by Andre Norton
To cross the open between him and that village was to put himself into full sight. Still there was no other way to inspect that disaster and he had to be sure that there was no living wounded left to suffer out days.
Marching with Jarth’s forces had never brought him to such a scene as this. The outlaws had only one enemy, the church and the Templers. And the Templers did not lay and leave waste—they took slaves and they looted. What they left behind they probably fully intended to use for themselves at a later date.
There was no use in waiting—either he was going down there or he wasn’t and somehow he could not turn away if help could be given. Kryn made his choice and began to run, dodging from side to side so that if archers did watch, he would have a chance.
He came to a sliding halt beside the first of the buildings. His stomach twisted; bile arose to scorch his throat. There was a half-burned door, which, by all the marks, had been smashed in before fire was put to it but— nailed fast to that door… Kryn retreated before he was aware he moved at all. NO… not even the Templers… This was devil’s work.
With his head averted he tramped on into the small green about which those houses had clustered. And in the green… What he saw there made him turn his head and retch until there was nothing left to spew out. They had amused themselves, those devils. He could not believe that what he looked upon now was not some dire nightmare.
Carrion birds rose, squawked, descended again to their feasting, so full of what they would do that they alighted even within sword’s distance of him.
Mad—this was the work of madness—it could be nothing else. Somehow Kryn controlled his gagging and was able to raise his voice:
“Is there someone—someone living?” He did not know why he called. Perhaps it was in some way an answer to the horror which had been wrought here—to let the dead know he came in peace and if he could help he would.
His answer was the screaming of the birds and a snarl as a smaller cousin of the eastern wakwolves backed away into hiding in one of the blasted houses. It was the hardest thing, Kryn thought, that he had ever done, but he made himself pass entirely through the wreckage. Only the dead lay there, man, woman—child. The children! He dared not, after the first few times, look squarely at the children.
He had heard much of the depredations of the outland raiders but never had any horror story such as this been told. They would attack, loot, kill if they were opposed—but they did not settle down for a space and torture and maim—as must have happened here.
Nosh! He remembered the girl. Nosh must not see this. They must circle about the village, since their next guide lay a little beyond it. But no—this was place of the dead—and the two of them could offer nothing even in the way of burial.
He trudged across the fields to where he had emerged from the copse and found her there waiting for him.
“The raiders…?” She had looked at his face, drawn a swift breath, and then asked her half question.
Kryn took a moment to try and control both his sickness and the rage which had been born in him. “No raiders such as I have heard of. These—these who were here were devils—of the Black so dark there is no light! They… No, I cannot say it and you must not look, Nosh. Such things as lie there are not for the sight of the sane.”
Her hands clasped tight at her breast about the Fingers. She was very pale, seeming to shrink somewhat so that she was even smaller—looking almost childlike— child—no! He could not—would not think of children!
“Where did they go—these devils?” she asked in a thin voice.
“By the tracks along the stream in the direction from which we have come—south.”
“Raganat!” she cried. “We must warn…”
“Not in her direction—more eastward. And it has been—several days since they left. Before the storm, certainly, from the freezing of the tracks.”
“But they could circle back,” she persisted. “We must go and warn her.”
“Nosh.” He had resheathed his sword and now he put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me—there—is— nothing to be done that we can do. If we are taken…” He shuddered and gulped, refusing to allow the sickness to arise again. Nosh—in the hands of such as those who had amused themselves here…
She searched his face. Then she spoke again:
“There is a way, Kryn. Raganat was of the old blood of those who served Lyr. Perhaps, that being so, the power can be used for her. But Kryn, this is a thing I have not tried often and mostly when I had the will of Dreen to push me on. I know you hate and fear all power. But in spite of yourself you have borne power when you brought the priest’s Finger out of the cell. You must have been attuned to it a little or we never could have so easily won through the wards. If you had no reserves within you, I would have been sore racked to do that and draw you.
“Now—I ask of you—put aside your fear and hatred for what I carry. If you will back me, maybe I can reach Raganat with a warning. If we cannot return to her in body with such, we must do it otherwise. Would you leave her to be served as you hint these poor village people were?”
He bit his lip. Power—she believed in it—he dared not. Yet—what she said was the truth. If there was a way of warning that woman who had saved both their lives, then they must take it. He let his hands fall from Nosh’s shoulders.
“I cannot believe this can be done but—what you wish of me you shall have.” And that was a promise he had never thought to make.
They retreated deeper into the copse and squatted down, their packs as barriers behind them. Nosh opened the bag and shook out the Fingers. There was a rich blaze to them as if they welcomed the daylight and the warmth of their coming alive strengthened her in her belief that this might be done.
Carefully she placed the Finger Raganat had given her at the top of that heap, which was now such a handful as she needed the second hand to steady. She closed her hands as best she could about the bundle.
“Close your eyes,” she told Kryn. “Draw into your mind Raganat as you see her clearest in memory. When you have done that clasp your hands about my wrists and hold them so.”
He obeyed, a part of him still resentful, yet he was willing to recognize the logic of her attempt and, having seen power in action, he could more than half believe that she might be able to do this. Resolutely he built a mental picture of the Landwife as he had seen her across the table in that time when she had spoken freely of the past.
With a frown line growing ever deeper between her brows, Nosh tried to do the same. Yes—that was Raganat—at least as how she had appeared to the girl. Now…
The Fingers were warming. Almost in spite of her closed eyelids, she could catch the fire of their awakening. But she held fast to the picture of Raganat instead.
Then—she leashed her will, making of it a spear—or an archer’s well-aimed arrow—sending it out with all her force, all she could draw from the crystals—hoping to reach that goal which lay behind them.
There indeed was Raganat. She was seated behind her table. The picture wavered, Nosh pushed, drawing this time not only her own powers but, through the link of flesh against flesh, on Kryn. She saw the woman of a sudden raise her head as if she had been called. It seemed that her eyes probed in search. Again Nosh sent a surge of force—this time weaving into it all possible warning of danger. Raganat in that strange picture which Nosh mind-saw arose from the table. In her hand a blade of knife shone with firelight. The woman stared ahead as if Nosh in truth saw her. Then she slowly nodded three times before the picture tore into ragged shreds and pain lanced through Nosh’s head even as she became aware of other pain in her hands. She opened her eyes. Kryn’s face, harsh set, his eyes still closed, hung before her.
The strength had gone from her. Her hands were limp and they seemed filled with blazing crystal coals. Then his eyes snapped open, he loosed his wrist hold, allowing her hands to fall into her lap even as his fell nearly as limp against his knees.
“
I think…” Nosh moistened dry lips with her tongue. “I think—we did it! She—I saw her….” Or was she only hoping that what she had seen had been an answer?
Kryn shifted farther away from her. He was holding up his hands again, studying his palms as if he expected some of that heat from the crystals had left his own flesh seared.
When he looked back at Nosh he was scowling. “What is done, is done. We have wasted time—best be on our way from here.” It was apparent that he did not wish to discuss what had just happened and Nosh accepted that.
“There is a landmark beyond the village….” She accordingly changed the subject.
“But beyond that we have none. The eastern path was known only to the dead. We must find cover and a way raiders will not be riding.”
He was on his feet and had pushed through the brush to again stand at the edge of the fields above the ravaged village. The stream ran through this right enough but it was too shallow to allow them cover. He did not know why the thought stayed with him that those who had murdered and burned here might return. It was just that the horror of those deaths weighed heavily.
To the west there appeared to be one of those spaces of shallow rolling hills which showed along their slopes some tree growth—not the thick cloaking of a forest but at least cover. He pointed to that.
“It is the best cover,” he justified his choice. But inwardly he was uneasy. Having seen the end of PanHigh, he thought of Dast. Had it also fallen to such a raid? Though the enemy would not have found peaceful villagers who knew little of war there. Lord Jarth would have sentries out in spite of a seemingly peaceful country. And Kryn put the skill of the men with whom he had marched so long above raider tactics.
But he had not the least idea of how to reach Dast from here. It lay to the east but he was sure much farther to the north. If they circled west around the village, they would have to turn east again. Their only hope might then be to strike across country to seek the caravan road, keeping to it as a guide. And that might be an act of true folly.
However, for the present they must get yet farther north and the small hills were their only promise of a halfway-sheltered route.
Nosh offered no opposition. She dared not allow herself to surrender to the fatigue that mind-send had put upon her. But Kryn must be suffering also, for he did not set a fast pace and when they had come among the trees of the first hill unchallenged and unseen save for scavengers he halted and suggested they eat. Nosh chewed ravenously at trail bread but she noted that Kryn did not eat much and what he swallowed he did doggedly, as if he found it hard to force every morsel down his throat.
It took them until the fall of dusk to work their way far enough past the village as to be unable to see at least the fields in which it was set. Then Kryn swung a little eastward and they were guided by the murmur of water to where the stream had made a curve to join them.
A fire was out of the question, Nosh knew. However, again they hacked away some brush, pulled up masses of fallen leaves and branches. One to carpet their hidey-hole, the other to provide it with a hint of walling. It was small: they were shoulder brushing shoulder inside, but to Nosh that was in itself a source of security.
Kryn decreed that they must go sentry in the night and pushed her into the first period of sleep.
She had no dreams—perhaps her efforts with the crystals had burned out of her for the present that facet of power. But she awoke at once as his hand on her shoulder came to rouse her. She sat with her arms looped around her upbent knees as he huddled down. Nosh felt unusually alert as if there were something to be heard.
Before the morning dimmed the stars it came—the pull—the need—each time it was stronger. Back to the ravished village? No—rather up into the tall hills beyond. She reached out and shook Kryn awake without any gentleness of touch. His hand went instantly to weapons.
“No!” She had felt rather than seen that reaction. “Nothing comes—but I must go! I am called again.”
He tried to catch at her but she was already on her feet and moving, stopping only a few steps away to shoulder the pack she had dragged with her. Kryn might need landmarks to find his goal; she held her guides in her hands.
CHAPTER 27
Nosh was almost jerked from her feet as hands caught at her back, threatening her balance.
“Fool!” Kryn’s voice near her ear was as strong as a curse. “You cannot go running off in this country, not sure of where you must go!”
Nosh struggled to free herself from his hold, which tightened with her struggles instead of releasing her. She twisted her head around to try to meet him eye to eye.
“These know where I must go!” She held up both hands to protect the bundle of the Fingers. “I tell you— there is a call. Did not such bring us safe through the storm? If we obey, we need have no fear.” Somehow she was very sure of that.
“First,”—his hold on her still did not loosen—“we shall eat. And we shall not run wildly without keeping watch.” He wondered in that moment if he should not have let her see some of the horror of PanHigh—that might have aroused caution. “If you are called—then that call will not fail—or will it?”
Nosh hesitated. Good sense and the need laid upon her by the Fingers were at war. No, she did not believe she would lose that thread of touch which drew her. However, it was hard to control impatience and choke down the last of the cakes Raganat had supplied. She was still chewing on a handful of dried fruit when she shifted out of Kryn’s possible reach and got once more to her feet.
At least this time he made no attempt to stop her but shouldered his pack and checked his weapons as he always did before taking the trail. Here the ground was fairly open and, while they had to thread a way among trees, there was no underbrush to battle.
The urge drew her on and she set a steady pace. This part of the northern reaches of the rolling hills was steeper. Here and there boulders, cloaked now in season-killed lichen and moss, protruded. Nosh had been going steadily uphill when Kryn, who had played rear guard—she was aware that from time to time he had struck east a little from the path which seemed so direct to her—caught up shoulder to shoulder.
His arm thrust suddenly out before her again brought her up short and she turned to look at him angrily.
“What…”
“We now follow a trail,” he informed her tersely. “Look!”
He was right; there were indentations in the ground, a steady number of them, hollowing the way. Kryn went down on one knee and inspected the tracks, running his fingers into some of those pocking holes.
“Ushur,” he stated as one who could not be deceived. “And this and this”—his fingers pointed from one mark to another—“are not more than a few days old.” He raised his head and turned it from right to left slowly, as one who would mark every twig or bark of tree trunk near that pattern of footprints. Then he was quickly up and reached out to detach from the twigs of a reaching branch a twist of soft hair, cream white, and so clearly visible. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffed, making a face as he did so—to human noses Ushur shearings were never pleasant.
“Days…” he commented.
“Perhaps there were survivors from PanHigh,” Nosh said eagerly.
She knew from all the talk of Kasgar merchants she had heard that an Ushur flock was wealth for a village of the plains. The beasts did not breed readily and so all such flocks were limited as to size, and most jealously tended and guarded. She began to wonder at the presence of a well-beaten trail so far from the village. Usually a herd was more closely pastured. However, it was also true that the long-legged creatures had a liking for heights and the rougher kind of forage to be found there. They were often wild from birth and hard to tame even though they were bred in old, well-established herds.
Was there another village somewhere ahead? Perhaps it was toward that she was being drawn—she could not deny that such might be true.
“Let us go…” Her impatience could no longer be controlled. “Hav
e you sighted any sign of boots—raiders?”
She owed him that much at least. He could read the trails and she would abide by what he read here.
“No—only Ushur. It could be true that they broke pens and fled on their own from PanHigh.” But he did not say that as if he actually believed it. However, though his suspicious watch continued as he walked beside her, whenever that narrow trail gave them room he did not try to stop her.
The call remained steady. Nosh could only believe that with the acquiring of each new Finger the radiance of power grew that much stronger, could reach even farther. Now that she found it so she was willing to slacken pace, to accede now and then to Kryn’s demands for a chance to examine what lay about them. He made her pause at every open space and cross such glades at a zigzag run while he stood guard.
There were more signs that this was accepted pasturage for a herd, though there were few scraps of fluff to be gathered. To harvest all such would be the task of the flock keeper, for none of the precious stuff must be wasted.
The hills continued to make steps upward. Though they could see the uneven blend of them against the pale sky before them, these were not the Heights of the east—in ways a more gentle series of rises.
Another twist in the path and before them was a curve of rough road in which there were deep ruts fast forged. It was plain even to Nosh, whose trailwise eyes were far less able to read the land than Kryn, that at one time there had been a great many heavy loads transported along here. It slanted slightly toward the west, but they must have been paralleling it for some time.
At Kryn’s signal she settled down behind some brush, allowing him to make the necessary survey. He was shortly back to her.
“No recent travel. Yet we’re better away from it.”
“I cannot lose the call,” she said doggedly. “We need not walk it in the open but my way leads in that direction.”