to be negligible.

  And, he further encouraged himself, the upheaval of the Turning alone should have made any former mountain trail either inaccessible or impassable. A nagging memory nudged him. Nolar had said that she would be drawn to the site of the Stone by its magic, despite any physical barriers. Disturbed, Derren pushed that thought away. They could not possibly find the wretched Stone.

  It would be an entirely straightforward matter: he would guide the two Estcarp women into the southeastern mountains as far as they cared to go, and when the quest was obviously fruitless, he would turn them over to the first reliable people they encountered who could see them safely back to Estcarp. He could then travel unhindered back toward Karsten. Derren suspected with the keenest foreboding that his beloved forests would likely be destroyed, but he promised himself that he could at least devote all his energy toward restoring the land to the condition he remembered: green, growing, full of life.

  Derren heard Wessell approaching long before he could see the provisioner. Wessell was chattering to someone else.

  “You found Pruett, I see, or rather he found you. I did ask him to seek you out, and I recognize that satchel of his. Very clever fellow, Pruett. He's been here as long as anyone can recall. Always seems to know just what plant to brew into a tea or chop into a poultice. Ah, there you are, Master Derren. I was just telling Mistress Nolar how much we rely upon our chief herbalist.”

  Nolar handed Derren the stout leather satchel. “One more thing to be packed, I fear,” she said apologetically. “We shall surely need some of these herbs along our way, however, and Master Pruett has given us a wondrous variety suited to treat a number of ills.”

  “I hope that we shall not require any of them,” Derren asserted as he strapped the satchel behind Nolar's saddle. “Still, it is wise to be ready in case bad fortune strikes. Do you wish to set out now, lady?” he added, looking up at the sun to judge the remaining daylight.

  “I had the cook prepare a late lunch that you could eat here or carry with you,” inserted Wessell.

  Nolar could not help smiling. “Dear Wessell—you manage to anticipate everything. I expect it would be advisable to give Elgaret her food before we go. I can see to that, Master Derren, if you will bring the ponies to the gate?”

  Derren nodded. “I should fill an extra water skin, then I will join you in the storeroom.”

  By midafternoon, the party was mounted and about to leave. To Nolar's surprise, Morfew hurried out to the gate to see them go.

  “There has been another landslide in the hills,” Morfew fretted. “Master Ouen and Duratan were called out in the night to help the family whose house and farm buildings were destroyed. I had hoped that Ouen could see you before you left, but I shall tell him about your stone and show him my copy of the associated manuscript. When you return with news of the parent stone, he will be waiting with great interest, I am sure.”

  Nolar leaned down to press his hand. “Already you speak of success—that has to be a good omen.”

  “May your road be a fair one,” Morfew returned, “and may the sun shine upon it.”

  “I suspect that there will be no road and worse weather,” Derren observed skeptically, “but we shall go as far as we may.”

  “We shall await your return,” Morfew called, as the ponies ambled through the gate.

  They camped that night not very far from Lormt, but Nolar still felt a sense of relief at being on her way, actually moving toward the Stone of Konnard. She was constantly aware of the warm presence of her shard, radiating from her, skirt pocket. She had considered suspending it in a cloth bag on a cord around her neck, but the shard was too large to be comfortably worn as a pendant.

  Their first full day of travel quickly demonstrated the value of the sure-footed ponies. As Derren had gloomily predicted, even the remnants of the trail rapidly vanished, and they had to choose their way around, through, and amid the wreckage left by the Turning. Horses, however stout-hearted and strong, could not have attempted the climbs or the descents that the Lormt ponies accepted and accomplished. On only the most difficult terrain was it necessary to dismount and lead the animals. Elgaret's pony proved to be particularly cautious and clever at choosing the safest path. Typically, Derren led the way on his pony, followed by Elgaret, then Nolar, trailed by the pack pony kept on a slack rein.

  The weather at first held clear, but it grew steadily colder as they climbed higher into the mountains. Nolar was constantly grateful for Wessell's insistence upon their packing warm travel gear. While living with Ostbor, she had seen a few cases of severe cold damage when high peak shep
herds and herdsmen had been trapped by winter storms. Often, despite their best efforts, the victims lost fingers, toes, hands, or feet to the deadly effect of the frost. Several times during the day and night, Nolar took care to check that Elgaret's hands and feet were safely warm, and that her nose and face were protected from the numbing wind.

  The snowstorm struck when they had traveled three days away from Lormt. Derren scouted ahead briefly through the blinding blizzard, then guided the party into a cave newly formed by earthquake-shifted rock slabs. There was room within for all four ponies and the three people to shelter out of the howling whiteness. Nolar again blessed Wessell for his foresight as she warmed some meal mush over a tiny fire. Wessell had insisted that she take some bags of charcoal in case, he had said, they might be caught in rain or snow where they could not gather dry wood.

  The storm delayed them more than a full day, but as soon as the skies cleared, Derren discovered a passable route into a lower valley where there had been far less snow, and movement was consequently easier. Nolar said as much, suggesting that perhaps their way would now be open, but he merely bobbed his head and grunted noncommittally. She soon understood why Derren had not endorsed her unfounded optimism. “Easier” travel proved to be a matter of comparison between nearly impossible and almost unbearable. The effects of the earthquakes in the valleys had definitely compounded the difficulties of transit. After her pony's third major stumble, Nolar dismounted and led the animal. Amazingly, Elgaret's pony picked its way slowly, but without jarring loose its passive rider.

  When they stopped for the night, Nolar thought she had never before felt so drained of all strength. Derren had gathered some evergreen branches, ripped from their trees by the landslides, and laced them into a windbreak against which they could rest. He was rubbing down the ponies, his back to the small fire while Nolar tried to coax Elgaret to drink some hot herb tea. This time, there was no mistake. Nolar clearly saw a spark of light flare in Elgaret's Witch jewel. Carefully making sure that Derren was fully occupied, Nolar reached in her pocket and brought her shard close to the Witch's crystal. In the dusky dimness, she could not ignore the greenish flicker that pulsed in the jewel, then died away. Nolar peered critically at Elgaret's face. Was there any sign of life in the uninjured eye or in the facial expression? Nolar had to admit that there was none that she could distinguish, but perhaps, in time. … Something was happening within the Witch's jewel, and Nolar's shard appeared to be involved. Should she mention it to Derren? Nolar slipped the comforting warmth of the stone back into her pocket. No, she decided. Derren, for some reason, seemed … threatened. That was exactly the right word: threatened by the Witch. Nolar weighed all of his previous remarks and reactions. Why should a Borderer, of all people, be frightened of a Witch? The only answer that made sense, Nolar realized with a dreadful certainty, was that Derren was not a Borderer, as he claimed to be. But why would he say he was if it was not true? Because he wanted others to accept him as a Borderer; because he was truly an enemy of Estcarp trapped by the Turning on the wrong side of the southern border. The chill that gripped Nolar welled up from within, colder by far than the icy wind that raked her face. Derren had admitted that his mother came from Karsten, Nolar recalled. She now felt certain that Derren, despite his outward Old Race appearance, was also a Karstenian, and yet … she could not feel hatred toward him. He had protected her and the helpless Elgaret through the trying passage of so many leagues. They had been totally at his mercy. He could have abused or slain them whenever he chose, but he had not. Nolar smiled wryly to herself. If only she could discuss this with Ostbor, or Morfew, or even Pruett. Impulsively, she reached within her cloak and drew out the now limp but still fragrant spray of Lormt Flowers.

  “What is that?” Derren asked, returning to squat beside the fire.

  “Some rare flowers that Master Pruett gave me,” Nolar replied, holding them out where he could see the blossoms.

  “I have never seen any like those,” Derren said, “and I pay heed to flowers.”

  “Do you?” asked Nolar, curious. “Why?”

  “Where there are wildflowers, lady, you will find other creatures,” Derren explained, poking the fire with a short stick. “In a thriving forest, there seems to be a sort of…” he groped for the word he wanted, “balance. If there is an ample supply of food and water and plentiful lairs for sheltering the animals, then the forest can care for all the creatures it should. Besides, some flowers and plants will grow in only certain places where there is either much water or little, so that can direct you in turn if you note which are which. I have also learned the healing properties of a few plants, but you know far more than I about herbs and such.”

  “It is clear,” Nolar said, “that you prize the forest and all that it nurtures and protects.”

  Derren gazed at her across the fire. “I belong there, lady. I know the forest in all weathers and seasons.”

  “Have you traveled in this forest before?” Nolar asked. “When it was forest, I mean,” she added,-looking sadly at the shattered stumps and dead limbs littering the surface of this decimated valley.

  “No,” Derren replied, with bitterness in his voice. “This is farther to the east than I have previously ventured, but I sorrow to see it thus. I think of my home mountains and the slopes and crags where my father and I ranged. I tell you honestly, lady, I dread now to go back there.” He gestured angrily at their surroundings. “I must judge by what we have already seen, and we have not yet penetrated into the areas of worst damage. I fear that most valleys are choked with debris, if they are valleys still.” His voice fell to a low, weary murmur. “I think that is the hardest thing to face. It would be somehow bearable to know that beneath the mud and rubble, the lasting land was still there, and might eventually be cleansed by the rain and wind, emerging once more into the light of day. But I deeply fear that the land I once knew is gone forever. The very surface is changed beyond recognition. If no landmarks survive, it will be as if it is a strange, far country instead of my familiar hills. In one night—one night!—everything that was reliable has been torn from us.”

  “I have also tasted something of that same loss,” said Nolar quietly, when Derren fell silent. “Because of my face, I have never known the closeness of family or friends. Until I chanced to meet Ostbor, I was forever shut out. When he died, I felt that all that was solid in the world had dissolved with him. I cannot tell you that all will be well, for none of us can know what lies ahead. I think you are likely right in your fears for your forested homeland. The Turning has changed all of our lives, for it has changed the world we must live in. But I believe that time will heal the forests. A man like you, who knows the ways of the forest could speed that healing. I know of no other comfort that I can offer you, but I believe that at least is honest truth.”

  Derren had looked up at her, startled, then blurted, obviously surprised, “You care, lady—you do care about the forests.”

  Nolar nodded her assent. “Yes, I do care, for it has been in the mountain forests that I have spent most of the few happy hours of my life, before I met Ostbor. And although you may find it difficult to believe, I can tell you that the Witches—some of them—also share your sense of pain at the destruction they were forced to bring about.”

  Derren hesitated, as if he wanted to tell her something, but after a momentary pause, he devoted his attention to the fire. “I value your words, lady,” he said, in a controlled, neutral tone, and Nolar did not press him further.

  Later that night, as he lay awake, Derren argued furiously with himself. The Estcarp women were his enemies; the only reason he endured their company was to protect himself from disastrous exposure. But, countered a part of his mind, that reason no longer holds, not in this unmapped wilderness. You are scarcely likely to be questioned in these riven mountains by any of Estcarp's minions. Why not just abandon the Witch and Witch-friend and slip back to Karsten? Because I have promised to escort them, Derren retorted to himself. Because
they would perish in this ruined country without me—I might as well strike them dead with my sword as leave them to wander hereabouts, finally starving or freezing as they slept. They are your enemies, his inner voice accused, yet you deceive yourself that you care what befalls them. They have done me no harm, he rejoined hotly. For my honor's sake, I must return them safely to Estcarp. I do not have to take them there personally—surely we must encounter someone I can entrust them to, then I can go home. Derren pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and strove to ignore his nagging doubts. It was a long time before he fell into a shallow, troubled sleep.

  Slowly, at times so slowly as to seem agonizing, they struggled farther toward the south and east. Nolar found herself listening for bird calls or the familiar sounds of animals, but a numbing silence prevailed over the blasted land. The few birds and animals they did see were carrion eaters, and even they appeared torpid, still dazed by the Turning. Derren, too, had noticed, for one morning when they surprised two shawled vultures crouched on a dead mountain goat, Derren had frowned and halted his pony.

  “I had feared,” he said, “that the slaughter of wild beasts would be so severe that we would encounter great numbers of carcasses, but now I must say there seem to be far fewer than I had expected.”

  Nolar turned in her saddle to survey both views from the summit of the narrow pass they had just attained between two valleys. “I miss the birds. In my mountains at this time, I would be hearing owls and grouse, and the dear, silly peewits calling to one another at all hours. So far, on this trip, I have sighted only ravens and crows and one glutted dire-bird. I must hope that the others simply fled before the catastrophe, and have not yet returned to their home ranges.”

  Derren nudged his pony to one side so that Nolar could ride closer for conversation. “I have heard, lady, that some animals can sense impending earthquakes. Perhaps they ran away before the Turning. I have known deer herds to desert a feeding area for days or weeks, then return when whatever danger affrighted them had passed.”