by Andre Norton
Her face flickered into a brief dangerous smile. She would keep her own counsel, but she would speak of the warnings her friends had brought from Keplian lands. That would be sufficient to place the keep on guard. As for Jerrany—there, too, she would not speak, she decided. He loved Mayrin dearly, too much to hide anything from her. Once she suspected, Mayrin would have the story out of him as a sea-dog shelled sea-snails.
Eleeri rode into the keep days later. From across the bridge, her friends came running, Mayrin laughing happily.
“Oh, it is so good to see you again. What has happened since last you came? Has the hunting been good? Are you tired?”
Jerrany seized the reins. “I’ll take this fellow to be cared for. Go you with Mayrin before she bursts with her questions.” He touched her lightly on one shoulder. “She speaks for us both, though. It is good to see you once more. I’ll bring your pack to the hall.” He strode away, leading the weary pony.
Mayrin had her friend by a sleeve. For the first time she realized that there was a hard material under her fingers. “Why, what is this?” She turned up the outer fabric. “Chain, you wear chain, and such craft! Where did it come from? Have you found another place to trade? What—”
Eleeri held up a hand laughing softly. “Let me answer one set of questions before you ask me more. As for the chain, it was found, not traded. I will tell you the story another time. The hunting has indeed been good, and yes, I am both tired and hungry. I have no news of Romar, but something that may bear upon you and the keep. Feed me and I will talk with you and Jerrany of it. This is in part why I have come.”
Late into that night they talked. Jerrany did not take her words lightly.
“I will have all put in order. We do stand ready, but there are many small things which might yet be done to prepare for siege or attack.” His face grew serious as he thought. “What have you brought to trade?”
“No luxuries this time,” Eleeri assured him. “All good deerskins, sinews, and a gift for you, another for Mayrin.” She reached for her pack. “Ask me not where these came from. They are for you, a gift of Light.” She allowed the first bundle to unroll, revealing a matching chain shirt which would fit her friend. Mayrin gasped, touching it with wondering fingers. Another bundle unrolled to spread half a dozen swords across Jerrany’s feet. They were unadorned but of superb workmanship. The keep lord picked one up, closed his hand about the hilt, and tried a pass or two. Then he spoke as one who offers a pledge.
“We will ask not whence these came. That they are of the Light is enough.” He eyed his wife sternly when she would have spoken, and Mayrin’s lips closed again. “They shall be used against evil, to protect that which is good.”
He was more sober than was his custom the remainder of Eleeri’s visit. When she departed, he watched as her pony rounded the lake edge, gradually disappearing from their sight. Then he strolled inside and called for a trusted armsman. To him he handed a letter.
“Take this to the lady who rules the Valley of the Green Silences, and none other.” Hoofbeats died on soft turf as he stood at the keep door. Silently he went to his armory and from there to check provisions.
Little enough of the gift was there in his line. But now he felt the chill as of a coming storm. He had heard Eleeri’s warnings with belief. He had mentioned it neither to his wife nor their visitor, but a hunter for the keep, ranging farther than usual, had seen Gray Ones. There was more the woman was not telling, he was sure. Perhaps she was not certain of the import herself. There would be no ill reason for her silence.
He stared out over the land that lay before him as he passed an arrow slot. It was fair: here he had planned to live, to see children grow. Would his bones lie here before his time instead? And what of Mayrin? She would not leave did he try to send her.
He looked out over the land to where blue-tinged mountains lifted far in the distance. Here they had come to build a house and a name. Here they would stay, for life or death. If the valley could send help, well enough; if not, then they would fight alone. Sunlight glinted far down the lakeside. No, not quite alone. Eleeri, too, rode to war.
He sighed. Always Romar had been his right arm. If only his friend were here now to stand beside him. His step was heavy as he left the window. Behind him there were none left to care about him, he thought. His mother had long since turned to her new lord and her growing brood. No, here were his only friends and loves. But he missed his sword-brother Romar with every fiber of his being.
He found he was standing in the middle of his bedroom studying the window once more. Through it he could see a long sweep of land toward the Valley of Green Silences. He sighed. This had been a lonely and dangerous place to choose to live. But hitherto it had been free from the Gray Ones. It was a sign the Dark was growing in strength, and a danger to all who rode for the Light.
Many years ago, a different Dark lord dwelling there had tried to seize the mind and heart of a witchmaid—the daughter of Simon Tregarth. She had been freed, and evil turned back on the man who would have used her. But the tower was a place which seemed to call to those small ones of the Dark who would be greater. A pity it was impossible to tear it down completely so that none might rise there in Dark power again. He had suggested that once; it was Duhaun herself who told him they could not. Some reason rooted in the things of power. He had not understood half the explanation, only enough to know she was right. It could not be done without endangering the land itself.
Far down the lakeside, sunlight flickered briefly from bridle mountings as Eleeri rounded the stream bend. She, too, was remembering—a harsh-planed face weary beyond words, and gray-green eyes that pleaded for aid. Over the past few days her mind had been made up. There comes a time when a warrior must ride. Along with Romar’s face, those of Mayrin, Jerrany, Tharna, and Hylan arose along with her other Keplian friends. Too many innocents. If she must don war paint, take oath to ride pukutsi, to ride slaying until all who faced her died, or she herself fell, then let it be so. She found she was humming softly as she rode. Far Traveler’s death song. She smiled. She would be ready.
10
Over the weeks, things settled to quiet again, but no one in keep or canyon was deceived. The feeling of danger grew as the Gray Ones were seen more often, always deeper into the lands that bordered their own. Eleeri took to sitting alone where they appeared. Bow in hand, she waited, patient pony grazing ready. From ambush her arrows slew in ones and twos until the wolfmen were nervous about the whole fringe of country toward the mountains.
Hylan did his share to make other Keplian males as wary. Twice he fought and defeated stallions given over to the Dark. He had seen their treatment of mares and foals. Now he knew why his gentle mother had fled to find refuge. All honor to her kin-sister who had protected them. As a foal he had looked up to the human; as a colt he had listened to her. Now as a stallion he spoke equally but accepted that she was the forethinker, the one who made plans, watched for consequences. Now he quite simply loved her, as did his dam.
To see a Dark-given Keplian stallion was to see power and majesty embodied in evil. To see Hylan beside one was to see the difference. He was larger still, his lines cleaner, and the power shone from him like an aura. In the canyon all bowed to his will, save his dam and her battle-sister. Even other Keplian males who met him on their land tended to back away. Unlike them, he had not struggled for food as a colt. He had not been fed by a dam thin from constant breeding, who would chase him from her as soon as possible to save his life. He had become magnificent but also intelligent. In him the potential of his kind was realized.
He glanced up from juicy grass as Eleeri passed. *Where do you go this time?*
“The river. The rasti are disputing with the Gray Ones again.” She grinned evilly. “It’s a saving on energy. If I shoot anyone at all, it’s a kill, since the opposition finish them for me.”
The huge beast was amused but worried. *When enemies fight, it is well for us, but walk warily. The rasti are s
tirred by all this intrusion on their territory. Even I would not wish to meet them where I could not flee.*
Eleeri could agree with that. A rasti pack was death on many feet. She had seen too many others fall to them when injured to take chances. She swung up and nodded. “I’ll be careful. You keep an eye on things here and I should be back by sunhigh.”
She was gone, cantering past the runes, which flared into life as she passed. Hylan watched, listening as the hoofbeats faded. Then he walked slowly toward the entrance. At his approach, too, the runes began to glimmer, a soft blue-green glow that strengthened, warmed. He eyed them wistfully. He was of the Light; all here in the canyon were so acknowledged by the marks of ward and guard. Yet still he wished for more. To any eye who knew him not, he was of the Dark, a Keplian, follower of the evil. If only there was something to distinguish him in his outer form. He sighed silently, returning to his grass.
His dam wandered over several hours later. *Where did Eleeri go?*
*To the river to tease rasti.* The question’s import dawned. *She said she would be back by sunhigh. It is past that. You worry.* The last was a statement.
His dam nodded. Both knew her kin-sister’s custom. If she said she would do something, it was done. If not, there was good reason. Both were suddenly afraid what that reason might be. They looked at each other and in accord trotted from the canyon and down the rocky trail toward the river. There was no sign of Eleeri there, but her pony’s scent lay on the grass. They followed, taking it in turn to guard as the other laid nose to ground. Tharna found the first place and reared to a halt.
*Here there was trouble.*
They scented the pony’s rush of fright. His hooves had scored the ground as he leaped away. But why? Soft noses leaned downward, scoured across nearby ground in an outward circling. Gray Ones! A whole pack, as many as two dozen, perhaps, and all males. This was no casual wandering; this had been a trail. They had been going somewhere with a purpose—and the trail led toward the lake.
That is, it had. Now it led into the higher foothills as Gray Ones turned to hunt woman and pony. Eleeri had run, but no swifter than necessary, saving her mount’s strength.
The Keplians trotted along in pursuit. They would find her. The scent was fresh; the wolfmen must have her cornered somewhere.
Eleeri had left that morning with no intent beyond a few enemy deaths. She fought cautiously, using the land itself and pitting enemies against one another. She had been greatly successful over the past two months. She had hunted deeper into the lands toward the Dark Tower than her Keplian friends knew. She had seen nothing of Romar, but clues told her he was held there or nearby. She had discovered the tower was guarded; that alone told her that something was there to be protected. Time and time again over recent weeks she had approached, searching out what she could find of the defenses.
But this morning the sun had been warm, the sky blue. There was no thought of towers or prisoners. She would twist rasti tails, kill Gray Ones if she could.
She allowed the pony to pick his own way downhill toward the river. For a short time she watched the rasti, but none were careless today. Far across the stream she could see movement. She pushed the pony into a steady walk as she paced the distant shifting. Curious, she crossed to move closer. From the long grass almost at her feet, Gray Ones rose up. Mad with fear, her mount leaped and whirled, fled with all the speed in a sturdy body kept fit and well fed. The Gray Ones had moved to cut her off from the running water. In his panic her mount was carrying her farther away, bearing almost directly south so that her distance from the stream widened.
She fought him savagely, driving into his mind as she never did. But this was desperate; she must send him back to the running water. A swift glance had told her the deadly danger. A full pack of males loped behind them. She turned the sweating animal in a long slow curve and reached the river. Not good: on the other side, the rasti waited; behind, the Gray Ones closed in. The pony could outrun them, but his endurance was far less than theirs. They had only to keep between her and the water wherever she could safely cross. Split the pack and they had her. But mad with the hunt, they were not doing that—not yet. Her mind worked feverishly as she scanned possibilities.
Her hand went up to close around her pendant. Behind her the hunt faltered, and in that short time she had fled the closing ring. She thrust the unwilling pony into the water. The river was still high from spring thaw, and he protested. She understood that, but it was risk this or be eaten. She hurled pictures at him until he swam, terror at his heels. A greater terror rose before him as the rasti now gave chase, leaving the Gray Ones pack howling in frustrated rage on the bank behind them. The pony was tiring. Eleeri was a rider who knew how to lighten her own body as she rode. But he had come far and fast, with panic sapping his strength, leaching the stamina from his muscles.
He began to falter. The rasti were closing in on them now. Still he staggered on, his fear of them so strong he would run until he died on his hooves. Eleeri was turning and shooting, keeping her weight balanced. At each arrow another of her pursuers died. Those who were only wounded were swiftly taken by their companions. Each death slowed them so that the exhausted pony remained ahead, but for how long?
Eleeri counted her arrows and shivered. Without her weight, he could escape. With it, they would both die. If she’d been sure the followers would leave her if her mount went down—feast while she was free to run—she might have acted. She was deeply fond of the small horse who carried her so willingly, but she would sacrifice him to survive. A quick knife thrust would ensure he did not suffer.
But she was under no illusions. The rasti took only minutes to eat those she slew. But always there were a few who continued without sharing the feasts. They seemed to be taking turns to eat. Would they all halt to share a far greater bounty? Somehow she was sure they would not and she could not bear to kill without that certainty. The pony reeled on, his hooves only yards away from teeth that now gaped in bloodstained anticipation.
Eleeri had decided. When the pony could no longer stay ahead of the rasti, she would act. Kill him cleanly, then run for a place where she could make a stand. The body might draw off sufficient of them for her to give a good accounting in her final battle. Hai! She would be able to stand before the gods as a warrior. Her lips curled back in a battle rictus. Let them come, the first to reach her should be the first to die. She hurled fear away, allowed rage to flood in. Adrenaline surged as she turned to shoot her last arrows.
From the hillside nearby came a sudden burst of sound. The Keplians had not followed far into the lands of their enemies. A wind shift had revealed enough for them to know that the hunt’s direction had changed. It neared them swiftly and to their nostrils came the deaths of the rasti, the stink of blood, sweat, and terror. They could smell the growing weariness of Eleeri’s mount. Below them the hunt came into view far down the mountainside. If they left the trail and followed another they knew, they might yet be in time.
The pursuit gained on Eleeri. As they moved, Tharna and Hylan dropped obliquely down the heights, gradually reaching the lower lands. So intent on the race were those involved, none looked up to see that others might be taken into account. Hylan and his dam reached a lower trail. It was smoother and they leaped into a gallop, huge bodies straining as they sped along. With their far greater speed, they reached a bend that turned in the direction of the hunt, and were still ahead of it. They had time to see and understand Eleeri’s decision. In a few more minutes the pony would go down and she would turn to die.
In the woman’s battle rage she was mind-sending. Her intent struck like a sword as the pursuit raced toward the Keplians. There was an instant of wordless communication between them, a decision made. It was against all they knew, but they cared nothing for that. A friend, a kin-sister would die unless they aided her. She would do this and more for them.
Hooves blazed a path down the last slope toward her. Minds screamed warning, pictures too fast for ordina
ry mind-speech. In one jump Tharna ranged beside the pony, Hylan on the other side, keeping the faltering animal straight as he ran.
He shouldered hard into the smaller beast. His mind flung an order. For a moment Eleeri herself faltered—was he sure? He was! Tharna had slowed, and her hooves now shot out viciously. Teeth snapped as the leading rasti went down. Their followers swirled in eddies as they ate and ran on again. But the Keplian raced faster than any rasti could run. The unburdened pony kept up, terror driving him beyond normal endurance.
Astride the Keplian stallion, Eleeri thrilled as they out-raced death. She crouched low over his withers, her weight balanced, feeling the great driving muscles under her. Her mind unconsciously reached out, seeking that oneness she had always found with a mount.
It came, in a flood of imagery and power. It was as if, reaching for water, she had drunk unwatered wine. The Keplian, too, was stunned by the union. For him it was Light, a blaze of it that lit corners of his mind, showed to him things for which he had no words. He felt it run through him, cleansing, healing. He remembered the terror of his birth, his bewildered pain and the hatred for those who hurt him, kept him from his dam. Now all that was healed. He understood their ignorant fears. Accepted that to them he had been of the Dark, and that the Dark was killed where it was found.
Beside him the weakening pony ran. He felt only pity for it. Before, he had scorned it as a pale copy of the glory that was Keplian. He was sorry for it now; it could never have this, the power and blaze of the Light blending two into one. He had feared to take Eleeri upon his back, feared that he would feel degraded, humiliated by a rider. He flung up his head, and the wild savage scream of a fighting stallion broke forth as a trumpet blast in triumph. He was not bound by a rider; he was freed. This was not emptiness, being used. It was a fullness, and in the Light he knew at last this was his creation.