by Andre Norton
Before she could move it fell back once more into place. Perhaps she could have prevented that closing. However—no, she would wait for Rhys' return before trying any more experiments. She had no wish to be trapped.
Putting away the awl, Sarita crossed the platform she now believed to be a roof and swung down to Valoris. Mouse had moved to join them as if he felt the need for company with his comrade gone for the day.
Again the girl made a slow circuit of the walls, this time running her fingertips along the stone. There were no more slick blocks. When Rhys returned they must certainly make sure of this place, discover if it offered any danger.
Curiosity led to impatience as the afternoon wore on. She had hoped he would be back by dusk, but at last she laid a small fire fed by dead branches of berry bush. Wood for a fire might be a problem also. Would they have to bring it in from some distance?
It was close to true dark, and she had already fed Valoris and settled him in his blanket nest, when she heard the bray she recognized as Lopear's.
There was no osdeer on the donkey, but a bundle of leapers, gutted and ready to be skinned, and two larger animals that resembled leapers but were longer of leg. Rhys dropped the smelly load and led Lopear aside to wipe down the donkey's back with a fistful of grass before loosing the beast.
Though it was never a task she relished, Sarita was busy with the carcasses. They must be dealt with quickly before the meat could spoil.
She had skinned two of the small leapers and had them spitted by the fire before Rhys returned. The smell of slightly scorched meat no longer bothered her, rather, it stimulated her appetite.
"Good hunting," she commented.
Rhys made a sound close to a grunt. There was a suggestion of a stoop to his shoulders as if he might have traveled far.
"Creature hereabouts have not been hunted," he commented. "There is no sign that anyone has come this way—at least—" he paused as if remembering the dead in the cavern " — for a long time."
"There is something here." Sarita stopped work for a moment.
He was instantly alert, the signs of fatigue vanishing. "What have you found?"
She reported her visit to the place of stones as quickly but as accurately as she could. He was listening closely.
"You had no warning?" he asked swiftly.
Sarita shook her head. "I —I tried. There was nothing to be felt."
"Hmmm." His busy hands had ceased work and he looked off into the thickening night.
"Tomorrow we shall see," he said a second later.
But after they had eaten and Sarita had done all she could to preserve his kills, she watched him from where she lay beside Valoris. He did not seek out his own bedroll but rather stood for a long time facing out into the dark. She guessed what he was doing-putting his talent to work, even as she had earlier done.
15
Once more Sarita stood in the great hall of the keep, before her the dais with its seats of honor. One of those was now centered and in it crouched a figure which seemed to be shriveled, drawn in upon itself, as she had seen insects shrivel too near a candle flame. There was nothing imposing or awesome about he who played lord here.
However, that gray shadow figure towered, its presence far more to be felt than the shriveled man to which it played mock deference as it stood beside him. It seemed to Sarita that she could see a spouting of words— if one could see words—which the Gray One was using as both a leash and a lash to keep its prey under control.
Sanghail had his master now beside him, and it was from that master that the cold evil spread. The head and face of that dark sentinel were still hidden under a hood, and Sarita found it good that that was so—she did not want to see what was concealed.
All of a sudden the Gray One swung about, away from the chair in which cowered its companion. A skeleton-thin hand arose, and in its palm there burned, with a sullen flame, a carving of the monster's head.
She swayed. The very sight of that had been like a foul blow.
She swayed, but did not yield. The Gray One took a step forward.
She could sense a rising rage. Was she really in the hall? Had somehow that summons brought her over leagues to stand captive before these two? So clear was all which lay about her that she almost believed she was there.
"Serpent spawn!" The words were hissed at her, and again she was able to see them as well as hear; they were darkly red, like old blood.
That hand appeared to stretch farther and farther toward her as if the arm behind it was unnaturally elongated. And the carrion stench of what it held was thick in her throat.
"Be —not!" ordered that hissing voice.
Still, what had brought her here held and she stood firm. The Gray One advanced now to the very edge of the dais. Its outheld arm swept through the air as if it meant to throw the abomination at her.
"I am!" somehow the words had come to her lips. And she could see those also, bright sparks cutting through the gathering gloom.
"Be —not!" That was a harsh scream of rage, and now the black carving was thrown at her in truth.
The hall was gone. She stood, but in another place. Here there was no stifling dark, but rather a soft glow of pearly light. However, she could not see more than was immediately around her. There was a depression in the floor at her feet, and in it rested a white, egg-shaped object across which played a constant coil and recoil of many colors, as if it were a giant gem.
She was but a puppet for the use of that which had brought her here, for now her hands arose without any violation on her part and she stooped to lay both of them palm flat against the ovoid. Into her flowed energy. Her mind reeled —there was too much to be absorbed all at once. She cried out in pain.
"Sarita!"
Very faintly through the muddle in her mind the voice reached her. Still she could not break contact with the object. It was her master—even as the Gray One had mastered Sanghail—yet also she dimly knew that this was no source of evil.
"Sarita!"
Her hands fell away from what she touched. The light was gone, like a snuffed candle. Though her mind was still awhirl, she was now aware of something else: she half lay in another's arms, and there was a growing frantic note in that summoning voice:
"Sarita!"
The girl opened her eyes. It was dark, but not the Dark that had crept out from the walls of the great hall —this was the honest dark of night. She felt leather against her cheek, smelled wood smoke, and looked up into the face now leaning down close to hers.
"Rhys?"
The switch from dream world to real dazed her, but not enough that she could miss the fear in his expression, lit as it was by the last glow of their dying fire.
"What—what had you?" His tight hold eased as he realized that she was once more aware.
"I —I don't know—" Her mouth was suddenly dry and the fear which had gripped her when she had stood before the Gray One seemed to crash down on her in a single blow. Then that other presence stirred from where it had coiled inside her—that which had filled her in the place of light.
"It—it was not a dream!" With sudden energy she freed herself from his hold and sat up, staring wide-eyed into the dark. No, whatever had happened to her had been no dream. She was —changed. Just how and why she did not yet know.
"What did you see?" His voice was ragged, as if he had been pushed to some inner limit of his own.
Slowly, with pauses between the words as she tried to remember each detail, Sarita answered him.
"What does Sanghail deal with?" he blurted out when she had finished.
"I think," and her scrambling of new knowledge told her that she spoke the truth, "nothing of our own world. Something more powerful and older." She shivered.
He moved swiftly and drew a blanket about her shoulders. "There is far more in this than an envy-inspired strike against the earl. But—it could not command you!" His arm still lay across her shoulders, holding the blanket in place.
"Rhys
—that place —we must go there!" Just as the Gray One had laid a compulsion upon her, so now Sarita felt a pull.
"It's near dawn," he answered. "At first light we will go, but first let us eat. And you are shivering—come closer—" He urged her to the fire pit and built up the blaze again.
There was a sleepy sound from Valoris. Then the child came to her also. Sarita pulled him under her blanket cloak. She tried to concentrate on what was immediately around her and so keep all those strange whirling thoughts at bay.
'There comes a battle — " Sarita said suddenly. Of that she was certain. Rhys tensed.
"When —and where?" His demands were fast and harsh.
But she could only shake her head. "I do not know . . ." she admitted, allowing her answer to trail forlornly away.
Dawn grayed the sky, but as yet there was no sight of the sun. They ate, Sarita making herself choke down her portion of food.
Rhys sat watching her. That she had faced some great ordeal this past night was not to be denied. Had he not already believed in talents beyond the definition of men, he would have said that she had had only a disturbing dream, but he was sure that more was at stake.
As they set off across the meadow toward the strange block of fitted stones, he carried his sword, though certainly what Sarita had faced in the night could not be deterred by any blade. The feeling of strangeness was growing stronger in him, and he set Valoris down from his shoulders and used Sarita's old trick of harness and leash to make sure the child would not stray nor try to follow them.
Once on the top of the square structure Sarita pointed out the trapdoor. However, Rhys' knife point could find no entrance into the lines she had traced yesterday. He sat back on his heels, surveying the obstinate stone.
Sarita had not spoken since they had left the camp, moving with a definite purpose in view, uncaring that she was accompanied. Now she looked down at him as if she really saw him for the first time.
"The awl —it was the awl!"
In a moment she was beside him, the point of the small tool set to the crack. Once more she traced carefully around the square and again there came a sharp, high sound and the block rose. This time Rhys moved, catching the edge of the door, adding his strength to send it all the way back.
They looked down. There was no darkness, rather a gleam of light which came from no source unless it was from the walls. Immediately beneath was a circular space like a shallow well. From this, equally distant, were four openings, and by one a fifth and narrower way.
Here was no smell of mustiness, no sign of dust. This might have been swept clean to prepare for their coming. After a moment of hesitation Rhys swung over the edge and made a short drop to the floor. Sarita wasted no time in following him.
Once her feet touched the smooth surface the girl knew where she stood —and why also began to form into a distinct order.
"Is —this is the birthing center!" The turmoil of knowledge began to strengthen in her mind. 'These are the egg chambers." She turned abruptly into the nearer of the doorways; the walls widened out in a curved pattern which met at a point at the far end, so that the low chamber was like a flower petal in design.
There was a depression in the floor half filled with a glitter of dust. Sarita gave a low cry.
"Gone!"
She pushed past Rhys and made for the next chamber, and the next, only to make the same discovery. The sense of loss which she had felt in the cavern with the Loden's skin was now weighing so heavily upon her that her breath came in sobs.
The last chamber! She sank to her knees beside that depression. No dust! No —fitted closely into that was an ovoid shape such as she had seen and touched in her night vision. But she did not venture to touch this one —she feared it was too fragile, that it would shatter into dust as had the others.
Rhys knelt beside her. The ranger was staring at the egg as he might at some creature which was removed from all forms of nature he knew. His sword was laid aside; slowly his hand came forth toward that opal-tinted curve of shell.
"No!" Sarita cried out in protest. Then the undigested knowledge took her over. Just as she had known this wonder in a vision, so now he needed to do likewise.
His brown, calloused hand curled about the swell of the egg near the top of its curve. The girl saw him stiffen, his body jerk back, but not far enough for him to lose contact.
There was pain screwing up his features, beads of sweat formed along the edges of his face —he was a man being stretched to the limit of endurance.
"No — " his faltering voice was a whisper " — no —too much!"
Yet he did not move. Now Sarita put her own hand on his shoulder. She could feel a subtle shaking of his body which she could not see. But she continued to hold him, even as he had held her. Then at last his hand fell limply, away from the egg as if his wound had reopened, and he turned to look at her.
"It—what has it done to me?"
"To us," she said quietly.
"Our kind are not meant for—for—"
"Such knowledge." She found the words he sought. "No, but it is now ours to bear."
"Yet that which was to be born of this — " he pointed to the egg " — is dead."
"In body," the girl conceded. "However, perhaps the purpose for which it was conceived had not yet been faced. Thus what it knew was saved —until there was a need."
"The Loden —" he said wonderingly.
"It was guardian for this land, only those who dealt evily needed to fear it. But it is long gone. This was its last gift to those it shielded."
"I saw—the earl —fighting in the city—the Gray One possessing the people."
So the egg had played prophet for him? There was undoubtedly a reason for that also.
"We have been given a weapon —weapons —"
Rhys nodded. "But—" both of his hands flew up to either side of his head " — too much all at once. Time to think — "
"That will be given us also, I believe." Inwardly she felt as uncertain and adrift as he must at this moment. There was a clutter of impressions she must sort out. Strange sentences which must be part of incantations of another time, even of another race, would be clear for an instant or two and then fade again. Yes, they needed time to think.
She looked down at the egg. She almost had expected it to crumble into dust as had its fellows after it had given its knowledge to Rhys, but it seemed to be firm and solid.
On sudden impulse, doubtless moved by one of the floating bits of knowledge, she, in turn, leaned forward to touch it. As she did so, in her mind was a clear picture of Dame Argalas as she had seen her last, riding on her mule with the earl's retinue.
Above where her fingertips lay on the egg, the ever-moving shimmer of the rainbow lights vanished. She might be looking through a small window, so clear was what lay before her—she felt she could have reached through and touched the guild mistress. But this was not the Dame Argalas Sarita had known for so many years; this blank-eyed woman crouched on matted straw in a stonewalled hole.
Rhys must have shared her vision, for he drew a deep breath. "Imprisoned—your mistress imprisoned! What—"
"Worse —much worse — " Sarita was following her own line of thought. The scene of Dame Argalas had winked out as she released the concentration which held it. "But, Rhys —see you —we have that which can give us sight of our enemies!"
His face was suddenly transformed, though the grin his lips shaped was like a wolfs snarl.
"That we can, that we can!"
16
When they came out of the egg chamber Sarita turned to the narrower opening beside it. There was still more that they must see —or perhaps do. The passage beyond was narrow, so she led the way, Rhys following. There were stairs before them and they climbed.
Those gave upon a wide anteroom with a half-circle of doorways. Rhys, now matching step with Sarita, headed directly to the one facing the head of the stairs. So they came together into the Audience Chamber— the Hall of Judg
ment Eternal —for both of them knew what this was.
Together they stood before a dais similar to the one they had seen in the Loden cavern. In the center was a long, raised section from which rays of light shone: blue, white, tinged now and then with a hint of rainbow. To the right of that was a tall-backed chair— a throne, in truth.
The throne was crystal clear, save for a silver inlay on the back—a four-petaled flower.
'The Blossoms of Grace," Sarita said slowly. How many times had she seen that design reproduced —always on any banner or offering meant for the Lady.
However, Rhys had turned his head a little to stare at the other side of the dais. There had certainly once been another chair, but what remained had been half-melted, as metal is reduced by fierce fire.
Seemingly of itself his sword rose and pointed to that mass of
fused stone or metal.
"Traitor, Death in Life — " The words exploded from the ranger as mighty oaths. "So again the battle! Rathban that was — Rathban that seeks to live again!"
His call awakened something—something very old, but not broken by either time or the force of light which had driven it into the outer darkness from which it struggled now to return. A curl of reddish smoke reached out, pointing to his outstretched sword.
Sarita cried out, but Rhys already understood the peril. He forced the sword down with effort, and as he did so also shouted:
"Not for your plucking, your arming, Rathban. By the Will of the Scaled One, by the Will of the Lady, we stand upon the other side —keep to your dark, double-tongued, ours is the Light!" His words rang in an invocation.
The smoke curled and recurled, as if some pressure was forcing it back into the dark debris from which it had risen. The great seat of the Loden might be bare of the once-shining body in its glory, the Lady might no longer hold court here, but what they had meant, had been —no —were! —remained the same now and forever.
But what would be the task laid upon those standing there now? As yet they were not sure, only that there was that which they must do —be —and the time for knowing would soon be upon them.