The Hands of Lyr (Five Senses Series Book 1) Page 11

  “What chances…?” His voice sounded weak but it was plain she must answer him.

  Nosh reported the finding of the stranger, that Layon thought she was from a caravan. But she had to raise her voice as that distant din grew ever louder. Now she could distinguish in it the bellows of varges being goaded past their usual pace, and once there was a scream which surely came from a human throat.

  Lord Jarth caught her arm and there was surprising strength in that hold.

  “See… see what is happening!”

  She obeyed, gaining the door of the hut just in time to see a large, varge-drawn wagon careen in toward the well. She would not have believed those heavy animals could move at such a pace. Behind it was another, and then a third.

  Beyond there was a swirling of dust where the prairie earth, grazed nearly bare by their own animals, was being cut by the sharper hooves of mounts. Some of those were ridden by men in green robes, but the rest were wearing the mail of guards—though there was no sign of either red or black as she had first feared.

  The whole scene was so cloaked by dust, and those within it moved so fast, that she could not be sure of just what was happening. But at length those who made up the incoming party drew closer and here and there Nosh could see some of the armsmen drawing bows and shooting with their deadly precision. Not at the newcomers but back along the route those had traveled.

  Thus the merchant Danus of the fate-ridden last caravan made it into Dast.

  CHAPTER 12

  “This is no Vor.” Tuver, who had taken Rolf’s place as Hasper’s right hand and under officer, used a hearty nudge from his foot against a limp body, rolling it over on its back.

  “He’s wearing face paint,” protested one of the few caravan guards who had survived the trail battle to Dast.

  “Maybe others beside the Vor go in for such,” Tuver returned. “But he’s a head taller than any Vor I’ve ever seen and I made the south trail twice in past seasons. Also where is his warrior band—and whoever saw a Vor with hair the color of dried prairie grass? When did they jump you?”

  The guard drew his hand across his forehead as if trying to remember something which the attack had driven from his mind.

  Kryn looked down at the dead man. He certainly was not wearing any Templer trappings, nor the colors of the High King. As the guard had pointed out, his slack face was overlaid with an intricate pattern of color which was heaviest about his now staring eyes as if it were meant to provide a mask of sorts. His hair was a dusty brown and those open eyes a faded blue which was nearly grey. He was as tall as the two men now standing over him and his clothing, which included a jerkin oversewn with dull metal rings, was nearly as shabby as that of the outlaws.

  “Must have been three days back,” the guard began slowly. “Yes, Garmper had just shot a rathhawk….”

  Kryn stiffened, and glanced hastily skyward. A rathhawk!

  “It had this thing on a string around its neck,” the guard was continuing. “Garmper turned it in to the Master—never saw anything like it before, none of us had. Then, we’d gotten the carts lined out to forward and Garmper went down—an arrow through his gullet. I don’t know why they didn’t just stay their distance and pick us off. But instead they came for us, yelling their heads off, shouting some gibberish about meat— suppose they meant us.

  “Master Danus knows all the tricks and we entrained as fast as we could—most of us fighting off the buggers while Danus enforted with the wagons.

  “We beat them but good. Didn’t see any of them get away—it was as if they were crazed in their minds, taking stupid chances just to try and kill us without trying to protect themselves. It was just plain slaughter, like a wakwolf in a salzon corral. Only we weren’t no salzons— and they weren’t no wakwolves either. They went down right easy when the boys got into action.

  “There were about twenty in that gang—at least we counted that many bodies. We lost two men besides Garmper—one of them Master Danus’s sister’s son. And he doesn’t take kindly to that.

  “We sat there entrained but we were in the open and if they came at us all fired high again, we could not hold too long. The Master—he said try to make it to Dast. Oathar volunteered to do a bit of scouting and came back saying he couldn’t see no trace of any and perhaps we had gotten them all. So at last Master Danus decided to risk it for a dash here—those trail varges can be pushed to more speed than you believe when a man really uses the prod—makes them crazy mad and they push fast to get at anybody riding ahead.

  “Well, they hit us again. Seemed to come right out of the ground, cut off the last wagon—Rayan says how he saw two of them go at the varges, one got trampled but the other brought down the nigh leader. Master Danus’s new wife from the north was in that. But she is no city woman—she got to one of the mounts and rode—but away from the train and we could not go after her—must have been dazed like. They say she was found by your people.”

  “She was arrow wounded,” Tuver answered. “Your master is with her now. It looks as if we must fort up ourselves—if these,”—again his toe touched the body,—“are going to come down on us again. You say this new wife is from the north…?”

  The guard nodded. “He wedded her three ten-days ago. Made a good treaty with her people and her father turned her over to seal the bargain.”

  “Might it be that her people were all not in favor of that?” For the first time Kryn took part in the conversation. “The fact that she was shot might have been a mistake—and when she left she was trying to reach these raiders.”

  “They’re not like any of the Kolossians; that’s her tribe. At least not like any I’ve seen. Kolossians don’t paint and they wear their hair in a top braid…. Makes a handle, they say, for their war god to pick up his own after a battle. Also she didn’t seem to be unhappy about the wedding—looked to us all that she might have urged it her own self. She was always asking questions about the city and how we lived there, as if she wanted to see it all for her own self and was very happy to be on her way to do so.”

  Tuver looked across the torn and trampled ground. They had already removed three dead caravan guards and two of their own and there were new wounded awaiting Layon’s ministrations. “I make it about twenty some down here,” he said. “Sentries are out and we’ve done what we could to fort up here.”

  The three remaining wagons of the caravan had been wedged in between the huts. Kryn knew there were archers on the roofs, lying flat now but ready to rise at any sign of trouble. Three of the outlaws and two of the guards were busied about each downed body of the enemy, stripping it of any weapon, hunting also, Kryn knew, for any clue to the identity of the raiders.

  “Might have expected it north of the far range,” the guide continued. “But usually there’s no trouble near Dast—the treaty has held a good long time. We don’t know what made this bunch go for us.”

  “The rathhawk,” Kryn said and turned swiftly to seek out the crude fort they had set. Did this Master Danus still have that rathhawk pendant? Was it like the one he had been too cautious to touch himself? If he had taken it back to the refuge, would that have brought a similar furious attack? But he would swear these were no countrymen of his and was equally sure that they were not mercenaries somehow enlisted in the High King’s service—the Temple did not hire such, making sure that all their forces were faithful followers of the One.

  The need to know drove him to that hut claimed for the injured and he pushed aside the hide curtain used to form a door, finding the interior dusky and hard for the eyes to see anything.

  What he made out first was Jarth, his back braced by a heavy twist of the grass they used for bedding. And Kryn felt suddenly lightened of a burden when he saw that the Garn lord’s eyes were clear and he was plainly alert again to what was going on around him. Though another mission had brought him here, he went first to Jarth.

  “They are Vor?” Jarth demanded of him. “The Master swears they are?”

  “Tuver
says not. They are not like the Vor in either looks or equipment. Also the guard with him says they are not Kolossians,” he added for good measure. “They are painted though—”

  “Any face can be painted,” Jarth snapped. His frustration at being tied to his bed was now plain to be seen.

  “There is something else,” Kryn said quickly, “something this caravan master may be able to help with. One of his guards shot a rathhawk. It was wearing something around its neck—and he took it to his master. Afterward he was the first man to be killed.”

  “Rathhawk?” Jarth’s gaze narrowed. “Yes, I remember. You, too, had a meeting with such but you survived.”

  “I did not touch the thing it had worn.”

  “Ssssooo…” Jarth drew out that word. “This guard who also killed did—and took what he had found to his master. The attacks came afterward.”

  Then he turned his head and raised his voice a little, “Dreen Daughter, I think we have need of you.”

  As she came away from one of the other pallets Kryn had words of disagreement on his tongue but Jarth’s expression stilled them. They certainly wanted no more experiments which might bring back that fury which had blasted them and the refuge. To let this girl meddle with such things was a risk they were fools to take. But here Jarth commanded and he himself had nothing but suspicions on which to base his distrust and aversion for her and all her talents.

  Now Jarth spoke to Kryn. “Ask the Master to come hither, this thing must be made as clear for him as it is for us.”

  Kryn crossed to the other side of the hut, where they had rigged a curtain of sorts to give the wounded woman at least an illusion of privacy.

  “Master Danus?” Kryn hesitated to touch that hanging.

  “Yes?” The man who looped aside the curtain with one hand was of middle years, his face browned by the many suns of much travel. Unlike the men Kryn had always seen, he wore a neatly trimmed beard and the dark of that hair was threaded with silver. Thin of body and rather slight of build he still gave the appearance of one who had long wielded authority.

  “Lord Jarth wishes to speak with you, Master.” Kryn had been too long from the manners of the keephalls to make that any more than a bald statement.

  But it was seen that Master Danus took no offense and was perfectly willing to go to Jarth’s pallet, dropping beside it to sit cross-legged so that it was not difficult for them to meet eye to eye. A little apart Nosh was also seated. Her face wore that mask which seemed to grow harsher with the days. For the first time Kryn was obliged to remember that the dying priestess had named her daughter, which meant a deep tie between them. Though he did not believe they were true blood kin. What had it meant to this girl—and he admitted to himself that she was very young—to be left among men with whom she had no common cause? Yet—she had power—and look what that power had drawn upon them!

  Lord Jarth leaned forward a fraction and it was Nosh who swiftly moved to tuck in that roll which supported him so it served to the best advantage.

  “Master Danus, Heirkeep Kryn heard a strange tale from one of your men—that this guard shot a rathhawk and found about its neck a pendant stone—this is true?”

  For a moment the merchant eyed him and then seemed to come to a decision.

  “It is true.” His hand went to his belt pouch and he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a bit of cloth. This he flicked open and then held his hand toward Jarth so that he might see the round of what looked like dull red stone, pierced at its centermost point—unmistakably so able to be strung on a cord.

  “Dreen’s Daughter,”—Jarth did not touch the stone, but looked to Nosh—“what does he hold?”

  The merchant stared at the girl in open surprise. She had raised her hand as if to take the offering and then jerked away. A grimace distorted that mask she wore.

  “Lord, remember!” she said.

  “This may be a matter of saving lives…” he answered her.

  “Or of losing them,” she returned with some heat.

  The merchant stared from girl to man and back again, plainly entirely puzzled. Then Jarth made explanation:

  “This is Alnosha, chosen daughter to a priestess of Lyr. She has reading hands—Lyr’s gift.”

  Danus sucked in a breath and stared at Nosh wide-eyed.

  “Lady.” He gave a quick nod of the head as if in tribute. “Such I have heard tales of but never have I met one. Can you read this?”

  He moved his hand, cupped the cloth-enwrapped stone closer to her. “Can it be true that this in some way brought about all our troubles?”

  The girl bit her lip, looked to Jarth as if in protest.

  “Dreen’s Daughter,” he said slowly now. “If this thing is truly a danger, let us know. We ask for no full reading—only a warning.”

  Kryn wanted to send that stone flying out of reach and yet he also realized the importance of really knowing what power might be locked within it.

  Then quickly, as if she would lose her courage if she lingered, Nosh took the stone, gathering it up by its wrapping. Holding it in her left hand she gingerly touched the tip of her other forefinger to the stone, closing her eyes, tense, near holding her breath.

  There was…

  It was as if she were looking through a window into a strange room in which shadows appeared to take on tangible weight. In the midst of that chamber, of which she could see clearly so very little, there were a series of perches. On some were rathhawks preening, or sitting with their heads oddly drawn back into their shoulders, their fierce eyes closed as if they slept.

  Before those birds was a standard of dark metal, which upheld a globe of sullen grey shade, under the surface of which crawled lines of blood red, and night black, twisting and turning as if snakes were so imprisoned.

  Nosh knew that globe—or its fellow! She broke contact immediately. To hold that was to attract such attention as had blasted them before.

  “This is evil,” she said. “Part of an old evil—Dreen would have known more, for she held sentry against that for many seasons. The rathhawks serve the same power that the eye stone summoned. Yes, it might well be true that this is a linkage with that power and it could so bring down death on those who carried it without being attuned to it as the birds must be.”

  Again the merchant sucked in his breath. He reached out and grabbed the stone from Nosh’s hold, taking care, Kryn saw, not to allow it to touch his flesh. Getting to his feet he gained the door of the hut in two strides and whistled, bringing to him one of his servants.

  “Take this and grind it to powder—do it here and now!”

  Kryn nearly flinched and then looked to Nosh to see whether she would raise a denial. Would such destruction arouse the power she believed was linked with it? But she said nothing, only sat frowning, as if in her own mind she was weighing one need against another.

  Stones were easily found, fallen from the rough-set walls. They watched the servant set one firm on the ground and place the wrapped stone at its middle. He looked about him, passing out of their line of sight for a moment, and then was back with another rock, which had a rough point on one side. Going to his knees, he raised that crude tool and brought it down, with unmistakably his full force of arm, on the small bundle. When he raised the stone a second time they could see that the cloth was spread wider and there was no visible lump in it. He looked to Danus who nodded sharply— clearly an order for a second blow.

  When that had been delivered Danus himself twitched away one corner of the wrapping.

  “Dust,” he reported.

  Kryn relaxed a little. He had been so sure that this destruction would call forth a bitter answer—perhaps they had yet to wait for that.

  Nosh spoke first: “It is well to have that out of Dast; give it to the earth.”

  “Retaliation?” Jarth asked.

  She shook her head. “I do not know. This is what I saw.” Quickly she reported the sight of that strange mews which she had spied upon.

  “No on
e keeps rathhawks so!” The merchant had nodded to his servant, who had withdrawn with the packet which, from his expression, he carried most unwillingly and was eager to get rid of.

  “None that we know,” countered Jarth. “But this land is wide and I have never met any who can tell me the full length and breadth of it—have you, Master merchant?”

  “No,” Danus returned. “But why would any seek to spy on us by such means? For rathhawks are few over the mountains and this was plainly on some mission. When my guard brought it down it had been winging over our party for some time and we offered no true prey as such hunt.”

  Suddenly Nosh turned her head, looking away from the men to where was that curtained corner behind which lay the merchant’s new wife. Danus’s quick eye had caught that and now he scowled.

  “Sofina’s people—she—is not a part of this!” His hand went to the knife in his girdle.

  But Nosh was on her feet, one hand pressed tight to her breast, the other outheld as if to pluck something out of the very air. No, she knew now it was not the woman—and why she had not felt the pull before she could not tell when twice it had come so clearly. Perhaps it was the hawk stone which had dimmed this in some way. Danus was after her; it was Kryn who stepped between, doing so at a gesture from Jarth.

  Nosh went to her knees before one of the packs the merchant had brought in so that things might be taken from it for the comfort of his lady. She dropped her hold against the Fingers and with both hands tore swiftly at the knotted pack cord. It opened far enough for her hand to get in and she groped about, the rising warmth guiding her, until her hand closed on what she sought though it seemed to be caught in something like a setting of metal.

  Out into what full light the hut offered Nosh brought a circlet of pure gold, soft enough so that her tight grip dented it a little, and pointing upward from that band was another of the Fingers, as if it were a feather.

  “What does she do? That is Sofina’s bride crown!” Now she heard a scuffle behind her as if someone was holding Danus back.