by Andre Norton
He was clad in a smooth silken material, designed and cut to show his lithe strength, and open almost to the waist in front. Eleeri could not quite say what was wrong with his shape; perhaps the arms were a little too long, the legs a touch too short. All she knew was that as he stood there summing them up even as they stared back, he reminded her of nothing so much as stepping in something squishy in the dark. She had an urge to make a disgusted sound and step back and away. His over-red lips parted.
“Oh, but you have done so well, come so far—for nothing. Did you think I would give back the one you seek at a mere word?” His face shaped a smug leer. “Yet if one of you would come to me willingly I might be generous. I might be . . . very generous.” He waited, but none of them spoke. “No? Well, then you are uninvited guests. Leave and perhaps I will not call the Dark against you.”
“We have met the Dark. We are here,” Mayrin said briefly.
“I could offer you other choices—”
“Those, too, we have seen. We have rejected them,” Mayrin returned.
“I could kill the one you seek. Where, then, do you profit?”
“In death he would be free. What then of your own use of him?”
His face twisted in rage. “Then fight and lose, pawns of Light.” His hands came together in a single echoing clap that gathered sound to roll like thunder about the room. Abruptly they were elsewhere.
Their hands shot out to grasp. Fingers linked as they swung into battle formation back to back, swords out. Ever afterward Eleeri was unsure if it was their eyes that adapted to the shadowlands or light came to them from some source. But gradually they could see farther and farther although all the land they saw was in the grays of shade and shadow.
“Where are we?” Mayrin’s voice trembled a little.
Jerrany shrugged. “I do not know. Maybe someplace of the Dark lord’s devising. Perhaps a real world. But I recall once hearing a wise one from Lormt. He told a tale of a shadow world which is half in our world and half in nothingness. Those who are whole can return from it. Those who are not are refused passage. Would that not be a safe place to hold Romar’s spirit captive? He would be trapped here, unable to leave, unable to pass the boundary to return to where his body lies.”
The two women looked at each other, then nodded. Mayrin spoke angrily. “No wonder he sent us here. But what do we do?”
Eleeri grinned, a smile that was suddenly dangerous. “He thinks it a joke. We’re supposed to find Romar, perhaps free him, then try to leave. When Romar can’t, that so-called lord will find it very amusing, I’ve no doubt.”
“Then why are you smiling?” Jerrany was puzzled.
Eleeri’s fingers went up to touch the lump above her belt. Cynan had taught her spells and all the time she had lived in Escore her gifts had grown in strength. In this trial of her abilities everything she had ever known and all the power she had slowly gained was blending into a whole.
“Let us find Romar,” she said quietly. “I may have something which will help us win him free of this shadowland.”
She waved aside their queries. “Let us find him first if we can. Free him, then return here. Time enough then to ask questions.”
Jerrany nodded. “Let us decide on a direction. Does the mind-rope still bind us to Romar?”
There was a brief silence as they tested. The feel of the link held yet. Jerrany led off, heading for a low range of hills deep in shadow. To either side the women moved out a pace behind him, eyes searching the terrain as they trotted. A soft whimpering caught their attention as they passed a clump of tangled, viciously thorned brambles. Mayrin turned to follow the sound. Then she fell to her knees.
“Look, he’s caught.” Her hands went out to aid, but Eleeri hauled her abruptly backward.
“Hold on. It may be some kind of trap.”
She drew her dagger, the silver shining in the shadowlight. With it she carefully moved the brambles aside until the figure could crawl free. Then she offered the blade.
“If you are not evil, touch this.”
It did so, straightening abruptly into a man only a little less tall than they. He bowed low.
“I acknowledge a debt to Light. May I aid you?”
They studied him. With his touch on the silver blade, he had grown. He was male, but not quite human. His eyes were round and his ears long, with what looked like tufts of furry feathers atop them. His hands were three-fingered and stubby.
Jerrany stirred. “Are you born to this land?”
“I am. But neither I nor this place are of the Dark. Here both Dark and Light may abide.” He frowned. “Though we are never pleased when those who follow either side strongly intrude. We prefer peace.”
Mayrin nodded. “Why were you in the brambles?”
“Because a power is meddling here again.” His voice was soft and angry. “I was seized and entangled so that I might entangle you. But I do not choose to do this. You have seen I could touch silver. I am not of the Dark, nor do I choose to be used by it. If you will trust me, I will lead you to the one you seek. The journey on foot would be great, but I can shorten it to a breath.” He waited.
Mayrin took a deep breath. Before either could prevent it, she had taken a step forward, laying her hand in his.
“It is my brother who is captive. I trust you to take us to him, aid us to free him or at the least cause us no hindrance.”
The male smiled up at her. His hands went out to touch theirs; they gripped his tightly. There was a second of disorientation, a clap of air, and they stood on the shores of a black lake. The inky water rippled toward their feet.
“Which way now?” Jerrany was scanning the lakeshore.
A stubby hand rose to point. They trudged forward through loose black sand to where a small black marble building reared above the low slope.
Jerrany hooked his dagger through the door latch, dragging at the weight of tightly shut wood. It yielded slowly.
Within they could see a figure sitting motionless in a great carven chair. It was bound in heavy loops of chain, but the face as it turned to them was that of Romar. But not the once-elegant, gaily clad sword-brother Jerrany had known. Nor the joyous laughing brother Mayrin remembered. It was to Eleeri he looked the most familiar as she met the exhausted enduring eyes. Resolutely she trod forward, taking his chill hands in hers.
“Well met, Romar. We have come to take you home.”
His hands closed on hers and the sudden light in his eyes lit her heart. At first she had pitied him for his slavery. Then she had grown to care for him as a friend. And finally she had known that without this man her life might be incomplete. She breathed in the air of this place. She would have him free of here or die trying. She moved aside as Mayrin and Jerrany thrust past to clasp hands with Romar. Mayrin’s face was calm, but slow tears trickled down her cheeks. The first step was accomplished. That which was lost was now found.
18
Mayrin was fumbling at the chains. “I can’t see any locks. How are they sealed?
Jerrany had picked up a link and was following it around his friend. He circled, circled again, traced the links over an arm and around the chair. Finally he looked up at them.
“There are no locks. The chain has no end.”
“Damn!” Eleeri snarled. “They were put on; there has to be a way to take them off again.”
The prisoner smiled bitterly. “You are assuming that my master wanted to take them off. He plans to use me until all I am is gone. Then he will have no need to open the chains. I will no longer be within them.”
But Eleeri came of a people to whom there were no impossible problems, only unfound solutions. Touching the chains with the daggers brought reaction. The chains tightened until Romar gasped for breath. Lift the touch of silver and they slackened once more. At length she stood back.
“Romar, if the Dark lord created these, they must be wholly of the Dark. That is why they react to the silver and to anything else we bear that is of the Light. But
they are stronger than anything we bear.”
She paused, thinking. Perhaps their guide could help them. “What is stronger than the Dark?”
“Love,” the creature answered.
“What buys freedom?”
“Sacrifice.”
She leaned forward, her eyes holding his, watching for the slightest evasion now. “What breaks chains to free a living captive?”
“That which you hold in common.”
Into her mind came the answer then, like curtains raised to show the sun. Her dagger flicked into her hand and with one sweep she opened the skin of her arm. Blood spilled over the chains. For one instant they tightened—she could almost hear the creak of Romar’s ribs. Then the black bindings withered, smoking away to nothingness. Her hands went out to lift him up as he took one tottering step forward. Then he was in her arms as his sister and sword-brother crowded about, holding them both.
His face bent to hers. “Tsukup?”
“Indeed.” She was half laughing as tears slid down her face. His finger gathered one in.
“Tears for me? No, now is no time to weep.” He hugged her savagely. “The three of you have done the impossible. Let us compound this and see if we cannot leave this place.”
Their guide cleared his throat. “I can return you to a certain place, should you ask it of me.”
It was Jerrany who understood that first. He straightened. “We ask that you take all four of us to a gate from whence we might come to our own lands again.” Their guide held out a hand and at a touch they were gone. They stood swaying on short thin grass as their heads cleared. Ahead of them a faint mist alternately obscured and partially revealed a dull gray structure. Weathered stone blocks showed in a lichen-daubed archway.
Mayrin stepped back a pace. Her eyes met those of the guide. “I do thank you, good lord of this land. For your courage and your aid. Is there aught we could do for you in return? Your help has been far beyond any poor debt you might have owed us for releasing you from the brambles.”
He hesitated, then nodded. His eyes drifted to the dagger that gleamed softly at her belt. Mayrin freed the sheath, handing it to him, then she drew the dagger.
“This weapon of Light do I freely give to you. Use it with honor. May it serve you as it has served me.” She handed it to him, watching as it was sheathed once more. He bowed low to all of them in turn, then he was gone, loping away over the gray moorland. But as he went, it seemed as if his figure changed yet again, so that they stared at each other in silence.
To Eleeri it appeared as if a coyote had turned to study her with amusement as it left. She knew not what the others might have seen, but in her heart she smiled. The trickster came in many guises, as Far Traveler had always said. But they had dealt fairly and so been treated well in turn. That was as it should be, and as all legends told.
Her friends were studying the gate. It loomed, gray and massive, forbidding above them. Through the ancient arch they could see only mist.
“Well, shall we return?” Romar’s voice was almost happy.
“We can; you cannot.” Mayrin blinked. “We were told that you are only here in spirit. It takes both spirit and body to pass the gate.”
He stared at them blankly. “Then must I remain here?”
But Eleeri’s eyes had opened wide in sudden knowledge. At last there was a purpose for the clay from the canyon keep. Quickly she ran from bush to bush, then dragged out her dagger, cutting free a piece of her tunic. It was Romar who first understood. He nodded, taking the dagger from her to cut a length of his hair and spit upon the clay.
Eleeri twisted grass into thin cord, sewing rapidly. Then she held up the figure modeled from the clay. It bore a tiny dagger rough-carved from a silver wood, and was dressed in leather tunic and breeches.
“And something from all of us,” Eleeri said as she dappled her own blood across the clay, then bound her dagger lengthwise along the cut she had given herself to free Romar. Mayrin added a long strand of her hair, Jerrany spat on the clay even as his sword-brother had done. Eleeri nodded.
She beckoned Romar. “Hold this and do not let go, no matter what may happen. Lead us, Jerrany.”
He strode through the gate, sword at the ready. Behind him Romar was flanked by the women, each fierce-eyed. Light flamed about them in a blinding aura, heat seared, cold burned. But the women’s hands remained clamped to Romar’s arms. They were battered, tossed from side to side. Their fingers ached; it was as though they were dragged time and again against their hold.
Then it was over. Three people stood swaying on a stone floor within a great hall. Above, banners stirred. Mayrin shrieked.
“Romar! Romar! He didn’t come with us.”
Eleeri stooped to take up the clay figure. “He did, you know. Now all we have to do is defeat the Dark lord. Return his spirit, which is contained in this, to his body here, and go home.” She sighed elaborately. “All in a day’s work.”
The giggles that greeted her words were a touch hysterical, but better than outcry. In her hand the clay moved. She placed it on the paving, then watched as it marched forward.
“Where’s he going?”
“In search of his body, I should think. He’d have a better tie to that than any of us.” They fell in behind at a slow walk. None of the passages they traversed were dark. Runes sparkled from the walls as they paced on. The small figure was tireless, but by now Mayrin was beginning to show her own weariness, and Jerrany and Eleeri were slowing. A glance from a window as they passed told them that time had halted in the shadowlands, but now it moved on again, albeit slower than outside the tower. By the sun they had entered this place no more than two hours ago, although days seemed to have passed. Hunger and thirst plagued them all, so that they passed dry tongues over drier lips as they walked.
The pace quickened until the tiny figure before them was running. It halted the flight at a door. Eleeri groaned.
“Not another door. What do we have to do this time?”
Jerrany had opened his mouth to reply when the heavy wood trembled. The door crunched open, as red-tinged light spilled from the room within.
The clay figure darted past Eleeri. She gave a yelp of protest as she followed it in—only to pull up facing a long broad desk. Leaning back in a magnificent chair, the tower’s lord glared at them. At his side Romar lolled, body and face slack. In one swift glance Eleeri saw the clay figure lurking under the Lord’s desk. She moved to the right, drawing the lord’s eyes. The figure scurried forward into hiding behind the chair. Red coals met hers, holding her in their gaze.
“You trespass too greatly on my kindness, woman. It seems I must take stronger action to be rid of you and yours.” He spoke a word of binding. Just inside the doorway, Mayrin and Jerrany froze into immobility. Eleeri herself felt as if her body were wrapped in chains.
She must play for time. Time in which Romar might reunite body and spirit. She yawned.
“Why waste strength on one who could be an ally, Lord? I came to this land and it is barren. I have little, who would have more. What could a mighty lord offer one who could be useful?”
His look shifted to a sudden interest. “You are not of this world. Came you through a gate?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, leaning back thoughtfully. “That explains why you have been hard to take, woman. Your thoughts do not follow quite the same paths. Your gods are different, your beliefs strange. But I am powerful. Do not think to challenge me.”
“I do not. Not yet . . .” she added under her breath. “I merely ask what such a one as I could be worth to you.”
He deliberated. From the corner of her eye Eleeri could see the mannequin climbing Romar’s chair. A strange feeling distracted her then, something familiar. She kept her face blank. Somewhere within these walls friends came to their aid. The sense of knowing grew until she could recognize it.
By now the Dark lord was deep in his considerations. This woman would be most useful to him. With her po
wer, his plans could leap forward. She could not be trusted, but then it appeared she held some value to these with her. He held them motionless, could slay them if he wished. A promise of their safety might bend her to his will. If not, he had other powers.
Eleeri shifted her head a fraction. Jerrany was held still by the Dark lord’s power, but his eyes met hers and swiveled toward the door. So he, too, felt the approach of those they knew. Her eyes shifted back to the chair where Romar lolled. The mannequin came briefly into sight as it reached the top of the chair’s back. It slid into hiding behind the body’s cloak collar. Good. Now if only they could distract the tower’s master for a few vital seconds, they might have something of a chance.
Outside, hooves thudded along paved floors, nearing the doors. Eleeri studied the Dark one. He had made a simple error with her. Even though he himself had said she was different, and although he had seen his powers did not hold her so well, he had still not seen where that might take her.
Her mind focused, tightened into a narrow beam directed straight at her friends. *Hold! Until I give the word.* The sounds outside the door ceased. Sunk deep in greedy thought, the one before her had noticed nothing. Not yet an adept, flawed by pride and vanity, it did not occur to him any could withstand his commands. Finally he lifted his head to stare at her.
She moved her arm, drawing his attention. Blood! She was injured. He could draw on that to bind her now, at once. There was no need to offer her any foolish promises. He swelled in pride as he gathered his strength.
He remembered the day he had stood in the canyon. He had endeavored to use the remnants of power left there and it had backlashed, destroying him. Only his body had died. But it had taken many generations before a wandering hunter had come within reach and he had gained enough strength to take over the man’s body as host for his unhoused spirit. But all the time he had waited, he had grown in bitterness and hatred. Once he had been an adept, then a Dark adept. Then no more than a bodiless spirit howling in the wind. With his new body came growing power—and growing viciousness. But he refused to understand the lesson he should have learned from his past. Still more, he refused to see that his power was only a shadow of what it once had been.