“Lord.” I bowed my head before him, giving homage to that which he was. “In all things behold one whom you can bid—”
Again he interrupted me, this time speaking with such sharpness that it was a rebuke.
“I am no lord of yours, Lady, nor are you under my bidding. You are to make your choice freely. I can offer you and your people a strong shelter and what aid a single man can give—and I am not ignorant of the ways of war. But more than your friendship—if you can find it in you sometime when we are better acquainted to offer me that—I do not claim!” There was such authority in his tone as he spoke, as if it were very necessary that he make this plain to me (though I was not sure of his meaning), that I was abashed. But I knew I must abide by his wishes.
He came back with me to my people, and they were also in awe of him, shrinking away. I watched him and saw the bitterness in his face, and there came into my mind that he was hurt at this effect he had upon people, so in turn I felt something of his pain—though how I knew all this I could not tell.
But he being who he was, his orders were obeyed without question. He whistled, and there came down from the hills in answer a mountain pony sure-footed and steady. And on this he mounted Martine. On our other horses we packed what we had harvested here and we went under his guidance.
In the end he brought us to a place that was indeed a greater wonder in its way than any keep of the dales, for it was built upon lake. To it led two bridges, though one was broken off and useless. But the other, as he showed us, could have a section moved in it, leaving a defensive gap across which no foeman could come.
Best of all, this land had once been under cultivation. There was fruit and stunted, wild-growing grain to be harvested.
With this promise against famine we knew we could remain here for as long as we needed to give our people strength and gather more food for the journey. And my trust in him was secure.
He gave us no name. Perhaps with him it was as it is with the Wisewomen who believe that if one knows their name one can then establish domination over them. In my mind I called him Lord Amber, because of his eyes.
Five days he stayed with us, seeing all was well. Then he said that he would go on scout, making sure those of Alizon had not struck inland far enough to trouble us.
“You speak as if the Hounds are also your enemies,” I said, curious. “Yet your people have not been attacked—it is my kin they sweep away.”
“The land is mine,” he answered. “I have already fought these elsewhere. I shall fight again, until they are driven back into the sea from which they came.”
I knew a thrill of excitement. What would it mean to my poor, beleaguered people if there were others such as he, possessors of the Power who would aid us in this death struggle? I longed to ask him if there were, and again it was as if he read my thoughts.
“You think the Power could be used to vanquish these?” There was brooding sadness in his face. “Be not wishful for that, Lady Joisan. He or she who summons such cannot always control it. Best not to call so. But this I will tell you: I believe this place to be as safe as any now in the hills. If you choose well, you will abide here until I return.”
I nodded eagerly. “Be assured we shall, Lord.” In that moment I had a queer desire to stretch forth my hand, perhaps touch his arm—as if some touch of mine could lighten that burden I thought rested ever on him. Such a fancy had no meaning in it, and of course I did not follow that odd whim.
15
Kerovan
I saw the shrinking in her eyes and knew that there could be naught between us. But it was only in my losing that I came to learn how much I had held in my heart the thought that, to at least one, I would be no monster but a man. How right had been that instinct that had kept me from obeying her wish and sending her my portrait. For she would never know now that I was Kerovan.
That Joisan took me to be one of the Old Ones was a two-way matter. On the one hand it kept her from asking questions that I must either struggle to evade or to which I must give answers. On the other hand she would expect from me some evidences of the “Power.” For that lack, I would also need to find excuses. But for a few days I could set actions before words.
The poor camp was a refuge for a pitiful band. There were but four who might be termed—very loosely indeed—fighting men. Two were past middle age, one lacked a hand, the other an eye. There was a green boy who I suspected had never drawn steel, and a hill shepherd who was wounded. The rest were women and children, though of that number there were some who could stand shoulder to shoulder with any armsman if there be need.
Mostly they were villagers, but there were two other ladies—one old, one young. The older was in a state of shock and had to be watched lest she wander off. Joisan confided in me that her son had been slain and that she now refused to accept that, but wished to search for him.
Of Ithdale itself she had a strange tale, almost as strange as the blasting of Ulmskeep. It seemed that one of her own House had called down some manifestation of the Power on the keep, catching thereby a goodly number of the Hounds. But before that there had been some warning, and she hoped many of her people had managed to flee westward. Their goal was Norsdale, but now they had no guide. Also there was one of the women who had recently given birth and could not travel long or hard.
It was then I thought of that fortress in the lake and how it could be a shelter for this band until they recovered strength. That much I could do for my lady, bring her and hers to a roof over their heads and a small measure of safety.
That she wore my gift was no matter of pride for me, for I was certain she did not wear it because of any attachment for its giver, but rather because she delighted in it for itself. Now and then I saw her hand seek and caress it, almost as if from such fondling she received strength.
The younger of the two ladies, Yngilda, who was kinsman to Joisan, I did not like. She watched my lady from under downcast lids with a sly hatred, though Joisan showed no ill will toward her. What lay between them in the past I had no inkling, but this Yngilda I would noways trust.
Of Joisan herself—but those thoughts I battled, summoning always in answer to them the memory of her expression when she had seen my unbooted feet. How wise I had been in my choice to bare that deformity to the world. Had I continued to hide it, made myself known to Joisan, found her welcoming and then— No, it was far better to eat bitterness early than to have it twist one doubly by following on the sweet.
That Joisan was such a lady as one might treasure, that I learned in those few days when, under my guidance, they made their way to the keep in the lake. Though many times she must have been weary and downhearted, yet she was ready to shoulder duty's burdens without complaint. And her courage was as great as her heart. Had I only been as other men—
Now I chewed upon the sourness of that memory-vision in which she had supported a dying man in grief. Did that lie in the past or the future? I had no right to question her, for I had surrendered that with my claim upon her.
Somehow, if it was in my power, I would get them to what safety Norsdale promised. Then—well, I was now a landless man. It would be easy to drop out of reckoning. I could join some lord's menie. Or I could go into the Waste, where those who were outcast from the dales carried their shame or despair. However, I would see Joisan safe before I said farewell.
When those from Ithdale had settled into the keep and had mastered the defensive use of the sliding bridge, I sought Joisan and told her that I must scout for the invaders. That was in part the truth, but with that need there was another, that I go forth and do battle with myself, for there were times when she seemed to reach to me. Not with hand, or invitation of voice. But she would look at me when she thought my attention elsewhere, and there was a vague questioning in her face, as if she sensed that there was a bond between us.
Because there was a weakness in me that yearned toward making myself known, trading on any familiarity that had grown, I was determined that I must get away until
I could build such an inner control as would never yield. In her eyes at first sighting I had been a monster. Because she now believed me an Old One with whom the human standards of form did not hold, she accepted me fully. But as a man—I was flawed.
On leaving the lake keep, I circled out to the north and west. This was wild country, though it did not have the desolation of the Waste. Nor did I come upon any other Old Ones’ ruins, as I expected to with the impressive lake structure so near.
Three days I quested in the direction I thought we must follow to Norsdale. Though I did not know any trail, I had a good idea of the general direction. The way was rough; the wider dalelands of the east changed here to a series of knife-narrow valleys walled by sharp ridges, weary path for foot travelers. Also they would not be able to go fast. And I began to wonder as I struck more westerly whether they would not be better placed to wait within the lake keep for spring.
On the fourth day I cut across a fresh trail. It was of a small party, not more than four. They were mounted, but their animals were plainly not the heavier beasts the Hounds favored, the tracks being those of unshod hill ponies. More fugitives? Perhaps—but in times of war no man accepts an untested assumption.
Joisan had told me her people had been widely scattered when they fled. These could be more from Ithdale. I had a duty to make sure, to guide them if they were.
Yet I took no chances and followed with a scout's wiles. The trail was, I believed, several days old. Twice I came to where they had camped, or rather sheltered, for there were no signs of fires. Also—their going spoke of more than flight—it was as if they knew exactly where they were going, driven more by purpose than fear.
Their direction, making allowances for natural obstacles, led directly to the lake keep. Noting that, I was more than a little uneasy. Four men did not make a formidable force, but four men, armed and ready, could take Joisan's people by surprise. And these might be outlaws drawn out of the Waste by the bait of loot.
I might have held their trail had it not been for the storm. It came with the evening of the same day. Though it was a summer shower compared to the fury I had seen unleashed in Ulmsdale, yet it was not an easy torrent of rain or force of wind to face. With darkness added, I was made to seek cover and wait it out.
As I waited, my mind fastened on one evil chance after another. I could not rid myself of the belief that these I followed were unfriends. And I had lived on the edge of the Waste too many years not to know what outlaws would do to the helpless. Now I could only hold to self-control, try to believe that Joisan had followed my last orders and taken up the bridge section and that they would not admit strangers to the keep. Ithkrypt had not known such raiders. They could accept any dalesman as friend.
By morning the storm had cleared, but it had washed away the trail. I was too concerned to cast about hunting it. The need to return to the lake, discover what chanced there, rode me strong.
But I had two days yet on the way, even though I pushed myself and Hiku to the limit of endurance. When I came into the lake valley and saw the keep, I had worked myself into such a state of foreboding as prepared me to find a bloody massacre.
There was a hail from one of the largely overgrown fields that brought me up short. Nalda and two of the other women waved from a peaceful scene. They were engaged in harvesting the thin stand of stunted grain, gleaning every stalk and heaping it on two outspread cloaks.
“Fair news, my Lord!” Nalda's voice rang loud in my ears as she crossed the field to reach me. “My Lady's lord has come at last! He heard of her distress and rode to her service!”
I stared at her unbelieving. Then common sense made it all clear—she did not mean Joisan, of course. She spoke of the lord wed to Yngilda—though I had thought he was supposed to have died when his keep was overrun in the south.
“The Lady Yngilda must be giving praise to Gunnora at this hour,” I had wit enough to answer.
Nalda stared at me as strangely as perhaps I had at her a moment earlier.
“That one—she is widowed, not wed! No, it is the Lord Kerovan, he who has been so long wed to our dear lady! He rode in three days since—to rejoice our hearts. Lord, my Lady has asked all to watch for you, to urge you to hasten to the keep—”
“Be sure that I shall!” I said between set teeth. Who this false Kerovan was, I had no idea, but that I must see him, must save Joisan from any danger. Someone who knew of our marriage, who perhaps thought me dead, was taking advantage of the situation. And the thought that he could be with Joisan now was like a sword through me. That she might in time turn to another I had tried to endure, but that another had come to her in false guise—that I would not countenance.
For now I could call on my repute as an Old One of unknown but awesome powers. I could proclaim Kerovan dead, unmask this intruder, and she would believe me. Thus I had only to reach the keep, confront the imposter.
I urged my weary Hiku to a trot, though I longed to fling myself from his back, go pounding ahead into the keep, to call out this thief of another man's name and slay him out of hand—not because he had taken my name, but because he had boldly used it as a cloak to reach Joisan. In that moment how I wished I was truly what she thought me, one who could summon forces beyond the understanding of men.
Angarl, the one-handed, was on sentry duty and gave me a greeting I forced myself to answer. Very shortly I was in the courtyard. The deserted emptiness which had restrained me on my first visit here from too detailed exploration was gone. Life had returned to the hold, and it was now a place for humans.
Two men loitered by the water-trough, chaffing with one of the village girls, their deeper laughter banishing even more the atmosphere of the alien. They wore House badges adorned with my gryphon on their over-jerkins.
Before they looked up, I studied them. Neither was familiar—I had begun to wonder if survivors from Ulmsdale might have been drawn into this. However, the fact I did not recognize them meant little, for I had been away from Ulmskeep for months before my father's death, and he might have hired newcomers to augment his forces, taking the places of those who rode south with me.
That they wore such badges meant this was no hastily improvised scheme on the part of someone who had heard a rumor or two. Here was careful preparation—but why? Had Joisan still had Ithkrypt with men and arms, then I could have understood such a move. The false Kerovan would have ruled in Ithdale. But she was a landless, homeless fugitive. Why then?
One of the men glanced up, saw me, and nudged his fellow. Their laughter was gone; they eyed me warily. But I did not approach them. Rather I slid from Hiku's back and walked, stiff with the weariness of the trail, toward that tower room Joisan had made her own.
“You—!” The call was harsh, arrogant.
I swung around to see the two armsmen striding toward me. It was not until they fronted me that they seemed to realize I differed from their kind. I faced them calmly, bringing into my bearing the stiffness of one who has been approached by those beneath him in rank in a manner highly unbecoming.
“You—” the leader began again, but he was now uncertain. I saw his comrade nudge him in the ribs. It was the second man who now pushed a little to the fore.
“Your pardon, Lord,” he said, his eyes searching me up and down. “Whom do you seek?”
His assumption of a steward's duties here fed my anger.
“Not you, fellow.” I turned away.
Perhaps they would have liked to have intercepted me, but they did not quite dare. And I did not look to them again as I came to the tower doorway, now curtained with a horse blanket.
“Good fortune to the house!” I raised my voice.
“Lord Amber!” The blanket was thrust aside and Joisan stood before me.
There was that in her face at that moment which hurt. So he had won this already, this radiance! So ill had I played my part I had thrown away all. All? Another part of me questioned it. I had already decided that this was not for me. How could I then ques
tion her happiness if one she believed to be her lord had come to serve her in the depths of her need? That he was an imposter was all I must think on, that she must not be deceived.
“Lord Amber, you have come!” She put forth her hand, but did not quite touch mine, which I had raised against my will. Having spoken so, she stood looking at me. I could not understand—”
“Who comes, my fair one?”
I knew that voice from the dusk of the room behind her. Knowing it, my hate near broke bounds so that I thirsted to draw steel and press him into combat. Rogear here—but why?
“Lord Amber, have you heard? My lord has come—hearing of our troubles he has come—”
She spoke hurriedly and there was that in her voice which made me watch her closely. I had seen Joisan afraid. I had seen her rise above fear and pain of heart and mind, be strong for others to lean upon. But at this moment I thought that it was not joy that colored her tone. Outwardly she might present this smiling face, inwardly—no—
Her lord had not brought her happiness! Excitement stirred in me at that which I thought no guess but honest truth. She had not found in Rogear what she sought.
She retreated a step or two, though she had not answered his question. I followed, to stand facing my mother's kin. He wore a war tabard over his mail, with that gryphon to which he had no right worked on it. Above that his face was handsome, his mouth curved in that small secret smile, until he saw me—
In that instant the smile was wiped from his lips. His eyes narrowed, and there was about him watchfulness as if we both held swords in hand and were set against one another.
“My Lord.” Joisan spoke hurriedly, as if she sensed what lay between us and wished to avoid battle. But she addressed me first as the higher in rank. “This is my promised Lord, Kerovan who is heir to Ulmsdale.”
“Lord—Kerovan?” I made a question of that. I could denounce Rogear at once. But so could he me. Or could he? That which had been my bane, my deformity—would not Joisan continue to think it proved me alien? At any rate, Rogear must not be allowed to play any dark game here—whether it meant Joisan turning from me in disgust or not.