Her knuckles cracked painfully against solid wall where none should be. Of course, she told herself, here the passage made a turn. Again Weyse's trill beckoned her ahead, from the left. Ashen turned in that direction.
At last she glimpsed light of a sort. She hurried toward that wan break in the blackness and found herself out of the passage and in a chamber that seemed larger than the one she had just left above.
Weyse was there, waiting, but now came running to stand up and pat Ashen's thigh. The little creature looked up at the girl with those compelling round eyes, and Ashen felt that the small one was not at ease here but needed the presence of another for reassurance.
The light came from a series of the now-familiar rods, though some were dark and useless, perhaps burnt out. Each was set at the end of a heavy, rectangular stone case. The smallest of them looked longer than Ashen was tall. There were two rows of these, with an aisle between them. Weyse pulled her toward it.
The cases were ornamented. The sides and lids of each showed a multitude of symbols. The suspicion that she had intruded upon a place of the resting dead made Ashen shiver, though she had never before heard of such preservation as this.
Willingly enough, she followed Weyse down that aisle, curiosity pricking her. If these coffers did enclose the remains of those who had built the ancient city, could they reveal what manner of people they had been? In none of the engraved slates Zazar had stacked were there any representative pictures—only the stylized script. Bog-folk fed their dead to the underlurkers, paying them little honor at life's end.
Ashen counted fifty of the cases, standing twenty-five to a side. Each she studied, and each differed from its neighbor in some manner of adornment. Then she and Weyse reached the other side of the chamber. Another wall faced them, and a second dark opening. Weyse did not run ahead now; rather the small creature kept within paw's distance of Ashen. Now and then she reached out to touch her, as if seeking assurance that the girl was still close.
The passage beyond was as dark as the one Ashen had just come through. Once they left the dim light of the chamber, she had to take all on trust. She could not be sure of the direction they had come, but she had a suspicion that she might now be beneath the lake itself.
Again, a faint light shone ahead and, leading upward, was a stone stairway similar to the one she had earlier descended. Now Weyse did leave her, scrambling ahead with a vigor suggesting they might soon be out of this underground maze.
Come out they did, though not through any lifted blocks of stone this time, but by having to squeeze cautiously through rubble. Twice Ashen needed to dig a way clear toward what she was sure was a patch of daylight.
She was right. By the look of the vegetation beyond, they had come at last to the outer Bog-land—another island, or a stretch of firm ground, on which there was the drift of time-shattered ruins such as occupied the island behind, but a much smaller collection.
Ashen halted. There might be a very good reason to return here in the future, and she must put her hearth-marker to work. Drawing it from her belt pouch, she laid it on top of a small portion of the ruined wall in a direct line from the point where they had emerged. She touched the marker to set up future guides.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and put her hand firmly on the square.
She pictured with the best of her ability a mind point, which she hoped might activate the power of this guide.
There stood that stone, thus, a rounded one still surmounted by what looked like a pair of carved feet, though they supported no legs or body. So and so and so!
Ashen kept her eyes closed so as to channel her force without a chance of being disturbed. Whispering, she recited the formula, one of the earliest she had been set to learn. With a lightening of the heart, she felt the bit of wood under het hand begin to warm.
When the girl uttered the last of the strange words of a long-forgotten tongue, she remained silent for a moment. Her success in this incantation gave her an exuberant feeling of accomplishment. Zazar had taught her only a limited number of such feats, and she had never learned the reasons for certain actions. Now she was glad indeed that this one was a part of those she knew.
Feeling a bit more secure, and with the guide restored to her pouch, Ashen looked around for Weyse. But the little one had vanished, perhaps gone ahead again. She tried to reproduce the trill the other knew, and at the same time, to picture in her mind the creature she called. No answer.
She took a step forward and nearly cried out. A body! No, more accurately, what was left of a body. Cautiously, she circled the bones, all that remained of what had once been a man. Then curiosity overcame caution. Some of his clothing was yet there, rich goods of a kind she had never seen before, in a deep plum red, but shoes, belt— anything made of leather—had vanished along with his flesh.
Steadfastly, she refused to think of what sort of scavengers had been lured here to dispose of the remains. One of his legs, she noted, had been broken, and she was suddenly sure that this had not happened after his death. He still wore an armband, however. She reached out to touch it and it came into her hand so easily that the dead man might as well have given it to her.
It was carved from what appeared to be a single piece of milky, translucent crystal, shot through with subtle rainbow hues that glinted as she turned it in her hand.
"I will wear this in your memory, whoever you were," she said aloud. Then, feeling a little foolish for speaking to the dead, she put the ornament on and began looking for Weyse again.
To no avail. When she realized that she was indeed alone, Ashen felt uneasiness creeping back. Though she had made a number of journeys into the unknown when following Zazar, this was different. She found herself sensing a loss such as she had never felt before. She held Zazar in awe, but she did not believe she had any heart ties with the Wysen-wyf. Kazi, of course, had always been hostile, as had the rest of the Bog-folk. Weyse, whom she first thought to be an animal, had, without her realizing it, come to be a companion she was learning to cherish.
Twice she attempted to give the call Zazar had used to summon the small guardian of the lake ruins. There was no answer, so Ashen accepted what she believed to be true. During the time when she was setting the hearth-marker, Weyse must have retreated to the passageway and was heading back to the island refuge.
Now her errand was plain, as plain as the fact that Weyse had set her on her way. She must go and try to help Kazi and, through her, find out what had happened to Zazar.
The usual pallid sun shone biliously overhead. When it lit the Bog, its rays seemed to have to beat more heavily to force their way groundward. She looked back beyond the debris of stone and sighted the island. Moving toward the left should bring her, in time, to traces of Kazi's path, which she could follow.
At least the drums had stopped. But that could as easily be a threat as a blessing. An alarm so short might mean the promised attack had been warded off and that eventually Joal and his followers would return. She must be on the move. Though Kazi's pace was limited by her crooked foot, she might get too far ahead and then Ashen could miss the trail.
Once out of the sprawl of stones, she found the footing was firm and she could make better time. At intervals she took a bearing on the island until she could see the landing where Zazar had tied up the boat. There the brush had been freshly chopped away, and over there, Joal had come into view.
Using all the craft she knew, Ashen picked up the traces of Kazi's trail.
Clearly, the woman's passage had been difficult. She had fallen at least twice.
Also, those who had brought her here had not followed any real trail of Bog setting, and this land was one of rough footing. In addition to the massed ruins of the islands and those heaped about the door from which Ashen had emerged, other fragments of stone studded the ground. She must use caution.
Ashen lost sight of the lake. However, in this place the way was well marked with torn brush, some of which was bannered with
small fragments of Kazi's tunic. The ground was rising now. Ahead, the growth was higher than any Ashen had seen elsewhere. Some of the brush was taller than she was, and branches spread above, many of them woven together. The sunshine was faded into a near dusky twilight.
A scream, no cry from a great predator, but distinctly from a human throat, rent the air. Ashen stopped short, her heart thudding with fear that the woman she sought was now cornered by some Bog-monster.
Ashen had no spear, only the knife at her belt. To go bursting ahead in the direction of mat cry might well plunge her into such peril that she could not aid either herself or Kazi. A second scream followed on the first, and she found she could not withstand the plea in that outcry. She worked her way through the choked growth until that ceased abruptly and she found herself on the verge of an open space.
It was not unlike the pavement of the glade where the stone monster had waited.
But there was no image here. Instead, two figures struggled together. Kazi had been beaten to the ground, and she rolled and caught at the ankle of the one standing over her.
Kazi's captor was like no Bog-man Ashen knew. A thick mist enveloped him from head to foot. Shocked, she recognized a similarity in this to her own power-stone. Obviously, he wore an amulet with powers somewhat akin to her own.
Instinctively, Ashen clutched the stone hung from the cord around her neck and as she touched it, she began to see more clearly until the mist no longer entirely shrouded him.
Outlander! He was tall, and he must have an additional protection over his head, so shadowing his features that Ashen could not see them clearly. His shoulders and body were clothed to mid-thigh with something bright that reflected the weak sunlight. Over that he wore the remains of a sleeveless garment, so torn by branches and thorns that any symbol it might once have borne had long vanished.
Ashen barely had time to see this much when he leaned over Kazi again and landed a blow on the woman's bloody face with a fist gloved in the same glistening material as the bright garment.
Kazi did not even scream. She flopped back and lay still. The attacker prodded her with his booted foot and when she did not stir, he stooped closer and with one hand, tore her upper garment to bare her to the waist. Again his gloved fist descended, and Kazi's head jerked as he applied strength to tear free a cord from about her neck, and the bright object that hung from it.
Ashen could guess what it might be—that round metal ornament she had never been allowed to see clearly. In fact, she was sure that Kazi had always taken care that she did not see it.
The man stood for a long moment studying what he held. Then he turned abruptly to stride away southward. Kazi lay limp and unmoving where his last blow had stilled her.
When she was sure the Outlander was truly gone, Ashen sped across the glade to
Kazi, who lay sprawled, a rock still in her hand. The crone had tried to defend herself, that much was obvious. But a single glance at that bruised face was enough to freeze Ashen in place. Even muddied and blood-stained, it was clear that Kazi's forehead had been crushed. She stared upward with unblinking eyes.
Ashen felt for that place on Kazi's thick neck for the telltale throb of her lifeblood, as Zazar had taught her long ago. There was nothing. It took a few moments to register on Ashen that Kazi had been wantonly killed by the
Outlander, one who had somehow known about that object she treasured and was determined to make it his own.
Slowly she straightened the thick body so that Kazi, save for her battered face, looked as if she were at rest. But Ashen had no intention of following custom, somehow dragging the body to the nearest water and pushing it in to become food for the underwater ones. Instead, she gathered some of the numerous stones in the clearing and covered Kazi's body with them.
Kazi had been her first and best hope of discovering what had happened to Zazar.
Now she must accept that perhaps she would never see the Wysen- wyf again. Then she knew what she would choose to do. The Outlander— whence had he come to plunder Kazi, and how had he known what she carried?
The Outlander might be the clue to much of the puzzle. The hunters were out and he would be viciously tracked were he to be detected, but that he had come so far into the Bog without being cut down meant that he had some measure of potent protection. Once more she fingered her own amulet. How had any Outlander been able to use what she had always thought was Zazar's own well-kept secret? Though she might be striding straight into great danger, she could not deny that she must learn all she could. And now she searched for the Outlander's trail, determined to follow.
Fifteen
Your Majesty."
Ysa recognized that voice, even though it was muffled behind one of the long strips of tapestry that gave a touch of color and comfort to her in the most private chamber in her apartment. That this messenger chose to come by secret ways and while daylight lingered was a warning. She gave a quick glance about the room. Quickly she rose and shot the bolt on the one obvious door and then went to her chair.
Though she had already dismissed her ladies-in-waiting and her bedchamber women, she wanted no intruders at this time. To depend on the sort of servant who was now at hand always made her uneasy. Tongues that repeated messages might do so to more than one person if there was urging strong enough. Still, the one known as the
Queen of Spies had always been discreet.
Now she turned and spoke a name. "Marfey."
She knew where to look—toward the secret door.
Through a slit in the hangings on which the pattern concealed all but from the most seeking eye, there limped a thin, stooped figure, bundled in patched garments, all too large for the bony body they hid.
The newcomer reached up one grimy hand to push back matted hair of a shade close to dust, displaying a pinched face disfigured with a darkening bruise.
It was hard to tell the age of the woman, just as it would be difficult to say that she was more than one of the street beggars, even in greater distress than most of them. But once inside the curtains, Marfey grinned at Ysa unexpectedly, as if delighted by the effect her appearance had on the Queen. Ysa had seen this servant of hers in very different disguises and was always a bit startled at the many transformations Marfey, Queen of Spies, could summon to her use.
Ysa waved her agent toward one of the tapestry-pillowed stools. Marfey straightened up and walked toward it. She moved with a slight limp, but firmly, her cringing-beggar role discarded. There she seated herself as if she had every right to claim such an honor and shook the pebble out of her shoe. Ysa realized its presence was no accident, but insurance that Marfey not forget her role.
The Queen leaned forward a little, disregarding the stale smell that came from the woman. "What have you learned?"
"Lord Harous has returned from his hunting."
"And what was the result of his labors in the hunting field?"
"He was unlucky, but perhaps he had foreseen his lack of game. The three men he took as his guard did not bring the pack-pony they had had with them when they rode out. Yet he did not seem downcast when he came back, but rather as one who had achieved some return for his efforts."
Harous to the Bog border, returning apparently pleased? Ysa did not find that thought comforting. Whom had he met? What had he learned? Now she spoke swiftly.
"Marfey, there is—" She tapped a finger against the arm of her chair, her mind searching for the name she needed now. "Yes, that's the one. The Lady Marcala of
Valvager has the right to claim a place in our household. It is reported that she is somewhat wanton in her behavior but that her beauty makes up for all but the most glaring of excesses. His Highness might be interested, but Marcala is distant kin-cousin to Harous. He has not seen her in some years, but should be well disposed to tighten kin bonds. Marcala, as free-living as she is reported to be, might consider Harous a better catch in contrast to spending lazy hours in Florian's bed and then being discarded as soon as another fresh and y
outhful face appears."
Marfey listened, her expression not giving away her thoughts. When the Queen had finished, she nodded briskly. "I understand," she said.
For the first time, Ysa smiled. "Child, you must certainly be glad to put off these smelly rags and go before the world as it is your right to appear."
Marfey shrugged. "Your Majesty knows that what small talents I have are always at her service. Only, tell me as much as you can about this Marcala. You say she is from Valvager. I take it she has not before been to court—"
Again Ysa smiled. "She has been twice proposed to be one of our household, but the stories about her suggested she was not to be trusted. Living at the far eastern border, she is not known to most of the noble kin, since there are few holdings there and most of those are held by lesser folk who would not know our household." She held up her hands and began to tick off points as she spoke, as if to emphasize the importance of each. "She has black hair. By the left corner of her mouth there is a small, dark mole that is said to enhance her charms rather than detract from them. She dances well, and ever has an eye for a well-built man. Her favorite colors are violet, deep rose, gold, and the peach-pink shade of vaux lilies, for which she has a great liking and wears in her hair whenever there is a chance to do so. Also, she wears perfume made from these flowers."