by Andre Norton
“You are no mere scholar,” she repeated. “You are …” The proper word occurred to her, and she made it a ringing accusation. “You are a mage.”
“I—no mere scholar, but a mage?” Tull's honied voice had vanished along with his earlier, more aesthetic exterior. His true voice grated on the ear, especially now as it soared to a screech. “On thy knees to me, Witch! I am Tull the Adept, Tull the Great One!” He flung up his hands, roaring syllables that resonated throughout the chamber. Streams of dark red flame erupted from his fingertips.
One part of Nolar shrank back, appalled; the steadier, inner core of her clung to the solid strength of her shard. She found herself calmly noting that despite the lashes of flame so near her face, the air was no warmer. If Tull's fire provided no honest heat, Nolar reasoned, it must therefore be an illusion. She braced her knees, standing her ground.
“How unfortunate, sir,” she observed, “that these bountiful flames of your conjuring cannot warm us, for my two ailing companions could benefit from more heat than you allow in your outer chamber.”
Instantly, the false flames disappeared. Tull swung toward Smire, who scurried backward several paces.
“Bring them in,” snarled Tull. “Let me see what other attractive guests thou hast inveigled me to shelter beneath my roof.”
Smire scuttled out, then hastily backed in, carrying Elgaret still seated in her chair. In another moment, he dragged Derren into view by simply hauling his pallet across the uneven stone floor.
Tull glared first at Derren, then peered more keenly at Elgaret.
“Thou hast quite outdone thyself, Smire,” he remarked in a deceptively mild tone that rapidly swelled to a bellow of raw anger. “I behold now before me a useless cripple and yet another pestilential Witch!”
Smire's normally swarthy face paled, and his mouth opened and shut twice before he found any voice to defend himself. “Master—I did not know—I swear to thee by my earring! I would never …”
Tull silenced him with an impatient gesture. “Have done! Whatever thy beliefs or intentions, thou hast beset me with this trio.” He leaned on one elbow and stared at Elgaret. “Something is awry with this old Witch. What is it, eh? She reeks of former Power, but is now as empty as a rimless cask.”
Pressed beyond endurance by exhaustion, fear, and now open insult to Elgaret, Nolar strode to the Witch's side, her temper flaring. “What business is it of yours?” she snapped.
Tull revealed uneven teeth in a thoroughly unpleasant smile. “So the disfigured one has spirit, and would defend her companions? I shall tell thee what my business is, Witch. I was unjustly immured here, but now I am free to resume my activities. Thou shalt aid me. Possibly I may also draw upon the blind-eyed crone.”
Tull's words made Nolar's flesh crawl. Ostbor had told her that untold ages ago, certain males were believed to have wielded Power, but Nolar had never imagined that any person posing as a scholar could be as odiously repulsive as Tull … or as obviously dangerous.
Nolar unconsciously clenched her hands, the left still in view, the pocketed right hand concealed, grasping her shard. “I shall never aid you to accomplish anything," she vowed.
Tull gave a derisive laugh, and sat back, gripping the arms of his ornate chair. “Behold defiance, Smire. I do not brook defiance, Witch—heed this, my sole warning. Any who dare to oppose me shall feel my wrath.” He drew in a whistling breath, his nostrils pinched in remembered rage. “They left me this … this trifling chair! They said I deserved ‘a certain state.’ I shall show them with whom they deal! This chair shall be my new throne, and they shall cower before it, begging for my mercy.”
Nolar stared at him, an awful suspicion burgeoning in her mind. His and Smire's archaic speech patterns, their antique clothing, their long-stored food—all minor details, but they suddenly suggested a plausible theory that Nolar quailed from examining. Still, she had to know.
“You say you were immured,” she said hesitantly. “Can you tell me aught of this former injustice, for word of it never reached Ostbor?”
Anxious to regain his master's approval, Smire hastened to boast of Tull's accomplishments. “My master alone rediscovered the legendary Stone of Konnard,” Smire crowed. “By perilous effort, he tapped its Power and wrought great wonders. All other adepts marveled, and envied his prowess.”
Nolar deliberately forced herself to remain still. Her worst fears were now confirmed: the Stone of Konnard had indeed fallen into Tull's grasp. She would have to try to displace him … but how? Tull was evidently gratified by Smire's praise.
At the mention of other envious adepts, Tull's thin mouth twisted in contempt. “Fools!” He ran his fingers over the broad-linked chain across his chest in a motion curiously reminiscent of Smire's habit of caressing his earring.
The closer Nolar focused on those dull black links, the more her gaze recoiled. There was something unclean about Tull's chain that had nothing to do with its physical surface. Nolar sensed that it was inherently evil, that it had been deliberately fashioned for evil purposes.
“Those envious adepts,” Nolar prompted, “were they the ones who banished you? It was not Estcarp's Council of Witches?”
Tull chopped one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Some of thy meddling fellow hags thrust noses into my affairs long since, to their own cost, but I know of no Council of theirs. Nay—I was cravenly seized by the other mages. Lackwits! Cowards! They had no stomach to dare what I dared, to risk all for the utmost prize: Control!” He held out his hand, clenching the fingers as if squeezing a soft fruit down to its solid stone.
Stone—the word vibrated in Nolar's mind. Before she thought, she blurted, “But the Stone of Konnard was meant for life—for healing.”
As quickly as a striking snake, Tull lunged forward in his chair. “What knowest thou of the Stone?”
Nolar's mind raced. She must divert Tull with a partial truth. “As Master Smire just said, the Stone is acclaimed in legend. I have seen it written at Lormt that great works of healing were wrought by the Power of the Stone.”
“Drivel!” Tull thumped the arm of his chair in disdain. “The Stone is mine to direct as I will. It has depths none suspected save I. Those fools who thwarted me guessed only the merest beginnings of what could be achieved by an adept unfettered by small-minded doubts and fears.” Tull thoughtfully surveyed his captives. “I begin to see a way to employ thee and thy feeble companions for the achievement of my rightful revenge. Thou shalt join thy Power with mine, Witch, and together we shall extract whatever we may from those two.”
Nolar imposed herself between him and her friends. “Never,” she said, and although her voice was low, her determination was as evident as if she had shouted the word.
Tull chuckled, while Smire rubbed his earring and smirked knowingly.
“Smire,” Tull purred, “I do believe that this Witch requires a demonstration of my influence upon the Stone of Konnard.”
Tull rose and lifted his arms, looking, Nolar thought, rather like a scrawny bat incongruously swathed in purple velvet. She had no warning of his intent, but the instant he uttered a spate of harsh sounds, all feeling deserted Nolar's limbs. She could still breathe and blink her eyes, but she could not move or speak.
Tull pointed at Derren, who was evidently similarly paralyzed. Nolar could see the torment in Derren's eyes as he strove to move, but could not. Smire threw aside the pallet's coverings, exposing Derren's legs. He plucked Derren's dagger from its belt sheath and slid it inside his own boot top.
Tull's nose wrinkled at the faint scent of Nolar's herbs. “Cast off the Witch's bindings and vegetable trash,” he ordered. “I would see the extent of these supposed injuries.”
Tears of outrage and sympathetic pain blurred Nolar's eyes as Smire callously ripped away her careful bandaging and discarded her poultice.
Tull bent forward, his cruel face alight with interest. “Ah, quite a severe wound on the one leg, and a swollen ankle as well—all the better. Reg
ard this, Witch!” He gestured at Derren, reciting some resonant sounds.
To Nolar's horror, the normal skin color bleached out of Derren's legs, to be gradually replaced by a dirty gray hue. Derren stared down, stricken, as his own body appeared to be suffering some awful transformation that he could not prevent.
Tull fluttered his fingers at Nolar and spoke more commands. “Move now, Witch. Behold the effects of my arts, and know the extent of my Power.”
Released, Nolar stumbled to Derren's side. Her trembling fingers lightly touched the unnatural grayness of Derren's wounded leg before Nolar snatched them back.
“This is stone, not flesh!” she exclaimed, longing to be able to reject the evidence of her fingers and eyes.
“How acutely sensitive thou art to the obvious,” Tull taunted her. “Thy acquaintance with the Stone of Konnard must be slight indeed if thou didst not know its chief attribute: to transform living flesh to its own form.”
Nolar surveyed him, her revulsion evident. “To turn a great Power for healing to ends such as this is evil beyond measure. You should not have been immured; you should have been destroyed.”
Tull bared his teeth. “Silence! I have no interest in thy witless judgments. Heed me—this spell may be reversed. What is now stone may once again be flesh … provided that thou wilt submit to my bidding.”
Nolar forced herself to touch the cold, rigid surface of what had been Derren's leg. She could not condemn him to live thus, as a bipartite monster.
Nolar did not realize that tears were coursing down her cheeks as she raised her eyes to meet Tull's. “What must I do,” she asked bitterly, “for you to spare my companions?”
“Ah, thou art not so witless after all,” said Tull, rubbing his hands together. “Thou canst recognize a Power far greater than thine own. Hearken, Witch! I have preparations to make: high matters of which thou art ignorant. Smire shall attend me; thou shalt abide here until I require thee in the Chamber of the Stone. There we shall address the Stone and commence my revenge.”
“You said that the spell on Master Derren's legs could be reversed,” Nolar stubbornly reminded him.
“A trifle.” Tull gestured as he turned to leave, and Derren cried out in sudden agony.
Nolar knelt beside Derren, stroking his legs, concentrating with all her might to see or feel any restoration. It came slowly, but the hard gray surface gradually softened to warm flesh. Nolar laughed with relief to see some slight bleeding in the deepest cleft of the wound.
“Hold fast, Master Derren,” she exhorted him. “I shall fetch my satchel and replace your bandages.”
Derren's mind still reeled from the shock of watching part of his own body turn to stone before his eyes. The pain of the return to flesh had been keener than any that he had ever felt, and he had nearly fainted from it. There was something odd now about his legs, though he couldn't quite define it. He thought it best not to speak of it until he had time to consider it privately. He lay back, spent, as Nolar worked hastily to replace the poultice and secure new bandages. With a great effort, Derren opened his eyes and scanned the room. Both Smire and Tull had gone, but Derren still kept his voice low, for Nolar's ears only.
“Lady,” he apologized, “I fear that we have fallen among ill company.”
To his astonishment, Nolar laughed heartily. “Oh, Master Borderer,” she said, as soon as she caught her breath, “I fancy that description is without doubt the mildest and most lenient that could be applied to our hosts. Pray excuse my laughing—I am somewhat giddy with weariness.” She swiftly recovered her usual serious mien. “You are, of course, painfully correct. We are sorely threatened, and I must confess that I know not how we may escape. Perhaps we may seize some chance opportunity. We must surely strive to remain ever alert, and guard our tongues. Tull is a dire foe, and Smire his willing helper.” She rose to her feet, brushing stone dust from her skirt. “While we may, we should likely renew our strength by eating. Let me attend to Elgaret, then, if I am allowed, I shall hasten back with food for you.”
As Nolar took Elgaret's arm to help the Witch stand, she almost cried out. For the first time since their encounter at her father's house so long before, Nolar felt a responsive squeeze from Elgaret's hand.
Covering her shock with a cough, Nolar managed to say, “Come, Aunt,” and led the Witch out into the deserted anteroom, pulling the chair after them with her free hand.
Once Elgaret was again seated, Nolar leaned close, as if to adjust the Witch's robes.
Elgaret spoke in the barest whisper. “Danger, Sister-in-Power! We stand in frightful peril.” She paused, as if reticent to speak the words that had to be spoken. “I sense the presence of a Dark One nearby, and also that of a lesser minion. They are of the Shadow—beware of them!”
Nolar's fussing with Elgaret's gown gave her a sudden glimpse of the Witch's Jewel, and she gasped at the sight. The formerly dead crystal was now softly pulsing with a greenish glow.
Elgaret nodded fractionally. “Yes, my Jewel once again serves me, but I dare not wield it unless there is no other choice. Any use of Power would draw his attention. It is wiser for me to continue to feign dysfunction.” Her whisper faltered. “There is something of great Power here. I feel it … old, very old … touched by evil, yet not itself evil.”
“It is the Stone of Konnard,” Nolar whispered back. “It is here, as we are, at the mercy of Tull, an evil mage, and Smire, his helper. The Stone was used in ancient days for healing, but Tull has defiled it, drawing upon it to turn flesh to stone.”
Elgaret shuddered at this awful news, but made no comment as Nolar hurried on. “I took you to Lormt, to seek help for your injury, and found there ancient, fragmentary word of the Stone which set us upon our quest to find it. Master Derren …” Nolar paused. She dared not try to explain her suspicions of Derren now; besides, she felt convinced that in this dangerous place, Derren was their only possible ally. Nolar's inner impulse was to trust Derren, and she sensed no contrary warning from her shard to challenge that judgment.
“Derren,” she resumed, “is a trustworthy Borderer who helped us travel safely from near Es City to Lormt, and then agreed to escort us in search of the Stone of Konnard. Two days ago, we were beset by a rockslide that broke his leg most pitifully.” Her voice shook as she briefly described Tull's hideous spell intended to coerce Nolar's assistance in his scheme for revenge against those mages who had banished him and Smire.
Afraid to linger further in covert speech, Nolar turned aside to put a kettle on the fire. She brought Elgaret an herbal drink, and stirred some warm water into a bowl of fruit paste to liquefy it.
As she held the spoon for Elgaret, the Witch said quietly, “This Stone of Power belongs to an age far in the past. So, too, we have always believed, did the Dark Ones, dreaded scourges upon the land. How can it be that I sense one here? Such are not supposed to exist now.”
Nolar felt the renewed grip of her daunting fears concerning Tull and Smire. “Lady, I have a horrid answer to that riddle. Both Tull and Smire speak in an archaic style, consistent with their clothing. The food they have shared with us has been long in storage, none of it fresh. Smire knew naught of Lormt, and Tull just told me that he knew of no Council of Witches.” She stopped to draw a steadying breath. “A scholar of Lormt told us that there had been a previous Turning of mountains, a thousand years or more in the past. Some great evil, he said, had thus been walled away from Estcarp by the raising of the eastern peaks, and indeed all thought of that very direction was deliberately blocked from future generations of the Old Race. You may think me crazed, but I fear that Tull and Smire belong to that past time, that they were among the evil forces to be shut away by that First Turning. I suspect that your Council's Turning of these southern mountains against Karsten must have so displaced the earth that Tull and Smire were thereby freed from their immurement.”
“But the Dark One and his helper do not know of the lapse in time,” mused Elgaret. “You have given me much to t
hink upon. I caution you to contain your speculations until we can be more certain. I dare not use my Jewel, as I said, but the Power from that Stone nearby beats upon me. I sense great stores of knowledge locked within it. It is very strange, but the Power of the Stone seems somehow constrained, bound up, almost muffled. Go now, and care for the Borderer. We three must aid one another if we can, for our lives and more are at stake here.”
Nolar gathered up a flask and pouches of fruit and dried meat and hurried back to Derren.
“Did I hear you speaking to someone?” he asked anxiously.
Nolar hesitated. Should she tell him that Elgaret had recovered her wits? But if Derren were truly a spy from Karsten, would he not likely be dismayed rather than cheered to know that the Witch had been restored to her Power? Besides, if Tull threatened Derren again, Derren could not reveal what he did not know. For the present, it seemed wise to try to keep Elgaret's secret.
“It was only my voice,” Nolar said. “As you know, I often talk to my aunt while I feed her and care for her needs. Here is some dried meat, if you can eat it. We may have little other chance to eat for a while.”
Smire abruptly thrust his way into the chamber. “Where is the other Witch?” he demanded, but did not wait for a reply, striding instead to the doorway to look into the outer room.
“I took her thence to feed and care for,” Nolar explained. “You would be kind to move her back, for it is warmer here.”
Smire leered at her. “Kind? A fair word, seldom applied to me, Witch. Still, it is easier to watch all one's captive birds in one cage, is it not?” Laughing at his joke, he brought Elgaret back in her chair. She had shut her eyes, and looked as serenely withdrawn as before.