by Andre Norton
"You are sure that they are in the mountains?"
For the first time Rhys turned his head to look at her. "Yes — they come by the Twist Road —though why and by what guide — "
"The Twist Road?"
' 'Tis the old way, forgotten in my grandfather's time because of a rock fall there. We believed it closed to any entrance to the valley, though it was inspected from time to time. How—" He stopped suddenly, frowning and turning his head back toward the egg again. "If they can make men their mind slaves, as I have seen this day, then perhaps they can work upon the very stuff of the hills to open the door to their trap!"
Now her grip on him tightened and she dared to shake him. "What have you seen this day?" the girl demanded. "What is this talk of mind slaves and traps?"
He drew a breath which was almost a sigh, then launched into a description of what he had seen while spying upon the wolfhead camp —of the Gray One and of Marken's defeat when he dared to stand against whatever orders had been given.
"The power—it lies in that stone —the black one!" Sarita commented when he had done. Her hand had fallen away from him and she was shivering.
"Yes." He rose slowly, still weak from his farseeing. "And do we have any answer to that?" He walked out of the chamber without looking at her for a reply.
19
There were no dreams that night. Sarita had stood over Rhys to make sure he ate; his head nodded once, nearly falling into one of the silver plates which she had appropriated from the treasure house for their use. The frustration he had shown earlier was gone and he seemed apathetic. She steered him to the chamber which he had chosen and saw him in his bedroll before she returned to cover the fire for the night and go to her own quarters.
Firmly she set her mind on the work which had busied her most of the day and refused to allow Rhys' tale any room in her thoughts. Before she rolled into her own sleep nest, she looked once more on Valoris.
How safe was he even here? That thought also she put firmly from her. And sleep did come.
Valoris was first up in the morning, as often happened, yet he did not play with his animals in the usual fashion but came to Sarita, pulling at her blanket until she looked up groggily.
"Lady— Lady come!"
Lady? She was still sleep dazed, whom did he mean?
"Saree, Lady come!" He tugged harder at the covers until she sat up.
"Lady—" His hands moved out in a gesture which seemed to encompass all around them. "Lady here!"
He was already at the door of their chamber while Sarita pulled on her clothing and tried to make some sort of order of the few locks remaining on her shorn head. He was out of sight by the time she reached the large hall, but the toy quadbear lay abandoned at the door of the Audience Chamber. Lady! How could he mean — ?
She sped to the door. There was the light on those thrones again, and Valoris was there, walking sturdily toward them. Sarita's fear of the melted one flared, and she hurried forward to catch Valoris' shirt in a firm grip.
"No!" Valoris instantly fought against her. "bad Saree —go Lady! Go Lady now!"
"Let him come!"
The voice rang not in her ears but in her mind. Before Sarita's eyes a silver mist gathered on the intact throne. Speechlessly she obeyed, and Valoris scrambled up on the dais to the very foot of that seat. Did she or did she not see a form lean forward, a movement through the air as if a hand reached down to touch the child's head?
"This one," again the voice sounded in her mind, "is sealed to Us, daughter, and he shall be a faithful liege all his life. Get you to your craft, for the time soon comes when its fruits will be needed. Blessings on what you do and the why of its making."
The mist was gone —if she had truly seen it. But, as Valoris turned away from the now empty throne and came down to her, she saw something very strange. One of the crisp curls which lay against his forehead was gleaming silver, much as if it were wrought of metal.
Still bemused, Sarita followed the child, who pattered ahead, pausing to retrieve his quadbear at the doorway. She met Rhys as he burst out of his chamber and into the outer hall. He had not stopped to put on boots, his clothing was awry from having slept in it, and he stood looking at her, his eyes wide, a grim set to his mouth.
"What has happened?" he demanded, and caught her roughly by the arm, swinging her around to face him squarely. "What walks — " Though there was a shadow of what might be fear upon him, there was also the strength withstand it.
"She — " Sarita found herself nearly stuttering and took a firmer grip on herself. "She came — " And she launched into as plain a description as she could give of what had happened in the Audience Chamber.
Some of the tension went out of him, and he passed his hand over his stubbled face. "I felt—" he mumbled. "Why—?" There was frustration and a note of irritation in his voice. "Why have we been chosen to be liegemen of—of—shadows?"
"You said there were those of old who had talents," the girl reminded him, but inwardly she ached with that same question. Why was she, a guildswoman's daughter, happy with her insulated life, being pitched into matters far beyond the world she knew?
"Not talents," Rhys continued, following some line of thought on his own, "but burdens." He had kept his hold on her, and now his fingers bit into her flesh until she winced; he noticed and loosed his grip. "Your pardon —it is only that I feel as much Lopear under a pack—that I bear another's burdens whether I will or no." He shook himself as if he was attempting to throw off such bindings.
"Rhy—Ryyy—" Valoris was pulling at the edge of the ranger's jerkin, looking up into his face. "Lady—" In this dull light the silver curl appeared to have a luminescence of its own.
"Yes." Rhys stooped and caught up the boy. "The Lady—well, we will march by Her orders no matter what those may be. I with weapons to hand and you," he looked at Sarita again, "with your needle, though what good that may be — "
Sarita had already turned toward the hearth room. She was finding strength in a regular plan for the day. "Go wash and show me a clean face," she said, smiling. "Take our lordling, he is in good need, too. If we are to work out some task, we'll do it with full stomachs and properly clean."
His laugh matched hers. "Listen, lordling," he had swung the boy up on his shoulders, "we have our orders. And we shall bring you sharp appetites," he warned as they separated.
Sarita went to wash her own face. Unluckily there was no comb to put her roughly cut hair in order. To keep it out of her eyes, she crammed on a golden circlet from the treasure box and tucked in all the ends she could. Then she was back to the fire and their remaining supplies.
They would certainly need more of those and soon. Surely no task looming over them from the unknown would make it unneedful for them to eat and sleep. They might be now commanded by shadows, but they still had bodies which must be kept alert and satisfied.
She pointed out the lack of supplies to Rhys when he came back with Valoris, his face scrupulously shaven with a knife edge, his hair sleeked back. He had taken time to change his shirt and breeches for ones she had washed down by the lake two days ago.
"Yes, I set snares a day ago on the far ridge —there were rock fowl thereabouts. Also, I saw a clump of fiddle ferns down near the lake — "
"You will see it no longer," she retorted. "I harvested them two days ago, when I washed our clothes. There are reeds there, also — what of their roots?"
Her experience of the early morning almost faded as she went briskly about hearthwife duties. "It will lie on you," she said suddenly, confronting him with her fists on her hips and her jaw a little outthrust, "to do the harvesting. I have this." One of her hands slid around to thump against the pouch on her belt. "We have but little time."
Rhys looked back at her over his shoulder from where he crouched by the fire, then he continued to watch the spit, where a leaper haunch sputtered and spat grease at the flames below.
"Yes." His lightness of spirit had vanished and he
answered her somberly. "That I also know."
She did not watch him leave the bowl valley as she usually did. Rather, from the moment she had washed and stacked their plates, she set about the task she had begun the day before. Since the suit for Valoris was the smallest and he was present to have it tried on if necessary, she brought up the lightest bundle of skin pieces. A sudden guess led to experiments. The leftover bits could be sliced thinly and also twisted with hair. Which was good, since the supply of bowstrings was limited. Now she went to winding with a vigor, working as fast as she could without stinting the proper tight smoothness of each strand.
At length she believed she had enough to begin her task and she opened her needle case. There was no choice —only one of the larger-eyed bone needles could be used. However, remembering the need for the awl, she wondered if each hole would have to be separately punched. Almost gingerly she took up two lengths of skin, ready to use the lacing stitches she thought best.
However, the skin, which had so obstructed scissors and knife blade, gave way to the bone needle. In a few moments she fell into the rhythm of work which she knew of old, and her tension eased. There was no sandclock to mark the hours, and she was not aware that time passed until Valoris again came to be fed. Then she was inwardly impatient, wanting to get back to her work, though moving about eased her aching back.
There was a fitting during the afternoon, and the boy was unusually patient as she shifted and did some of the actual sewing while it was on his body. She had devised as a pattern a pair of breeches with a long-sleeved shirt. In fact, the sleeves protruded over the hands and could be draw in to form mittens, while there was a hood on the shoulders which in turn could cover the whole head, leaving only holes for eyes and mouth. Why she had chosen such a pattern Sarita did not know—only that it must be done.
She was surprised herself at the fruits of her industry, for she was ready for a final fitting by the time the light was fading. She had taken the last important stitch just in time, for her thread was near to its end and soon, she must twist more.
"What have we here?" Sarita was badly startled by that sudden question, but Valoris did not seem surprised. He put up his hands quickly and pulled the hood over his head and then jumped at Rhys where he stood in the doorway, uttering a sound he probably considered to be a growl.
The ranger looked from the child to the girl in amazement. Then he stooped to meet Valoris on his level.
"Loden — the Loden —" He cowered back as if in fear and Valoris' laughter rang out.
"Loden!" He agreed and shuffled in a kind of war dance about the stooping ranger. "It is Loden!" He waved his hands high.
Rhys again looked to the girl. "Sarita." He so seldom used her name that it seemed doubly important when he did. "This is strange —do we now put on new skins?"
Slowly she nodded. "Such is the task set me, Rhys. There is a reason even if we do not understand it now."
So time sped. In the evenings by the hearth she twisted the thread that she used by day. She was so busy, she was hardly aware when Rhys came and went—save there was always food of one kind or another to hand. He took Valoris with him when he scouted for growing things in the bowl, and one evening, as Sarita settled the child in bed, the boy was full of the events of that day: Rhys has been building a house for Berry, Briar, and the donkeys and he, Valoris, had helped by carrying even big, big stones.
When Sarita went back to her nightly task of thread winding, she asked about this, and for a long moment Rhys did not answer. When he did, it was with his old habit of picking his words carefully.
"We shall be leaving here —for I must go and I cannot leave you and the lordling behind —also I know that you have a part to play. But we cannot take the animals, for when the time comes we must move swiftly. There is good grazing land here, and if they have a shelter against storms, they can perhaps winter—if we do not return/'
"Where do we go?" Her hands were still busy with the thread, but he had startled her out of her preoccupation.
"Earl Florian comes —he must not meet with death as did the others. I have been to the egg again, Sarita," he ended, like one making a confession.
"And you have seen what?" she demanded sharply.
"What must be done. Look here." He took a charred end of a stick from the fire and began to draw on the floor. "This is where the trail enters the valley, less than a half day's journey from here. They will, I think, allow him to come in, perhaps as much as a day's march, before they close their trap. I —I have seen what must be done!"
His face was in shadow, for the flicker of the fire was low, but the note in his voice was that of one swearing an oath. He reached behind him, and she saw that his quiver of arrows lay there. Out from among the shafts he drew two. Even in the limited light they gleamed.
"Silver—" he said, running a finger along the edge of one head. "This —this will serve us or we fail."
"You have seen — ahead — ?" She wet her lips with her tongue tip. Why should he not have done so when her dream had guided her to her labor?
"I could not see the end," he returned, "only what was to happen, so that I might be prepared. But there is never any true end until it comes. For a man may fail or succeed by his own strength of will, and so he cannot see the consequences of what he would do. Yes, I have seen what must be done. The Gray One will be among the ambushers and he will carry—"
"That mind blinding thing!" Sarita interrupted. "Silver—is silver then the true answer to that?"
"If what I have seen is true—yes. Tomorrow I must begin to practice, for the outcome will lie on my bow skill."
Much against her will, Sarita was drawn from her own now feverish hours of labor to aid in that practice for a space, first tossing plates in the air, then smaller discs they had found. She marveled at his skill, but she noted that he did not use the silver-tipped arrows, rather his usual shafts. And now he did not miss. She began holding an object some distance from him. The first time or so she played target, she quaked within, but she would not allow him to guess that. However, it seemed to her that his skill increased with every shaft he let fly.
She had always heard that the rangers were expert archers. Yet still she was amazed at his accuracy, and she wondered if he had not held a special place among his fellows.
However, she rebelled at last, saying that she must finish what she had to do. Though he looked as if he would argue with her, he let her go without saying anything.
Her own work was nearly completed. She had tried on and adjusted the suit she had cut for herself. There remained only the one for Rhys. That evening she gave him the skin-tight covering, and he emerged from his chamber a figure which startled her, for he had drawn down the hood. They would never perhaps know what the true Loden shape was —they could only guess. But for anyone who had not seen the original skin, here indeed was a monster such as might awaken awe and fear.
There were some lacings to tighten as he stood patiently. But while she was doing so, Valoris came charging from the other side of the room. In his hand Sarita saw, to her horror, one of the small, jewel-hilted knives she had discovered and had hoped were successfully hidden, she threw out an arm, but he avoided her. In doing so the boy stumbled, the knife thudding home against Rhys' thigh. Only—the blade rebounded with enough force to throw it out of the child's hand, and there was no sign of any tear in the scaled length.
Sarita sat motionless, still shaking at the thought of what might have happened. Rhys spoke first:
"Now we know." He picked up the knife and deliberately aimed it at his own breast. Once more the point made no impression on the skin which covered him. "Armor past belief!" There was awe in his voice. "Truly we are favored."
20
It had been raining when they left the LodenKail, and it continued to rain throughout the day, even into the night, a steady downpour. So they had put the skin suits to another test. Even under periods of heightened downpour, they shed water. Rhys and Sarita each s
houldered a small pack covered with the oiled material that kept their scanty rations and Rhys' bowstrings dry. At the last minute Sarita had shyly produced a length of the twisted hair and skin in payment for the strings he had sacrificed for her thread. After a trial or two, Rhys had been highly pleased by its service.
Here in the heights the ranger took a high peak for their guide and they angled toward it. Though he ranged ahead at intervals, they moved at a pace which at first Valoris could keep; later Sarita carried the child in the now almost too small back sling.
She was plodding stolidly ahead in what might have been midafternoon when her talent awoke. Rhys had made one of his disappearances and she stayed where she was for the moment, not wishing to enter any trap.
The ranger slid into view and Sarita, looking at his scaled body, that bulbous hood pulled down against the storm, thought he certainly made a monstrous appearance.
"Wolfheads," he told her, "with a backing of liegemen wearing Sanghail's colors. They are lying up along the trail end. It is as I thought, they will allow the earl well into the land before they close on him."
"Why does not Earl Florian send out scouts?"
Rhys looked grim. "How do we know what games the Gray One has played? He may not have to face men directly before he sets his mind seal on them. We rangers rode blindly into that ambush — can we believe the earl is better prepared now? He may not even guess the nature of the true enemy."
"What can be done?" Sarita eased Valoris out of the sling. There was a light overhang of rock to one side which offered shelter of a sort. She pushed the boy under it and knelt down just under the overhang.
Rhys strode up and down, frowning. Twice he paused and looked up at the heights ahead. The vegetation here was sparse, some of it standing in heavy clumps, the rest laced over outcroppings of rock.
"When they close their trap," he said slowly, coming to drop down beside her, "then — " His hand went out in a curious sweeping gesture. "See, Sarita, they have been mind set upon a special task-all their attention must be held to that, for if they are allowed freedom of extra thought they may win freedom of all. They have no scouts out except to the fore. Here they lie — " He drew his belt knife and began to draw lines in the soft earth under the overhang.