Behind them, Obern, even without the use of any such seeing-aid, could now make out one ship and then two following safely, with a third drawing closer, and the last waiting its turn. They had reached their goal—at least they were within distance that they could send out scout craft and learn if there would be any danger.
But it was past sunset before their small fleet had drawn together. Snolli prepared to visit Stormbracer, swinging easily down into the waiting small boat.
Obern followed his father. That the High Chief would take such action at night brought home their own needs. This day, before coming into the harbor, all but the women and children had hungered. Trailing-lines in the water had brought in no fish, and the last of the carefully hoarded supplies from Void were gone.
The oarsmen sent their small boat across the water to the larger vessel, where the shield lantern offered a wavering beacon. Obern looked at the land. He could see an ominous breaking of waves over reef teeth. This was just the outer harbor. Somewhere past that maze of danger there was a closer passage that had been used aplenty, wherein lay the ship that Stormbracer's lookout had sighted.
Once more there was an assembly lighted by a single lantern, and among the captains who had come to this meeting, there was a man Obern had never seen before. Yet his kind he knew well. This was one of the far-faring Traders who had loose alliance with the Sea-Rovers. Obern relaxed, just a little. Traders were no enemies. At least, that had always been the case so far.
His father greeted the stranger, sword hand outstretched and open. The other man's hand met it palm to palm.
"Good roads, open seas to you, Trader Stanslaw," Snolli said in greeting.
The lean, dark-skinned man answered as heartily. "And may the same be given you,
Lord Snolli. Your captain has told me foul news. The north marches again—"
"And again, and again!" the High Chief returned harshly. "No more shall you find a ready market in Void, or in Shater, Dosa, or Juptue. Ruins. That's all that's left. Just smoldering ruins."
The Trader nodded. "Yes, our world is sadly threatened. They say in the Far
Islands that the land and sea will rise in time against all our kind if we do not cease our quarrels. Yet no man with half his wits could try to treat with such as those of the ice-bound lands. However, you have not come to a place much better. Be warned of that." He waved one hand shoreward. "Ashenkeep stands open for you; in that much, you are favored. But the land itself seethes like a pot coming to high boil. King Boroth, it is whispered, approaches close to his end.
His Queen holds the power for now. But these high-nosed lords do not bow knee to a woman or willingly hold council with her. And the Prince is of little worth.
When Boroth is carried to his tomb—ah, then, my friend, you will see a land bathed in blood as one lord vies with his neighbor, or his neighbor's neighbor, to add to his holdings."
Snolli laughed. "With what bright cheer, Stanslaw, you welcome us. We come from war, to face it once again. Yet a man must have a port he can trust, and this we must hold."
The Trader grinned. "How else could any sea-lord answer? In this much, I can be of aid to you. My own Galica lies at anchor in the Ashenkeep moat. There is no one there to meet you with swords."
Snolli had questions, and all listened carefully to the answers the Trader supplied.
"Yes, the keep itself has not been destroyed. It is well-rooted, and they could not bring any war machines through to batter down the walls. It is said that it fell through treachery. There was a strong hatred against the Ashenkin, and many tales are told of why. One can pick and choose, not that it matters now. No, you can walk within and find your own defenses.
"There is this also—the plain beyond has not been taken under shield of any neighbor. It is as if they want nothing more now that the House has been brought down. It is good land and there are beasts roving wild there, for the Ashenkin were noted herdmasters. So be at ease—for now—friend Snolli."
In the morning, the entire fleet, guided by Stanslaw, threaded its way easily into the inner harbor, close to where the waters had been channeled into a moat, and came to anchor at last. As quickly as possible, they went ashore, and Obern, seeing those tall, unshaken walls and the fair harbor below, was set to believe that Fortune had once more turned her face in their direction.
Not only did Stanslaw provided them guidance, he also saw to it that food was ready for the near-starving people of the sea before he went on his way.
Fortified, everyone worked with a will as the days passed, emptying the ships of what they had been able to save and setting up quarters in the deserted keep and the town surrounding it.
Within days, hunters and small scouting parties ventured out into the land beyond. They patrolled west to the river that formed the very edge of the
Bog-land, east to the broken lands of the mountains, and north toward the country to which they would be unwelcome invaders.
It was Obern, with the leader Iaobim and two others, who headed north and west a week later to scout along the scrublands edging the Bog.
Ashen awoke, startled out of sleep by a soft patting against her face. She opened her eyes to see not only Weyse crouched close by, but also the flyer, who was urging her out of slumber by reaching out a forepaw and tugging at the edge of her jerkin.
"Hungry, little ones? Let me get myself into good order and we shall break our fast." Ashen laid aside her reed covering and went to the water source she had found the night before. She took a handful of wild moss from her pack. It served as a sponge, and also provided a slight lather that left her face and hands clean. With a horn comb, she untangled her hair enough to braid it quickly and fasten it with thorn pins to the top of her head.
As she inserted the last of these, she heard an insistent trilling from behind, along with the soft purring notes of the flyer, and hastened back to bring out her supplies to feed the two hungry little creatures. Whatever Weyse had been accustomed to eating before her arrival, it was plain to see that the furred one greatly preferred what Ashen had brought. Taking the last of the boiled lupper's eggs from her bag, she noted wryly that if she would be here for any length of time, she must do some energetic hunting. Neither of her charges would understand the meaning of an empty bowl.
Whether any of the edible roots and plants she was familiar with could be found here, she did not know, but the night before, she had heard the peeping of luppers, and she was well acquainted with the snares one set for them. In the meantime, she must fully explore this chamber and make sure of just what she now had to hand.
Weyse and the creature she had begun to think of as "Little Flit" remained by the fire she had coaxed to a higher flame. The black stones Zazar had set there burned much longer and stronger than the squares of peat and dried reeds that never fully warmed any Bog dwelling, but filled it with smoke instead. There seemed to be a goodly supply of that fuel in a small bin at the back of the chamber.
Today she did not pause by the marked plates, but rather, picked and probed into all the containers resting on various shelves. Some of the contents she knew by their scent—the familiar materials used for healing. Others she was wary enough not to dig fingers into.
Having made the survey of her new quarters as best she could, Ashen determined to see at least part of the broken buildings around it. As she moved toward the entrance, Weyse flashed ahead, and Little Flit leaped with a flutter of wings to settle on her shoulder, where it nuzzled her cheek and made its purring sound.
Ashen discovered, as she reached the outside, that the morning was well advanced. The clouds, which had blanketed die padi yesterday, were gone and the sun had an unusual warmth for this time of year. The Bog-land had crept out of the icy cold but a short time past.
She clambered with care over tumbled walls and peered into a number of hollows, which she believed had once been dwellings. Weyse seemed to take great delight in scampering ahead and trilling at her, then running back as if to show off.
There was certainly little to be discovered. One pile of rubble was like another. Ashen tried to imagine what manner of people had once settled here. She could not picture the Bog-folk accomplishing such finished labor. But Za-zar's tales of other times and peoples long since vanished seemed fitting to this ruin.
With some effort, she made the circle of what she was sure had been an outer wall. Taking time to climb and perch at intervals when there seemed suitable footing, she scanned the shoreline. There were clumps of the reeds common to the waterways everywhere, and once or twice she sighted the rise of a bush.
She reached at last the landing to which Zazar had brought her, and it was there that Weyse again darted to hide behind the rocks, chattering in a high voice, while Little Flit stirred on her shoulder. The girl held up her hand and the winged creature moved onto her palm, the tiny nails of its paws pricking her flesh. Turning its head, its eyes met hers and held.
"Go—go—Visp go—"
It certainly had not changed its trilling purr for words, yet that message was in Ashen's mind. The little creature shifted to give its wings a chance to stretch. Once more it stared at her, though this time there was no message, unless it was one of farewell, and a moment later, it took to the air, soaring up and up.
She watched it level out for distant flight. Then Weyse pulled at her leggings and chirped in a way that clearly indicated it was delivering a warning. Its claws were tightly anchored in Ashen's tanned lupper-skin clothing, and the little creature jerked as strongly as it could to bring her to the right, close to a tall heap of tumbled stones.
"Very well, my friend, we will take cover." Ashen could not believe that Weyse could understand her. Nevertheless, she gestured, and to her astonishment, her companion answered with a humanlike nod.
There must be very good reason for Weyse to behave in such a fashion. Ashen found as good a spot as she could where she might see and still be hidden. She hunkered down and carefully drew her knife. When she looked up, she discovered that Little Flit had disappeared. The creature might as well have become invisible, for not even a speck in the sky marked its passage.
Her hiding place was just opposite from where Zazar and her craft had come and gone, and the girl was sure that whatever Weyse considered a threat, it was coming from that general direction.
Ashen had not long to wait. The grunting speech of Bog-folk carried across the water, and a moment later the first of them came into full sight. They had not traveled by boat as had Zazar, but rather they must have followed an overland trail. They could not go more than two abreast in the narrow strip between water and brush.
The band was unusually large for a hunting party, but it was fully armed. They crowded forward, excitement and surprise snowing on their broad faces as across the stretch of open water, they glimpsed the ruins of what Ashen was already thinking of as her city. She saw also that at the rear of their party, two were dragging along someone entwined in a net of the type used for Outland prisoners.
These were not strangers from some distant kin-hearth. She recognized Joal.
Behind him, Tusser pressed forward, but carefully kept to his place behind the one in command.
Joal uttered the summons call peculiar to their village. "Aaauugh!" He did it a second time as she tried to see the captive more clearly.
Who could it be? Surely not Zazar. Ashen could not believe that Joal would ever dare to handle the Wysen-wyf in this fashion. Weyse clutched at her knee again, but she was not in the least inclined to show herself. She put her hand on
Weyse's head.
"Witchling, demon-born—" Joal no longer gave the recognition signal of those with whom she had always lived, but shouted aloud the slime words that she knew with a cold certainty were meant for her alone.
Weyse pressed tightly against her as if to stop any move she would make, but
Ashen knew far better than to let any of that company see her. So far, she felt reasonably safe. There was no sign of a boat, and she was well aware that none of them would dare venture a path over an unknown stretch of water. Rubble, once walls, formed a barrier around the pool and it would take the Bog-folk a long time to pick their way across it.
"Demon, your shield be gone!" Joal's voice created thunder in the air. "Zazar no longer treats unbeknownst with Outlanders. We knows her secrets, all her secrets. See you who tells them—with a little sharp coaxing!"
He gestured, and the two holding the netted captive halted. Grabbing one edge of the net, Joal stripped it away to reveal Kazi.
The woman's face was a mask of fear; she was in such a condition of fright that those guarding her had to hold her on her feet. Joal grabbed a handful of her mud-stiffened hair and jerked her forward as she wailed in pain and terror.
The chief's spear thudded against her ribs, and once more she howled.
"Speak," he commanded. "Where is lover of dark demons who was of your hearth?
Does Zazar now still walk mighty in our land?"
"Noooo!" she wailed. "Zazar is gone."
Again he struck her. "And where has she-snake gone?"
"To the under-ones—" Her words ended in a screech.
"And her secrets? All her secrets, child of worm?" Joal continued ruthlessly.
"All gone, all forgotten, Great One—except for what lies in head of
Deathdaughter."
She sagged. Her guard stood aside and she fell to the ground, face down at the headman's feet in the old formal petition for clemency.
He rolled her over with a kick and looked again toward the isle of ruins.
"We make our land clean, Deathdaughter. You be filth of Outlands and so shall ending come—in the jaws of under-ones."
Tusser put a hand on his father's shoulder. "Need boats," he said, his voice carrying clearly. Joal shook his head.
Ashen knew that despite the difficulty of the path, Joal was ready to start toward her then and there. And she could not get back to where she might lose them in the maze without being seen. Joal began to climb over the uncertain footing of the rubble, and behind him, the warriors took up a war- chant. Then from a distance there came another sound, one Ashen remembered hearing only once before in her lifetime. Someone, somewhere, was beating a battle drum, an alarm that spoke of invasion.
Those on the shore wheeled in the direction from which they had come. Joal's thick lips lifted and his teeth showed like those of a garlizard. Old custom remained strong. That signal, which would be picked up and passed from village to village, told all that one of their worst fears—a full invasion—might soon be upon them.
They were off without another glance at the isle, disappearing with what speed allowed them by the brush, leaving Kazi, still trapped in the net, to lie where she had fallen.
That they had actually tracked her during past explorations, Ashen could not be sure. That Kazi had guided them here, she could believe, if this was a place known to her as well as to the Wysen-wyf. Kazi had been far longer a companion to Zazar than she, and indeed, perhaps the two had shared secrets the girl had never learned.
Despite the departure of the hunting band, Ashen could not be certain that Joal had not left a watcher to spy. For the moment, she was safe, but she knew that when they returned, they would bring up one of the boats to reach her. She watched Kazi, wondering whether or not she dare go to the old woman's aid.
Wondering whether or not she even wanted to.
The woman stirred; now that those who had handled her were gone, she fought to throw off the net that bound her. Ashen's lips tightened.
Kazi was not trail-wise; her crippled foot had always kept her close to the village. She had no supplies or weapons to support her now. There was no kin-debt between the Bog-woman and Ashen. And if Zazar was dead because of some tattling of Kazi's, better that Kazi suffer one of the many d
eaths lurking here.
Still, Ashen hesitated. She could not be sure of any betrayal from Kazi. Also, in her morning survey, she had found no other boat. No more than Joal did she want to risk a swim or a wade through the water—and that for Kazi. However, something within her balked at leaving the crone there, abandoned to her fate.
Yet she did not rise from her hiding place to show herself to the woman, now freed of her bonds and crouching on her knees.
Thirteen
Obern lay with the others of the scouting party, belly-down on a ridge that edged the river. The shadowy murk of the Bog stretched before them, warning them away by its very appearance. All had heard the tales of the monsters to be found there, and indeed, they had seen such for themselves in the thing from the sea and the attack from the cliff birds. By its very nature, the Bog was locked in against invasion; who knew what had come to live in its mysterious depths and its formidable cliffs?
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 1 - To The King A Daughter Page 17