They reached the village square. It was an irregular rectangle formed by the fronts of Persch’s principal buildings: the inn, which was rumored to serve a most remarkable fish stew; the communal hall (since no nobleman dwelt in Persch, the citizens had erected their own great hall in which to observe feasts and holy days); the marketplace and the stalls of the vendors; the small temple and shrine to the god Ariel; and the dwellings of the craftsmen.
In the center of this rectangle stood a large well, and on a mound beside it an immense old cedar tree spread forth its shaggy limbs to offer shade to all who gathered there. Quentin and Toli drew up to the well and dismounted. Toli picked up a shallow wooden bucket which lay beside the stone rim of the well and dipped out water for the horses. Quentin filled a gourd and drank his fill of the cold, fresh water and then offered some to Toli.
“Hmmm,” Quentin mused, “not a sound, not a sight. And yet, I feel that we are not alone.”
“Yes, I feel someone close by. I also feel their fear.” Toli replaced the gourd carefully and then motioned for Quentin to mount up again. Quentin did so with a questioning look, and the two rode the rest of the way through the village.
When they reached the last dwelling Toli led them aside and whispered, “We were not entirely alone back there. I felt someone’s eyes upon us. Let us leave the horses here and go back by another way.”
They crept quietly along a pinched alleyway between buildings and soon made their way back to the square. There was nothing to be seen; it all looked just as it had only moments before.
“Well, it appears we should look elsewhere. Perhaps we may try one of the dwellings.”
“Wait but a moment more and I will join you.”
Toli had no sooner finished speaking when they heard a slight scrabbling hiss, like that of a snake moving through dry sand. It stopped and started with a measured pace. They listened for a moment, and the sound seemed to diminish rapidly. It was then Quentin realized that someone had been very close to them, perhaps just around the corner of the same wattle and daub abode where they now crouched waiting in the shadows. The sound was the light, shuffling footfall of someone treading gently, cautiously along the shell-strewn path.
“He is getting away!” whispered Quentin harshly, and he dived around the edge of the dwelling in time to see a leg and a hand disappear behind an overgrown yew thicket.
“He is making for the basin!” shouted Toli. “We will catch him this way.” He pulled on Quentin’s arm and pointed behind them to where the narrow alleyway turned and started down as it became a path, like so many in the sea town, which led to the waterfront where the villagers kept their fishing boats.
Toli bounded away, and Quentin followed in his fleet steps. They tumbled down the path together and jumped down the rock steps placed in the side of the sandy hill which separated the town from the strand below. Ahead of them lay the boat basin, the small cove which formed the harbor of Persch. There, between two fishing boats resting with thick black hulls skyward, a small skiff with a white triangular sail had been thrust up on the sand. And hurrying nimbly along the sand toward the skiff ran the slight figure of a man.
Quentin darted out onto the beach in pursuit. He ran a few paces, then stopped, raised his hand and shouted, “Hold, sir! Stop! We mean you no harm! We only wish to talk!”
The figure half-turned and only then saw the two men watching him. Though Quentin and Toli were still too far away to make out the features of the face, the effect of Quentin’s words was quite obvious. “You have frightened him!” called Toli as the figure on the beach lurched forward, stumbled, fell, picked himself up and ran deerlike for the skiff. “Come on!” cried the quick-footed Jher skimming over the sand.
The young stranger had reached the skiff and was shoving the boat into the water with all his might. It seemed to have caught on something, thought Quentin, or perhaps the tide had withdrawn somewhat since the boat had been left there, making it harder to push free.
But, with the strength of desperation, the stranger succeeded in launching the small sailboat and was thrashing through knee-deep water to turn the boat around before clambering in, fishlike, over the side.
Toli reached the water’s edge first and jumped in. Quentin plunged in after him, and both waded toward the boat. The stranger, paddling furiously with a long oar, cast a terrified look over his shoulder. Quentin noticed the compact frame and slim shoulders dressed in the leather vest and coarse-woven brown trousers worn by fishermen. The shapeless, floppy soft hat, also traditional among the seaside dwellers of southern Mensandor, was pulled down low over the young face.
Quentin waded toward one side of the boat, and Toli splashed toward the other. The boat, despite the prodigious thrashings of its occupant with the oar, was not moving into the deeper water rapidly, and they had no trouble reaching it in quick strides.
Once they were within range, the oar whistled above their heads. Quentin tried to reassure the stranger, saying, “Be still, good sir! Desist! Ow!” as the wildly flailing oar came dangerously close. “We mean you no harm!”
As Quentin thus occupied the boy’s attention, Toli moved behind him toward the bow. The youngster turned and brought the oar down on the gunwale with a crack in the exact spot where Toli’s fingers had been only an instant before. Quentin, seeing the stranger momentarily off-balance following the delivery of the blow, seized the stern with both hands and gave the boat a mighty, twisting shove. The young stranger gave a surprised yelp and, with arms flung wide and fingers clawing the air, toppled over the side headfirst into the water, the oar clattering to the bottom of the boat.
Quentin ducked the splash, and Toli swung himself around the side of the skiff to face Quentin. Between them floated the fisherman’s hat. Quentin reached into the shallow water, snagged a hold on the stranger’s collar and hauled him sputtering to his feet.
“Well, what have we here?” asked Quentin amiably. “Toli, I think we have caught ourselves a…” He stopped abruptly. Now it was Quentin’s turn to be surprised.
“A girl!” cried Toli, finishing Quentin’s thought.
Quentin held the dripping hat, now a soggy black bag in his hands, and looked in wonder at the long, dark tresses, now wet and ropy, glistening in the sun. The young woman’s dark lashes blinked over clear, ice-blue eyes as she shook away the water streaming down her face. She had soft, well-shaped features, and her cheeks bore the ruby blush of excitement.
“Let me go!” she cried. “I am nobody. I have no money. Let me go!”
“Peace,” said Quentin softly. “We will do you no harm, my lady.”
The young woman looked from one to the other of her captors, eyeing them suspiciously. “We are not robbers, if that is what you are thinking,” replied Toli. “We are King’s men.”
“Since when do King’s men arrest innocent citizens and abuse them for no reason?” she challenged them haughtily.
“Innocent citizens have nothing to fear from us. Why did you run?”
The woman threw a furtive glance toward the village and murmured, “I was frightened. I found the village deserted, and…”
“And then you heard us coming and hid.”
“Yes,” she said sullenly. She drew a soggy sleeve across her face and threw a defiant look at Quentin. “Now, let me go!”
“We will let you go in good time. But you have pricked our curiosity, and we wish answers to our questions first. Now,” said Quentin offering her his hand, “we needn’t remain standing in the water; let us all dry out on the beach.”
He turned and began sloshing toward the shore. Suddenly he felt his knees buckle, and he pitched forward into the water with a strangled yelp. His back and shoulders were pummeled with fierce blows. He twisted underwater and was trying to haul himself back to his feet when the attack was broken off. He surfaced sputtering and shook the water out of his eyes. Toli was gripping the young lady by the arms, having pulled her off Quentin. His servant then pushed her, clawing and kicking, tow
ard the shore.
Toli’s face wore a strange, ridiculous grin.
TEN
“HOW IS THIS possible?” Theido shook his head in disbelief. His eyes scanned the blackened plain where the village of Halidom had been.
“There must be something left, though it does not look promising.” Ronsard motioned to his knights, and the party started down the gentle hill above the flat valley of Halidom. Each man’s face wore a look of grim wonder, and each man’s mind echoed Theido’s thought-how was it possible that an entire village could be annihilated so completely?
There was nothing left of Halidom but a blackened spot on the earth. Not a timber stood; not a stone was left standing upon another. The entire area where the town had been was now a razed jumble of destruction.
“Even the birds have finished with it,” observed Ronsard as they approached the perimeter of the scorched circle.
“Not quite. Look over there.” Theido gazed a short distance away. Ronsard followed his look and saw a large flapping buzzard settle himself upon the remnant of a tree trunk. Three scolding ravens flew up from where they had been busily feeding on the ground.
“Let us see what draws their interest.” Ronsard turned to his men. “Spread out and search the ashes for any signs of who this enemy might be.” Then he and Theido reined their horses toward the place where the buzzard was now hopping along the length of burned trunk. The bird was eyeing something on the ground below. What it was could not be determined.
They moved through the midst of the destroyed village. Scattered among the ashes were the charred remains of the everyday life of the simple villagers: an iron tripod with its battered pot nearby, a small stone statue of a household god, the blackened shards of a wine jug. And here and there lay the remains of hapless villagers: a sooty skull staring vacantly skyward; a long, clean length of shinbone; the curved hull of a ribcage rising from the desolation.
The vulture took disgruntled flight at the approach of the horses and lifted itself slowly into the sky to circle high overhead with the ravens.
“By the gods!” cried Theido, drawing near the spot.
“What…?” began Ronsard. Then he, too, saw what Theido had seen. “By Orphe-no!”
Theido had already thrown himself from his mount and was tugging at the lashings of his saddle for his water skin. Ronsard, entranced by the sight before him, dismounted slowly and stepped closer. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and was drawing the blade when Theido touched his arm. “No need for that, I think. He is beyond pain, beyond suffering.”
As Theido spoke, the object of their attention-a badly burned torso of a body-jerked convulsively, and a yellow eye rolled toward them. Upon seeing them, the mangled half-corpse uttered a pitiful moan. Theido knelt gently down beside the carcass and offered his water skin.
“Peace, friend. Here is water for your parched tongue.” Theido was on his knees, gently bringing the tip of the skin within reach of the cracked mouth. He allowed a few drops of water to seep out and dampen the man’s lips. The black tongue poked out and moistened itself with the water. The cracked eyelids fluttered, and the dry eyeballs rolled in their sockets. Miraculously, the water seemed to take effect and the eyes cleared with recognition.
“How is this poor creature still alive?” wondered Ronsard, bending close to Theido’s ear.
“I do not know.” The knight paused to let some more water trickle out. “But perhaps he may tell us something of what happened here before Heoth claims him.”
“Can you speak, friend? We are King’s men, and your answers would do your King service.”
Ronsard turned away from the stench which assailed his nostrils. The man was burned horribly. Great areas of his chest and arms were charred black; the lower part of his body had been crushed by the tree when it fell. He lay in a shallow depression in the ground, half-twisted on his side. His hair had been burned off one side of his head; on the other, a few dark strands still dung to the bare scalp to trail in the breeze.
The birds had fed on the man where he lay and had laid open a fair portion of his shoulder and back. White bone could be seen gleaming from the raw, red wounds.
“Let him die in peace,” said Ronsard turning back. His voice was tight and choked.
“No-o-o.” The sound was little more than a whisper on the wind. Both men looked down into the eyes and saw a glimmer which held them. The man was trying to speak.
“Easy. We hear you. Let me come close to listen.” Theido leaned forward and placed his ear directly above the man’s lips. He spoke softly and with a serenity Ronsard found hard to believe. “Tell us what happened, if you can.”
The words formed themselves in the air, though Ronsard could not see how; and, however faint, they could be understood. “I have been waiting for someone to come,” the man whispered. His voice was a dry rasp-the sound of a withered leaf blown over the sand. “Waiting… waiting…”
“We are here now; your vigil is over. Can you tell us anything?”
“All killed… all destroyed… burned… everything.”
“Yes, we see. Who did it? Do you know?”
“Ahh…”-a long raking gasp-” the destroyer god… ten feet tall… fire spewed from his mouth… everything destroyed.”
“Just the god alone?”
The words were growing fainter and more tenuous. “N-no… ahh… many soldiers… they say…” The man coughed violently, and the torso was racked by another convulsion.
“What did they say?”
“Ahh…”
“Tell me and then it is over. The god will take you to your rest.”
“Beware… Nin the Destroyer… Ahh-hhh.”
The yellowed eyes grew cloudy and still. There was not enough breath left to make a last gasp, but Ronsard fancied he felt the last remnant of life flee the broken form that had held it so long against its will.
Theido stood slowly. “Let us bury this brave one at once.”
The birds squawked overhead as if they knew that they would be denied their meal.
When the pathetic corpse had been buried with as much kindness as the knights could render, Ronsard and Theido went a little apart to talk. “Have you seen enough, my friend?” asked Ronsard, leaning on his sword.
“Here-yes. But I would like a look at this enemy that strikes helpless villages and kills the defenseless.”
“That we shall have ere long, I believe. But now is not the time for it. We should return at once with word of what we have seen. When next we ride, it will be with a thousand at our backs.”
“Aye, you speak my feelings… hmmm.” Theido paused and seemed to regard something on the far horizon.
“What is it, Theido? Does something trouble you yet?”
Theido drew a long breath, and when he turned back to Ronsard a strange light shone in his eyes. He turned again to the horizon, and his voice sounded faraway. A shadow moved across the valley.
“I am afraid, Ronsard.”
“You, afraid? How little you know yourself, sir!”
“Don’t you feel it?” His look was quick and sharp. “No? I wonder…”
“Speak your mind, Theido. Let there be nothing between us now. You have a foreboding, I can tell. Out with it. Do not fear you will unsettle me unduly. I am man enough to ride my thoughts with a tight rein, I assure you.”
“Very well-you are right, of course. But it is not so easily put into words.
“Just now as we were talking I had a feeling that we were riding down a narrow path whose end lay in darkness, and darkness was falling all around. That is all, just that. But it made me afraid.”
Ronsard studied his friend carefully, and at last spoke in a firm but quiet voice. “We were together, you and I? Well, come what may, that is enough for me. It will be a dark path indeed that daunts these two knights.
“But come, this is an evil place. Let us return at once to Askelon for the King’s counsel. I fear we have been too long absent already.”
“W
e shall return as you say, fair friend.” Theido squared his shoulders and clapped Ronsard on the back with his hand. “But I would that we had seen this mysterious enemy and knew somewhat of his strength in numbers. I would feel better if we could but see his face.”
“So should I, but perhaps that time is not far hence. We may yet encounter him before reaching Askelon-though we are ill prepared for battle.”
“I have no wish to engage an unknown enemy, brave sir. Only to espy his methods. All the more since this one seems so fantastic to believe.”
They had been walking back to their horses and upon reaching them Ronsard swung himself up and called to his knights, “Be mounted, men! We are away for Askelon!”
The knights took their saddles and began riding back up the hill the way they had come. But this time they gave the charred circle on the plain a wide berth.
Theido stood for a moment beside his horse, gazing faraway. Behind him he heard Ronsard call; he shrugged, mounted his big black palfrey and hurried to catch the others. As he gained the crest of the hill, the late afternoon sun caught him full in the face and he felt his melancholy flow away in the flood of golden warmth that washed over him. He spurred his horse forward and did not look back.
ELEVEN
DURWIN HIKED his robe over his knees and waded into the reed-fringed pool. The afternoon sun fell in slanting shafts through broad oaks and silver-leaved birch to glint in shimmering bands upon the clear water. Tiny fish flashed away from Durwin’s intruding feet. The liquid, crystalline call of a lark on a nearby branch split the forest’s green silence into two quivering halves.
Durwin stepped carefully into deeper water, scanning the pebble-strewn bottom as he splashed along. He thought for a moment to throw off his robe and submerge himself in the pool’s cool depths, as was his custom on a warm summer’s afternoon in Pelgrin Forest.
But he thought better of the notion, inviting though it was, and continued his browsing. He soon had reason to be glad he had kept his robe, for as he worked his way around the pool, dipping now and then into the water, he noticed something white shining in the water. He glanced again and realized that it was a reflection on the mirrored surface of the pool. With a start he looked up and saw a woman clothed all in white standing on the shaggy, grass-covered bank above him.
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