by Andre Norton
Near day’s end Lord Salden gathered us and spoke as was his wont, quiet and straightforward words to men he knew and trusted.
“A day’s ride from here is Hagar Pass. Lord Imgry believes that if his army break the enemy in this battle, some will seek escape through the pass; near to it to the west lies a second similar pass. Paltendale ride to that one to hold the door tight shut.” He paused.
“Both Lord Hogar and I have sworn that should our enemy be slain then those of us who live shall ride to aid the other. Mark that. If I fall I would not be forsworn.” I heard their voices lift about me as the men agreed. Salden nodded grim-faced, raising a large parchment to hang on a frame.
“The plan is simple. Here is the pass we are to guard and the country which lies about it. Better we meet them on the far side. Thus if they push us back they must fight uphill, seeking to force an exit which grows ever narrower against them.”
Aran spoke up. “My Lord, how many might attempt the pass?” The reply explained Salden’s grimness and his talk of oaths given.
“Who can tell? The scouts say it could be five or six score. But of late the invaders have shown less liking for battle. In the place where Imgry will meet them they are like to take this formation.” He sketched swiftly with a charcoal stick. Around me men nodded sourly. “Aye. As you see. Those in the rear may break away and flee if they think the battle well lost. There are only two passes they can take if they try for the coast again in hopes of a ship. Also their last camp lies on our line and supplies will doubtless be left there in readiness for them. Paltendale hold one pass and we the other. Imgry is determined to wipe out all of the invaders. Our orders are to hold the passes.” He looked around us, his gaze meeting each man’s look in turn.
“To hold. There are no further orders.” I understood and so, by the faces of those about me, did my comrades. We were to hold until only men of one side were left standing. I thought ill of Imgry that he did not allow more men for the passes. Then I thought of the main battle and guessed he could spare no more to ride with us. Salden was sketching lines on the map again.
“Aran, you and Farris shall ride on ahead to scout the pass. I would be sure this map is correct. Unless Imgry is brought to battle sooner than he expects, it will be the day after tomorrow when we see the enemy.” I made for my horse as he commanded. My pony would be brought along by the pack-horse herder. With Aran at my shoulder, we rode out briskly.
I had named my horse Tas soon after I purchased him. It was the word for one of the hardy scrubs of the Waste. One which lived despite the heat and lack of water. The name was well-chosen—he was as tough and enduring as the plant. I was fond of the beast and he of me, coming when I whistled and nuzzling hopefully for the crusts I saved when I could. We rode until full dark when the pass was before us. Aran’s voice to me came out of the night.
“Shall we scout on foot before we make camp?”
I agreed. Things often go wrong once battle is joined and it could be that Imgry had been forced to fight early. If so, the enemy could be upon us before we expected. But there were no signs of them. Even after we had scouted the land before the pass, then climbed high and looked into the darkness. There were no camp fires to be seen, so we descended and made camp in a sheltered spot where their scouts could not spy our fire. In the dawn I scouted yet again while Aran climbed higher on the mountainside. Still we saw nothing until, in the distance, our comrades approached.
I left Aran to report to his lord while I took Tas. I rode at a steady trot far out before the pass, along the trail to where another peak stood proud. This I urged him to climb as far as he might. I halted him when his upward plunges became too labored. I stared across the trail, and in the far distance I saw dust. If that was the enemy they would not be up to the pass until I had been back two candlemarks or more. Still, I wasted no time in descending and putting Tas to a steady hand gallop.
“My Lord, I see dust on the trail beyond the next peak.” His reply was a signal to the master-at-arms. Horses were run back beyond the pass and picketed there. Soldiers ran to agreed positions and lay down. Aran and I knew already where we were to be. We went there and waited. I had been unsure if those approaching were the enemy, but so it turned out to be. There were only thirty of us and the odds were almost four to one.
It was a vicious battle. They were desperate men and we were but a little less desperate. All of us had lost friends or family at their hands, so we held as they pushed us into the throat of the Pass and there we stood firm. They could neither force us further back nor drag us down. They came at us again and again and died. Enemy they were, and they had done terrible things in their time, but let none say these were not brave men. They died in their tracks and whatever they may have done at Imgry’s battle, here none broke or fled.
At length there were few of us remaining. Aran and I; he with a wounded leg which made it hard for him to stand, I with my left arm roughly bound. Lord Salden was down, and most of our comrades. Only two stood beside us now, both wounded. We faced no enemy, I had slain the last as he ran through the master-at-arms. It was late afternoon and we had fought for several hours. Aran staggered to one side and sat heavily upon a stone.
“What do we do now?”
I looked at the three. “I ride. We gave our oath that we would seek out Paltendale and aid them if there was need.” Aran made to stand and I shook my head. “What use will you be to Paltendale if you bleed out in the hills between? You are already almost too weak to stand. Stay and rest with our comrades, eat and sleep. My wound is shallow and the bleeding is stopped. I may be of little use as a fighter but at least I can reach the other pass and bring back word of what happened there. In the morning, if I am not back, gather the beasts and return slowly to the main camp and Lord Imgry. I will catch up if I can.”
So I rode alone to the second pass which Paltendale had held. I came upon a scene of death there, though I had guessed it beforehand from the buzzards as they dropped from the skies ahead of me. Lord Hogar lay there, together with Faslane and others from Paltendale whom I had known. They had died with honor, for, as I saw from the lack of tracks, no enemy had succeeded in passing them.
I searched quickly amongst the bodies but found no sign of Hogeth and, something that made me frown when I noticed it, Faslane had died of a dagger wound from behind. I recalled his tale of another man who had died that way and I resolved to discover the truth one day, if I could. I saw, too, that the hoof-marks of a single horse led away from the pass in another direction.
I took nothing from that grim scene. I would tell Imgry of it if Imgry still lived. Let him send his men to scavenge among the dead. I met Aran two days into his return and rode back with him to a camp where men ran mad in drunken celebration. I looked on them and knew such was not for me. I would ride on. We sold the horses we had brought back from our battle, dividing the small amount of money equally—horses were not of so much value with the war over. I stayed one last night to drink with Aran, losing to him a little of the coppers and silver from my belt-pouch. He would have need of it when he returned to his own dale.
Aran would have had me return with him, but his dale was not mine. I would look again on the ruins of Erondale; after that I did not know. I had still most of the contents in my charm-bag about my neck, more coin from the sale of the mounts, and I would not starve. My friend wrung my hands in silence, his eyes brimming over.
“If ever I can aid you, call on me.”
I replied with similar words and wished I could have gone with him. But Erondale called, and with morning I saddled Tas and pack-saddled Drustan. With mail under my cloak, sword and dagger at my side, I left as quietly as I had once come to camp. After that I rode slowly for Erondale. I had only vague memories of the night my home fell to the invaders. Perhaps I had been wrong and there had been less damage than I believed. Yet Berond had spoken of “rubble.” I dropped from the high hills into Erondale to find both Berond and memory had been right.
; I camped two nights in the ruins mourning Berond and my family. There was nothing here of casual loot, the ruins of keep and village had been picked over many times. Yet Berond had told me well. I scouted carefully, and once I was sure none were about I found the secret—and the treasure of my House which lay hid. I left it untouched and rode on.
For nearly a year after that I rode with other soldiers loosely oathed to Lord Imgry. Men whose work it was to scour the land in search of any invaders who might have escaped that final slaughter. It took time until we could be sure none remained. But two days after my eighteenth birthday, at the end of the Year of the Unicorn, I rode South. I rode without plan or map, wishing only to see and learn the lands I did not know. Twice I dropped down into dales which received me with hatred or fear until they were certain I rode alone without men to follow. Already lordless, landless men were banding together, striking like wolf packs as they ravaged dales that had survived the war.
I was far to the South-west now, traveling in a slight curve down the lands. The Waste shimmered hotly to the North, far East lay the sea. Ahead to the South and a little East lay Sorn Fen. I had taken a day to wash my clothing and put on the only clean things I had left. Under my cloak I wore a threadbare tabard with the Paltendale arms. I had meant to throw it away many times but had not done so. It was too small for me and I had let out the strings as far as I could. The day was fine and I galloped Tas, out of my joy in living, Drustan following. I rounded a bend on the trail and men barred my way. I recognized one with a cry of amazement.
“Devol?” It was he, the groom from Erondale I had liked as a child. My friend with his winks and tricks and his jokes which had always made me laugh when I was young. Just when I thought everything of my dale was lost—when I believed everyone from Erondale was long since dead—here was an old friend.
“Devol, well met. What have you been doing through this war, are these your friends?”
He smiled, crowding his horse up to mine. “My friends, yes?” I saw he had not quite recognized me, though the dye was long since washed from my hair and skin. A child changes far more than a grown man in ten or twelve years.
“Devol, it’s Lorcan, Lorcan of Erondale.” He beamed hugely then.
“Little Lorcan! What do you here, are you alone, what of Erondale and your family?”
I felt a surge of sorrow. “Erondale fell to the invaders early. My father and brothers were killed as we fled. But it is wonderful to see you again and alive.”
Devol nodded. “A great occasion. Dismount, eat and drink with us, Lord Lorcan. We have good wine.” His band were a ragtag lot and I did not like the look of them, yet this was Devol of Erondale. I dismounted as he asked, sat and ate with them, drank heartily of the wine they offered me, toasting Erondale, Lord Imgry, friends and fallen comrades and the downfall of the invaders. I felt a strange muzziness come over me as I raised my mug to drink the last toast and as I slumped sideways onto the ground I saw that Devol still smiled. Yet now it seemed like the smile of one who gloats and not the grin of good comradeship. I had barely time to curse my folly before I was drowned in darkness.
IV
Meive
I awoke still hearing the screams, seeing the fires. I had seen or heard none of it, but the knowledge of how it must have been lived in my heart, and in my dreaming mind when I slept. I came shuddering into the here and now of a still warm night. The peace enwrapped me, soothing and calming until at last my gasping breaths slowed. The thundering pulse of my heart ceased to shake me. In the new silence I could hear a soft drowsy hum from the hives. I reached out with my mind and found they slept. All was well. I lay back on my bedding and remembered.
I was a child when the invaders came to the dales. Their coming meant so little to me or to those of my home that I am not even sure when it happened. It took time for any news to arrive at our remote and isolated valley. Officially, my home was Landale, although in truth we were so small that to call us “dale” was but a courtesy. Nor were we known to our neighbors by that name. Instead, a traveler had once named us Honeycoombe in jest. That name was more true to ourselves, so it remained the title most often used.
On the maps, however, we were Landale after the first of our lords, a younger son who came here to take up land four generations ago. He and his family lived in a state barely more luxurious than those of us who looked to him, yet that suited both him and his. It suited us also, and there was strong affection and loyalty between his line and the village about his large stone house.
For his estate he had taken a tiny dale, a valley steepsided, deep in foothills, with a second smaller vale leading from the inner end. We did not make our coin from rich fertile lands and sheep or cattle. No, our wealth, such as it was, came from the uplands beyond our dale. Uplands rocky and steep, but where grew great swathes of the low thick bushes known as beelove covered in massed purple and white flowers.
In Winter our few goats grazed there, nibbling the grass beneath the bushes and nibbling back the tastier portions of the shrubs themselves so that in Spring they flowered ever more profusely. That was our time: Spring, when the bees of our more than twenty hives flew forth to garner nectar and make of it honey. That we gathered with as much care as the winged-ones and traded it and the other bee-products for modest wealth for Honeycoombe.
I lay in my bed remembering that year when I had been ten and eager to learn. We had our own wise woman in Honeycoombe, old Ithia, who spoke to the bees and instructed us in their care. She it was who told us when the hives should be carried down to the valley before Winter. Who told us the right time to return the winged-ones to the Uplands so they might fly forth again in the growing warmth. She was much respected and many girls looked at her in hope. To be titled the Wise-Woman of the Bees was to be blessed—as well as the owner of a cottage and independent. And it was to me that year that she spoke.
“Meive, come with me, child.” I went eagerly.
“Take my hand and listen.” I stood before the hive to which she had led me and waited. Ithia smiled. “Do not try so hard. Let your body relax. Let your mind hear only the winged-ones humming. Let it carry you where it will.” I did as she bade me and it was so. I saw strange and wondrous things. I could not later recall all I had seen, but I knew I had been welcomed. And Ithia knew it, too. When at last I came to myself again she was smiling.
“It is well. The winged-ones accept you.”
I was disappointed. Was that all? They accepted everyone in the dale. All but Neeco, and he had left almost two years ago. I said so, diverted by the memory of that angry departure.
Ithia shook her head slowly. “The bees know more than they speak. They rejected Neeco in a way which made me fear for us all. It was for that I spoke to Lord Lanson, and he found a place for the boy beyond our dale.”
“He didn’t want to leave,” I said matter-of-factly.
“No, but it was right. There was that within him which disturbed the winged-ones. If he remained it would not have been well.”
My eyes rounded. “Would they have left us?”
“Perhaps.” She shook her head in warning. “Bees which have been angered or distressed have less honey to share also. The bond between us and little ones stretches thinner as they remember that we caused their worry. Nothing of that is well.”
She shrugged, throwing off our memories of the angry boy shouting threats as he left the dale. Neeco had not wanted to leave home and family. He’d been thirteen, though, old enough to take up a job several dales away. He’d been good with dogs and Lord Lanson had found him a position as assistant kennel-boy in Merrowdale, two days wagon-ride from us. His family had been sad, but resigned to his departure. Neeco, however, had to be taken by force to his new place. He’d screamed at us all as he was dragged away.
“I’ll come back. You’ll see. I’ll come back and make you all sorry.” The lord’s men had been rougher at that. Neeco had cried out in pain and anger. “You’ll pay, all of you. My life on it.” The master-
at-arms had clapped a hand over Neeco’s mouth and we had heard no more. He had gone, and almost had I forgotten him until this day.
“Couldn’t he have stayed? He could have kept away from the Uplands.”
“The hives return to the bee-barn in Winter,” Ithia reminded me. “How would he stay away from his home then? No. It was not kind, but it was necessary. I cannot be oath-certain what ill omen he would have brought to us, but the queens showed me death. They believed he would bring death to us.” She laid a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Now, to return to why you are here. I have said, the winged-ones accept you. Not as they accept others but as they speak to me. Would you like to be my apprentice, child? If so, then I will bespeak your father.”
I was eager but doubt held me back. “Would I have to leave my family?”
Ithia smiled gently. “Eventually, yes. But not yet. You are young. I think it best that you stay with them a year or two yet. You shall learn from me during the day and return home to your kin in the evening. Does that please you better?” She saw my joyous face and her smile broadened. “I see it does. Well then, let us go and discuss matters with your parents.” Both were greatly pleased that I should be chosen. But my father was puzzled.
“Wise One, I have heard it said that to be a keeper of the bees one must have a gift. Never has there been a trace of this in my line, nor in my wife’s. How is it that Meive has the gift?”
I was standing to one side and saw my mother’s face. There was some secret there. She smoothed out the look when she caught my eye and nodded to me. I knew she would tell me, but not yet. Ithia nodded at my father.
“That is true, but such a gift may arise from nowhere. How think you it came the first time? Then, too, it may lie in the bloodline many generations before coming forth again. It was so with me. My own gift comes from my many-times-grandmother. It was a story in our line, and when it appeared in me none were surprised. Mayhap in your line the story faded and was forgot. But the blood does not forget, nor do the winged-ones.”