“What would you do?” Zolan demanded.
I used the spear to indicate the nearest length of yellow line. “When a raid comes, a door of wood may be beaten in, or set aflame, if the defenders are unable to pick off their attackers by arrow. That was not what befell in this place. Old Lore teachers that some of the Talented of ancient times had other weapons unknown to us. I think a siege-engine of Power might have been used here. We must all keep well away from those lines when we go in.”
I was not sure that I wished to enter at all, and I could sense that Bina and certainly Cilla thought such action highly dangerous. Zolan, though, was not to be deterred from his quest. Having regarded me searchingly for a second or two, he marched on through the break left by the missing gate. A sense of responsibility sent me after him. It was true that he was Talented, but what had been wrought here was of the Upper Land and not the Dismals and might therefore be the product of Power alien to all he knew. At least I had heard of such a weapon, while he did not recognize it; thus it must be of this world.
Contrary to what we might have expected, the strip of land about the base of the tower was not near filled with bodies. Several corpses, however, lay in line with the missing gate, and these folk had not been killed by steel or snaplock ball. Their bodies lay in positions that made us sure they had died in great pain and terror, yet we saw no outward signs of wounds.
The door of the keep itself had not been made to vanish by some spell as had the outer portal; here an improvised battering ram, still lying to one side, had been brought to bear. Perhaps if the other weapon had been born of Power, it had been exhausted in a single use.
We explored. Death reigned everywhere, from the bodies of a pair of sleuthhounds trained for defense to the pitiful small form of a cradled baby in the great hall. She who had been doubtless its mother lay naked and savaged beside it. Again we called down the Peace of the Great One and could only believe that all within these walls were now safe at rest within the ever-living Light.
Trying to close our minds to the slaughter, we made our way to where the storerooms must be. Since winter was only a short time behind us, and the first crops were yet to be harvested—many not even showing above the soil—supplies would be few, and perhaps all had been taken by the raiders. Still, through some strange quirk of fortune, we did find fruit, very dry, and also the hard kernels of dashen. We stored all we discovered in hide bags that were stacked nearby, perhaps the same in which those supplies had been brought.
Bina went exploring in another room off the kitchen, crunching through the debris of broken pipkins and battered pans. She, too, made use of a bag, filling it with what she found in the stillroom.
And it was she who made another surprising discovery.
Sabina
THE STORES IN the stillroom had been little disturbed; even wax-stoppered crocks stood uncracked and sealed. I made quick choices of what we might need the most, glad to be once more in the company of herbs that I knew well.
I had cleared one shelf of small jars, all labeled (which was a boon), when I noted that the section of shelves themselves seemed to be pulled away from the wall at one end. Removing the few containers still left on these, I tugged at the entire storage area. It appeared to be firmly fixed; however, when I gave a hard pull, it grated towards me.
Darkness lay beyond, not only honest night, but—I reeled back, too shaken to do more than cling to the wooden boards. I had been assaulted by a heavy pall of pure evil which enwrapped me as might a net meant to capture. Choking, I fought to draw in a full breath.
I heard, dimly, the voice of Tam, but even a Send was beyond me now. Then an arm slid about my body, and I was drawn back. My hold on the shelves being broken, I stood only by the aid of him who held me; a moment later, I was swung about, and Cilla came to give me support.
A sudden blaze of light leaped up, and the darkness was broken. In Tam’s hands her talisman was glowing ever stronger. Zolan reached for her but she had already found the hidden opening and, as her hand lifted higher to give a view of what lay ahead, he was still a step away.
We could now see into that chamber as if the most brilliant of suns shone through the stone. The space which the shelves had concealed was hardly more than a cupboard. Yet it held an occupant. Propped back against the wall stood the severely emaciated body of a male. It was robed in the fashion of the priestly garb worn by Udo the Chosen. And crowning that corpse—I heard Cilla’s scream, felt the sway of her body against mine. The light wavered, and Tam uttered a word that was half defiant cry, half curse.
Skeleton hands clutched the throat of the man—his own. His face was only a charred patched of flesh against bone. And—
Cilla had hidden her head against my shoulder. Not loosing my hold on her, I Sent: “Tam—Power for Tam!”
We linked, found Tam, linked again. But Zolan had already shouldered our sister aside. He now faced the horror straight on, and his hand came up.
The back of his hand was towards me, but I was sure I had seen something cupped in the palm. He spoke no audible word of ritual or command, yet a burst of light flared forth. A movement stirred the stagnant air of the cupboard as if barely visible waves rose and fell—green light pressing forward against roiling dark.
The oppressive presence of Evil that had sapped my strength vanished. It had affected Cilla also and perhaps Tam, though she had not wavered to confront it, doubtless drawing extra energy from the talisman. In fact, I felt as renewed as if by a night of deep and healing slumber.
Against the wall still huddled the figure in the vestments of the Chosen. Now, however, it began to slide downward against the stone. We watched. As the body reached the floor, Zolan approached it.
With his padded boot he toed the thing, and at the same time he leaned forward to pick something from the floor. Whatever he had used to clear our surroundings had disappeared—If he had wielded any instrument of Power, what he held now was a rod perhaps slightly less in length than his forearm. Taking this wand in both hands, he snapped it in two, casting the pieces down on the body. Then he retreated from the space and, without a word, pushed until the shelves were back in place, no edge jutting out to betray their secret. Only when this action was completed did he speak.
“It is well that I have come forth. The Evil One has launched his war.”
“The robed one was the renegade of the Dismals?” Tam asked.
“No, but what was used here was a weapon of Dismals Power. It seems, however, that he could not control it properly and that what he had summoned returned upon him full force.”
Such a backwash of force we could comprehend. The Talented were taught from the time they could understand that to loose Power they could not completely command was to lay themselves open to the very weapon they attempted to use.
“Those attacking here,” Tam said slowly, “possessed a Talent weapon also, but that, I believe, was, long ago, one of our own—”
“Which means”—Zolan’s face was grimly set—“Tharn has established contact with someone or something of this land. He has either made common cause with a Talented Gurly or has stolen learning from the past.”
I wished to shout a denial of such reasoning; however, it was all too logical. Now Cilla, moving in my hold to face the others, added to Zolan’s theory with more somber reasoning. “Those who murdered, took this holding—if they still have the weapon which they used to destroy the wall gate—” She choked on the word “gate” as if its very naming called up sick fear.
Tamara
I WAS PUTTING my sun-warm stone, for so it felt, back into my pouch. Perhaps we had come into a state of arrogance because of the Talent and the abilities we were all sure had been added to our inborn force during our time in the Dismals. The source of the Power these raiders wielded might well be found in a search of such libraries as our grand dames and Great-aunt Drucilla kept. I, for instance, would not have possessed that scrap of recollection regarding the gate if I had not read or heard of
such barriers in the past. However, its true nature and how best to deal with it remained unknown.
But our father and mother were on their way—
Mother! I caught instantly at that questing tendril of thought. Almost as speedily, Cilla and Bina were with me in mind as well as in body. However, before I could tell Zolan what must be done, Climber hurtled in, dashed forward, and reared up to thud paws on his chosen human at waist height. His rush sent Zolan crashing back against the shelves, and pots went flying.
Zolan dropped to his knees so that his eyes met Climber’s straight on. Silent communication lasted but a moment; then he jumped to his feet and headed for the kitchen.
“A survivor!” he said. That amazing news brought us at a run behind him.
Climber led the way with Zolan on his heels. Through the kitchen, again scattering debris and raising dust, the bond-beast passed the stairs leading above to reach a place where he brushed the floor vigorously with a paw. Though it was too dark to really see, my mind went instantly to the idea of a trapdoor. Such underground storages were often used for prisoners. Had some unhappy soul been half buried here while the hold of the keep was occupied by the enemy?
“Candle—lamp—” Bina turned back toward the kitchen, but I swung out the gem, which now gave a faint radiance. Cradling it between my palms, I centered Power on it. The glow increased to light as would a breath-fanned torch.
Zolan was kneeling by the edge of what was indeed a trapdoor. As soon as he could see, he hammered back the bolt and then was around the door and pulling at an iron loop in its top, clearly intended for access.
“What be going on?” demanded a voice out of the depths. “Old Raven-Eye come into his wits again? Best be using that eye of his to look for Ichon’s banner—”
Bina came up with a coil of rope in one hand and a lanthorn to add to the light. Zolan caught at the sturdy cord and started back to the stairs to make one end fast. I leaned over the edge of the trapdoor to view the unfortunate imprisoned below.
I looked into the face of a heavily bearded man.
“Who are you, wench? Or is Ichon taken to letting his get ride a-reiving, be they man or maid?”
I drew a deep breath. “The keep has been taken. We are all who are left of a merchant’s train. We thought your hold slaughtered to a man—”
He was silent for a long moment and then struck the near wall of the cell-like space in which he had been held. From his lips came the greatest number of powerful oaths I had ever heard loosed at one time. Then Zolan was pushing me to one side and tossing down part of the coiled rope so that it struck the face of the prisoner and silenced him.
Thus we came to face Lolart Boartusked, once Guard Sergeant of Frosmoor. The minute the prisoner was wholly out of the makeshift cell, he threw the rope from him, struck Zolan with a mighty fist, sending the man from the Dismals staggering, and raced up the staircase.
We wasted no time in following, though Bina had lagged behind with her bag of plunder. By the time we reached the great hall, we heard such a bellow of rage as seemed likely to shake the rest of the walls down upon us.
The guard sergeant came back into the hall, staggering like one who had taken a mortal wound. Above that heavy bush of a beard, his weatherbeaten skin was a sickly gray. Wavering on his feet, he stood staring at us, plainly suffering from such a shock as to near destroy his wits.
“All—all o’ ’em—her ladyship—th’ wee ’un.” He glanced at the corner where the woman lay by the cradle. “Where’s Ichon?” He did not seem to be asking that question of us. Instead he turned away, lurching toward a dais at the other end of the hall. The room was a rough miniature effort to copy a chamber of state.
For the first time we saw—for we had been only too eager not to view closely the dead upon our coming—that someone was sitting there. He might have been first watching the massacre, then waiting for us.
Lolart was off again, heading for the watcher. When a step from the dais, he stopped short to beat with clenched hands at the air above his head, screaming such a cry as might have been uttered from a prison pit of eternal darkness.
Though we were sure that the evidence of another horrible act waited on that throne, the four of us were drawn after him, for to view the tragedy ourselves might be an inescapable duty.
Sabina
MY LEFT HAND in Cilla’s and my right held by Tam, I went, drained of all will—I could not turn away, as more than half of me urged. I have seen death before, even death by violence; but what faced us now was overladen with Evil such as I had not met since Zolan had forced open the cell in the wall.
The man who was bound to the chair—for it was a man, though the mutilation that had been performed on the body had nearly erased any sign of gender—was tall and broad shouldered. A blood-fringed strand of hair, stuck to the back of the chair, had been white, but he could not have been much older than my father. Someone had thrown part of a cloak about him; however, that garment served very little to hide what had been done here.
Cilla pulled loose from my hold and ran. From the distance, I could hear the racking violence of attempts to vomit, though she must certainly have little food left within her. I swallowed and swallowed again, clapping my hands across my mouth.
We come of a fighting line for many generations. But this was not warfare—it was brutalization beyond reckoning. There are those who delight in the torment of their kind. If any such twisted souls reveal their natures in our father’s command, he straightway rooted them out. If they had already given way to base instincts, they were condemned out of hand; otherwise, he sent them under guard to the Black Isle to live or die among their own kind.
The monsters who had been at their beastly work here should be slain when taken. Reivers such as Maclan had already been judged and condemned and would have died within an hour of their capture, but this atrocity was worse than any the Breaksword had ever been accused of.
Zolan laid a hand on Lolart’s shoulder. Again the huge man swung a fist, but this time Zolan ducked and avoided the blow. When he stood up again, he showed no anger.
“Was he”—the man from the Dismals made a gesture at the mangled body in the chair—“your lord?”
The guard was shaking; an icy wind might have whipped about him. He swallowed visibly several times before he spoke.
“This be Ichon Raven-Eye of the Marshurs, own brother to Hughes, their chief. He be one of the great ones in Gurlyon. They who dared this—they will pay mightily—”
Suddenly he reached out and, before Zolan was aware of what he would do, he gave a mighty pull on the ancient sword and tore it from the flimsy sheath Zolan had made. Turning again to face the body, he sank to his knees, holding out the blade.
“Thus do I swear, that under sun, under moon, under star, I shall seek, my lord. You shall look upon heads, count hands of those who raised steel against you. Blood debt will be fully paid.”
And we who were watching knew well that such an oath would be kept while life remained in the sergeant’s great body.
Twenty-one
Sabina
We had turned to a grisly labor as the sun fled. We would have needed a full company to have adequately cleared that holding of the dead and seen them to proper burial, but here were neither time nor numbers enough to accomplish that. Few enemy bodies were found; perhaps the raiders had taken them away. We strove to give the fallen defenders what honor we could. The sum of those was few in number—certainly not the tally of a full garrison. It was full dark when those we could find lay in rows in the great hall.
Lord and lady were wrapped in the richest fabrics we were able to discover, though that stuff had been wantonly rent and was sadly damaged. With the cradle between them, the two were laid in state on the dais.
Lolart worked a little apart and, from his muttering, it was plain that he was addressing some of the dead. We could not distinguish more than a word or two of his mumbling, and I wondered if his wits had indeed been turned by what
had happened here. Why he had been in a cell when we found him we did not learn; indeed, at that time, he had not even given us his name.
Dark as it was now, we would not remain in a place so haunted by Evil. My sisters and I were constantly communicating, not to each other but to the Powers unseen that reigned in another place. Our clothing and hands were stained with blood. I had raided my herb pack to pass out handfuls of dried leaf-bits, which we each chewed until our jaws ached. The virtue of that herb was to divorce the mind somewhat from a laboring body. Tam had also brought out her jewel. Not only did it furnish a modicum of light but added to our feeling that a curtain of Power hung between us and the dead.
Lolart leaned against the wall; it was evident that even the great strength of the old campaigner had been sorely taxed by our labors. Zolan’s hand fell on the burly soldier’s shoulder, and the man from the Dismals spoke with more than a shade of compassion in his voice.
“This place is no longer for the living, guardsman. Come with us—we have a camp a little way from here.”
The other might not have heard him; still, when Zolan tightened his hold and drew him along, he stumbled forward without protest. I tugged at my bag of medicaments. Tam and Cilla carried the bulk of our finds between them while Zolan shouldered the rest. Climber had disappeared; perhaps he had gone hunting.
We returned to the shallow valley where we had left the horses and pack-ponies and established a camp.
Drucilla
WE KINDLED A small fire between two rocks, hoping that they would prevent any light from escaping that pockmark of a valley. We washed many times in the brook that trickled through our campsite, yet I still seemed to feel the crusted blood gloving my hands. I kept stretching my fingers, rubbing them together.