by Andre Norton
Pehnane reared, standing almost straight on quivering hind legs. Within his mind a call resounded, to be answered as light flowed about him, silver deepening into gold as the air sliced open onto a sunlit sky. Those he loved best waited for him as he gathered his failing strength to reel forward. Hands greeted him. Behind him the gate slammed shut, light faded from the hall. The body of his enemy drifted up as a coil of blackened smoke and was gone. But in another place friends greeted friends in gladness. A task was completed.
The tower shuddered as the servant died. Blue light ran in power around the rooftop. Even from so far away as the river it could be seen. The master-at-arms reined his horse back from the blood-crazed rasti.
His voice rose up. “Break off, break off.”
They fell back, leaving a gap between themselves and the beasts they fought. He waved toward the direction of the tower.
“A sign, our job is done. Let us lead these away from our wounded.” He called orders as the injured who could no longer fight started up the slope. The rasti snarled low in many throats. They would not be cheated of their prey.
But far away like a spider spinning its web, the Dark knew danger. It ceased to attack the fools who fought against orders. With that withdrawal the beasts faltered. Part of their madness had been caused by the assault on their minds. With that gone, they gave back a little. Step by step, the master-at-arms withdrew his fighters, making no overquick or clumsy move to spur the rasti into automatic attack. Then the animals began to turn away, hunching their fluid way back to their burrows.
Hapwold moved his warriors more swiftly. The Keplian mares split away from the riders, moving off toward the trail to their home. Two would never return, nor would the four men who had fallen. But they had had blood for their going, a river of it. A warrior asked no more.
They passed over the river high up on the lower hills. There they camped, dressing each other’s wounds while water boiled and stew simmered.
The mares climbed their trail painfully. But the canyon welcomed them back as did their foals and friends. Only two of the babies stood bereft, whimpering their sorrow and loneliness. Other mares gathered them in. At the entrance, runes shifted into light. Full circle was achieved, and Keplian mares and foals stared at each other, wonder in bright blue eyes.
In the tower, that which dwelled within gathered its power. Enemies were inside. They had murdered its servant. But they should not prevail.
Eleeri ran up a flight of steps to face a great bronze door wrought with many panels. Each held figures which seemed to move slowly, but she had no time for wonders. Her hands leaped out to fling open the last barricade. Her friends stood shoulder to shoulder as she trod boldly in over the stone sill. A circle of chairs filled the far side of the room. Within them lolled six figures. One by one each raised its head to meet the eyes of those who stood in the doorway. Six Romars leaned forward, hope brightening their faces.
17
Eleeri halted, eyes wide in sudden fury. Even now, even at the last, the enemy would test them. She considered. Behind her Jerrany stirred.
“What can we use to show the truth?”
“Me,” his wife snapped. “Romar’s my brother. I’ll know which is the true man.”
Eleeri nodded. “But what if they all are?” she questioned slowly. “Would it not be a fine trick to divide his spirit among them?”
That thought held them motionless in the doorway. If Eleeri was right, then to slay any of the Romars would be to lose a portion of all that made him human.
What could help them now? Eleeri listed the possibilities in her mind. The clay presently making an uncomfortable lump at her belt was to be used—but not yet. In the keep she had realized its capabilities. In his solitude Cynan had delved deep into some of the more arcane aids to magic, and passed them along to his eager pupil. But the clay was for later, as was the crystal from the Lady of the Green Silences. But there remained the gift of Light.
She turned to study Mayrin and Jerrany. Could they now use the Light they had been given? She spoke to her friends quietly, their faces brightening as they listened. Then it was Mayrin who marched forward. She put out her hands to clasp those of the first figure in line. Around those clasped hands flared a glow.
The figure keened its agony, dissolving into a heap of thick clay dust. Mayrin moved on to the second as it shrank back. To no avail. She seized its hands in turn so that it shrieked and crumbled, even as the light flamed about them. Then the third—but then Eleeri called her back. With that last the flare of light had been almost gone. To risk a fourth might be dangerous. It was Jerrany’s turn and he strode to the fourth figure, hands leaping out to seize as light flamed once more.
The figure crumbled, as did the fifth and sixth. The friends stared at each other over the heaps of clay dust.
“He wasn’t any of them,” Mayrin wailed. “Why the illusion?”
“To keep us occupied,” Jerrany said grimly. “All we’ve seen so far has been illusion, using power drained from Romar, I suspect. If this Dark lord wastes too much, he may have none of his own. Perhaps he’s delaying us, hoping to snare us in illusion or to escape before we reach Romar.” His face set hard, lips thinning purposefully. “Let us go!”
They went quickly now, trotting down the passage. Behind them the clay dust stirred into nothingness. Eleeri’s guess had been right. Only evil had been affected by the touch of Light. Had Romar’s spirit been within any of the bodies, it would simply have been freed to return to his true body. But now the power given them by her far-kin in the tower deeps was exhausted.
Eleeri and Mayrin followed Jerrany. He had had enough of these childish games. Somewhere within this place his shield-brother was being tormented, used, and drained. He would find him, free him, return with him to their home, and that which dwelled here. His teeth showed in a savage grin; whatever the outcome, the dweller in Darkness was going to regret all this.
Behind him Mayrin gasped. “Wait, wait!”
He slowed so she might catch up. “Jerrany, Eleeri thinks we are being drawn again in the wrong direction.”
Rage flooded him. That female, always she interfered. If it hadn’t been for her example, Mayrin might not have insisted on coming. It was Eleeri who had risked his wife, Eleeri who had tricked them here to where evil might take them. Eleeri . . . His face twisted into terrible lines of hatred and he sprang. But the woman had seen the growing madness in the eyes that watched her as he halted. She sprang back, dagger flicking from the sheath. He stumbled and before he could recover, the blade touched flat across his forehead.
Jerrany groaned as pain slashed through his mind. Then his eyes cleared. “What have I done? Oh, gods, Eleeri, I’m sorry.”
She held out the silver dagger. Now it glowed, a soft luminous light that soothed and comforted.
“Take this into your hand and pray to the Light.”
He took out his own dagger as she spoke, taking hers in his left hand. Then he raised them to lay along his temples. The points came together to form two sides of a triangle, and as his eyes shut, light leaped from the juncture. Mayrin kept silence until his eyes opened again. Then she waved to where a thin blade of light stretched before them.
“I think you are forgiven.”
"A signal?” He glanced shamefacedly at Eleeri. “I beg your forgiveness. I was angry at what this thing has done to my shield-brother. With that anger it seems I gave a foothold to evil. It then twisted my mind so that it seemed it was you I should be angry at.”
Eleeri had been angered at his attack, but she had wit enough to understand. This was another attempt by their enemy to divide their strength. If she had no forgiveness, then it would be she who weakened them now.
She stretched out a hand, taking his fingers in a gentle clasp. “I understand that; it was not your fault. We are all here to free one we care about.” His eyes searched hers and narrowed in sudden interest. He said nothing, but she could see he wondered. Her head came up a little in prid
e. If she had begun to care for Romar, what was that to him?
She hid a smile. Begun to care was one way to put it. In truth, she would have Romar free of the tower or die in the attempt. That was more than mere caring, but now was not the time to speak of it. Let him be won free first, then let her find he felt the same way. After that, they could speak of a future.
The beam of light showed the way for a short space before it faded. An attempt to revive it failed. They clustered in the center of the passage before Mayrin took out her own weapon. “We didn’t use this one. Maybe it can help.” She raised it to her forehead, holding the picture of her brother strongly. The light was clear but faint. Still, once more they had a guide.
This time they ran. With the extra speed, faint as the light was, they gained distance. When it finally vanished, they were at a junction in the passages.
“Great, now where?” Eleeri muttered to herself.
She peered down both tunnels. “Let’s try something else.” She clasped one of their hands in each of her own. “Join your free hands. Now think of Romar. Try to throw out a rope and tie it to him.”
They stood there, faces white and strained as they built the picture. At last Romar stood before them. To Eleeri’s knowledge this was the true Romar. Not the casual smiling man his sister remembered, nor the warrior Jerrany would have called to mind. This figure was pale of face, lines of pain and weariness showed clear. The clothes were worn and stained and she could feel the disgust that their dirt-thickened feel brought to him.
Hollow eyes turned in shadowed sockets to seek her. Her hands moved in a dance of signs. “Courage. Strength. Wait, help comes.” He nodded and was gone, but the feeling of a link remained. They opened eyes on the chill stone of the passage and wordlessly all turned to face the left-hand fork.
“It grows dark down there. How do we see?”
“Wait until we can’t; then we’ll think of something,” Mayrin replied tensely.
Eleeri had walked over to a nearby door. She slid it open sufficiently to peer within. Then she called them quietly.
“There’s old furniture in here. If we take as much as we can carry, we’ll have light.”
They entered cautiously to tear apart the smaller pieces. Legs from some of the chairs would do very well. Mayrin dragged down an ancient tapestry to rip into strips. These she wound about the head of each length of wood. They would catch flame more easily and their fire would in turn set the wood to flaring.
With a bundle of the makeshift torches under their arms, they left the silent room. Ahead the passage darkened, but with fire they could see their way. Pausing only long enough to light the first torch, they tramped on into the dark, hands linked firmly. Jerrany led until the first torch was burning low. Then Mayrin’s was lit and she led in turn. At the tail of the small line, Eleeri held out a sword in her free hand. She just hoped there would be enough torches to take them through the dark. It was a gamble. If they went forward until half were gone, then they would either have to turn back or risk being left in lightlessness.
She breathed in deeply. She would not turn back even if she must go on alone. One by one the torches burned until half their number were gone. The stubs were then impaled on a dagger point to be burned, lighting a little farther.
Silently Mayrin took out the next of her torches and moved into the lead. There was no discussion; all had made their decision as they walked. There was to be no retreat. Four torches remained when Eleeri muttered a swift warning.
“Something moves ahead. Mayrin, set your back against the wall and hold the torch aloft so we have light. Jerrany, let you and I flank her with swords and daggers.”
They fell into the formation as something huge hulked at the edge of the light. It remained there as they stood facing the sound of its breathing. The torch burned slowly, the dark pressed forward, as the beast loomed in the shadows. Minutes passed, and they waited. A slow conviction grew in Eleeri as they guarded. This, too, was part of a plan, a Dark plan.
She began to speak even as Jerrany, too, made to do so.
“We’re being—”
“This is a trick!”
“Yes.” Mayrin, too, had seen what was occurring. “That thing is here to make us waste time and our torches.” She whirled the torch so that the flame leaped up. “Get out of our way, evil one.” She lit a second torch and waved them in her hands, marching confidently forward. The creature slunk back before the searing blaze. Swords flashed out on either side of her as she moved faster. Now she was trotting, the flames streaming back in the wind of her pace. With a final snarl of frustration, the beast loped into a side tunnel and was gone.
They rounded a sharp bend and ahead a faint glow showed. Jerrany reached to take one of the torches, dashing it out against the floor.
“Look, that’s light ahead.”
Their pace picked up again as the light grew. A second bend, and they came out into a great hall. Within, candles burned while windows were muffled in heavy soft folds of black cloth. Mayrin seized a curtain and flung it backward. Through the window sunlight streamed, touching them all with a golden warmth. The candles smoked into nothingness as a scream of angry pain rang through the hall. Eleeri smiled wickedly.
“I get the feeling that something here doesn’t like the sun. Let’s let a bit more light in and see how it likes that.”
They ran like children from window to window. At each they flung back the heavy cloth, laughing at each shriek of fury that greeted the light. Not until all windows were free of the muffling fabric did they desist.
Jerrany stood panting in the middle of the floor. A thought struck him so that he walked quietly back through the door through which they had entered. He stared down the passage. All was light; the dark had gone. Interesting. It seemed that the great hall here might control other places within this tower. Voices brought him back to where his wife and his friend ran to stare out each window in turn.
“Come and look at this, Jerrany.”
He did so. All the views were utterly strange, but a memory stirred. One looked like the place an opened door had shown them earlier. He said so. Eleeri nodded; she, too, recalled the odd desolate scene they had glanced at briefly. These must be some of the gates to other worlds.
Then she stretched. Her muscles felt strained, her legs weary with all this walking, but they had to continue. It could be more dangerous to waste time resting here. They moved on, but not before breaking more chairs into a further supply of torches. Behind them they left the curtains wide open and tied back. If Jerrany’s belief was right, it could ensure them light in the passages to come.
It seemed that his guess was right. There was no darkness as they traversed the seemingly endless corridors ahead. And all the time the linkage they had created tightened.
Finally Mayrin halted. “I can feel Romar very close now.”
“Spread out,” Jerrany ordered softly. “We move up one by one. If there is danger, best it reach only one of us.” He unsheathed his sword silently. “I take the lead, then Eleeri, then you.” Before there could be any protest, he was in motion, slipping on silent feet toward the door that was appearing in sight around a shallow bend. It was huge, a great double leafing of carved and inlaid wood. On it tiny figures danced, hunted, loved, and jested with each other.
One of them caught Eleeri’s eye. The tiny face was alive with curiosity as it watched her. A mad impulse seized her. She grinned, putting a finger to her lips. It smiled and a finger went up in turn as the tiny head nodded.
Jerrany was facing the door. They must open this, but having laid hands against the wood, he could feel it shut firmly. Perhaps a bar on the inside held it against them? He lifted his sword and Eleeri saw all the tiny figures fall back in alarm. Her hand shot out to clutch at his arm, pulling him backward.
“No. Let me try something.”
He nodded, stepping back. Her hands went up to trace runes: the ancient signs of warn and guard that barred her own canyon keep. The miniat
ure people clustered together, then broke apart, eyes watchful, seeming to be waiting as they stared at her friends.
“Make your own hold signs,” Eleeri suggested. Mayrin did so, followed by Jerrany. The tiny forms conferred, then the girl who had smiled at Eleeri stepped out to face them. Her hands came up and slowly, deliberately, her fingers wove the signs to match, but she did not cease there. Her hands lifted again. Some of those with her might have stopped her then, but others of their number held them back.
Once, twice, thrice, she drew the ancient runes of opening. At a signal the three before her repeated them. Again and again the repeat. Then a last time—and as Eleeri’s hands moved for the ninth time, she felt power gather and break like a wave against the doors. The doors thinned, fading into a glowing blue smoke—and as they vanished, she saw the tiny figure throw up a hand in farewell.
From the actions she had seen, the tiny people had deliberately allowed them passage—and died to do so. Cold with anger at the sacrifice, she hurled herself forward. From a littered desk a form spun, eyes wide with horrified astonishment at her entrance. She wasted no time in staring, but attacked, the knife flashing as it slashed downward. The creature died, croaking horribly as one arm tried to stave off death.
From another door more of them swarmed into the fight. Eleeri shuddered. They were an unholy amalgam of toad and human, but, she reflected as she fought, horrible as they might appear, they were no warriors. They died too easily. Beside her Jerrany and Mayrin fought, swords cleaving the enemy until the last of them had fallen. Without pause, Eleeri made for the door from where these guardians had come. She wrenched it open, hurling herself through and to one side.
Jerrany followed, swinging to the right, sword at the ready. A man confronted them now. A man. But not quite a man, for his eyes glowed red fire in the handsome face, his proportions somehow no longer quite those of humanity. He was well enough looking, Eleeri thought. Short in stature, no more than five and a half feet at most, but well-muscled, and his movements as he leaned forward were supple. His face could have been called handsome, if one ignored the fleshy lips, the bland coldness in the eyes. Already lines of petulance were starting to show, around the mouth. It was the face of one who is usually secure in his own esteem, and self-indulgent to his own whims and appetites.