by Andre Norton
But a figure he could hardly see in that limited light moved out a little ahead of the three sources holding so steady. There was movement, but Kethan could no longer, in spite of pard night sight, follow what that other did. Dimly he realized that the ward was being challenged. Firdun—wards were his talent and if any could break through this barrier, it would be him!
Kethan’s head drooped almost to the ground now. He wondered, even if Firdun was successful, if he could manage the few more paces to get he and his companion out.
Then there came a howling cry from his companion and a feeling that somewhere, not quite in the time he knew, a door had opened, or a barrier fallen. So heartened, he stumbled on to feel the healing of the moonflowers, as well as an inpouring of energy. Only he was too spent now. He crumbled to the ground and felt faintly the scratching of claws. But as he went into a soothing darkness, nothing mattered anymore.
Aylinn was on her knees in an instant, pulling at the length of the pard. Her hands sought his middle. A moment later she had shot the bolt of the jargoon buckle and pulled away the belt so that now a very battered and bloodstained young man rested at their feet.
Elysha stood in the same instant and caught up the cat, cradling its starved body against her.
“Uta, what evil sucked you into that?” There was a crooning note in her voice as she held the animal against her breast.
“Out of here!” Firdun’s voice was an order which caught all their attention. “There may well be a backlash—that was a fourfold bespelling.”
He had already bent over Kethan while Ibycus and Guret moved up on the other side. The were was limp in their combined hold; they could not arouse him enough to move even with their aid. So they carried him somewhat clumsily, well aware that he might well be wounded worse than the damage they could see. Then Obred and Lero arrived, that same hammocklike device stretched between two of the horses, which snorted and pawed the earth but were easily forced to obey, and Kethan was transported. So they moved through the night, Aylinn walking beside the swaying hammock in which her foster brother lay, impatient to be allowed to tend him, though Ibycus and Firdun, and even Elysha, appeared to be gripped by the same conviction that they must be on the move and as quickly as possible.
Kethan had not stirred since he had fallen except when the hands about him moved him by their will. But she could see that his face between the smeared filth and dried blood was that of one who slept at peace, had not fallen into deep unconsciousness.
They headed south for a space, Ibycus now and then bringing them to a pause while he studied the stars overhead. He also gazed often into the murky gem on his finger and once sharply changed their direction. Elysha carried the cat and sometimes Aylinn caught a fringe of mind-send between the two. The wisewoman had insisted that she be given a packet of meat and she also carried her saddle water bottle slung over her shoulder, offering its contents to her charge at intervals.
Dawn was once more visible enough that Firdun could see that the eternal pan of cracked yellow clay over which they had traveled through most of the night had again changed. This time there was no reddish moss to carpet the ground, nor were the small bushes beginning to show in any color except natural green. For a moment or two, remembering well that glamorie of the trap, he had eyed the landscape distrustfully.
Now they followed, he was sure, a directly western course. But they must also be well south of the trail those from Garth Howell had taken. They came to a stand of trees and Ibycus at last called a halt.
Kethan did not rouse even when Aylinn loosed her healer’s bag and made measured choices. He did swallow water when his head was raised against her shoulder and a cup held to his lips. However, it was as if he moved in his sleep and his eyes remained closed. She had a frightening thought that the rough scratches might hold some poison.
Elysha joined her and together they stripped away his badly rent clothing so she might treat each and every one of those cuts. For the first time he moved on his own, his hands going to his waist, and he gave a slight moan until Aylinn put his wandering fingers on his belt, though she did not fasten it once more about him.
The trees marked a spring, and the grass a little beyond their circle drew whinnies from their mounts, who wanted freedom to graze. The two Kioga tribesmen rode out and came back very soon, carrying a creature not unlike a leaper but twice it in size, roughly butchered between them. Firdun, exploring around the spring, returned with a double handful of sweet root.
Among them the cat moved, apparently in better shape now than her rescuer. She had gone to sit beside him, her eyes on Aylinn, almost as if she needed to make sure he was under proper care. Now she hunkered down, her paws folded under her. Seeing the half-healed gashes on her bony body, Aylinn brought forth more salves and set about anointing them, paying extra attention to the torn ear, the animal permitting her touch as if it were expected.
One—three— Aylinn started at that sudden mind-touch. The cat had extended her injured leg as if to draw the girl’s full attention to it.
The moonmaid knew little of tame cats. However, with snowcat and pard sharing her family, she certainly was aware of the proper mind-levels for communication at least within their species.
“Moon.” She shaped the word with her lips as well as spoke it aloud.
One—three—female Power. The answer came promptly.
“True,” she agreed. “Greetings, sister-in-fur.”
Uta. The cat replied that same name with which Elysha had first greeted her. One—three—waiting—
Aylinn was putting a light binding of leaf cloth over the slashed leg.
“Waiting where, Uta?” To her knowledge there were very few moonmaids and she had heard of none who dared the Waste.
See soon. Feel good. He will awake soon. The cat nodded toward Kethan. Brave fighter—cat lord—
“He is man also,” Aylinn found herself saying, “as you can see.”
Much not seen by eye. Man-pard—great warrior.
Uta deliberately closed her eyes and it was apparent she considered their conversation over—leaving Aylinn a bit resentful, with a lot of questions she would like to ask. That this animal was not of the same breed as those cats who had joined households she was very sure. But neither was she a were! The Waste was certainly full of mysteries. Perhaps one could never come to the end of them.
She curled up by Kethan and followed the cat’s example, finding sleep ready to seize upon her. But the same was not so for Ibycus, sitting not far away. The scowl line between his eyes had deepened greatly since they had left the Eyrie. Nor did he look up in greeting as Elysha came up to kneel beside him, though at no invitation of his.
“Our party grows.” The ever-present scent which clung to her garments encompassed them both. Ibycus forced a cough and she laughed.
“Age never set heavy on you before, Lord Mage; do not invite its burdens now. I would like to hear Uta’s tale, but you have more in mind.”
Her bracelets flashed as she indicated the hand lying on his knee, the dull stone of the ring now without any signs of life.
Ibycus gave an exaggerated sigh. It was plain she was not going to leave him alone. But then, when had she ever? His memory flashed back over seasons too many to count now, to when he had seen her first, a child not yet into girlhood casting the snapped-off heads of grass flowers into a pool and watching intently as they swirled and were borne away by the current.
Had he only possessed the power of foresight . . . But he had not. Perhaps it was youth then also which betrayed him, so that he had thrown himself down beside her. Nor had she feared him for a stranger. When she turned to look at him she might have been welcoming one of her kin.
They had talked—and it had not been a child to whom he spoke that day. Wisdom already grew within her and her talent truly amazed him with its hints of Power to come. So he had lingered, not only by the pool, but in the hold of the Silvermantle lord who had taken her into fosterage after the death of his s
ister.
In spite of himself Ibycus had been drawn back season after season until she was maid-grown and demanded as her right that he take her as pupil. But as time passed she had wanted more, to be made free of the innermost of his thoughts as if she would sink herself wholly into him so they might become one. Then he had summoned up his full strength and held the last barrier, so she had left him in rage—rage rooted in hurt. He had sometimes wondered . . .
No, this was no time for memories, but for the here and now. However, if he did not offer her an explanation she would dig for it and so upset the delicate balances of the Powers with which he must play.
“I must speak with the Gryphon—with Alon if it is possible,” he told her. “What are we? Less than two handfuls and we know not still what hides at Garth Howell which might feed those who have gone forth.”
Now he stroked the dull gem with the forefinger of his other hand. Fingers touched lightly on his arm. “Draw from me, Lord Mage, if there be need,” she said quietly, all the half mockery gone out of her voice.
Ibycus stared into the stone. At first there was no change and then tiny threads of color flickered across its surface. These drew together, thickened. But the effort to hold, and to enhance, what he had summoned was great. It might be that the baneful Waste itself would defeat him.
Alon! He did not repeat that name aloud, but it sounded through his mind. Now he felt that other strain finding its way like blood through a vein into his body. She was indeed feeding his Power as she had promised.
Alon! The colored threads were certainly brighter, thicker. It was like looking into a mirror surface, for the very stone of the ring seemed to swell, to provide him with a wider vision.
That was Alon, right enough—behind him a smudged expanse which might or might not be a poor showing of the Eyrie courtyard. However, Alon’s head had turned, he was looking up and outward to meet Ibycus’s compelling stare.
“How fares it with you?”
Ibycus knew he had little time to spare. “One gate found—it is sealed. You have news out of Lormt?”
“Little enough. Hilarion labors. So must Garth Howell. There is an incoming of darkness.”
“It threatens you?”
“Not yet. It gathers there, it waits. You track those gone from the Garth?”
“We were forced from their trail. We seek it again—they head west still. How—” What more Ibycus meant to say vanished, for the face in the stone was gone. Instead there was a dark roiling cloud.
Instantly the mage was on guard. Into that spreading darkness shot a jagged bolt of lightning, and less than a heartbeat later the lightning was tinged with violet. Twice that crossed the stone, then darkness and lightning disappeared and only the dull gray oval lay under their gaze.
“Garth Howell?” Elysha’s hand had fallen away from his arm. She was breathing faster.
Ibycus shrugged. “With what may wander hereabouts unchallenged, who may guess? We need a sanctuary for a space.”
One—three—waiting— Uta had uncoiled and now limped over to Elysha.
“A moon shrine!” The woman was startled. “You can show the way?”
Was going—bird demon caught me.
Even as Uta had awakened, so now Kethan moved. He stared unbelieving up at the trees over his head for a moment and then blinked. His stirring roused Aylinn and she sat up yawning, like a young girl who had missed her proper sleep. But she turned to her foster brother fast enough, her hand going to his bandaged forehead.
“How do you feel?”
He grinned. “Hungry, sister mine. Have you a roasting sheep well ready on the fire?”
She moved as if to aid him, but he managed quickly to sit up without her help. His clothing was now largely a matter of tatters and much of it Aylinn had cut away when she tended his wounds. But his first act was to buckle on the belt which had lain tightly beneath his hands during his sleep.
They gathered by the fire where a leaper had roasted and shared out the meat after Kethan had drawn a fresh shirt and jerkin from his saddlebags. Guret and the other Kioga seemed more than a little surprised when Ibycus announced that they had a new guide, the cat Kethan had brought out of the rus roost. Kethan himself scooped up the limping Uta and, mounted on his shadow horse, settled her as comfortably as possible.
The green country held as they rode. They had started at nooning, but Uta seemed certain they would reach their promised shelter before nightfall.
Little sister. Kethan struggled to find the proper level of mind-send. How do you?
Well—moon power healing—belly full.
Then he asked the question which had lain at the bottom of his mind since his awakening. Though the others had seen no signs of being followed, still he kept a wary eye now and then on the sky overhead and his ears were alert for the screeching cries of the rus. That they had managed to win free of that prison seemed more and more fantastic to him.
It was he whom the bird-thing had been told to capture—because of them all he was best at reading a trail. And he was far from sure that, in those last moments of frenzied attack, he had done more than perhaps temporarily cripple her. What did Uta know—as she, too, had been captive there?
Sassfang little power, came the message. Only in her own place can she hold. There is no follow feel.
Somehow he was able to accept that. He still held to the fore of their party, even though he rode as a man since Uta was in his charge. But he surveyed the country through which they passed with a scout’s eye.
There were more and more copses of trees such as the one in which they had camped. And, while the green of the grass appeared overlaid with a dulling gray as if a rain of dust had fallen not too long ago, it was grass and had not the inherent menace of that yellow baked clay.
Now they could see a rise of what looked to be a rocky cliff face before them. However, this crag stood alone, unaccompanied by any other outcrops, and the closer they came toward it the more visible was a glitter, as if pockets of pure crystals studded its sides in no regular patterns.
It also was surrounded by trees, but such trees! They stood only a little taller than a mounted man, but their branches spread wide, meeting those of their neighbors to form a roof.
Also they looked to bear two kinds of leaves—one wide and fleshy thick, the other in a tight roll—unless those latter marked some buds or fruit not yet ready for the harvest.
“Laran!” Aylinn pushed Morna up beside Kethan. “Laran—oh, indeed this is blessed land!”
Though those trees had formed a roof of branches, there was room to move under them if they dismounted and led their horses and pack train. Luckily those matted branches grew only at the crowns of the trees and the trunks below were bare.
Firdun was aware, as he urged the pack train along, of a growing fragrance, even more potent than that which clung to Aylinn’s moonflowers or to Elysha’s garments. Also once he was under that roof of branches a feeling of utter peace such as he had never known before encased him. It was as if all the world, with its sorrows, fears, and alarms was so warded that nothing could penetrate here except that which was of goodwill.
The grove of encircling trees was not a large one. They came out into the open again to face flashes of light. What they had seen from afar was no crag alone in a level land. If it had been assembled by some purpose, those who had worked so had not followed the patterns known to mankind.
This was a mighty throne backed by the crystal-studded white rock. No human could ever have been accommodated by that seat, so high did it tower. But there was one seated there, and they came to an awed halt. Between them and the throne was a round pool or else a mirror of stain-free metal and the figure on the throne leaned forward a little as if staring down at its surface.
Uta squirmed in Kethan’s arms until he set her down. Limping, certainly of them all showing no awe, she approached the throne.
The figure seated there was so muffled in a robe or veils, which were even drawn tightly o
ver its head, that the travelers could not see its true nature. But the hands which lay uncovered on either arm of the throne were of human fashion yet twice the size, with long fingers, the nails of which were formed of crystals.
Aylinn sank to her knees, her moonflower wand outheld as a warrior might offer his sword to his lord.
“One of three, three in one.” Her voice sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. “That thy servant is allowed this meeting is more . . .” She was truly weeping now, the tears wet on her sun-browned cheeks.
Kethan found himself on his knees also, and heard a stir about as the rest also paid homage. There were many great Old Ones of the legends. The earthly ties with such were said to exist throughout their world. That Uta had led them to one such sanctuary was plain.
That which the sitter represented might be long since withdrawn, but not to Aylinn and many others. Even if it were only a representation, there was that about it which made this, for those who walked in the Light, holy ground.
That peace Firdun had felt when he entered here was armor against all the Dark. But now there seemed to be a questioning, a desire to know why that peace was troubled by their coming.
He felt uneasy for a moment or so, as would any unbelieving intruder in a sacred place. But that unease was swept away. There was no harm in his coming. That which he had followed all his life, his talent, opened wider—like a flower under the sun. He had been judged and found worthy.
Elysha moved forward, almost equal with Aylinn, her head thrown back, her eyes searching that veiled face for what could not be seen.
“Gunnora in all glory! Earth Mother, Sky Mother, Dweller in the Deep Waters—all in one. What you have given is ever at your service.”
Perhaps even more now, Firdun felt that searching and weighing. Perhaps they all learned more of themselves than their kind ever knew. But though they had been united in purpose from the start for this venture, now they were welded, melded, worked upon as a smith works sword steel to do what must be done.