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  “Evil, Farseer.” He was on his feet swiftly to come to her. His hands on her shoulders drew her up with a strength which seemed too great even for his wiry body. “Look you.”

  Kadiya found she could waver forward by his help to drop to her knees in the same spot where he had been crouching a moment earlier. She leaned forward to see the picture in the bowl.

  Once more there was so real a scene that she might be watching it through a window. The background was plainly the thorny barrier through which they had fought their way. Here moved a squad of Skritek, armed with rude clubs and spears.

  It was the one they escorted who Kadiya saw most clearly. This was the man of the flaming throne. There was no sign of the disease which had eaten him. Now he was tall, strong, as clean of skin and as forceful of aura as Lamaril. In his hand was the weapon rod. And, though the Skritek were plainly escorting him, they did not come too near, rather kept several paces before or behind.

  The follower of Varm was pushing forward with great strides, looking ahead as if he sought a goal which he must reach in a limited time. Then, suddenly, he stopped, almost in midstep. The rod came up, his head turned right and then left. There was a seeking in his stance.

  Salin waved a hand across the basin. There was an answering swirl of the liquid there and the scene was instantly erased. Yet still on the Uisgu woman’s face there remained a shadow of fear.

  “That one,” mind speech flared to Kadiya, “knew he was spied upon!” She touched the bowl. “We dare not use this again.”

  “What if we use it to communicate with another?” asked Kadiya. “Would that also betray us?” She was thinking of Haramis. Perhaps her sister at this very moment could produce that which would arm them better. Knowledge could be more powerful than weapons alone.

  Salin shook her head. “King’s Daughter, each time I call upon this”—she now cradled the bowl in both hands—“there is a troubling of that which we cannot see. Such could guide that one to us.”

  “You have that.…” Jagun indicated the sword.

  “I have more than that, but I must be able to summon it,” replied Kadiya. “The Vanished Ones will join us—in their own fashion, and through our aid in return. Jagun, we must reach the road of the Sindona. Can you find that trail?”

  Find it he did after a period of scouting. They saw the sun vanish. They spent the night on guard, another day. As her strength returned, Kadiya pushed the pace as well as she could, the flask rubbing against her side with every step, urging her on.

  Those humps of brick hard clay stood even as she had seen them before, marking the forgotten road which led to Yatlan. At the head of that line stood Lamaril, the only one uncovered. Not quite as she had seen him in the place behind the wall, but as he might once have been in this world.

  It was late afternoon when they reached that place. And certainly this was exposed territory. Kadiya hoped that that other party they had spied on would not be heading in this direction. Varm’s follower had his own priority; time lashed at him even as it did at her.

  “We must free these, all of them”—she pointed to the lumps of yellow, hardened earth—“as soon as we can.”

  They asked no questions. They had not since she had rejoined them. She believed at times Jagun still glanced at her sidewise in a faint awe. Now they set to work, chipping at the mud with spear and knife point. Kadiya worked as swiftly as she could with her dagger. The clay was hard baked and the work tedious, though now and then a lucky stroke of blade would set a large lump flying.

  Twilight closed in, yet Kadiya and the others did not halt. Perhaps they, too, were now gripped with that need for hurry. Exposed as they were they could not start a fire to give them light, but Smail went away and came back shortly with a twist of reeds in which were some of those same light grubs Jagun had called upon for a lantern in Yatlan.

  Limited as that light was, it still gave them a view of where to strike.

  The yellow muck covering the old road, which the hidden statues marked, came alive with the dark. Creatures crawled there, though they could be sighted only by the movements of the surface. Salin stopped her pecking away at the mound she had chosen and rifled the journey pack for a small container. This in hand she circled the scene of their labors, shaking out a reddish dust.

  In spite of her new helm giving protection against those minute flies which were a torment to the eyes, and that grease which all swamp farers used against the insects, Kadiya felt the sting of bites. Doggedly she continued her task.

  Half free now was the statue of a woman whose face Kadiya remembered from the assembly in the flower temple. Kadiya inserted her bruised fingers in a crack and gave a hard pull. A whole section of the mud fell away; the woman stood free.

  Out over the muck there was a sudden glow of green light. Kadiya wheeled, startled. The light hung suspended for several breaths and then moved toward them. If it were carried by any creature it did not shine downward to show them what held it torch-like.

  Nor was it now alone. Three other such burst into view. Smail stood away from his work. He had nearly freed another of the Sindona—a man.

  “Ossfire!” Salin threw herself once more at the pack. This time she produced a jar into which Smail inserted a dart. His pipe was at his lips.

  It was too dark to follow the dart in flight if it could be detected in its swift passage. There came a loud pop. The nearest of the fireballs advancing toward them was no longer a globe. Rather, segments of it flared out like sparks, plummeting down into the muck. Methodically Smail picked off the others.

  Kadiya coughed. Her nose felt as if some of that fire had invaded it, and there followed a stench heavy enough to make her gag.

  She leaned one hand against the second pillar she had set to work upon. Kadiya retched, bringing up the remains of the rations she had shared an hour earlier. Salin was beside the girl as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  “Eat!” the wisewoman held between finger and thumb what looked like a wad of mangled leaves.

  Doubtfully Kadiya obeyed. The stuff was sour. She wanted to spit it out, yet she had faith in Salin’s knowledge of swampwise protection. When she forced herself to swallow the juice her teeth had drawn out of that mouthful, she discovered that she was no longer nauseous.

  There was a moon tonight. As it rose its beams added to the grub light giving them a better chance to keep at their labors—though it was no easy job.

  When the mounds had at last been cleared of the mud coating, Kadiya judged the time to be close to morning. Her shoulders ached and her fingers, bearing small cuts from the sharp edges of scraps she had pulled away, were becoming stiff and painful. But she was ridden by the thought that if she rested now she would lose the battle before it began—she dared not yield to any longing for sleep.

  Salin once more came to the rescue with dressings for their minor wounds. Kadiya wiped part of hers away, afraid the slick stuff might impede the action she must now take.

  The Oddlings withdrew as the girl slipped the flask free from her belt. With her dagger tip already dull from the use she had put it to this night, she pried up the cover.

  The gray of very early morning surely was enough to give her the sight of the statues which she needed. Setting her teeth together with the effort she was making to hold the flask steady, Kadiya again wiped the fingers of her other hand across her breeches. Then she advanced to the statue of Lamaril. Between thumb and forefinger she pinched some pollen. Then reaching upward, the girl smeared it first on the forehead between those gem eyes. So much—now!

  A second pinch of the pollen, this time for the lips.

  She drew back a little. They had told her what to do, but it was hard to believe, truly difficult to understand.

  The light of predawn was so dim. Had there been a change in the statue?

  Then … That head, which had been for so many hundreds turned in one direction, moved. The eyes looked down and around at her. That monstrous head which Lamaril
had held in his stone hand as a warning was tossed aside, to go sailing out over the mud.

  “It is done, well done—”

  Kadiya looked to the man whose eyes met hers.

  “Then I shall do it again!” she answered shakily, and stepped with renewed energy to the next of those they had freed from their mud prisons.

  They lived and breathed, stood looking about them. Kadiya restoppered the flask.

  “This—this—” It was one of the women who had been freed, and who now stood looking about her bewildered. “What is this?”

  The sun was up far enough to give full view of that mud patched stretch which concealed the ancient road. Though in some places the swamp had a beauty all its own, this was a desolation.

  “This is what has come,” Lamaril said.

  “Evil.” One of the others of the Sindona moved a little forward to the edge of that yellow expanse.

  It was Kadiya who answered. “Not evil,” she replied. “This is of the swamp and not of that which the Dark has brought.” If these who had returned saw evil in such as this, she wondered what they would say when and if they faced some smear of the plague infested land.

  “The swamp,” Lamaril repeated. “And time. Once more we must deal with time. That way then, and the sooner the better.” His hand swung forward into the same gesture the statue had held, pointing out the path of the old road.

  “The trail is more dangerous than it seems,” Kadiya warned. “Jagun—”

  With a start the Oddling came to her. He and the two Uisgu had been watching with awe those Kadiya had aroused into life.

  Now he moved out, spear ready to sound for the steadiness of the way under the mud scum. They did not wear the water walking leaves but Kadiya trusted to Jagun’s memory of how they had spanned this way before. She had her own memories of that way and they were dour ones. Death had trod the trail before her and left sickly evidence of its passing.

  They crossed the open and came to that place of solid land where the brush and twisted canes and vines gave way to true trees. She was so tired—the night’s labor behind her had been an added burden to the draining of the sword’s power in the Thorny Hell.

  When they were a little within the marching of the trees Lamaril touched her shoulder.

  “There must be rest for you and those little ones who worked so valiantly.” He nodded toward the Oddlings. “Though there have been ill changes, this way we know. We shall march and you follow. But first we encamp for a space.”

  At least there was a breeze here which did not carry with it too much of the swamp odor. She had nearly reached the end of her energy, Kadiya discovered, when she at last allowed herself to slip to the ground.

  There was life here—birds twittered in the trees and there was a scurrying of a small furred thing up one curved trunk. Smail was busy pulling out a packet covered by leaves pinned together with small twigs. Kadiya began to struggle with the buckles of her own bag, only to have it pulled gently out of her grasp.

  Lamaril knelt there. Others of his command struck out among the trees, but he waited while she drew out a packet of the dried and pressed roots which had so little taste but were enough to keep one going on the trail.

  Kadiya pushed aside her pack. On the crushed mat of fern where it had lain she set down her share of what supplies they carried. Jagun added a bundle of dried strips of fish which smelled none too pleasant. Smail had way cakes made of reed root meal which were now crumbling into grayish pinches of dust-like crumbs. A small offering for even their own party, nothing to spread among all those now their traveling companions.

  However, there was already movement from out of the trees. They were returning with food—fruit, small and sourish when compared to the bounty of the garden, but still of the same kind; some roots, dark earth still clinging to them; and then two of the party bearing silver scaled fish strung on reeds.

  It was a strange meal—certainly no banquet—but they shared equally. This more than what she had already witnessed made Kadiya believe that she had wrought sorcery of a high order, though not by her understanding. Statues living, eating—and between bites looking about them wide eyed, searching—

  “Nuers!” At Lamaril’s call one of the others of the Sindona swallowed hurriedly and came to where his commander sat beside Kadiya.

  “We move. Fahiel will guard until these are rested—”

  Kadiya would have disputed that, but she knew that he was right. She and the Oddlings were not fit for the trail after their night’s labors. Yet she was also needed in the city if their force was to be summoned in strength.

  However, more might lie within those treasure rooms of Yatlan where the Hassitti had packed away all they could find of what the Vanished Ones had abandoned. Lamaril and the rest would certainly need time to go through those crowded rooms. Thus she did not protest when the Sindona moved off, save for the one detailed to stay with them.

  With him as sentinel, the girl felt for the first time that the full weight of responsibility had been raised from her. She pulled at the fern grass, crushing it. Discarding the mask-helm she curled up to sleep.

  The sun was down far enough to have vanished from the sky, leaving only ragged banners behind to mark its going when Kadiya awoke. Jagun was already squatting by his pack, scraping the point of his spear with a honing stone. Smail sat up at the same time as she did, yawning widely, his pointed teeth showing. Salin still lay curled, but as Kadiya moved the wisewoman’s eyes opened.

  Their guard had been busy in his own fashion. A pile of vine lengths lay beside him and he had shredded a number, then braided pieces into a slender brown-green rope which he tested every few inches as he wove. When the Oddlings moved, he gathered the loops into one hand, revealing that the far end of it was looped into a noose.

  Kadiya’s hand went to her head. Her scalp was no longer sore where the vine trap had caught her. Yet what Fahiel fashioned suddenly reminded her of that attack.

  Even though night was coming she had no desire to continue in camp here. The flask and her duty only half done pressured her on.

  They passed that place of death where once she had granted release to a tormented Uisgu captive. There was no reason to fear any of Voltrik’s scum now, though the Skriteks might be on the move.

  They came at last to that tunnel which had first given her entrance into Yatlan. Kadiya had warned the Oddlings of what lay beyond and she knew that they swam well by nature. Certainly the Sindona, who had said very little during their journey, must also know of this way.

  It was very near dawn. They had made good time she was sure, even Salin keeping the pace Kadiya had set without faltering. The footing had been secure where the old road was not completely covered.

  Kadiya plunged again into the dark where she had once sought hiding. The water rose—she was swimming, with the sword fastened in her belt something of a weight. She had made very sure of the snug sealing of the flask.

  Fahiel collected all their packs, fastened them together with his rope and took this bundle with him. He seemed so well aware of what he was doing that neither Kadiya nor the Oddlings protested.

  Once more she emerged from the pool, though in the twilight the water did not shimmer blue as it had the first time she had come this way. Before her were the steps with their Guardian statues. Among those there was movement. For a second Kadiya tred water, holding off from exiting the pool.

  Then the bobbing lamps showed her what—who—awaited them there. Hassitti crowded the steps and among them stood a much taller figure. The lamplight glinted from jewel bright mail but he wore no face concealing helm. As the girl found footing a little below him, Lamaril reached down to catch the hand she had unconsciously raised in greeting and drew her forth from the pool as easily as if she had been but a kotta blossom floating there.

  19

  Yatlan was very old, the silence laid by time had curtained it for so long. Now lamps blazed in windows of those buildings fronting on the pool, the way to th
e garden. There were scuttling noises of passage here and there. The Hassitti, near hysterical with joy, were searching out all which they could offer for the comfort of these who had at long last returned.

  Around Kadiya the glory of the night garden closed and eased her, mind and body. One hand still rested on the flask which was now empty. She had served the wishes of those behind the far wall—there were no longer any statues silent on the stairs without. Men and women of another blood busied themselves in the buildings which had once sheltered them. She was not sure what they searched for—armor such as Lamaril wore, yes, and perhaps weapons far more potent even than the sword which was hers.

  In what could be a small breathing time of peace she drew to her all the quiet healing of the garden, watching with sleep-heavy eyes those flying lights weave their patterns from flower to leaf to flower.

  The swamp had always fascinated her for all its murk and dangers. That place beyond the wall had been all beauty without any perils. This—Kadiya sighed. Even now when she had tried to let down all her defenses, put aside all her impatience, still she felt alien. Where did she by rights belong? She had arrogantly claimed the swamp when she had left the Citadel. No, the court was not for her. Anigel would reign correctly and proudly from a throne which was meant for a Queen. Haramis, in her northern mountains, would live for her learning, eager to grasp always more and more of that which would strengthen her inner Powers. When this peril was passed—if Kadiya did survive its passing—what then? Resolutely she pushed away that question.

  Kadiya had tried a short time ago to once more communicate with Haramis, via Salin’s scrying bowl, but there had been no response. Was her sister now aroused to danger also and on the move from her eyrie to route out traces of the Dark?

  She lifted her head a little. Her hair was tightly braided except for the crown where the locks were still short from her shearing. Her skin was scratched, her body thin—though at least she had had the chance to bathe with what small luxuries the Hassitti could provide. It had been most necessary to refuse the jewels, the remains of fine robes, they pressed on her to wear. Once more she went in the mail which had been given her in the Place of the Flower.