The Warding of Witch World Page 14

  Now he must use care. The plunging of the litter beasts continued, along with their screaming, as brown bodies leaped out of the dust to sink teeth into their flesh. Hampered as they were by the remains of the litter, they had little chance of defending themselves.

  But it was the woman and child which mattered. Jasta needed no word from him. The Renthan took a great leap and landed directly on the first of those razor-toothed creatures. Keris was instantly out of the saddle, before the woman. He shortened the lash, burning his fingers in the process. But now he could stand and beat down the rasti, while the woman had curled herself into a kind of ball, the child unseen in her clutching arms.

  They came—three times—and their attacks were such that he could somehow believe the woman and the child were their primary prey. But it was also plain to him that this horde had never before faced the fire lash and they had no defense against its measured swing.

  Then . . . he stood faced by a mound of dead beasts. None of those stirred.

  *They are dead,* Jasta reported. There was a long streak of blood down one leg of the Renthan and he lowered his horned head to lick at the wound. Save for the pain in his hands where he had shortened the lash in midst of battle, Keris was untouched. But having relooped the lash, he went down on his knees beside the woman, laying a hand gently on her shoulder.

  She quivered and cried out, a small, whimpering sound.

  “They are all dead, Lady. But did any reach you? Such wounds must be quickly treated.”

  Her elaborate headdress slid into the dust as she at last raised her head. Then Keris was elbowed aside by one of the other women as they gathered about her. From what he could see, neither she nor the child had been touched.

  “You, youngling.” Keris swung around with a snarl and found himself looking up into the face of Luscan. The Falconer’s mount ran blood in several places and he himself showed a growing spot of crimson on one leg. “You are no fledgling of any flight I have heard of—nor do you fight as any I have seen. Who and what are you?” This harsh demand on the part of the older Falconer sparked Keris’s anger.

  “I am no birdman.” He used the common word for Falconer and did it deliberately. “I am Keris Tregarth out of the Green Valley—but doubtless you have never heard of either my house or my home.”

  “Tregarth—he was at the taking of Gorm,” Luscan said slowly. “But you are a youth and he was a seasoned fighting man of perhaps three times your years.”

  “He is my grandfather,” Keris replied shortly.

  “Yes, your people keep records of their get.” The older Falconer nodded. “Also I am not as ignorant as you think, fledgling, for I have heard of the Green Valley and those that kept alive the Light through all the Darkness. What other power have you beside that fire which answers to your will?”

  Keris shrugged. “What I have been taught, I know.” It was no business of this man that he did not carry the talent which should have been his birthright.

  “And to some purpose.” Luscan nodded. “It was fortune’s favor that your shield man stopped us here. Had we ridden into that . . .” He looked at the mound of rasti bodies.

  The train was beginning to sort itself out into some kind of order again, though they did so after sending scouts, who not only viewed the distance for any movement but also used spears to stir the verge grass—though Keris believed that another attack was not imminent.

  That rasti and Gray Ones roamed these southern lands was not good hearing. It had always been thought that both species never ventured far out of Escore. And he had no desire to be trailed by another such pack as this one.

  The woman sent for him before he prepared to ride—for this news must be taken quickly to those they had left behind.

  She was very pale and when she tried to speak, the words came one by one.

  “They—tell—me—you—are of a great house of the north.” Now she was growing more eloquent. “That I can believe. Also that you mean us no harm. If any stop you this side of the river, show them this.” She jerked impatiently at a coinlike pendant hanging on a bedraggled ribbon around her throat. “Blood debt is owed. I, of the House of Righon, do swear to that.”

  The old formal words used in ceremony came back to him as if from another life, and he thanked her.

  Meanwhile Krispin was gathering from the now-free speech of the guards much information about the countryside and which lords might welcome and which might hunt them down merely because they rode out of the north.

  With the smell of blood still in his nose, Keris started back to the river camp. They might not be bringing meat this time, but he knew that the information would be very welcome to the party.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lormt, South Karsten

  T he two women in the small room faced each other. Both were well wrapped in shawls, as the chill given off by the walls could be piercing if one lingered for any length of time.

  Lady Mereth strove to settle herself more comfortably on the cushioned seat of her wheeled chair. Her writing slate was in her lap, but she only fingered her chalk, did not put it to use.

  The gray-robed woman opposite her displayed features sharp nearly as a hawk’s. On her breast rested a dull jewel, but her hands were busy with something else, a ball of pearllike glimmer with glints of color showing for an instant now and then. Gull, leader of the witches in Lormt, stared down at this as if, though it lay within her grasp, she feared its touch. Finally she spoke, her voice a monotone. She might have been trying to stifle in part what she must say:

  “Five reports of evil moving—and all from the south borders. Yet our gate hunters surely have not awakened all this. Something else draws our ancient foes.”

  Lady Mereth’s chalk squeaked. “Draws?”

  She saw Gull tense, and the witch did not answer directly. “Sarn Riders, Gray Ones . . . rasti, even, which are usually herded only by their appetites. And certain others, ones who have never actively risen against the patrols of Light, yet did not welcome ever our coming into their territories. Now they sweep south. Are they drawn, you ask? I needs must say yes. Last night Mouse reached us with a tale of a rasti attack near the border of Var—clear across Karsten, even as they met with Gray Ones just a little earlier.

  “That gate they found—it was awakening. It takes four of the sisters now to keep steady watch, to hold the cover on it, and our number are limited. Yes.” She pressed her hands tightly about the ball. “However, I do not believe it is that gaping evil they seek, these southbound ones.”

  “A greater one?” Lady Mereth wrote.

  Gull nodded. “The fire of magic struck far when the Magestone went from us. Such could awaken the Dark as well as the Light. Now those of Escore sweep their southward borders and report this exodus which has never been known.”

  “We have found many accounts of the Mage Wars here since we started a distinct hunt for such,” Lady Mereth wrote. “Yet there was something else mentioned several times—ask Morfew if you wish a full account. Power is of the land, it courses under the surface like unseen rivers of everlasting fire. Therefore those who deal with that power, or are born of dealings with it, instinctively do not venture too far beyond the sources they feel. Karsten never knew Gray Ones, except perhaps a small band or two on a quick raid, and then just along the Border.” As Gull read and nodded, Lady Mereth erased the filled slate and wrote again. “Rasti, the Lady Eleeri knew, but that again was in the Borderlands. These other presences you mention, have they ever stirred far from their native haunts before?”

  “None such has been reported in our time.”

  “The worst that any gate threw upon this world,” the chalk moved on, “was the Kolder. And from all accounts their gate was opened from the other side. But what, Learned Sister, if there now waits a gate in the south, perhaps controlled by a force beyond our knowing, which has found some barrier weakened and now summons to aid that to which it is akin?”

  Gull’s clutch on the ball was now so tight that it
would seem her fingers were sinking into it.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound. “And Hilarion can no longer raise Alon in Arvon. Garth Howell”—she spat the name with a cat’s hiss—“is not Lormt but it also harbors secrets.

  “But do we suggest sending an army south—when we know so little?”

  Mereth sighed and squirmed again against her cushions.

  “Learned Sister, already time treads fast. Crops must be harvested to the last grain stalk, the smallest apple. There is no way Marshal Koris can call levies to arms without visible cause in Estcarp. While those who police Escore now have all they can do.”

  “So.” Gull’s word was almost a verdict. “We wait—let us hope for not too long.”

  Lady Mereth thought of the small party struggling into the unknown land so far away and sighed. Marshal Duratan could release no more than a squad. Even if they sent out a call for unpledged Falconers they could put no true army in the field. She wondered what happened now in her beloved Dales land. The triune of lords who established a loose rule after the invasion by Alizon might not even be still in existence. As for what might rise in Arvon—one guess was only worth another. That they had lost contact with Alon had sent Hilarion back to his own castle, to labor with the same equipment he had used before.

  “Mouse . . . she is very young. . . .” Mereth touched on a subject which had bothered her from the first.

  Gull did not turn her eyes away. “Mouse”—her monotone was even softer—“is one such as comes to us perhaps once in a hundred generations. She will be one of the greatest All Mothers we have ever had. But the finest sword must be well tempered before it is readied for battle. Already her sending is such as few can equal. Look you—”

  She steadied the pearly ball on her knee, her fingers well to its bottom so as not to hide the sides. Lady Mereth made the effort to lean forward as far as she could.

  Gazing balls she knew well, but this was not crystal as the others she had seen. Now the colors on its surface grew sharper, flowed, thickened, until she had an eerie sensation that she was something mighty and beyond human looking down upon a world in space.

  Figures moved there, grew sharper, became recognizable. Travel-worn they were, honed to the point that Mereth understood them to be at their most alert. She studied them face by face—but—

  “Liara is not with them!” she wrote.

  “Liara made a choice—No,” Gull was quick to answer as Mereth’s protest could be read in her face. “Not one of the Dark—rather more greatly of the Light than she knew. Her part is not yet—nor can we be sure what it shall be.” Gull leaned closer to the ball. “Mouse, sisterling,” she called.

  Then the world Mereth surveyed was blotted out by a small, sun-browned face. But the eyes . . . those did not belong to any child.

  Lips moved, but it was in her head not with her ears that Mereth heard the answer.

  “The land seems barren of people, but before us once more stand mountains, and our scouts ride to search out some possible path. We have seen no more of the Dark Ones, but there have been traces—things move in the night and only the strength of the Light hides us. There is something astir—though still far away—yet it is not to be denied.”

  “Heard and understood, sisterling. If you need heart power, call—all we can raise will be yours.”

  It was only a pearl-colored ball again. Gull leaned back in her own chair, appearing more gaunt. “South—ever south.”

  “May the Blessing of the Flame be theirs,” Mereth wrote the age-old prayer, one she had not used for years, and then added:

  “But what we can all do we shall, and Lormt’s secrets are unending.”

  • • •

  The mountains rose before them, clothed for half their heights with heavy growth so dark green as to seem nearly black. The travelers had long ago left behind them any sign of man’s work, though they knew that to the west lay the wide valley of Var and its city. Here there were not even game trails, and both birds and animals seemed very few.

  When they camped at night they drew close together, human and animal. Even the ponies no longer showed any stubbornness about being picketed close to the campfire.

  It was Keris who blurted out on their third night of attempting to find passage south something which he believed they must have all noticed.

  “Rasti—Gray Ones—I found a paw print in the mud of a spring this afternoon. Do they accompany us but are not yet ready to attack?”

  Krispin, as usual, had settled Farwing on the horn of the saddle he had loosed from his horse. “They come, yes. But that they hunt us . . . I wonder.”

  *They are called.* No one could mistake the snappish mind-voice of the Keplian Theela.

  “Called!” Keris’s hand instantly went to the butt of his flame lash.

  The mare was far enough into the circle of the firelight that they could see her nod her head like a human.

  *Something seeks—that which answers it comes.*

  Now all their heads swung toward Mouse.

  “That which the Dark bred, held as liege in Escore, is moving south. I think we shall find it also. Whether we can deal with it . . .” Her child’s face was set as that of a woman facing some dangerous task. “But it is there—it waits.”

  Though all his life he had called the Green Valley home, known the peace which dwelt there past all troubling, still Keris had always been aware that that was only a small fortification against what might roam beyond. Clans of the Old Ones years earlier, hunted out of Karsten, had been led by his own father to the resettlement of land about the Valley. Scouts rode many ways and there were some portions of Escore in which fury only drowsed and might awake at any time.

  That ancient enemies were also journeying south was a hard thought for them all. Though they controlled many talents and Powers among them, they were but a handful, and who had yet been able to count the enemy?

  There was one question which concerned them and it was Jasta’s mind-speech which stated it. *A gate—already used by the Dark—a force drawing ready to strike northward?*

  “There is this,” Mouse answered slowly. “It has long been known that each land holds its own power which nourishes and supports those who are able to draw upon it, knowing or unknowing. The Gray Ones—the rasti—are of Escore. So it is true of the Sarn Riders, though such we have not seen trace of. They are not attuned to what lies here.” She put her hand flat down on the ground before her. “This will nourish, even as earth nourishes seed and root, only what is native to it. The farther one strays from one’s own place, the less power. . . .”

  “Lady Mouse.” It was Denever who had moved to face her straightly. “We of Karsten who were not of the Old Race had no earth-born power—that was why the Kolders forced the old duke to put your Old Ones to the horn. I served Duke Pagan because I was liege man to Lord Grisham and my oath was given him. I rode the north part of this country as my lord’s man and though there were places, yes, which we avoided because of the Old Ones’ honoring, yet never did any witchery arise. If the power of their land could not save the Old Ones at the time of the Horning—and they did have witchery—weak indeed must it be. It may well be true that the evil of Escore flits south now but will this land then turn against those who are of it?”

  “No one, living or perhaps among those Gone Beyond,” Mouse answered him, “can unriddle the way of power. This much I have learned. My own”—her hand was on her jewel now—“takes longer for its raising, demands a greater price when I use it. And we are far from Estcarp.”

  *Be not so sure, Witch Maid.* Theela’s thought struck deep. *You speak of powers within the earth—well, some be of the Light. Have not your own kind said Light draws light?*

  “As Dark draws dark,” Keris said flatly. “However, this much I know from scouting in Escore. Gray Ones—and rasti—do not like the cold of heights, nor overmuch the shadowing of any forest. Both face us now.”

  “Right,” Krispin cut in. “And do
we have any choice?”

  The Lady Eleeri shifted. She had been inspecting a coil of bow strings, testing each as it lay across her knee. “No. It is south. And do you forget Sebra’s find today?”

  The Keplians took turns running loose, yet one always seemed to be well to the fore of the party when they set out each morning. Sometimes the sleek, beautiful animals disappeared for half a day or more, which never seemed to bother either the Lady Eleeri or her Lord.

  *Yes.* The new Keplian mind-voice was less strident than that of the mare, but still well assured. *There is a canyon. The stream in it is low—there is forage in plenty and as one goes—it climbs.*

  “With the dawn we send our feathered brothers.” Krispin was smoothing the head of his own falcon. “Their sight is keenest of all.”

  So it was decided. Keris took his share of sentry duty and, when relieved, wrapped himself in his bedroll. They had camped in a half clearing, backed on one side by the rise of a low cliff. The heat of the fire he had just fed before he went to rest was reflected back by the stone, though it was chill and damp even a foot or so away.

  • • •

  It seemed as though he had been asleep for only a moment when—he was elsewhere!

  He crouched belly down to the earth, seeking somehow to become a very part of it, not to be identified. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. No man lives without feeling the touch of fear, but what Keris suffered now was an all-encompassing terror. Yet something kept him from yielding what remained of his rational self to this assault.

  Before him was a clear space in which stood a rough monolith, perhaps worn by ages of wind, so that its true nature could no longer be distinguished. But it gave off light and that deepened, spread. Light that was blue.

  The fear which held him planted was as heavy as if a great beast’s paw pinned him down. He could only watch helplessly what was happening before him.

  At the foot of the time-battered statue stood a woman. And there was about her now the same air of command as he had many times seen—in his mother, in the witches. She was dressed in rough trail clothing; there was a pack at her feet as if she had shifted it to free herself for battle. However, though she wore steel, she had not drawn any blade; instead, much like the witchling Mouse, she held something in her hand which glowed.