by Andre Norton
"So be it. At least you have saved this much of Var." His hand touched Valoris' head. "And debts of blood will be paid, even if they are a long time in coming. No, set us on the trail to this lair of a monster whom you have seemed to have tamed."
Meanwhile, his party made sure of the wolfheads and of a handful of liveried liegemen who had set the ambush. His men had gained in spirit from the destruction of the object of Dark power and the death of its master. Free of the invisible control, they found themselves as if newly awakened. But the wolfheads and their allies, deprived of the Gray One, had become near artless —many of them dying without a blade laid to them.
They traveled at a fast pace, for the earl seemed determined to make sure that they would win to the promised refuge as quickly as possible. Rhys knew that he and Sarita, as well as Valoris, were still surreptitiously watched because of their suits. For the first time the ranger was aware how much the tight covering revealed of the girl's body, though she did not appear to be aware of the fact. How could he have never noticed how pretty she was?
The earl kept them both close to him and they spilled out their own story as they went. He made no comment until Sarita spoke of the invulnerability of the scaled suits and how she had used the shed skin to fashion them.
"But of the Loden there was no sign?" the earl asked then.
"None," she replied. "Save —there is a feeling, my lord. It may touch you and your men also: a feeling of loss, sadness —I think that the Loden is truly gone and we are the poorer for it."
He seemed to be thinking deeply and asked no more questions. They halted and ate, scouts reported an empty land, as if the enemy had been so sure of their ambush that they sent only the men for that. Them —and the Gray One.
When they reached the gap and came down into the bowl, it was mid-morning of the next day. A racous bray was their first greeting as Lopear came trotting toward them. He was answered by whinnies from the dozen mounts the earl's party had brought. The horses had to be carefully led up the rough way, but now they tugged at their reins, the lake and the rich grass temptingly laid out before them.
"So." The earl was keenly studying what lay about him. "This is Loden Lair. To that one we give thanks for shelter. But perhaps—" He was smiling now; once more Valoris rode on his shoulder, the sun glinting in rainbow brightness from the skin covering on his small body. "But perhaps we shall bring back life to a legend. Have we not three Lodens —not just one —to give us company?"
Sarita rubbed the fingers of her right hand with her left. Since she had struck that blow with the awl, they tended to cramp unexpectedly, but she refused to believe that such a wound was permanent.
"Berry!" Valoris pointed to the goat. "Berry come — "
Then he spoke slowly and carefully, as if he must repeat an important lesson and be sure he had it right:
"Loden want Val, Saree, Ry—Fadda —Loden good."
Then it seemed to Sarita that the sadness which clung here was lightening, as the sun drew away a mist. She did not know what the future might hold, but they had knowledge —such knowledge as had not been known in this land for generations of her blood —and certainly the prospect to learn even more. Here, indeed, was a lair, and Sanghail and those like him might well find that LodenKail was about to give forth Lodens once again.
She was startled —her thought had been matched by a sudden knowledge. Rhys . . . Yes, there would come such Lodens out of this lair as the Gray Ones could not foresee, strong in power as they were. And she —she would be a part of it—and Rhys, and the men now trailing with their mounts down toward the lake.