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  “Some of those ores are deadly. We do not touch them nor go too near the earth and rocks which hide them. He set a geas on three of our blood without our knowing what he did—and they mined what he wanted—and they died.

  “We sent a mission to the upper world, a protest to their Council. Our kin were ambushed and killed. For even among his own kind there were murmurs against him and suspicions that he dabbled in forbidden things and our tale might have brought a judgment on him.

  “There came then a message that those of the forest would meet and hear us out. I"—he hesitated—"have power but it is not theirs. I felt there was great danger, but we had already in place all the safeguards we knew.

  “There were not warriors waiting for us,” his anger was very apparent now, “rather dark power. We were changed to what you first saw us. And—here—who knows what demon tricks were pulled? Our women, our children—they are—not!”

  “I have not heard of this Khargel among the forest people,” Twilla said slowly. “They have talked of a Council which is responsible for their laws. The leader of that is Oxyle.”

  He shook his head. “Not a name I have heard. But—woman of power—who knows how long that imprisonment has held us? Those of the forest are very long-lived—but they can be slain. Perhaps there arose those among them who were not pleased to be Khargel's bondkind. Tell me, you are not of their blood—how did you join with such—and why?”

  Twilla told him the story as swiftly as she might and he listened closely asking no questions until the end:

  “So you who come from far away are a threat to those who were in their time threat and doom to us—?”

  “The invaders are a threat to this land,” she returned. “Their homeland they have pillaged. If they find what they deem treasure here, then they will do the same here. And before I came into the maze there had been word that this perhaps might already have begun.”

  “In what manner—”

  Twilla spoke then of the men panning the river gravel. At her mention of what those searched for there was another change in the priest.

  “So they think to thieve from the People! It was given us from the beginning that our talent was to work with metal, making things of use, things of beauty, things of war, things for peace. That is our life and it shall not be taken from us.” The staff of his standard arose a little from the floor and he brought it down again with a force which made a piece of metal jump against the next to give forth a sullen ring.

  “This is something we must think on, woman of power. You say that these distant-born thieves are of your kind—that she"—he pointed to Wandi—"is of their blood. What would they pay then to get her back?”

  Twilla gasped. She had not thought that her being open with the truth would lead to a suggestion that perhaps they would both be used as hostages.

  “Wiseman,” she kept her voice level, but her hand had gone to the mirror in her breast, “where—or what—were you and yours before I came into these ways?”

  “Yes, the debt is ours. What would you do with this child then?”

  “Return her to her people. If they have discovered that she was enticed into the forest they will declare open war—” Twilla was sure of that.

  “As above, so below,” he said. “In spite of all which now lies between tree and rock, one cannot prosper if the other is destroyed. We were linked from the beginning. Khargel could not destroy us for that would have rebounded on those above and they would have withered also. Instead he bound us with his sorcery. But— what happened to our women? To the families we left here when we marched out to be entrapped? That we must learn—learn and pay for!” He shook the staff he held and Twilla was not surprised to see small flashes from the boar's eyes.

  “If this Khargel was responsible certainly some of the forest people would know—”

  He swung on her suddenly. “Or you, woman of power. Look upon that focus of yours and tell me— where are our kin?”

  She had flattened her palm over the mirror, a small protection. However, she did not know what he in turn could summon up. Nor did she have the least idea how she could answer his demand.

  “I—I must see a face—” she groped wildly for some excuse, “I cannot focus unless I have a face and I have never seen your women.”

  He was tapping his staff impatiently against the floor. Would he accept her answer? She believed it to be true.

  “To have a face—” he repeated. Then he turned and went to the open door of the forge. Once there he gave a halloo which was echoed around the great room without.

  One of the small warriors came on the run and the priest gave him some order which sent him pounding away again toward the far side of the courtyard.

  “Perhaps we can find a face for you,” the priest said. “Come—”

  They went back into the larger chamber. There were benches there and he waved Twilla and the child to one, seating himself on another, facing them. At a scrambling run his messenger returned. What he held caught the golden light and shimmered until there appeared to be a coating of haze around it. The priest took it and, by the way he handled it, Twilla guessed how great a treasure this was. For a long moment, he leaned his staff against the bench to leave his hands free while he turned it around as if he did not want to surrender it now to any other touch.

  What at last he held out to Twilla was a figure. She had marveled over those she had seen in the hall niches of the forest palace. This was of the same high handiwork. She took it gently from the priest and held it at eye level.

  A woman—not with the sharp-cut features of the ‘ forest kind—but possessing another quality which was closer to Twilla's own kin. There was something in that small, beautifully molded face which reminded her of Hulde. The figure did not resemble the squat, thick figures of the warriors but rather the larger, more slender body of the man who sat before her.

  “This is Gatha, my sister-mate, for I am Chard, Master Craftsman— We are the last of the powerful trained ones among our kind, unless the Great Power favors us with a child—” His head drooped and he pounded his fist on the bench beside him. “Catha—” his voice was almost a sob.

  Twilla did not know what could be done. But try she would. Again the brooding loss and sadness of this place closed in about her. The girl placed the figure against her body, slipped around a little on the bench to give it room. Now both she and the representation of Catha were facing the mirror she steadied into place.

  "Lost is lost, found is found.

  Such is true what ere the ground.

  Let she who sleeps now be found.

  Above, below, all around.”

  A limping verse like all the others she called upon but she hoped helpful to what she called upon. The small figure's reflection in the mirror was very clear. Then that haze drew in, thickened, as might one of the mists of the forest kind. Also from vibrant red-gold it bleached in color, becoming duller and duller. What she could see now was a finger of rough rock set up as if a marker. Rock—?

  She repeated the word aloud and Chard was with her in a moment, leaning over her shoulder. However, already the reflection misted—was gone.

  He gave a small cry, reached out as if to take the mirror from Twilla and then shrank back.

  “There was only a pillar of rock,” she told him in disappointment that she had not been able to serve him better. Rock could mark a grave—was that the meaning of what she had seen—that Catha was entombed somewhere?

  “Khargel!” His voice made an oath of the word. “But there must be some knowledge—somewhere—above!”

  17

  “OXYLE—” TWILLA POLISHED the mirror once more with her palm. Was the ancient trouble between these people and those of the forest so deep that answers could not be found? She had found Oxyle sympathetic—but certainly there was old enmity here. However, one could not be sure until one tried.

  “Chard, you will need someone to bear your message to those above. Will you let me go—with Wandi? I
shall swear any oath you ask that I will do what I can to discover what happened to Catha and the others.”

  “Swear—by that—blood oath!” He pointed to the mirror.

  Blood oath was powerful—it could unite old enemies, bind together strange allegiances. Such a swearing was a matter for warriors usually.

  He was watching her intently, warily, as if expecting her to refuse—to assure him that his suspicions of all from above were correct.

  Twilla laid the mirror flat on her knee, shining side up. She had the knife with which she had cut their meat and the point of that was sharp enough to serve. A pricking of her first finger was deep enough to bring a drop of blood. Holding her hand above the mirror she allowed that to drop. It hit and spattered a little.

  “By the blood which is mine, by the power which answers to me, this do I swear—that once I am above again I shall carry to Oxyle, to those leaders among the forest clans your message. If you in turn will offer truce to hold council with them. Will you swear to that Chard?”

  He reached for his standard, slipping the shaft around, until the boar's head faced her, was inclined a fraction to loom over the blood-spattered mirror. Twilla was certain she saw those eyes blaze gold and then red. On the mirror the blood faded, it might have been sinking into the metal.

  “Well enough,” Chard said. “Remind those proud upper ones that all metals answer to us. Not only their beloved silver, our gold—but—iron.” He pronounced that last word with the emphasis of a threat. “Now, you and the child must abide until we discover the swiftest passage, one which will serve us best. Until then rest and wait in patience. A good blade cannot be forged in an instant's work.”

  To that Twilla was willing to agree. Though she had eaten and rested some in the fungi cavern she still found her strength lacking and the far seeing of Catha—or the rock which now stood for Catha, had taken its toll of her.

  They were escorted by one of the little men up the stairs to the first of the galleries, onto which living quarters opened, and then ushered into a room where there was a pallet of fur and padded grass wide enough for the both of them. Thankfully Twilla allowed herself to trust and, with Wandi beside her, stretched out to sleep.

  “Lady—”

  Twilla wanted to twist away from that voice but now she was aware also of a hand on her shoulder shaking her a little. She opened sleep-weighted eyes. Wandi still kept her hold.

  “Lady—there is food—”

  The child pointed to a low table on which was a tray bearing two bowls wrought cunningly out of metal in an oval shape. Each was patterned with intricate designs which might have been from some long lost script. Beside those were spoons as fancifully fashioned, for the ends of the handles were tiny boars. Both bowls and spoons had the sheen of precious metal and when Twilla felt the weight of the one she picked up she was sure it was of gold.

  The contents were a stew. She thought she tasted a hint of herbs she had once known, but the meat was strange though not unpleasant. And certainly she was hungry enough not to quarrel with the portion offered her. Wandi sat cross-legged on the floor by Twilla's knee, scooping busily out of her bowl.

  There was a finely wrought flagon, made in the form of one of the winged lizards, though many times the size of the living model, and two horn cups, mounted on tripod feet of what Twilla was sure were a boar's fighting fangs. What meaning that upper world-animal had here she could not understand but manifestly the species was of vast importance to the under-people.

  There was water in the flagon, someone must have noted that Wandi had refused the earlier drink at their first meal. Twilla poured into both goblets and drank from her own.

  A sudden memory arose—did they not say—those from over mountain—that if one ate or drank from stores unnatural one was thereafter linked to another world? Yes, that had been repeated twice in one of Hulde's books. Well, she had eaten of the bounty of the forest people, and now this—doubtless in the future she might have reason to test the worth of that warning. However, she could not go thirsty nor hungry when there was that to drink and eat just because of some old tales.

  There had been one other warning in those accounts. Obscure they had been, for the strangers involved in them had never been clearly identified. That other warning had dealt with time—time which was less in one world, faster in the other. Tales of people who had wandered into the fringe of alien powers and then broke free—to discover that what had seemed a few days to them was a lifetime or more to their family and friends.

  However, all that was legend, even Hulde had sworn that such accounts existed without proof. Those who had ventured in the forest and returned mind dazed or maimed—as Ylon—there had been nothing said about any great lapse for them.

  Ylon—Twilla carefully set the goblet back on the low table. Ylon's reflection in the mirror—the surety she had had that somehow he had seen her.

  But that thought was swept away by a tapping on the door of the chamber and Twilla arose to answer the summons. Not Chard as she had expected, rather again the first of the fungi host whom she had loosed. He bowed and beckoned, speaking in that grating language she could not understand. However, there was no mistaking his gestures, he wanted her to follow him.

  With Wandi keeping close beside her Twilla went. Now, when she stepped once more out on the gallery she found that a change had come over the great hall. There was life, busy life. Not one but two forges were being worked and the clang of metal on metal echoed loudly. She saw groups of the small people carrying boxes and bags, heavy enough to make them grunt when they shifted the weight of them a fraction. Some of those bags were dumped at the forges, and others into what must be store rooms.

  Twilla was not escorted to the descending stairs but rather along the gallery, passing the doors of many quarters, until they reached the far end of the hall. There, centermost in this gallery was a much wider entranceway—surmounted by the boar mask. There, a guide stood aside to allow them both to enter.

  She found Chard seated cross-legged on a floor pillow, one of the small tables before him. That was covered with piles of flat plates, metallic in origin and close covered with script patterns. Some had been plainly pushed aside impatiently, two had skidded off onto the floor, but others held his full attention.

  He appeared to shake himself free of some preoccupation when they entered and arose to bow with the same ceremony Twilla might have met with above ground in the forest.

  “It has been very long,” he burst out. They might have been in the middle of a discussion. “Long.” There was a slight droop of his shoulders as if he had taken up some burden.

  Then he shot a question at her. “You heard no word of Khargel among the over people—no mention of his name? Or of us and our fate?”

  “No, I saw doors in the castleways sealed tightly and with symbols on them. All that I was told is that they walled away ancient enemies.”

  “Yet you and the child came through such a door—”

  “Wandi was greatly frightened and threw herself at one, it let her through, I followed to find her. Yes,” she remembered Ylon, “one of those bond to the forest was with me earlier. He touched such a door and his fingers sank within.”

  “So, and why do you think that you, the bond, this child, could enter where such ward spells had been laid.”

  “I can only believe, Wiseman, that I was able to do so, and these others also, because we were of different blood and kin and therefore such wards had not been set for us.”

  “Yes!” he nodded, “they did not try to bind you because you hold power. The child is not yet sealed to them, but even the bonded one you mention was able to pierce one of Khargel's sorcerous wards.

  “I have had speech with my people in full assembly,” he added after a moment's pause. “Because you freed them they give you a measure of trust. Because you have given me blood oath I trust also. Now, we have been at work all through our land. And this much we have learned—you are right, those of your race not o
nly tried to plunder the forest, but they want metal. They have brought in special workers trained to search for such. We have our own guards and those Khargel did not meddle with—perhaps he believed that with us safe locked in spells there was no need to do so.

  “But there are now men striving to come upstream to search out those mines which are our life, even as the trees are the life of those above. The forest ones have their power, we have ours—for example iron is no threat to us as it is to them. I search now,” he stirred the metal plates before him, “for answers we need. If it is true that Khargel is no longer master in the forest, there are those there who will heed warnings and— perhaps need support—then we must speak together.

  “There is also the matter of our women—Khargel's further sorcery. I have persuaded those here that you and the child are to be freed—shown a way out of the under which does not go through one of the doors. Speak with this Oxyle—if he is head of the Council now then his power is high. Tell him it takes two to bargain but there is a chance that both may benefit. Will you do this?”

  “I will.”

  Her promise set in action a flurry of activity. She and Wandi were supplied with boots which came thigh high for the little girl and well above the calf for Twilla. She discarded a portion of the full-torn skirt of that robe of which she had been so proud so that it was knee length. They were given a pouch containing strips of dried meat interwoven with roots for food, and Twilla was also equipped with just such a pole ax as she had used in the fungi cavern.

  Chard accompanied them down to the river where they were joined by another of the small warriors.

  “This is Utin, he will be your guide to the borders of our land. Beyond that you must trust your own knowledge.” He hesitated and then added:

  “Woman of power, I believe that you will deal fairly with us. It seems that perhaps a darkness as evil as that raised by Khargel may be descending upon us. I have not the power of foresight—that was the gift of my Catha, but I have my night fears.”