Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 1 - To The King A Daughter

by To The King A Daughter(lit)

  To the south, a muffled roar spoke of the swallow-hole they had discovered.

  There the river vanished, to be spewed out eventually into the great waterfall that marked the end of Bog-land and the beginning of New Void.

  Another matter closer to hand presented a more urgent interest. Below the ridge that concealed them, three men sat at ease about a small fire. Plainly, by their body mail and weapons, they were part of a war-band. Behind them grazed four horses, saddled and ready for riding.

  "War-party, not hunters?" Obern said to Iaobim in a low voice. If these were on the same errand as he and his companions, they would not be thus in the open, where they could easily be picked off by an archer before they could mount.

  Iaobim nodded. "They wear the same badges," he pointed out. "A landeer on a copper background. Serve the same lord. But if they have lately come, they may not know this is no longer Ash-land."

  "They watch the Bog now and then," the man beyond Iaobim murmured. "But those who live there do not come to this side of the river. There is ever a barrier against Bog-folk, it is said."

  Plainly, the three were waiting for someone—the rider of the fourth horse. One of the men by the fire got to his feet and turned to stare intently at the forbidding brush-grown land beyond. Then, not only the three below but those concealed on the ridge above heard the thudding beat of a chorus of drums, all sounding the same rhythm, cut at intervals by a screaming blast of high-pitched sound as if from a war-horn.

  The three soldiers stood together, and by their gestures, seemed to Obern to be in dispute. At length they went to their mounts, and leading the extra horse, moved closer to the turgid stream that separated Bog from free land.

  The din of drums continued. They might be heralding the approach of a whole army. Those who waited rode slowly back and forth along a small stretch of the river, their heads turned, always alert to what might approach from the unknown north.

  Then the brush on the far side of the stream stirred into motion. Someone, or something, was forcing a path through. The horsemen pulled to a halt, facing that agitation. A section of brush fell forward into the stream, displaying a figure wielding a sword-length tool to clear the way.

  A moment later, that figure emerged on the far side of the stream. However, from what Obern's party could see from the ridge, this one did not resemble those who waited. A tall person walking erect, yes, but veiled from clear sight by the thick mist in constant curl about it.

  With no hesitation, the newcomer took a stride or two along the bank and then deliberately, if slowly, went into the water. Either the river was a shallow one, or this was a ford. Though the water washed at knee-level, the misted figure could wade through it easily. Obern fancied he could see where the murky slough of the Bog ended, about midstream, and clean water flowed.

  A spear flew from the brush behind. The hair rose on the back of Obern's neck as he watched it fail to penetrate the mist but instead, drop into the water as if it had struck against a wall. One of the men waiting produced a bow of a sort

  Obern had once seen on one of the Sea-Rovers' southward raids. Its limbs were small and fastened crosswise on a thick stock, and he knew it to be clumsy, but immensely powerful. The arrow it now released sped almost too fast to be followed, straight into the brush through which the wader, who was now hoisting himself up on the near bank, had come.

  . The mist suddenly winked out to reveal a tall man. His mail shirt reached past his thighs, and it gleamed brightly where it was not covered with a badly torn tabard of the same rust color as the other men's badges. In place of a helm, he wore a band of metal around his head and in that, just over and between his eyes, was an oval of light. The soldier leading the extra horse rode forward.

  Still ankle-deep in the water, the man put foot to stirrup, and this light wavered and died away entirely as he swung into the saddle.

  Wheeling around, the whole party rode at a brisk pace toward the east. Soon they rounded another ridge, disappearing from sight. The sullen drums continued their boom and now other figures broke through the brush that cloaked the Bog.

  These newcomers were surely of another race—squat, dark-skinned men. They seemed clad in mud, and displayed no body armor. They were equipped with spears and small oval shields; several had head coverings serving as helms. Their rage was apparent as they waded ankle-deep into the water, and some of the leaders hurled their weapons across the stream. Their shouts of frustration rose above the boom of the drums. But they made no attempt to go any farther or to use the ford to strike out after the horsemen. The stream might have been a wall forbidding their intrusion into the land.

  Once more at her lookout post aloft, Ysa took her chair. But there was no relaxation from the tension that held her. She must concentrate more deeply than she had ever ventured before to reach her missing messenger—if it still lived.

  It was a weapon, as strong a weapon as the Rings could be upon occasion, and one she must not lose.

  She closed her eyes that she might better see the flyer in her mind. Just so would it look as it came to her once more.

  Come! Her reaching thought sought again and again. The Bog—would the flyer have taken a route over that forsaken country in order to return? She knew there was a Power out there perhaps greater than that she had so painfully acquired. She had been careful not to touch it, or to attract it. Could that Power have drawn her messenger? Even now, was it wringing from Visp its purpose, its allegiance to her?

  Doubts must be banished. Resolutely she drew the picture in her mind and then called again. So intent was she that her hands came out, though she made that gesture only half consciously, to provide a landing place.

  Come! Visp, Come!

  Suddenly a small, high-pitched shrilling brought her eyes open. A shadow on the window surface. Then that which she sought came through, showing no harm, and settled on her hands.

  Clasping it, she raised the small body so they were eye to eye.

  Speak! The unvoiced order was as strong as her call had been. Thought answered as the shrilling cry ceased. They were on their way, those of the far north lands, but their journey was not yet begun. There was yet a little time. Those who had been shaken out of their long-held lands seemed now to be waiting. From

  Visp's mind, she saw that the ruins of the Sea-Rovers' last stronghold were occupied by the invaders. Did the northern hordes plan to concentrate their hold there? No. If their settlement followed—There was the Bog as barrier, but could that be held in spite of all its traps and the almost insane hatred of its people for Outlanders?

  Enough! She must not be led aside from her purposes by such questions. lake one task, one road, at a time and make it as much her own as she could.

  But she sensed it was not only news of the northerners that she had been brought. Her flyer had more to tell. Hazy pictures formed in her mind, and for a moment, she felt a pang of queasiness as she seemed to be looking down from some height at a ground shrouded in mist. Out of that arose towers—no, walls. Her sight was so restricted that she could not be sure. But the flyer whose memory she probed was swinging from a straight course toward those walls, exactly as if it had been called! The Bog power—

  Suddenly it was as if she had been blinded, and even in this manner of memory only, she felt a blow hurling her down from her course toward the ground.

  Fear—hers and the flyer's mingled—set her heart beating wildly.

  Her mind identified the stones all around as broken walls. But the Bog had no holds, no cities. No man living knew exactly what lay in this place. It must be old, very old, and protected still by some force, one that had identified Visp as a spy and brought it down.

  She knew the frenzied struggles of her messenger, shared its terror. Then the body that no longer would answer to the flyer's will was lifted, with care. Visp was being carried toward a larger pile of stones, one that still held the outlines of a building. There was light there, piercing the dark. Fear sharpened. In—no—it was forb
idden! Fighting against entry. Then the flyer was lowered and faced another creature, furred, small, but with eyes that promised aid. Visp was held toward this newcomer and felt the touch of its tongue on its head.

  Fear was gone; there was nothing now to be a barrier, so Ysa saw the flyer transported into the interior of the building. Visp looked around, and what it had seen became Ysa's vision in turn. The one who had borne Visp hither—a girl, her slender figure clad in the crude clothing known to the Bog. Only, this was no real Bog-wench. Her face was partly hidden. It was—

  Ysa gave a small cry, and her bond with the flyer was severed. She refused to acknowledge what she had seen in those short moments. It was just a Bog-woman, nothing more, perhaps some foul half-breed from a Rendel man or woman, strayed beyond the barrier river in search of novelty. She wouldn't have put it beyond even Boroth, had it occurred to him. It was her imagination, stirred by the nonsense Harous had babbled about Ashenkin still being alive. Her eyes—Visp's eyes—were playing tricks on her.

  Therefore, Ysa told herself firmly, she had seen a vision, an illusion, an apparition of what Visp in its gratitude only thought it had witnessed. None of it was real. She had not seen the Lady Alditha.

  Thus the Queen put the matter out of her mind.

  Ashen watched Kazi pull herself up and stand, tearing the net from about her.

  The woman seemed unharmed, apart from fright and a few bruises. Now she turned around slowly as if looking for some path of escape—or was she searching for

  Ashen herself? From what Ashen had heard Joal say, Kazi was ready now to openly show the spite and jealousy that had so long eaten at her. Had that also turned her against Zazar?

  Ashen held her breath, hoping the woman wasn't going to try to find her. At last, Kazi turned and lurched back the way she had been dragged, her twisted foot finding poor support in the overgrown land.

  Where would she go? For that matter, where could she go? If she returned to the village, supposing that she could get back without falling prey to some Bog creature, would it be only to face again the wrath of Joal and the others?

  Ashen turned away in the direction of the heart of the ruins and her own refuge.

  She knew she must not allow herself to be too softhearted. After all, Kazi had shown herself to be nothing better than a traitor. What was Kazi to her now but an open enemy? Still, they had shared a hearth for many years and the girl was uneasy with her own feelings. Only, what could she do? Even if she could cross the open stretch of water to follow Kazi's trail, dare she bring the woman here, to a place that was certainly one of Zazar's guarded secrets?

  She walked slowly, frowning at that twinge within her that said she could not let Kazi wander through unknown perils. Kazi had betrayed Zazar's secrets or—Ashen stopped in mid-stride, stunned. Maybe not. Perhaps the Wysen-wyf had been so mistreated herself that Joal had learned from her the way to this place.

  No. She rejected that thought.

  Ashen's pace became even slower. She had reached the giant figure that lay broken. Weyse, who had been scurrying before her, had jumped to take a seat on the cracked stone.

  Though it was difficult to read any expression on that round, furred face, Ashen received an impression of concern and uneasiness. How much did Weyse know? The girl was sure that her companion was intelligent—perhaps in a different way from what was familiar to her—but still, keen of mind. Ashen paused by the statue, close enough that Weyse reached out and touched her on the arm, drawing her full attention. Suddenly Ashen felt the need to put into speech her uneasiness.

  "Weyse, Kazi will die if she loses herself in the Bog." She thought of that terrible, great amphibian, Gulper, that had pursued her. Kazi would be easy meat for such. But there was water around this island, and no boat to be had.

  "Weyse," she said without thinking, "is there any way to get to the other side of that pool without crossing the water?" She wanted to take back the question.

  After her own exploration, that was a stupid thing to ask.

  To her surprise, it appeared to make sense to her companion. Again Weyse made that gesture of the head that Ashen could only believe was a nod. Zazar had trilled to it—no, spoken in an unknown tongue. However, it would seem that Weyse could also understand words it could not utter itself.

  "She," Ashen said to herself. "I can't keep thinking of you as 'it.' You seem like a 'she' and so that is what you are."

  Weyse gave a jump down from her perch and once more played the guide trick of catching hold of Ashen. But where she led the girl was straight back to the inner room. Was she trying to make it plain that there was no way to go except to this shelter?

  Only, once inside, Weyse did not settle down but trotted forward and began to claw at a pile of reed mats stacked to one side. Plainly, the furred one did have some purpose, and Ashen hurried to join her in moving the mats. The floor underneath was paved with blocks set in strange but regular patterns, just as it was all over the chamber. But Weyse was on all fours now, clawing at the stone.

  A moment later, she had pulled up a ring embedded between two of the blocks.

  Then she looked at Ashen and gave a vigorous nod.

  Though Weyse went back to tugging at the ring, it was plainly beyond her strength to move the surrounding blocks, if that was her purpose. Ashen knelt and reached for the ring, which Weyse yielded to her. She pulled with all the strength she could summon. For a straining moment, nothing happened. Then, with a grating sound, two blocks shifted upward a finger's width. Encouraged, Ashen tried again.

  This time she succeeded in pulling the twin blocks aside and uncovering a space below. It should have been pitch-dark, but as she stared down into the cavity, she could see plainly. At least one, and possibly more, of the same rods that afforded light for the room had obviously been set there.

  Even more plainly, a stone stairway had been set here as well, immediately inviting one to descend. Ashen settled back on her heels to consider the situation.

  Zazar had put no limit to her stay here. Ashen was certain the Wysen- wyf herself had intended to return. Perhaps she had been prevented by whatever deviltry Joal had worked. It might be that Ashen, if she could reach the land beyond by clambering down into this way, could serve her Protector better than she could than by remaining here. And also, she could aid Kazi, as her conscience demanded.

  Making her decision, she rose and hurried back to stow the supplies she had taken out of her trail pack. Almost as an afterthought, she emptied her shell water container of what she had brought from the Bog and refilled it with the good water flowing from the pipe. Then she closed the pack and hoisted it to her shoulders. It was bulky enough so that when she returned, she had difficulty in scraping through the entrance to this secret within a secret.

  Weyse bounded down the stone stairs and pattered ahead. Plainly she believed she was to continue to play guide. The steps, so even and straight at the top of the pit, soon turned crooked and narrow. As Ashen descended, following, even the light began to fail her. Now she went through thick shadows, for the light-rods here were far apart. At last, she reached solid flooring. By the extremely dim light, she could see she stood in a small space that was walled with stonework, except for an opening directly before her. This opening was about half the height of an ordinary door. With a squeaking trill, Weyse popped through into the darkness beyond. Settling her pack with a shrug, Ashen followed.

  Absently, Ysa caressed the flyer, feeling its weariness as part of her own. No more questions now; she had enough to think upon. Nor did she want to risk seeing again the imagined face of her long-dead rival. She rose and walked slowly around the chair to settle her messenger into a nest of clean silken cloth. Then she took a cup and spilled into it grain and fruit bits from nearby boxes she had commanded be brought to the room. Visp trilled what might have been a thanks and set to eating with a hearty will.

  Ysa stacked her books neatly, checked once more on the safety of her messenger, and in a black mood, left the
chamber. Then she remembered something else, forgotten in the shock of thinking she had seen Lady Alditha alive.

  Harous's hunting trip—what exactly was he hunting? What secret was he privy to that had been kept from those earlier days? Did he, or any of the other lords, know or suspect about this imaginary ill-born? Damn Harous and his meddling.

  Even a rumor would be enough to create trouble. She must summon those who supplied her with information in this land—her land—that she must fight to protect, and have them follow new trails to make certain— She hesitated. What if they learned too much? She believed them locklipped on her affairs, but there was always a chance.

  No, for now, she must make fast this land against the coming chaos when she could no longer hold life within Boroth. Florian could not rule; she was sure that the Rings had denied him. The Rings knew only the safety of the land, not the feelings in men's hearts. The lords would certainly not be willing to accept a woman as sovereign, though they saw her as Regent now. She had always been careful to be soft-spoken when with them in Council; nevertheless, she knew she was resented for even the little power she dared wield openly.