Cyndal was in a sober mood after taking leave of her cousin, and for the early part of the morning she rode in silence. But the warmth of the day and the cheerful calling of the birds proved too much for her to resist, and by the time they stopped for a midday meal she was laughing and talking with Auridan as though he had stood guard over her cradle.
Auridan was surprised at how comfortable he was with her. His previous experience with noblewomen had not led him to expect anything remotely resembling this casual camaraderie. Before he thought, he said as much, and Cyndal grinned.
"You've probably only seen proper noblewomen, like Lady Chathalla," she said without rancor. "Penniless females like me aren't usually allowed out in public."
"Do the Dales hold any other women 'like you'?" Auridan asked, studying her with exaggerated admiration.
"Hundreds," Cyndal said, and her smile faded. "I'm one of the lucky ones. If Chathalla weren't so nice, I'd have been stuck in the kitchens or the back gardens with fewer prospects than a serving wench. I've seen it happen; Uppsdale isn't very far away, and I remember how Lady Annet treated Ysmay. And Ysmay had dowry enough to marry, in the end; I don't even have that."
"Surely your uncle—" Auridan stopped short as he realized that, camaraderie or not, this was not the sort of question a blank shield ought to ask of a noblewoman.
"My uncle didn't think of settling anything on me for a dowry," Cyndal said. "He was more concerned with making sure no one would be able to object to Hervan as heir. And it was lucky he did; things were rather difficult for a while after he died. If he hadn't made such a point of Hervan's being his heir, blood-kin or not, I'm not sure what would have happened to any of us."
Auridan nodded sympathetically and changed the subject. He had seen enough in recent years to be able to guess more than he wanted to know about what Cyndal was not saying. The thought of this beautiful girl helplessly caught up in one of the sometimes bloody struggles over a Dales rulership made him wince. Then he smiled at himself. Beautiful Cyndal might be, but helpless? Little as he knew her, he knew she was not that.
Despite his enjoyment of Cyndal's company, Auridan grew increasingly uneasy as the day wore on. In the late afternoon, clouds began sweeping in from the west, turning the day gray and adding to his irritability. Finally Cyndal noticed his nervousness and demanded to be told what was wrong.
"I won't be treated like a porcelain ornament," she said. "And I can be dreadfully stubborn. So you might as well explain what's bothering you, and save us both the trouble."
"If I knew what it was, I'd tell you," Auridan replied. "It's just a feeling, that's all."
They rode until just before dark. A cold drizzle began to fall as they struggled to set up camp in the gloom, and they heard the rumbling of thunder among the nearby mountains. Auridan rigged an inadequate shelter for Cyndal from seven leafy branches and a blanket, then was exasperated when she insisted on joining him in hunting firewood.
The storm hit with a crash while they were heading back toward their camp with the second load. Rain slashed through the branches of the trees above them, soaking their cloaks in minutes and half blinding them. Auridan shouted to Cyndal to keep close; in the dark and the rain it would be all too easy to become separated and lose the way. He thought he heard Cyndal shout agreement, but a few moments later, a brilliant flash of lightning showed her forging through the trees ahead and to his right.
The thunderclap that followed drowned out Auridan's call. Cursing, he blundered toward where he thought she was. He ran into a tree and lost several of the branches he was carrying. As he struggled to get a better grip on those that remained, he heard Cyndal scream.
Auridan dropped the firewood and leaped forward. The scream had come from just ahead of him; he ought to be able to find her easily enough. He heard Cyndal scream again, and another flash of lightning lit the woods.
By its light, Auridan saw Cyndal plunging wildly into the trees. Just behind her, its head a man-height above the ground, was a creature with a long, sinuous body like a giant snake covered with feathers. Auridan grabbed for his sword as the light faded, and forced his feet to move faster. The image of the enormous snake hung before his eyes, as though the lightning had etched the scene into their surface. Then he realized that the snake was glowing. It moved forward without hurry, following Cyndal.
Auridan stumbled after it, determined to reach the snake before it could harm Cyndal. The chase seemed to last for hours, the darkness punctuated by occasional flashes of lightning. Auridan was grateful for the storm; the brief flares of light were the only way he had of being sure the snake had not yet reached its prey.
Suddenly the snake disappeared, like a puff of smoke scattered by the wind. Almost at the same moment, Auridan heard Cyndal give another scream. Desperately he threw himself forward. He had an instant's confused impression of plunging through something like a thin curtain into dryness and warmth and flickering torchlight, and then he collided with Cyndal.
They teetered together in a tangle of dripping hair and soggy cloaks. Auridan recovered first and instinctively raised his sword. Then what he was seeing finally penetrated, and he stared in astonishment.
He was standing just inside a curtain of blackness that blocked the mouth of a huge cave. Torches burned in iron sconces hanging from the walls of the cave. Directly across from Auridan stood the statue of a plumed snake rearing up twice the height of a man, its mouth open in a silent hiss. Before the statue was a low table, and in front of it stood three men. The first was an old man robed in green. Next to him stood the sword-seller in an identical robe of dark blue. Then Auridan stiffened in shock. The third man was Lord Hervan.
"Your champion has arrived at last, Sympas," said the first man. He laughed unpleasantly, and his eyes never left Auridan. "Not a very prepossessing sight, is he?"
"Appearances are not everything, Kessas," the sword-seller replied calmly.
Kessas snorted. "It took you long enough to get him here."
Auridan stared at the two men in bewilderment. Beside him, Cyndal raised her head to study their surroundings. Auridan felt her shudder against him as her eyes fell on the statue; then she went rigid with shock. "Hervan?"
Hervan looked at her with a miserable expression. "I'm sorry, Cyndal! I didn't know!"
"Didn't know what?" Cyndal demanded. She sounded more like herself, and Auridan grinned.
"I didn't know what Kessas would ask! I... made a bargain, I thought it was the right thing, the only way to be sure ..."
"What are you talking about, Hervan?" Cyndal said sharply.
"This," Hervan said. He looked away from her. "Your being here."
"What your step-cousin is trying to tell you is that either you or he will die tonight," said Kessas. Auridan made an involuntary gesture with his sword, and the old man gave him an unpleasant smile. "Precisely," he said.
"Hervan, why?" Cyndal said urgently.
Hervan raised his head. "Syledale. You know what it was like, after your uncle died! I wanted— I wanted to be sure nothing like that would ever happen again. There had to be an heir no one could question, but Chathalla hadn't shown the slightest sign, not once in over three years. So I bargained. I didn't know!"
"Enough," said Sympas sternly. "You made your agreement, and you must abide by it. By your own will, you are Kessas's champion."
"And I suppose you intend me to be yours," Auridan said.
"I chose you for that purpose, yes."
"What happens if I refuse?"
"If there is no contest, the color of the serpent remains as it is, which is the green of Kessas," the sword-seller replied. "Since he is dominant, his will would prevail and the girl would be sacrificed."
Cyndal made a small noise and reached for the dagger at her belt. Auridan's eyes narrowed. "And if I agree?"
"The outcome of the contest determines the color of the serpent," Sympas said. "If Lord Hervan wins, Kessas remains dominant and the girl dies. But if you are the victor,
the color of the serpent will change to blue, and you and the girl will go free."
"You leave me no choice," Auridan said.
"Then stop this chattering and let the contest begin," Kessas snarled.
Auridan raised his left hand and unfastened the clasp of his cloak. He let the soggy mass slide to the floor and stepped forward. Reluctantly, Hervan drew his sword and came to meet him. Auridan saw that Hervan's blade was a twin to his own, and his lips twisted. Not an identical twin, he thought; he would be willing to wager that the stones in the hilt of Hervan's sword were green, not blue.
Warily, Auridan circled his opponent. He had no idea how good a swordsman Hervan was, and still less what difference the two strange swords might make in the fight. Hervan was equally unwilling to close with him, but finally he could wait no longer. He stepped forward and swung.
Green and blue sparks flew as the weapons touched, and Auridan felt his sword arm tingle. He forced himself to concentrate on fighting. Hervan was an excellent swordsman; Auridan could not afford to let himself be distracted. He parried a vicious thrust, and more sparks flew. They grew thicker and brighter with each blow, until the very air seemed to shine with green and blue light.
Finally, Hervan broke through Auridan's guard. Auridan twisted aside, but not quite in time. The point of Hervan's sword grazed his left shoulder. Auridan felt a painful jolt in his left arm from shoulder to fingertips. He ignored the pain, for Hervan's desperate attack had left an opening. With all his strength, Auridan brought his sword down across Hervan's, just above the guard. The force of the blow tore the weapon from Hervan's hand. Before he could recover it, Auridan's blade was at his throat.
Hervan stood motionless, staring at Auridan with wide eyes. Auridan hesitated, and heard the sword-seller's voice say, "You have won; now make an end."
Auridan shook his head. He stepped back, kicking Hervan's sword well out of reach, and lowered his own weapon. "If I have won, that is the end," he said. "There is no need for killing."
"You must!" Kessas's voice was frantic. "The power will not be bound unless the victory is sealed in blood!"
"I won't kill him," Auridan said stubbornly.
"Fool!" Kessas cried. "Kill him or we'll all die! Look there!"
Auridan looked up. The serpent statue was glowing. Blue and green light rippled up and down the carved plumes, the shimmering colors shifting crazily from one feather to another, and cracks were appearing in the stone. Kessas's face was a mask of terror. Then, with a loud grinding noise, a large chunk fell out of the nose of the statue. Another followed. "Run!" shouted the sword-seller.
Auridan ran. He heard Kessas shrieking curses behind him, but he did not look back. He saw the black barrier at the mouth of the cave vanish as Cyndal darted through it. An instant later, Auridan followed her, with Sympas right behind him. Auridan turned and pulled Hervan out just as the roof of the cave collapsed with a roar.
For a moment, they stood in the darkness outside, panting with exertion and coughing in the cloud of dust spewing from the mouth of the cave. The rain had subsided into a cold drizzle once more, which added to their discomfort. Sympas seemed the least affected; he stood staring almost wistfully back toward the cave. At last he looked up.
"The power of the serpent, for good or for ill, is broken, and I am free at last," he said to Auridan. "For that, my thanks."
"Thanks are well enough," Cyndal said with irritation, "but I want an explanation. What has all this been about?"
The sword-seller smiled. "A fair question, though perhaps not fairly phrased. The feathered serpent that you saw in the cave was a ... source of Power. In itself, it was neither of the Light nor of the Dark, but could serve either as its servants willed it.
"My brother and I were bound to the serpent long ago. We were intended to hold the serpent's Power for the Light, but over the years Kessas delved too deeply into the things of the Dark, and it swallowed him. Then he began searching for a way to bind the Power of the statue to himself alone.
"He found it in you." The sword-seller looked at Cyndal. "Your mother bore a trace of the old blood, and she passed it on to you. That and your beauty made you the perfect sacrifice, whose blood would bind the Power to Kessas. So Kessas made his bargain with your cousin: a son and heir in exchange for you."
"He didn't tell me what he was going to do!" Hervan said. "I wouldn't have agreed if I'd known."
"You did not ask," Sympas said sternly. Hervan looked down, and Sympas continued, "I learned of Kessas's actions too late to stop what he had set in motion. My only hope was to counter what he had done by choosing a champion of my own." His eyes met Auridan's, and he smiled. "I chose better than I knew."
"That was why you tried to give me the sword!" Auridan said.
"Yes. I was concerned when you insisted on paying, for it meant I had no hold on you to draw you here. So I sent you to Cyndal, hoping that you would become involved in her plans. In the end, it was as well that you were free to choose, for you could not otherwise have destroyed the serpent."
"I didn't—"
"The laws that governed the Power of the statue were very rigid. Blood sacrifice would bind its Power to Kessas; a contest to the death would bind its Power to the victor. You won the fight, but refused to kill your opponent. Neither Kessas nor I had won, and the conflicting Powers tore the statue apart. Had you taken the sword as I meant you to, I think you would not have been able to keep to your resolve."
Auridan looked at Hervan. The Dales lord looked cold and miserable and worried. Auridan still didn't like him much, but he was glad he had not been forced to kill the man.
"What about Chathalla?" Hervan asked urgently. "Will she be all right, now that. . ." He waved at the pile of rubble where the mouth of the cave had been.
"Your lady will suffer no hurt by this," Sympas assured him.
"You are luckier than you deserve, Hervan," Cyndal said.
"I know," Hervan said without looking at her.
"Then do not seek again to bend old Powers to your wishes," Sympas told him.
"I won't," Hervan assured him. Then he looked at Cyndal and said tentatively, "Will you still be going on to Norstead?"
"I think it would be best," Cyndal said gently. "If Auridan is still willing to guide me. But I will return before Chathalla has her child."
"Thank you," Hervan said.
The sword-seller looked at Auridan. "If you have no other questions for me, I must go."
"What about this?" Auridan said, holding out the short-sword.
"Keep it," Sympas said, and smiled. "You have paid for it twice over, once in coin and once in service."
"I'm not sure I want a sword that gives off blue sparks in a fight," Auridan said.
"The sword drew its Power from the statue; with the statue gone, you have no need to worry," Sympas assured him.
Auridan did not see how Sympas could be so positive, but he did not like to offend the man. He nodded and sheathed the sword, reminding himself mentally to clean it as soon as he was somewhere dry.
"Farewell, and again, my thanks." Sympas turned and started walking up the mountain.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Cyndal said.
The sword-seller looked back and smiled. "Home," he said, and this time when he walked away no one stopped him.
* * *
The Lorelei
The tour bus lurched down to the end of the parking lot and expired in a cloud of blue smoke right in front of the ice-cream stand. Janet wondered whether the driver had planned it. Maybe he had an arrangement with the man who ran the ice-cream stand. Maybe he always stopped here when he was driving a busload of kids.
Mr. Norberg leaned forward and said something to the driver. Janet didn't bother trying to overhear; they were too far away, and her German wasn't that good anyway. Now he was talking to Mrs. Craig. Janet bet he was translating. Mrs. Craig's German was even worse than Janet's, but the school had had to have at least one female teacher along on the trip to chaperone
the girls, and Mrs. Craig was the only one they could find who knew even a little German.
Janet saw Mrs. Craig nod, and Mr. Norberg stood up. "Everybody out!" he called. "Stay together and follow me, and don't wander off till I'm done with my speech. Mrs. Craig will bring up the rear, to make sure nobody gets mislaid. We can't afford to spend much time here if we want to get to Marksburg Castle yet today."
"Then why are we stopping at all?" Will Forney said from the seat behind Janet. His voice was loud enough to be heard for a couple of seats around him, but too low to carry to the front of the bus.
"Ice cream," Janet whispered back, and ducked her head to keep Mr. Norberg from seeing her expression.
"Everybody got that?" Mr. Norberg said. "All right, then, raus."
There was some good-natured shoving as the bus emptied and a lot of milling around in the parking lot. Janet noted that Linda Sommers had taken advantage of the confusion to slip over to the ice-cream stand and buy one of the triple-chocolate bars. Linda was always doing things like that.
"Everybody out? All right; this way," Mr. Norberg said, and started off.
He led the way across the parking lot and around to the right of the little Gasthaus. Janet was rather proud of herself for thinking of it as a Gasthaus, rather than a hotel; it made her feel as if she wasn't just an ordinary tourist. She smiled to herself, and then she tripped on the curb and nearly ran into Dan Carpenter from behind. He gave her a look that made her feel twice as clumsy as she had actually been, but at least he didn't say anything.
"Watch out," said Heather Martin, who had come up beside Janet. "You nearly fell on me."
"I did not," Janet answered automatically. "And if I had fallen on anybody, it would have been Dan. You weren't even close."
Book of Enchantments Page 9