by Andre Norton
CHAPTER 10
As the world crashed in upon them Kryn had a flash of bitter thought. This was what came of dealing with powers. He heard a scream—blotted out by a crash. Their dim light was gone and the dark world around him now was one of madness where even the stone beneath him was heaving like a sea wave.
His head hurt and when, lying as he did now, he raised a hand to it his fingers met wetness and he smelled the unmistakable scent of blood. There was a brilliant flash— not over where he lay but to the left, searing eyes so that one could not see anything revealed by it.
More screams and cries. Cautiously Kryn moved his legs. There was weight on them but his actions freed him. More light—from which he cowered away, his face buried in the crook of his elbow as he lay.
Then—there was silence—complete and somehow deadly—until through it came cries, groans, oaths… The rock under him now seemed stable enough for him to lever himself up and he did.
There was no cave darkness about him, rather the grey of twilight. He blinked to clear his tearing eyes and peered out into that. Where the main cave of their mountain fortress had been there were piles of jagged rock and the open sky of the coming night. By that most subdued of light he could see some movement.
Many must have been fatally trapped in that assault out of nowhere, but there were men getting dazedly to their hands and knees, swaying, then turning to try to aid their less free comrades. Kryn sat up and the whole of that which was about him whirled in a dizzy dance until he gritted teeth and willed himself into a measure of strength. It was his turn to look at those who had shared this inner portion of the cave with him.
“Jarth—Jarth!” a voice shrilled up at his side and he saw a shadow figure digging frenziedly at a pile of rocks—sending those flying in all directions, with no heed as to where they might thud home. Kryn dared not try to stand but he could crawl, and that he did, to where Hasper worked to free his brother.
As Kryn reached out his hands to aid in that labor he found himself looking down into the lighter splotch of a face, but that was a ruin and Rolf, he was sure, would never answer any war call again.
“Help—ME! Dreen…” A small hand caught at his arm, dragged him a little around. It was the cursed young priestess—she who had pulled this all down on them, for that what had happened was not of nature he had been sure from the beginning.
She was using full strength to urge him away from the brothers, farther on to another mound of stones. From the edge of that projected a thin, long-fingered hand raised as if to beckon them on. The other one—death summoner. Well, death had come and let her make the most of it—if she still lived, which he doubted.
There was a flash through the air and a stinging blow on his cheek rocked him back to sprawl painfully among the scattered rocks.
“You—help!” There was a fierce determination in that order and in spite of himself Kryn obeyed.
Someone out in the main cavern had been able to kindle a torch and the light reached them as its bearer wavered in their direction.
“Lord Jarth?” a call delivered in a voice hoarsened by rock dust.
“Here…” Hasper replied and his one word was emphasized by the roll of the rocks he was feverishly tossing.
Kryn saw the girl clearly now. She was scrabbling at the fallen debris, her dust-coated face patterned with thread thin trickles of blood, her eyes only for the prone body beside which she crouched.
In spite of his hate for what she and that other had done, even though it had been at Jarth’s own bidding, Kryn hunched closer and began to give her aid.
There was no movement in the body they worked jerkily to uncover. As soon as the face, turned to one side, was free Nosh’s hand went out seeking the pulse at the jawline. He had seen fear before on many a face but what he read on Nosh’s now set Kryn to work faster until the whole lank length of the woman’s body was free.
“Dreen!” Nosh’s was near lying on the priestess now, her mouth to the other’s mouth, her hands pressing on the older woman’s ribs. She was striving to bring back air to those lungs but it was a battle already lost. When Kryn tried to tell her so she fended him off with an arm and continued her struggle. Kryn shrugged and looked now to where Jarth lay.
They had freed the commander and Hasper was holding his brother’s head on his knee. Jarth groaned and tried to rise but Hasper restrained him. He looked across that limp body to Kryn.
“Layon—get Layon!”
The one of their company who had a rough knowledge for the tending of sick and wounded, men and animals both. Somehow Kryn got to his feet and remained there by gripping the shoulder of the man with the torch who was now in their midst.
By some chance of fortune—and any sign of fortune was to be treasured now—it was Layon himself who had come to light the scene. He thrust the torch into Kryn’s hold and knelt beside Jarth, his hands moving across the other’s body slowly, as if he forced himself to keep that touch as light as he could.
“Broken ribs,” he reported, “and the leg. If there be internal hurts, we cannot tell.”
He was blunt but Kryn tensed. It was far better perhaps that Jarth had perished at once than he drag out dying when they could do so little to abate the pain.
“Dreen…?” it was a quavering cry which paid no attention to the cluster of men.
Kryn involuntarily held the torch higher. Nosh sat now with the priestess’s head cradled against her breast. She was not crying, but there was such a desolation on her face as to make it one of the mask of the damned such as the priests of One used to overawe their worshipers.
“Dreen?” she called but there was no answer. Layon paused in his work over Jarth. He peered closely to where Nosh supported the priestess and then shook his head and went back to his attentions to Jarth.
Nosh settled the heavy head of the priestess on her knees and with both hands brought out of her jerkin something she wore on a cord about her neck. She plucked at it frantically, until there fell out into her hand something which caught the torch glow and became a thing of living fire. Nosh pressed it against that unresponsive head she supported and he saw her lips moving as if, in less than a whisper, she was repeating again some magical formula.
No! She was not going to again draw in upon them another stroke of that power! He swooped to catch at her wrist, jerk her hand up and out, trying to shake free from her grasp what she held that he might grind it into harmless dust.
Nosh’s head darted down, her mouth opened, and her teeth closed on his fingers, breaking flesh and bringing blood, so that instinctively he loosed his hold and pulled away. She stared up at him through the tangled loops of her dust-laden hair, and her eyes seemed to hold the glint he had seen in those of the she wakwolf he had slain at the time of Ewen’s death.
“Dare—!” she spat at him. “Dare, Killer, you who own no god nor goddess! This is of Lyr and it could well be your end, man of blood and death!”
He could see now that what she held was a length of gleaming crystal a little longer than one of her own fingers but of a similar shape. Again she touched it gently to Dreen’s forehead.
To Kryn’s astonishment—for he had been sure the woman was dead—her eyes opened and Nosh stooped lower so that their gazes met.
“Dear… daughter… in… the… the light,” though the words were only a whisper, yet for some reason Kryn caught them clearly also. “Go… go forth—the search…” She paused as there was a bubble of blood at the corner of her mouth. Nosh gently wiped it away with her finger. “The time—it is very short—do what must be done.” From somewhere she had drawn the strength to speak the last few words in a strong voice. And then her eyelids fluttered but she still seemed to hold to life by a strong will, for she added:
“Dear… daughter SHE sent me… grieve not… HER hands await…” The blood burst more strongly from her mouth and she gave a last great sigh.
Nosh bent to kiss that bloody mouth. Her features were set, mask hard. Carefully she re
bagged the crystal and stowed it out of sight again. With care, as if she still tended the living, she stretched the priestess out on the rock, folding the woman’s gaunt hands across her breast, before she looked up to Kryn.
“She must be given to the fire…” she stated with the firmness of one in authority. “Honored—for she was the last…” Her voice quivered and then she quickly gained control of it. “She will be honored!” Her chin came up, and, small and young as she was, he understood that she intended that her wishes be carried out.
As at length they were. But Dreen’s body was not the only one given to the flames that day. Nearly a third of their force died in that encounter. And those who had been outside the caves when the power blow struck had had worse deaths, for the whole side of the mountain was charred and fire stained. Such a force was beyond the understanding of any of them, Kryn thought.
Now—they must salvage what they could from the caves which could no longer be trusted. Most of their mounts had died in the mountain flame. And exploration to the storage caves had to be taken as a perilous job, slowly and with all care, for rocks still fell within.
Jarth lay in an improvised tent outside. He had not yet recovered consciousness, for which Kryn and his brother were thankful, for the rough usage they had had to use to unite his bones would have brought a hell of pain. There were five others sharing his shelter and in as bad if not worse state—one died before the falling of the next night.
Nosh, once she had left Dreen, came to aid in their care. Dreen had taught her much and well and she brewed draughts which brought sleep and held away pain, and seemed to know without being instructed just how to help Layon reset broken bones and bandage wounds.
Fearing that the stroke which had broken their rock fortress might only be the beginning of an assault and that there could be some force now marching in upon them, those who were whole, or only bruised or slightly wounded, set up a tight guard and the scouting parties went out without orders.
Now and again Kryn’s path crossed Nosh’s. To his sight the girl showed no sign of grief, certainly none of horror at what had happened from her own act. He longed to accuse her of that but it was Jarth’s rule held here and he must wait for the lord to recover enough to take command before he made such an accusation.
However, he tried as best he could to keep an eye on her, make sure that she would not indulge in any more treachery, such as perhaps signaling lurkers below. Though the mountain fire had burned off most of the cover and there was no way any advance upon their position could go unnoted. Unless—startled at a sudden thought—Kryn looked skyward. It had been a grey day—though luckily no rain had fallen—and now it was dusk. He remembered only too clearly that rathhawk with its strange necklet. Such could well hang above them now and be reporting just how hard hit they were.
Rathhawks—and if they circled closer in, the night would give them excellent cover. Those of the camp dared not douse all fires—they needed the light too badly to serve the wounded and those who worked to salvage what they could. He could not hope to find any answer to the birds if or when they came.
They had dragged the carcasses of the dead mounts as far from their present rough camp as they could. The bodies were badly charred but they had no way of burying them and what wood they had they kept for the funeral pyre of their own kind.
Rolf was gone—and his going was a blow. Kryn knew that Jarth depended upon the veteran armsman as he might on a known shield comrade of the old days. Warfare was Rolf’s knowledge and he had all the cunning and learning to make him invaluable to any commander. Hasper served his brother well as a left hand, but Rolf had certainly always been his right since they had come into outlawry.
With Jarth unable to frame an order, and Rolf gone, Hasper would be in command. Kryn did not fault the younger lord. He was a worthy son of his house and he had learned to live in and on the wild, but Kryn wondered whether he could take rulership here over many men twice his age and experience. He would stand with Hasper no matter what happened but he hoped with all his heart that Jarth would recover.
The time was bad. They were only a short way from the first thrusts of winter. Their supplies, so carefully stored, might well have been nearly wiped out. And their present place of refuge was known—to someone— or that blow would not have fallen so true and drastically. It had been an ill day when Jarth offered shelter to those two from the Ryft with their strange powers…. See what had chanced from the evoking of such?
There came no report from their own scouts as to any movement cross-country but they did not relax any vigilance on that account. And other scouts went out farther westward, seeking another place in which they could hole up before the coming of the winter snows.
Those varges which they had used for heavy field labor and for the transport of burdens had not died with the mounts, for they had been at graze in a field on the western side of this height ridge. Hasper, Layon, and Kryn worked on ideas for some form of transport via the plodding beasts to a new country, if and when they could find such. And all through the days Kryn kept a close eye on the sky for the sight of rathhawk wings.
Unfortunately Jarth developed a fever which took his counsel out of their decisions. It was very plain they could not remain where they were so exposed. And to burrow into the cave linkage again after what had happened was out of the question. At last Hasper summoned to a meeting all those not engaged in scouting and asked for suggestions.
The most practical one came from one of the men who had often been on westward scouts.
“There is the well at Dast,” he spoke up hesitatingly, as if half expecting to be interrupted before he got his offering completely in words. “That is valley land, and did not our Lord Jarth once consider an outpost there before thinking it too far from the borders we watched? The place can be better sheltered than any hereabouts, there is forage for the varges—and our hunters have not combed those hills too often. There is still chance before first snow to build up our supply of smoked meat.”
“Dast,” Hasper repeated slowly, as if by that word he could summon up a mind picture of the site. Then for the first time his gloom broke a little. “Dast! Yes, that is close to the merchant lane—if need be, and there is chance, we can hope for trade. The southerners have little liking for Templers and have we not often sent others who refuged but could not join with us thereabouts to join caravans? Also if we go by the long cut, the travel will not be too hard for those we must transport.” And he glanced at the tent wherein lay those still unable to care for themselves.
Kryn was willing to agree to the idea when Hasper put it swiftly to a vote. Triscor, who had made the suggestion, was designated to scout ahead and mark the best trail they could hope to take; he left before nightfall.
Kryn trailed along behind Hasper as they went to the tent in search of Layon to discover the healer’s point of view concerning such a trek. Someone sitting just outside the door flap raised head at their coming. Kryn scowled. For all her heal-aid he thought no more of that half-priestess than he had when she had pulled the strange and awesome wrath upon them.
She had been engaged in lacing together strips of wakwolf skin to fashion a cold weather cloak. And she favored them with that usual blankness of countenance she had worn since she had stood and watched the bier flames take the body of her mistress.
Without a word she slid now to one side to allow Hasper entrance to the shelter. There was no room for Kryn to crowd in also and he must stand without.
It was she who broke the silence: “Where lies this Dast, armsmen?”
He was half-inclined not to answer. Why did she want to know? That she might set on their trail that which she had aroused? If Hasper had the full sense of their troubles, he would see this one remained behind when they marched out. Jarth had openly favored these women; but Kryn had distrusted them from the first sighting.
She continued to look at him as if able to pierce his silence with her will, and at last he spoke.
“Dast is on the western side of the Heights. It is a meeting place for traders on the south trek. But there will be little chance of meeting with such now—the season is past and if any caravan comes, it has been so delayed that it is in some danger. We have not gone there except to visit now and then, for the borders are our concern.”
“Those are still your concern, armsmen?” she asked, never stopping in her lacing to give him full attention. “This has been a force to reckon with… when it met man to man with Templers… is it so now? But that…” She hesitated and her hands ceased work, one of them raised to rest on the breast of her jerkin. “If that which searched comes again…”
“At your summons?” He was goaded by his own worry into demanding.
Once more she was silent. Then he saw the very tip of her tongue touch her nearly closed lips, sweep across as if freeing the words which followed:
“I have the talent Lyr has given, armsmen. That cannot be twisted or misused—for then any power aroused would revert to blast me. That is the nature of power— the power of light. I have had laid on me the will of Dreen and through her the will of LYR Everlasting. There is that I must do. It has nothing to do with you or these men who fight for their freedom and justice. Dreen said with her dying that time itself was moving against us. Thus I must be on my own way—if it leads to the Dast and then perhaps southward—that is where I must go. What raised the rock itself against us used such power that it must be drained—for now. So it is well that we all make use of this time as best we can.”
“You speak the truth, Dreen Daughter.” Hasper had come out of the tent. “We have little time left. If the first storms find us here, few will last through the winter.”
Nosh nodded and turned back to her work but Kryn thought angrily that Hasper was missing the point… that if he intended this scrap of a female to accompany them, he was asking for trouble indeed. And he turned away to busy himself with sorting over the pile of equipment they had managed to salvage from the caves.