The Warding of Witch World

by Andre Norton

  “Keplians!” Someone in that crowd had raised the cry. The woman rider leaned a little forward, her hand on the arching neck of the mare she rode.

  “We are of the Light!” Her voice had a note of challenge. “Think you we could have passed your defenses else?” She turned a little to wave her hand at the wall behind her.

  There was a glow, and then for an instant a flashing blaze of a blue pattern. Those standing there cried out in confusion. Dimly they had known that Es had defenses other than those ready to man her walls with sword and axe, but never in memory had they seen it proved.

  The captain of the gate raised his gauntleted hand in salute, his men crowded back, and the two who rode steeds out of ancient nightmares paced on as if they approached their own stable yard. Yet they left witnesses who had seen plenty to talk of, and rumor spread wide and fast. Who the two strangers were and how they had come to make peace with Keplians, monsters of the Dark lands, no one knew. But no one could deny that the woman had summoned the signs of Power to prove they were no peril.

  For some six days more the ingathering continued. Supply-filled boats came from west and east along the river. There was such a demand for foodstuffs that farmers as far away as Gottem sent their surplus and made good bargains.

  But there was no going forth into the town by the strangers. Squads of the Borders were seen from time to time. One such returned with a group of Falconers who looked very trail-weary. All who came were housed in the citadel and that seemed to be the end of them.

  Almost as startling as the coming of the Keplian riders was the arrival of a body of witches escorted by troops wearing the badge of Marshal Koris. Witches had not been seen too much of late years. The strain of the Turning had depleted their ranks. Many of the oldest and most authoritative had either died or been left empty of brain after that effort. The small core left had withdrawn to their own place of training, the Place of Wisdom.

  There were six of the gray-robed women and the eldest was certainly no age-worn hag. On the other hand, she had in her company two, robed and even wearing stones of Power, who were scarcely more than children. Those who knew a little guessed that these must be counted high in Power.

  The arrival of the witches put an end to the flood of travelers—those gathered in the citadel might well have been waiting for them.

  If the city was agog over these visitors, the citadel fairly shimmered with new life. It was as if the stones from which it had been formed drew energy to develop a silvery sheen which was clearly visible at night.

  How could it be otherwise, Keris thought as he stood on one of the small balconies near the dome of the building, when within its walls was such a gathering of Power which had certainly not been known since its building—if even then.

  That he was here himself rested on the fact that he had been one of that party accompanying his grandfather to the Alizon Border. They had all been questioned extensively, even under the glow of a truth jewel specially sent from Lormt, and surely there was nothing more than they could tell.

  Lormt—that seemed to be the kernel of this gathering and yet only its marshal and two of his men were under this roof. There was much talk of a Lady Mereth and—he frowned—of a link with Alizon. All his life long Keris had known that Alizon was the enemy.

  But at least that terrible attack of raw magic which had laid them all low had been explained. That, too, Lady Mereth had had a hand in. The Magestone—the Great Key which had controlled the master gate of the ancient adepts—had come to her, and equally to an Alizondern, by right.

  There had been a battle of Powers. A black mage who would have seized that control was safely gone—but so was the Key. And the Key had been fashioned to control all the gates. No one knew how many of those there were—or where they all might be. If the Magestone lay now in limbo for all time, then would the gates themselves—those still able to work—go wild and let in upon them such perils as the Kolders? Or would they reach out here in his own world to snatch the innocent and take them ever beyond the reach of home and kin?

  He heard the summoning gong which vibrated through the walls of the citadel, and reentered the room he shared with two other Valley born, so cramped were the lodgings by the arrival of such a host. The sound of the gong had died away but not the sound of feet along corridors.

  The heart of the citadel, of Es itself, was the great assembly hall four stories high, ringed with balconies for those who were unable to find places on the main floor.

  Keris worked his way to a place by the rail and began to pick out from the gathering below those he knew by name as well as those whose deeds were already bard’s tales. Ethatur of the Valley and Dahaun, Keris’s own mother, with Kyllan overreaching her by but a finger’s breath or two. Flanking them on one side his Uncle Kemoc, with his Krogan lady well wrapped in a heavily dampened cloak so that she could withstand a lengthy time beyond the touch of her native water.

  On Dahaun’s right was a great bear of a man, his heavily muscled form made the bulkier by a furred cloak worn as a badge of authority—Anner Osberic of the Sulcars, he who had led the raid on Karsten which would not be early forgotten.

  There were so many: dark-haired, pale-skinned lords and ladies of the Old Race, as well as these outlanders. At the far end of the hall was a table set on a dais, chairs along one side of it only, ancient, tall of back, their once-deep carvings worn nearly smooth. In the center were two raised a little higher than their fellows. And even then one had to have a double set of cushions to bring it high enough for the occupier: Koris of Gorm, Marshal of Estcarp, in reality, since the withdrawal of the witches from most active government, the ruler of a land which had once deemed him an outcast. His handsome head was high held but his stunted body, in spite of the shoulders of a veteran axeman, could have been dwarfed by most of the company.

  To his right the other throne chair gave seating to a woman whose dull ash-gray gown was in sharp contrast to the brilliant show of color in the garb of those about her. She wore a single jewel—and that, too, as it swung on her breast on a silver chain, was as dull as her gown. Yet it was a far more potent weapon than any other armament within this great hall.

  The witches were nameless, as all knew. For a personal name was a potent thing and to surrender it to the knowledge of another was to put one with that other’s power. But this one passed by the name of Gull when among others and she was now the chosen link to those remaining within the walls of the Place of Wisdom.

  There was Simon to Koris’s left, and Jaelithe, his once-witch wife (who held an uneasy truce with her onetime sisters). Then Koris’s Lady Loyse, of whom legends had already been woven.

  At the end of the table stood a man who had not seated himself in the chair awaiting him. Rather he was leaning forward, handling with obvious care the wrappings of some object which had been placed on the board. Flanking him was Marshal Duratan, chronicler and protector of Lormt, who was watching every movement of that unwrapping as if he expected some outburst of energy to follow.

  Keris was well placed to watch that action and he knew the man so engaged, just as he knew well the woman who hovered beside his shoulder as if to offer aid be it needed.

  The man was Hilarion, the last (as far as they knew) of the adepts whose playground and experimental laboratory their whole world had been before the Great Change. Though Hilarion looked to be no older than Simon, he had survived years untold as a slave beyond a gate of his own making before being freed by the woman beside him—Kaththea, Simon’s sorceress daughter.

  There were a handful of others at the other end of the table, but, as Keris’s, all eyes were intent on what the adept was doing.

  The last of the enfolding covering had been pulled away. What stood there, some six hands high, was a double-pyramid-shaped object, each of the square bottoms being set solid on a length of blue quan iron.

  Hilarion moved around the end of the table to the side facing the whole company, where there were no chairs to conceal a full
view. And he went slowly, edging his device hardly more than an inch at a time along with him, until they reached the certain point of the board.

  For the first time then the adept spoke. “Of old we could look across mountains, under seas, beyond oceans. But like much else, that art was lost with those from whose minds it sprang. You all know of the discoveries at Lormt after the Turning, but before that time I was working with another—Alon, now of Arvon—to bring back a device which would allow such communication.

  “Now we face such danger as may equal the Great Disaster. As you well know, the Mage Key, which once controlled all gates, has been discovered. When such power comes, even into worthy hands, it awakens and stirs the Dark. And though that key may be safely lost once more, the Dark is still awake, and old enemies are empowered.

  “Those of Alizon have long labored, plotted, to bring us down. They had their compact with the Kolder first, and, when those vermin were driven from our world, they went seeking other aid. Though they profess to fear and hate all Power, there are those among them willing to use any weapon to gain what they would have.

  “Therefore, the key when it was found brought out of the Dark an Old One of great power, as well as he who in the beginning first fashioned it. There were those of his house still living. And through them the Light arose.

  “Through the years we all have known of the gates. There have come through them whole nations seeking refuge—such as those of the Dales—as well as others by chance. And most of these we had reason to welcome. But . . .” the pyramids seemingly having been placed to his satisfaction, he turned more to the company to address them, “the key is gone forever. While it remained in our world—though well hidden—its influences might well have kept a portion of the gates in check, allowing them to work only erratically. Now”—he made a small gesture with one hand—“who knows what has happened? We all felt the terrible unleashed power of the key’s passing—we have certain gates we are sure of. . . . However, perhaps I wander from what I hope we can learn.”

  “This”—he had swung around once more to confront his apparatus—“perhaps will give us word out of Arvon. For Alon has labored there, backed by the Power of the Gryphon, to construct a similar device. If we can communicate, then we need not wait for any ship’s voyaging to bring us news which perhaps will arrive too late for us to act effectively.”

  Kemoc had slipped out of his chair, and Dahaun and Ethatur also, and with them Jaelithe. There was a stir as Gull arose from her seat. With impassive face she followed them, one hand clasping her jewel to her breast.

  Kaththea stood now behind her lord, her hands out so that her fingertips reached up to rest upon his shoulders. Behind her Kemoc copied her gesture, linking with his sister, then came Dahaun and Ethatur. Last of all, Gull, after a moment’s hesitation, keeping one hand still to cup her jewel, touched the co-ruler of the Green Valley. Keris’s hands clasped the edge of the railing so tightly that the edge cut into his palms, but he was not aware of that small pain. He might not carry the talent within him, but no one in that hall could be unaware that such forces were gathering as might well blast the very walls about them were they to be carelessly unleashed.

  The tension was like a cloud, one could almost see as well as feel it, and there was utter silence in the whole of that large company.

  Hilarion’s own hands went out, his arms stretched wide, and each outheld palm seemed to pull with it one of the pyramids, drawing them ever farther apart, enlarging the space between them. He recited no ritual as Keris had expected, but from his outstretched fingers there shot darts of blue flame.

  The pyramids caught that force, held it until each of them in turn was afire. Once that was accomplished, from the quan iron slab on which they were rooted came a shaft of light, within its heart a darker core. That grew fast and cleared as it grew, putting on substance, until between the pyramids stood a miniature man—no figurine, for as the last of the light which had drawn him disappeared, the small figure raised arm in salute.

  Keris was too far away to see the mannequin easily, but no one in that company could miss Hilarion’s welcome.

  “Alon!”

  The mannequin bowed his head. “As was hoped, master of learning, so it is wrought.” One could have expected the thinnest of piping from such a small body, yet the voice was near equal to Hilarion’s.

  “There is good reason for summoning—” Hilarion began, when the other interrupted.

  “We must be swift—we are seven but we are limited. There was a turmoil of raw magic.”

  “Yes. The key to the Great Gate was found—and then taken from this world. Now we do not know how the subject gates may be used.”

  “So.” The image of Alon nodded. “Those of Garth Howell ride for the Crest of the Lion—or so they did before the wave struck. There is said to be a gate there—or once was. And Garth Howell is shadowed. They have those among them who can well choose to reach for the Dark.”

  “We meet in Es in full company, we who are sworn lieges to the Light,” Hilarion continued. “We hope to search out which gates still have life in them. Those at Lormt labor to find the way to ward our land, to discover how such gates can be locked forever. We can send a search party to you in the west, but much of your land is unknown and it will take time to cross the seas.”

  Alon appeared to shimmer for a moment and then stood clear again. “The force is failing. We shall do what we can—the Dale lords and those of Arvon will be warned. Now—”

  Again his figure shimmered but this time it did not recover its density, rather was gone. Hilarion himself swayed forward against the table. His hands fell to its surface, plainly holding him upright, and he was breathing as might a man who had won a race for his life.

  Nor were those who had backed him in better shape, holding on to each other or the edge of the table as they made their way back to their places. Even Gull’s slow pace was close to a totter. And when they half fell into their seats they sat wan-faced.

  “This then is our task.” Marshal Koris’s voice, meant to call a regiment to order, was loud enough to encompass the rising murmur from the throng before him. “Where there is a gate, there is perhaps still an opening through which may come ill. Do not forget the Kolder.”

  Keris saw Anner Osberic’s wide lips shape a snarl.

  “There was also but months ago that sweep of ships and men out of nowhere,” Koris continued. “Had it not been for the Falconers and brave Dalesmen they might have found foothold here. You of the Sulcars”—now he addressed Anner directly—“have your tale of coming through an ice wall which opened for your ships into our seas.”

  Osberic nodded. “That is true. We came from the north and there was an ice barrier. What brought us through it we have no legend for, but”—he swung now to address Marshal Duratan—“they say you have found all manner of strange histories recently at Lormt. Perhaps there lies something of our own beginnings here.”

  Duratan spoke briefly. “If there is any such, Lord Captain, and it is found, be sure you shall know of it speedily.”

  Simon Tregarth moved forward a little. His hand had been clasping Jaelithe’s as if he could in some manner return to her the strength she had loosed for Hilarion.

  “There are those of us who came by chance and separately. That spot near the Tor Marsh where I found my way, that I know. And there are others—the Lady Kelsie—”

  Among the throng there was a stir as a slight girl moved forward. She did not step up on the dais but she turned to face the company, and it was plain she was straining her voice to reach all their ears. “My gate I know—it lies in Escore.”

  “And the Lady Eleeri—”

  Another stirring of the crowd. This time the woman who advanced was brown of skin, nearly as brown as the skillfully fashioned leather she wore. Her black hair was long and braided, with lengths of blue and gold beads shining within the loops.

  “I followed the road of my Old Ones by choice and not by chance,” she said.
“Yes, I know where I entered into this world now mine.”

  For the first time Gull now spoke.

  “Of the gates, we have always known. In the past . . .” she paused a moment as if she were carefully selecting the words she would speak next, “we held the Power to be a sacred trust given to us alone—that only one female born could know the talent and use it properly, so much was kept our secret knowledge. Now . . .” she paused again to look down on the crowded hall, “we see that, though we in the past wrought mightily to protect our world, yet we were not the only ones chosen by the Light to do so. Now I am empowered by our council to speak directly. This”—her hand caressed her jewel—“can be used as detection for any magic, old or new. If a gate once existed and is no longer in service, that it can tell. If a gate which has lain dormant again gathers Power, or perhaps is the goal of others—that, too, we can tell. But we have no wards for such and at Lormt lies our only hope of finding them.

  “Now I believe it is in the minds of those gathered here that there must be those to go forth, parties to seek the gates unknown. For so long we have been at war with our neighbors—Alizon, Karsten—we know nothing of what lies farther south or north except, as Lord Anner has said, what is told in the legendary histories of others.

  “In Arvon little is known of the south, or what lies beyond the desolation of the Waste. We do not even guess how much land must be searched or whether we can find all which we seek. The Adept Alon has reported that Garth Howell seems to be taking a hand. There is also news from Lormt and the north that those of Alizon can be once more our bane.

  “This much we can offer you: When you send forth your search parties, one of our sisterhood will ride with each. We can communicate over distance—how far, we have never really tried—and our weapons have proven their Power.”

  Koris and Simon were both staring at her while Jaelithe was nodding.