On Wings of Magic (Witch World: The Turning)

by Andre Norton

  Another voice, from another direction.

  She simply couldn't stand a third level of attack, so she fought to block it out. But then she realized that this one wasn't coming battering from the outside. Rather, it seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. She hadn't heard it at all while the first barrage was going on, might not have heard it if the people tormenting her hadn't relented for a moment so she could gather her few remnants of strength. How long had it been speaking to her?

  Hold on, the tiny voice said. Hold on. It sounded a little like Bee, a little like Leaf, a little like the Guardian. And a lot like Mama, though that was impossible. Mouse listened closer.

  You can do it, the voice said. You can keep them from destroying the essence of you, from burning it away so all that's left is an empty hull the Kolder can turn to their own dreadful purposes.

  But how can I? Mouse asked. I don't understand.

  Yes, you do, down deep.

  I don't, Mouse said plaintively. I'm just a little girl. I'm only six years old. I hurt, and I feel sick. I want to go home.

  Hold on. Just hold on.

  But Mouse knew she couldn't hold on. The next time, she thought, the next time I'll do what they want. Maybe Star could have beaten them, she's so strong and smart, but I can't. I'll bend to their will and that will be the end of me. I will be truly lost. All my strength is gone. I can't last another minute when they start again.

  She gritted her teeth tightly, trying to be brave. Her jaw was tired. All she could do was keep her eyes closed and brace herself for the next onslaught of battering by the gigantic waves of sound. She was vaguely glad that the others—Cricket, Bird, Star, and particularly Lisper—would be spared this agony, that the Kolder had gotten what they wanted without hurting them, too. The thought of the dreadful wires being stuck under Lisper's skin… . She would have died, even before the sound began to rise. Let it come, Mouse thought. Let it come now. I hope it won't hurt too much, once I am all gone.

  But the expected crescendo did not occur. The gray-clad men were at the table, bending over her. Cold fingers unsnapped the bindings on her limbs. Sharp pain shot through her as the Kolder began ripping away the wires pasted to her body. Hardly daring to believe what was happening, she kept her eyes closed except for just a bit to see through as someone—yes, it was the kindly one—fastened her dress again and picked her up.

  “Take her back,” one of the Kolder said. There was no disappointment in his tone, nor any other expression at all. “We will use another tomorrow. By the time we have worked through all of them, the first will be recovered enough to use again.”

  “Well, you'll do it without me.” That was the—the Baron. Mallandor. Mouse's head hurt abominably and she was sick and dizzy, but she was beginning to think again, after a fashion. Strange. The Baron sounded sick, too. “I have no stomach for tormenting children, even if they are just Estcarpian Haglets.”

  “Our experiments do not need your presence.”

  “Good.” The Baron turned away. Then he looked at the man who held Mouse. “Well, what are you waiting for, Willig? You heard. Take the girl back. And Rhyden, have some scraps from the table sent up to them this evening.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Rhyden said. His face swam into view and Mouse could see that even he looked shaken by what he had witnessed.

  Willig. That was the name of the man carrying her back through the corridors, retracing his steps until he came to the door of the room where her sisters waited anxiously. He was kind. This time he carried her properly, in his arms, instead of slinging her under his arm like a sack of hay. The way Papa would have carried her.

  The second set of winding steps was too much for her whirling, aching head. Sickness welled up, overwhelmed her. To her mortification and despite her best efforts to wait until she was decently inside where her sisters could tend her, she threw up all over the man's uniform.

  Nine

  I

  The prisoners collected their wits as quickly as possible, assaying their situation, quickly going over any and all assets they might have available to them. There was no time to be wasted languishing in the dungeon cell, though Eirran could see no possibility of escape. The dungeon cell was too deep, too strong.

  “They took our weapons, but at least we still have our mail,” Loric said.

  “The better to weigh us down when they hang us,” Ranal commented sourly. “What's to say Girvan wasn't lying to us all along, and the children aren't even here in Alizon City, let alone in the castle? He seemed to know a lot about what the Hounds’ plans were. He could have led us completely off the trail.”

  “They've got to be here in the castle somewhere,” Yareth said stubbornly. “It's the strongest spot, the most secure place to keep them. It's where the adepts would choose to open their gate to the Kolder world. Using the children. My daughter.”

  The men sat on the straw, backs against the stone wall, knees drawn up and arms clasped. Eirran sat close to Yareth, basking in his warmth and nearness, her hiccups subsided. She rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. “Jenys,” she said softly.

  “Aye,” Hirl said”. “You're right. They're here, I'd lay odds on it. But what good does that knowledge do us here?”

  “Enough good that we can start making some real plans for escape,” Weldyn said.

  The men all looked up. Until now, none of them had even mentioned escape. They had seemed as resigned to the futility of their imprisonment as Eirran did.

  “What plans?” Hirl said. “I'd like to hear them. They hustled us here so quickly I'm not even sure of where I am, let alone where the children might be.”

  “Well, I know where we are at least.” Weldyn scowled. “Only too well. Years ago, I knew another Falconer named Ysher. He was my trusted companion. My friend.”

  Yareth turned to look at Weldyn; the other men nodded their understanding. The close bond one Falconer frequently formed with another was well known in Eastcarp. Many a time, one of such a pair of close friends had gone on a quest to hunt down and destroy whoever—or whatever—had slain his companion. That Weldyn spoke of Ysher in the past bespoke of this kind of quest. Falconers were typically reluctant to relate such stories, so every man listened closely, now that one of this tight-lipped breed seemed willing to talk. Eirran listened with interest as well, suddenly curious to know more about this strange and bristly man.

  It was—Weldyn said—shortly before the Turning, when Falconers had begun joining forces with the Guard and leaving the Eyrie to go and fight side by side with them against their common enemies.

  Ysher and he had been serving in the northern part of Estcarp, very near the Alizon border. It was their duty to keep the Alizonders from infiltrating into Estcarp, and also to rescue the occasional fugitive spy fleeing from Alizon with priceless information for the Council.

  During one such skirmish with a pack of Hounds, Ysher had been captured, his falcon killed, and Weldyn wounded. Though he could not prevent Ysher's being carried north, to Alizon City, the fact that Weldyn had been left for dead let him escape his friend's fate.

  Ysher had been incarcerated in the very dungeon those from Estcarp now occupied. Occasionally he had been taken from this cell to one and then another of the buildings in the inner ward, where he had been questioned severely by various officials and minions of the late Lord Baron Facellian. During these times of relative freedom he noted carefully every detail of building, defense, maintenance and garrison, in hopes he could live to relay the information to Koris of Gorm, who was then serving as Captain of the Guard.

  Eventually, when his captors despaired of obtaining any information from him, Ysher had been taken from Alizon Castle and sent with a group of other prisoners down the river road toward Canisport. There they were to be turned over to the Kolder. Ysher was then to be taken by boat to Gorm, and processed as one of their mindless slaves, forced to fight those who had once been his friends and allies. However, the prisoners managed to overpower their guards two days ou
t of Alizon City. During the resulting confusion Ysher escaped and, despite being severely wounded as he fled, he made it back over the border and to the garth that was serving the Guardsmen as base camp. There, before dying, he told Weldyn what he knew of the Alizonder fortifications.

  “I've waited all these years for a chance at revenge,” Weldyn said grimly. He clenched his fists unconsciously, until the knuckles cracked. “The Hags took Ysher's information about Alizon Castle, but during those dark days, there was neither the time nor the manpower to spare to send an army against it. Far better that our company of Guards was recalled to Es City and the Hags used magic to put a stopper in Alizon Gap while we dealt with enemies closer to hand. And then, later, we had even fewer men to spare, and no Koris to lead them. Aye, I know this place, through Ysher's eyes, as thoroughly as if it had been I and not he penned up here.” He looked up, scowling.

  “Little good that does us. They're going to kill us,” Dunnis said. His sunny nature, for once, seemed thoroughly dimmed. “I only hope they're quick about it and don't decide to turn it into some kind of show.”

  “If only we had the least weapon,” Loric said. He smacked one fist into the other palm. “But they took everything, even my boot-knife.”

  The light from the hole in the wall dimmed and everyone looked up. A small black form marked with a “V” on its breast emerged. With a burst of falconsong, Newbold plummeted down to Yareth's upraised fist. In a moment, Sharpclaw followed, settling on Weldyn's glove. The Falconers stroked and petted the birds.

  “O wise and venerable feathered brother!” Yareth said. “I knew you would find me, best and cleverest of falcons!” The falcon screeched and bated, and Yareth switched to falconsong until the bird settled down and began smoothing its feathers. Weldyn did likewise with Sharpclaw, gentling and stroking the bird; being younger, his falcon took more time to calm himself than did the veteran Newbold. The Falconers glanced at one another, then got to their feet.

  “We have weapons now,” Weldyn said grimly. “We can begin.”

  Eirran stared at them. Weapons? Those frail creatures of flesh and blood? But her husband and Weldyn were acting as if the birds were quite enough for any blank shield worthy of his hire. Yareth and Weldyn differed so much they could scarcely be cordial, let alone become friends the way Weldyn and Ysher had been—even if she had not stood between them—but Falconer would always understand Falconer in a way other men could not. Now they stationed themselves on either side of the prison door, holding the falcons lightly on their fists, as if waiting.

  “Call the guard, Eirran,” Yareth said.

  Suddenly, in a flash of insight so clear they might have been speaking mind to mind, she realized what Yareth was planning—and the other Falconer as well. And she was the only one of them who could provide the kind of bait they needed to make the trap work. A random thought about how Weldyn must rely on a “useless” female almost made her smile. She leaped to her feet, dragging Dunnis with her.

  “You foul barbarians!” she cried, pitching her voice toward the door. “Don't you Alizonders know enough to put men and women into separate cells? Don't you have the least shred of decency? Leave me alone, damn you!”

  Dunnis just gaped at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. “What are you doing—”

  “Struggle with me,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Struggle! B-but Kernon—I mean, Eirran—”

  “Do it! Struggle with me! Hic?’ Oh, no, not now! She hiccuped again.

  Dunnis touched her shoulder halfheartedly, pretending to shake her a little.

  “No,” she said. “Do it right!” She slapped him soundly across the face. Dunnis started back in surprise and put his hand to his cheek. “Do it!” She kicked him, began scratching, gouging, trying to bite.

  At last he began to retaliate. He had to, before she inflicted some real damage. He pushed her away and she waded in again. “Now see here—” he began.

  “See here nothing! Fight me!”

  “I will, Eirran,” Ranal said. He started toward them where they stood facing each other in the center of the cell.

  “Good! Two of you, that's even better!”

  At last Dunnis began to comprehend what Eirran wanted of him. He grasped her shoulders, and Ranal caught her around the neck. The three of them were struggling in earnest by the time the uniformed guard opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Here now, stop this, stop it at once! Lady, we'll put you someplace else—”

  Two black falcons flew into his face. Instinctively, he dodged, hands shielding his eyes against the falcons’ attack, and blundered into the cell. Weldyn and Yareth struck in unison and the man crumpled to the floor. With quick efficiency they finished him off.

  “Keys,” Yareth said in satisfaction. He took the ring from the guard's belt.

  “Dagger,” Weldyn said. “And dart gun.” He handed the dagger to Yareth and examined the gun. “Not much ammunition and this fellow doesn't have any spare clips. And it's dirty, to boot. But this ought to do until we can get more weapons.”

  Eirran didn't have to be told that they would be taking weapons from other dead Hounds. She glanced at Dunnis; the mark of her fingers was plain on his cheek. “I'm sorry,” she said.

  “The apology is mine,” he said gallantly. “I was slow to understand.”

  The others crowded around, eager for action. “What next?” Loric said.

  “We leave this place.” Yareth started toward the door.

  Birds on fists, the Falconers led the way out into the small portion of the prison level of the tower. As secure as the dungeon was, Weldyn told them, the Alizonders were always a little lax in guarding it. The man they had eliminated seemed to be the only one on duty. Silently, the men and Eirran climbed the wooden steps and made their way through a narrow corridor. The falcons shifted and bated, eager to fly into battle. Whispers of falconsong filled the air.

  “I hope this is the way we came,” someone—Hirl—whispered.

  “It is,” Weldyn replied. “There isn't but the one way in or out, through this little wall tunnel that opens in the window embrasure in the Great Hall. Ysher was very sure of that. Nobody is supposed to know the deepest part of the tower even exists. The Baron would give his judgment, and off the prisoner would go, vanished forever— Hello.”

  They had come to the door. Cautiously, Yareth opened it and pushed the curtain aside just enough to allow him to peer out into the Hall. There was a lone person in sight, a servant sweeping up stale rushes, preparatory to scattering the fresh ones lying stacked on the long table. Weldyn took quick aim over Yareth's shoulder with the dart gun. The weapon spat, and the man dropped in his tracks. Cautiously, one by one, the Estcarpians emerged from the narrow corridor, avoiding the body. The man, obviously not an Alizonder by his looks or coloring, lay face upward, a look of astonishment congealed on his face. His mouth was open.

  “He was unarmed!” Eirran said. She knelt beside the body, examining it for a sign of life.

  Weldyn turned a cold face to her. “He could have given the alarm.”

  “He wasn't an enemy. The man had no tongue.”

  The Falconer nudged the man with the toe of his boot. “Hmm. Probably someone they captured somewhere. Too bad, but it can't be helped now.” He examined the dart gun, made a sound of disgust, and dropped it beside the man he had killed. “Don't these Alizonders ever maintain their weapons? This thing is jammed useless. Yareth? You go over there.”

  The Falconers quickly crossed the room toward the two entrances in the Great Hall to have a look into the outer ward, hoping to get their bearings. Weldyn took the far doorway, the one the greater distance from potential aid in case a fight broke out.

  At least, Eirran thought, no one can fault him on bravery. But I wish he hadn't had to kill the poor servant.

  “The inner ward is this way,” Weldyn said, “behind yonder wall.” Everyone hurried to where he stood and jostled one another for a look through the door he
had opened a bare crack. “We'll have to cross that open spot before we get to the gate. But that will be where they're keeping the children, or I miss my guess. It's the strongest part of the castle. Where the Baron's living quarters are located.”

  The wall separating the inner and outer wards looked as strong as any wall in the castle, with its own gatehouse. The gateway was guarded by what looked like a tower. Beyond the tower, a double door stood open.

  “By the way my stomach feels, it's noontime. The guards are probably inside, eating,” Hirl said.

  “Aye.” Loric rubbed his chin. “And more of them will be in the tower besides. This won't be easy.”

  Here and there, Hounds crossed the ward, going about their business, or on private errands. A number of them were making for the barracks across the ward, talking to each other in the manner of men on their way to a midday meal. The Estcarpians waited in scant patience until, as far as they could see, the outer ward was empty.

  “Find Jenys,” Yareth whispered to Newbold, and released him.

  The falcon winged upward. For a moment, he seemed confused and sailed back and forth just under the enormous stone arches supporting the roof of the Great Hall, as if feeling his way. Then he picked up a direction. He screamed and stooped for the door and Weldyn opened it just in time to keep the bird from smashing into it—or knocking it open. Bursting out of the building, the Estcarpians made a headlong dash after him.

  As they pelted through the ward, Eirran realized that what they had thought a tower was, in fact, a covered well-house. They were fortunate in their timing. By some miracle, the six men and one woman reached the middle gate undetected in their impetuous dash.

  Jenys! Eirran called in her mind. Jenys, I'm coming! Hold on. Mama's coming.

  Four Alizonders looked up from the table in the guard room just off the passageway through the gatehouse. One of them was just uncovering the contents of a basket. Sharpclaw hurled himself at one of the men and the Hound went down with Hirl on top of him. Dunnis and Ranal overpowered another. Weldyn, as if seeking personal satisfaction for the defective dart gun, grappled with the third.