by Andre Norton
The woman had turned and was gliding away and Ylon went into action, falling in behind her.
“No!” Twilla could not understand that sick feeling which gripped her on seeing him so obedient to such a one.
He raised his hand and bent her fingers away from her hold on his smock sleeve, exerting enough pressure as to bring a pain-born cry from her. Nor did his head turn in her direction.
The woman laughed. “Well, little drab, did you think that you had found a fit mate? Know you that this lord's son will get to his knees and lick my shoes, should I require it. We of the Folk set our spells well. This one would be dead, save that he does have a purpose which he can serve. As for you,” she stared at Twilla and that perfect face twisted in a sneer. “Though we play games with your kind I do not think any of our men will find you to their taste—”
“No?” Lotis's stare shifted from Twilla to a point over the girl's shoulder. That one word question had come from a deeper voice. The girl looked around.
As Lotis, this newcomer was clearly one of another blood and kind. He was taller than the woman, and there was nothing willowy about his broad shouldered body. However, his hair was of the same black and was confined with a band set with the same glitter of green gems. Those also formed the larger portion of a belt about his narrow waist, confining a short overjacket also of green. This had hanging sleeves lined in a red as rich in hue as the green and those bared arms on which metal cuff bracelets heavily gemmed. His breeches were of the same green as his coat, and even the calf-high boots he wore echoed that shade.
“I called—this one came.” Lotis showed teeth in a near snarl. “He is my meat according to our custom. And you cannot gainsay that. Have the pig-faced slut if you will! I take what is mine—Come!” Again she snapped fingers to Ylon who had stood during that exchange as if he had heard nothing of it.
Again she started off and he obediently fell into place at her heels like a trained hound.
“She has no right!” Twilla spoke her thoughts aloud rather than address the man.
“Unfortunately she does,” he returned. “His bonds were spun by her and only she can break them, which Lotis will not be inclined to do. She is a highly possessive woman.”
Twilla scowled at him. “You think to make me—like that—?” She waved toward Ylon just as one of the swirls of mist came up to cloak his going.
He was looking at her intently as if she were some strange object he had found, one he must study closely for reasons of his own.
“I cannot. You have a power which is not within our knowledge. You are the one our messenger sensed coming over mountain, and again in the hold of the tree slayers. No, our nets cannot, I believe, hold you. But you were led here for some purpose—Are you then a new weapon our enemies have forged for our undoing?”
He spoke calmly enough but Twilla sensed that this was not one she would want to cross. To deal with him truth might be the wisest course.
“Those at the Keep count me no friend, rather a quarry for their hunt.”
“And that I believe is the truth.” Suddenly he smiled and she could understand how this one could bedazzle any of her sex that he wished to draw into his net.
“I am Oxyle—see let us share names and thus give a weapon into the other's hand.”
She remembered Hulde's teaching—a name was a thing of power—it could be used against one. “I am Twilla,” she answered promptly, “sometime healer—apprentice to a wisewoman.”
He nodded. “Even as I thought. Well, Twilla, will you accept hospitality we offer as we would to kin?”
If she did so there might be hope of getting Ylon free again. She did not know why that was so important to her but it was.
“Yes.” She held out her scratched and grimy hand and his closed swiftly about it. The mist swirled up, cocooned them in and she had a sensation that they were in flight.
10
THAT SENSE OF flight lasted for only a flash. Then the walling mist was gone in a puff. They were no longer in the same forest clearing. What fronted them was such a tree as made the awesome giants she had wondered at earlier no more than saplings in girth and height. It was wider than the Keep tower by far. Oxyle had dropped his hold on her and now advanced to stand at the foot of that giant among giants, so eclipsed by the sheer size of the tree as to have appeared to have shrunk to far less than his own inches allowed.
There was another swirling of mist to one side which gave way to reveal Lotis and Ylon. The woman flashed a venomous look at Twilla.
“So—you are caught now by ugliness,” she addressed Oxyle. “I wish you the joy of your bargain.”
Though she had spoken to the forest man her attention had not left Twilla and now her eyes seemed to narrow, her full lips thinned to show the tips of white teeth.
“She is not—”
“No, she is not,” Oxyle replied. “You are over-swift in any judgment, Lotis. Because you have had success with your present prize, do not believe that all those coming into this land may be of the same kind.”
Lotis's hand rose so suddenly that Twilla saw that movement as a flash. In the air between them now swirled out a flutter of something which might be a light scarf borne by a strong wind, it was heading for Twilla—perhaps at eye height. Her own hand went to the hidden mirror.
The spray of silvery motes never reached its goal but rather halted inches away from the girl's face, twisted vainly in coils as if it battled some barrier and then dropped—was gone. There might have been first surprise in Lotis's stare but that was swallowed up by rage.
“What are you bringing among us, Oxyle?” she demanded fiercely. “These dirt grubbers have found themselves a new champion? Is that it? But why do you play their game?”
“I play no games,” he answered curtly. “This one who has taken refuge here has power—and not one we can measure.”
“Taken refuge,” she caught him up, “you meant rather sent to cause mischief. The Council shall—”
“Shall be informed in due time,” he replied. “Now let us see to the comfort of our guests.”
He passed her as if she had ceased to exist and stood directly within touching distance of the trunk of the great tree. Perhaps he made some sign or muttered some charm, but Twilla neither saw nor heard such. However, there was a parting of the barked surface before him and from that streamed forth a light which was not unlike that of the fullest extent of the moon at the year's height of that power.
The forest man turned to beckon Twilla forward and, refusing to show any wariness before Lotis, she went, so that she passed into the source of that radiance only a step behind her guide.
She was not—Twilla shook her head as if to free it from the silver cobweb of sorcery, which had not bound her.
It was plain that she was no longer in the forest—nor could she be in a tree, no matter how large, for she was standing on a ledge of green and white crystal which magnified the light and sent strange rainbows upward from below. And below—below was what was truly another world!
The light was soft, less fierce than that of the sun, yet it dazzled the eyes as it was reflected back from the smooth green and black-veined boles of other trees, these of a height which might be that of a thrifty and well-tended orchard.
From the ledge there was a short flight of steps leading down into this new world. Those mists which had appeared woven through the true forest in the outer world were here also so Twilla could not gauge how far the land below stretched away for there was no sighting a horizon.
She took the steps with care. Oxyle stood awaiting her at their foot and then led the way along a path. But such a path! This was not beaten earth, round cobbles, dull gray gravel—rather it was like a stream of small gems, all afire and curling on among the trees to vanish in the sweep of mists.
The trees themselves—Twilla drew a deep breath of wonder. Their leaves of many shades of green gave the appearance of having been most skillfully carven from jewels. And fruit of glorious, glit
tering color hung among them. It was a dream of some vast treasure house such as even the King could not imagine.
The King—Lord Harmond—those from over mountain. Her own world snapped back into her awed mind. If they knew, guessed even, that this was here—what a looting would follow! No wonder the forest “demons” took jealous care of their own.
There was life among the trees also, things with wings rainbow hued, which flitted from bough to bough, along their way. Some dared to swoop down and hold for a moment or two to Oxyle's head or shoulders. They were like butterflies—yes, as to their brilliancy of their wings they were. But those slender bodies—human in appearance, no longer than her middle finger, startled Twilla anew.
Oxyle seemed to pay no attention to them even when they perched on his shoulders. But if they were free with the forest lord they were not so with Twilla. Several had first swung in her direction and then veered hastily away as if they feared she might strike them out of the air.
A few continued in escort even as they emerged on the other side of the orchard of gem fruit into the open and saw before them, half veiled in mists which appeared thicker here, a building of gem veined walls, graceful towers, only momentarily revealed by the mists—as far from the grim stone of the only palace Twilla had ever seen as she could imagine.
There were other of the forest people there, some lounging at ease on the grassy banks of a silver bright stream, over which arched a bridge giving access to the castle. They were clearly interested in the newcomers, rising to meet them.
“Ha, Lotis,” a woman near as fair as the one she addressed moved forward. She, too, favored green for her robe as did most of those in that company, but her gems were clear drops of rainbow moonstones, the rarest of stones in the other world. “So you have again your foundling.” She laughed. “And a sorry sight he is, my dear. You should keep your possession in better order. Faugh, he stinks.” With another laugh she pinched the tip of her flawless nose and walked about Ylon at a short distance.
He stood still, his face empty of all emotion, the seeming blindness of his eyes having now settled in turn once more over his wits.
Twilla did not know why anger came to life within her. She only knew that these women with their jeers were cutting at one helpless and alone. It was as if they were teasing some poor trapped animal. And the man who had struck down his brother to save her, shared with her all the peril of that journey by storm and river, was no animal!
“We have someone else.” Now it was a man who drew toward Twilla. “An invader female, eh, Oxyle? Well—one cannot say much for their tastes. No wonder Lotis and the others have such an easy time with invaders. They must be very tired of seeing such faces—”
He came with an insolent stare closer to Twilla, giving her the same degrading inspection as had been turned on Ylon. But he halted suddenly. The sneering half smile vanished from his face. He surveyed Twilla from head to foot and back again and then turned his attention to Oxyle.
“What do you bring among us?” he demanded, coldly hostile now.
“Yes,” Lotis raised her voice shrilly. “You may well ask, Farsil. It would seem that the dirt scratchers have perhaps found a new weapon and we have been betrayed by that ever-present curiosity of our Chief in Council—ask him why he dares to bring a wild power here!”
They were encircled by the forest people now, and Twilla saw faces both beautiful and handsome take on the masks akin to the fanatical countenances of the Dandus priests. How strong the influence of the mirror might be she could not tell. She had trusted Oxyle but if all these strange beings were now to unite against her what could she hope to do in defense?
“Twilla!” Startled she looked to Oxyle. “Give me your heart hand—”
Heart hand? At that moment she was not quite sure of his meaning. But she remembered the old belief that the third finger of the left hand offered passage to the heart. Thus she lifted that and allowed him to take a firm grasp of her wrist and turn her palm up.
“Karla—read!” That was an order.
Another woman drew closer. Unlike the others her robe was almost dull in shade, akin to the darker leaves of autumn, and her jewels were red and yellow. Though she showed no signs of age as to hair or face yet, Twilla believed that she was the eldest within this group.
Now she inclined her head and looked down at Twilla's dirty hand in much the same way as Hulde had done before they had parted many tens of days ago. She even pursed her lips a fraction as the Wisewoman did when presented with a problem she must bend her full knowledge and ingenuity to solve.
She extended an index finger but did not quite touch Twilla's flesh, though she moved it as if she traced the lines showing there.
Then her head came up and there was sheer astonishment open to read in her face.
“Moon power—” she said with an explosive breath. “And for us—no danger—perhaps something else—But—” She looked now to Twilla. “Take care, moon's daughter, that when you wield you do so with thought.”
A murmur ran around the circle of the forest people and that same astonishment Karla had shown was on most of their faces.
Oxyle released Twilla's wrist. “Do you question now why she stands here?” he demanded.
Lotis was scowling and did not add her voice to their quick chorus of approval. It was plain that what Karla had reported put Twilla, at least momentarily, beyond the malice of Ylon's mistress.
Twilla sat on such a softness of piled cushions as she had never known in her life. Even here, within the castle, there was always that floating mist which parted now and then so some treasure within the room showed clearly, only to be veiled once more.
It had been Karla who had taken over her guidance from Oxyle, led her in through those massive gates and through halls and corridors, showed her a pool on which there floated masses of fragrant petals, set out for her use jars of soft herb-scented cream, banished her rough and travel-stained clothing and brought out a garment of a hue which matched old silver.
That clung around Twilla's thin body now, so soft to the skin beneath that she might be wearing nothing at all. She had taken what precautions she could to conceal the mirror and once more it was in hiding against her body. But Karla, having shown her all the delights of this palace, had left her to herself.
Now Twilla was combing her hair, shaking away the petals of the bathing pool which had caught in the loosened locks, which she had already toweled as dry as she could with the large squares of scented cloth piled beyond the pool, seemingly for that purpose.
She lacked the jeweled splendor of the forest women but for her this robe was rich enough. Ylon—her thoughts turned to him. He had still stood like a hound in leash when Karla had drawn her on.
Twilla frowned, more at her thoughts than the pull of a damp tangle her comb had found. This—this slave Lotis had made—held—It was not the man who had brought her out of the keep, shared with her the struggle on the river and what went thereafter. Then, in spite of his blindness, he had been a staunch support, someone to rely upon. What was he now in Lotis's hold? She grimaced—feeling both pity and shame, and a small quirk of anger.
She rebraided her hair with busy fingers while she thought. So this was what the forest women could do to a man of the invaders! She had not heard of any woman from the farmlands who had been so enticed and netted—was it only the men that they feared enough to attack? And why was a man with a mate immune to their sorcery? She knew so little.
They seemed willing to accept her for now—because of Oxyle and Karla—though she knew that Lotis would stir up trouble if she could. Her face—what if she were to release the mirror mask? Would that have any effect on their hostility—or increase their now lulled suspicions. Perhaps the latter. It would be prudent to keep what secrets she could to herself. In knowledge there was always strength and in concealed knowledge arms for the future.
Karla suddenly appeared within a swirl of mist and Twilla's inward wariness increased. It would seem that
these forest born could travel so unseen.
“Moon daughter, there is food—we await your company.”
But Karla did not use any mist to place them among that company now. She walked, quite as any lady of the household might, back through the corridors, which in themselves were enough to make a visitor lag and stare. For there were niches in the walls, bordered with frames of gems, and in each stood a figure—some human in appearance, some grotesque, but not to the point of being frightening—rather awakening a need to know more of them.
These also were continually veiled, revealed, and veiled again by the mist. Twilla shook her head, bewildered by what her eyes reported. So they came into a large oval room. Here the very walls were of metal—well polished silver for the most part, but with here and there a panel of fire bright copper on which spiraled lines of symbols. Benches with thick quilted pads of rich green stuff, were at each side of a long table. At the head was a chair which had the opalescent gleam of a pearl-bearing shell. Oxyle arose from that as Karla ushered Twilla in and came toward her, his arm raised a little. Guessing at the honor he would pay her Twilla self-consciously placed her fingers on his wrist as she had seen once one of the Highborn do when led into a merchant's shop in the town.
There were others there, a gathering of colors, glinting gems, voices among themselves seemed to have a singing quality. And, as Oxyle brought her to sit at the top of the bench on his right, there was also Ylon.
Though he was dressed in green, the livery of this strange court, his face now bare of the straggle of beard, his hair in order, he showed no fellowhip with those about him. Rather, he sat staring straight ahead, his eyes still with the blankness of non-sight. Lotis was beside him and even as Twilla slipped on to her designated seat, the forest woman leaned closer and her hand went up to pat Ylon's cheek as she might have done to some pet. But her eyes were on the girl and Twilla found the menace in them easy to read. Lotis was making very plain that Ylon was truly hers.