I was somewhere in the open—this I understood; also, I was captive. I had held out very long—too long to suit those who had taken me prisoner. More and more my sight cleared. I seemed to stand on a place much higher than those before me, for I looked down on a gathering of figures, all of whom wore drab-colored robes with hoods drawn up to hide faces.
From them issued a droning chant in which I could distinguish no separate words. I felt now the pressure of real chains about my wrists, though I did not look down to see those restraints. A similar band was tight about my waist also, and it anchored me past any real movement.
Then the throng before me parted, and down that open way came—
Once more, darkness closed in and, welcoming an escape, I allowed myself to be borne away.
Twenty-three
Drucilla
The twilight had closed about us. Bina lay quiescent. She still lived—barely; I believed that Tam’s gem kept her with us by some fragile thread. We had tried time and time again to reach her, drawing on those new energies we had developed in the Dismals—to no avail. Now and then we looked to Rogher, who was in little better case than our sister. The squire was very flushed, burning with fever; perhaps the raptors had had envenomed claws.
We could only keep on with Bina’s treatment and change the pads on Rogher’s face. We also stripped the bandages from our sister’s hand, to find it swollen into puffiness, the skin tight and shiny. This we treated with the same herbs she had chosen for Rogher.
Lolart and Zolan came and went, seeing to the animals and fetching more water, but they did not venture far. We choked down the watersoaked grain from Frosmoor, but neither of our charges could be offered that lumpy, musty fare.
Twice the man from the Dismals stooped to look at Bina and the squire, but he said nothing. When he came the third time, Tam had surrendered Bina into my hold, working the stiff fingers that had been crooked around the gem.
She looked up at Zolan. “Have you seen this condition before?” She demanded harshly.
“Yes—the wounds hold venom of some sort.” He drew out the words slowly as if he dreaded them.
I bit my lip. Could one of the horrors from the Dismals have been summoned to join the flock of carrion birds?
“For some poisons, an antidote may be found,” Tam declared, scrambling to her feet. My arms tightened about Bina. Yes, certain venoms could be overcome, but others—
All at once I felt the familiar mind-touch of a Send. For the first time in hours, I knew a surge of hope. Those we awaited were near.
I continued to hold Bina, but Tam was already at the wall of our camp and over it with a leap, Climber running beside her. Now I too could hear, in the quiet of nightfall, the thud of hooves and a jumble of raised voices. Those we awaited had come.
Time became a patchwork of colors and cries. Strong comforting hands rested on my shoulder, and the protective sense that always marked the presence of Father enfolded me like a warm cloak. Presently Duty and Mother gently took Bina from me.
It was as if a heavy burden slid from our shoulders to be taken up by others. I tried to watch what Mother and Duty would do to rouse my sister and deal with Rogher’s wound. Instead, I found myself treated as another charge or a child, being gathered up in Father’s arms, carried to where pallet-places had been arranged on the ground. As I lay there, I saw him bring Tam also, then place her beside me before he touched both of our foreheads and bade us sleep.
Tamara
I AM NOT A great dreamer; Cilla is our farer into other planes of consciousness. Yet I saw before me a door and knew that it was for me to move beyond it in search. It was a strange place I entered—one that had never known peace. The Power that abided here was not an active force; rather, it manifested as a brooding sense of negation. Life as I knew it was denied in this domain. Trees, warped of limb, grew as if in hopeless anguish. The light was a forbidding yellow miasma, eloquent of a diseased origin. Underfoot lay slime that gave off a foul stench like the battleground of the monsters in the Dismals. A bitter moaning of pain and sorrow came to my ears, faint as a cry of the wind, though no air stirred.
That this was a place of endings I understood. I also realized that to remain here meant being absorbed into a living death, far worse than any clean slaying. Still I could not retreat.
One of the twisted trees grew ahead—a sapling. Before my eyes it writhed, not as if to free its roots from the earth but rather to further distort and torment the branches. Pain arose in me. This was a call to action; the tree and its agony filled me with a need to break the spell of deathly lethargy that lay upon this sad land.
I set hand on its branches, tried to hold them firm against the Power that wrought against them. My fingers sank into slime. Fetid puffs of air followed—perhaps an invisible living thing breathed into my face. Then something brushed against my legs. I looked down and beheld a vine, moving like a serpent, striving to bind me.
The touch of that climbing, clinging growth was filthy, bringing such a feeling of defilement that I cried aloud, but still I fought the Evil will that tormented the tree. Burying my clawed fingers deep in what I could see, I gave a sharp backward pull. Fierce opposition met my act, and then I felt the shock of a great ripping. The branch within my reach straightened again; the leaves, which were curling and beginning to yellow, moved. Suddenly, framed in those life-regaining limbs, I found myself looking—into Bina’s face! Her eyes were closed, and her forehead was furrowed with pain. Swiftly I tore at a second branch—and still another. My legs were clamped tightly together by the rapidly growing vine, but I dared not spare the time or attention to rid myself of it. The tree limbs no longer displayed my sister’s face, but the sapling itself now was rocking, seeming to offer those branches directly to my hands.
An instant later, the young tree was gone, and Bina, her eyes still fast shut, stood there. Her left hand nursed her wounded right one against her breast. About the two of us a nightmare forest grew in a moment, its branches and vines closing in. I coughed, my eyes tearing, for the stench of the air grew thicker, bitter as acid to burn the skin, choke the throat.
Now a stronger threshing began in the moving foliage. Bright against the dry dullness of leaf and vine flared redness, as if fire were coming. Climber! His pointed teeth tore at the growth striving to encompass us as he launched himself, his great claws extended to bring down the vines.
I stumbled toward Bina as he cut through some of the growth that sought to chain me, half expecting that I would find myself clutching air, my sister merely a spirit. Blessedly, I grasped firm flesh and held to it. For the first time—I might, like Bina, have been shaking off the grip of the Dark Power that stifled our Talent in this land—I cried aloud:
“In the Name of the Great One!”
My one arm about Bina held her tight; now I freed the other. As I brought up my right hand before what lurked among the trees, I straightened a forefinger and shouted aloud:
“By Earth and Water,
Sky and Fire,
Flesh and Spirit,
Time and Space,
Be my sword within my hand!”
Those words were not born of any ritual I had been taught, yet I felt no surprise when forth from my palm shot a light shaped as a sword. My hand closed, and within it I felt the hilt of a weapon. Straightway my body reacted, and I thrust as if I displayed my skill in a hall of arms.
My attack was met! The blade that crossed mine was less brilliant than the one the Talent had given, being in color a rusty red. Along its edges pulsated faint lines of what appeared to be bloody mist.
I pushed Bina behind me. Climber reappeared and pressed against her, on guard. Turning back, I saw that gore-wreathed weapon still swinging back and forth. Did my invisible opponent seek me so, or were those gestures made as a warning, meant to strike terror into a faint heart?
It made no matter. I stepped forward again and deliberately engaged the blade. Now I was only aware of the battle; my surroundings had na
rrowed to the meeting of the swords. All the past years of training flowed into my shoulder, arm, and hand. Thus—and so—and now this way—
My opponent seemed tireless, yet I myself had not yet been hard pressed. So far I was at ease, playing the role of one who tested the weaponcraft of another.
I tried certain tricks of a master-at-arms, yet none succeeded. Thus I knew that the foe who engaged me had been well schooled in swordplay. Sometimes I thought I half glimpsed a shadow body, but each time I strove to touch that phantom figure, I failed.
Well schooled in swordplay? Not so—this was a master, a warrior who could well have fronted my father to win!
I retreated, knowing that I was beginning to tire. Now that dancing point boldly followed me into the open where Climber had cleared a space. The blade swung, though no hand held it.
Was I overconfident in my skill? However, having challenged, I was certain I must see this engagement to the end. That spirit-sword still pursued me, or—did it? For the space of one deep breath, I saw no blade but a branch stripped of twig and leaf. If that was the nature of my opponent’s weapon, why, a fighter did not set point against branch but did—this!
My sword swung away from that branch, then swept back as might an ax, striking as close to the supposed hilt of the other blade as it could.
A shrill scream split the murky air. My blade passed through that shaft of bloody light. I could see no sign that my stroke had done any harm, but I was certain that this was the tactic to be used.
Now I stooped a fraction and struck again—upwards. The other weapon moved sluggishly; it could not fully escape me. Up—one light beam visibly penetrated the other, to emerge on the far side.
The other sword shivered, wavered. Speedily I struck again, downward from the left to catch the blood-hued blade. Another scream, a gurgling cry; then the red weapon shot toward me, not thrust but hurled.
Before I could dodge it, its edge passed over my shoulder. Pain seared along my cheek, sending such agony through my whole body that I fell forward. Still I clung enough to my purpose that I held my own light-shaft up to meet the dark creature I could hear but not see.
A cry burst from my unseen enemy, then died to a croak. Before me, headless, flopped a black-feathered bird. At the same instant, it—and I—were swept away from that hellish landscape. I think I cried, “Bina!” but there was no answer.
Drucilla
THE THRASHING OF Tam’s body roused me. My father and mother were bending over to press her back onto the pallet. Night’s dark had closed about us, yet there was a fire nearby. It leaped a little as it was once more fed by one of our Grosper men.
Without warning, Tam’s body went limp. She breathed in harsh rasps as she might have done after a fast bout in the arms hall.
My mother looked to my father.
“Did you witness that?”
“Yes. Though who or what she fought, I could not see.”
“It was a barrow-wight! What has come upon us, Desmond? Old Dark things are awakening—or being summoned!”
Tam sighed and opened her eyes. “Bina!” she cried weakly, struggling to get up.
“All is well now with the Lady Sabina.” Duty came into the firelight. “Your talisman, Lady Tamara, is a mighty one. It works in no fashion we have learned, but it can be used to potent purpose.”
She opened her hand, and the object she held glinted gold.
Rogher had slipped into a healing slumber. Tam and I were roused, and Zolan was then summoned to give the tale of the Dismals: what abided there still and what had come forth from it to stir up old evil in Gurlyon.
It took us until nearly dawn to finish the telling of our adventures and to answer questions. I saw Father studying Zolan closely. The Lord Verset, well remembered for his service at Erseway, might have seen young King Gerrit after that battle. Verset had been in command of part of the occupying force, though they had not been stationed long at Kingsburke. Was he now of the same mind as we had been at times—guessing that Gerrit had come out of the Dismals with us? However, he neither spoke of the lost king nor asked Zolan for another name.
We did not ride on in the morning but later. We had rations to strengthen us, and Mother and Duty had also shared out proper clothing from their supplies, so that we once more went garbed as was suitable for our rank. Duty clicked her tongue reprovingly when she viewed Tam’s shorn hair; other changes might not show so openly, but we were well aware of them. We had not been children in years when we had been tossed into this venture, and it had not lasted long, though a year seemed to have passed. But it had added far more than the time of one sun-circle to our experience and had moved us out of the last days of innocence into independence.
This I realized very well when Mother came to me as I stroked the divided skirt of my riding clothes; the clean fragrance of the smooth cloth was a pleasure I relished greatly. We had bathed at a pond, shadowed by Duty as if we were hardly out of leading-strings. Hair and bodies had been washed several times over with flower-scented soap of my own making—a luxury I hardly remembered. Tam twisted a scarf around her still-damp locks.
Duty had inspected closely our scaled clothing from the Dismals, shaking her head and pursing her lips many times over. I believe that, after removing the gems that had secured it on us, she would have thrown it into the camp refuse-heap to be buried, had we not prevented her from doing so.
Mother inspected with greater interest what we discarded, fingering the vest I had laid aside. “Snake?” she asked.
“Perhaps. I am not sure. These are of Zolan’s making; he gave them to us. Strange beasts aplenty—and creatures of our world grown to monstrous size—live in that land.”
“It would seem so … .” Mother spoke as if she had been distracted in midthought. Suddenly her hand swept up, and her fingers might have turned to candles. The spurt of blue flame at their nail-tips dimmed quickly to only a faint glimmer of fire.
I did not think—I moved. My own hand answered hers in the same gesture; five flames atop my own fingers flared—but died.
“So that is the way of it,” she observed. “And have you slain beast—or man?”
I shook my head furiously, dropped the hand that had betrayed my difference back onto my knee.
“Be sure you speak the truth,” Mother cautioned, her hand still raised, the nails yet rimmed with sparks. “If you use Power without careful thought, the Talent will lose luster.”
Again I gave that gesture of negation. “I have used my Talent to open passages through the Wards of other people, and for no other purpose.”
“This Zolan—has he ever spoken of the past?”
“He has told us only that, having been lowered into the Dismals by those who wished to see the last of him, he was taken into fosterage by her of the Jug.”
“King Arvor has been seized by the demon priest. Starkadder, or any other clan which has risen against the Chosen, would be quick to hail this stranger as their missing king, knowing that such a claim would draw many of the small neutral clans to his banner.”
That was the truth. But would Zolan play such a game? He had taken oath to act against the Evil; might he believe that victory would be assured by entering this battle on the opposing side?
As if my unspoken question had been a summons, Zolan came bearing down on us, Climber limping beside him. Climber—had the cat-creature dreamed, in his own fashion, to be so drawn into that dark vision of Tam’s in the struggle for Bina?
The red beast left Zolan’s side and moved straight to Mother, his golden orbs of eyes regarding her. They watched each other thus eye to eye, neither apparently aware that Zolan had also joined us.
Then Mother did something that astounded me: setting her hands together at lip level, she bowed her head. It was a greeting such as she would give to a Wise One of higher rank than herself, owning a Talent foreign to her own, perhaps, but certainly bestowed by the Light.
Now I was aware of a Send, though I could not read it. Zolan t
ook another step and rested his hand on Climber’s head. It was plain that he understood much better than Tam and I what was in progress.
Climber’s rich red fur stirred, rose, formed a glowing mist about his body. I felt the pressure of great effort. Then that soft radiance subsided but lapped about him, so that all we saw now was a misty pillar.
Mother did not turn to Tam but held out a hand in her direction.
“The focus stone—”
Tam hesitated for only a moment before she turned the gem out of the hair-pocket she had woven and placed it into Mother’s waiting hand.
For a time, Mother sat with the gem cupped by her palm. She might have been holding a pen or an artist’s brush when her hand again moved swiftly, lines of gold following those sweeps. Now she rose to her feet as the lines coalesced into a pattern that I found at first hard to distinguish, well practiced as I was in design.
I blinked and stared, did both again—and then it was finished. A body was outlined in that red mist; a ball that served as a head nodded forward. Mother had ended her drawing. Instead, she thrust the stone forward in the direction of the sphere. Gem touched mist, was engulfed.
We had been four humans, and a beast from the Dismals; now we were five. The being that now fronted Mother bore some resemblance to a small woman. A robe of the same red as Climber’s fur covered her closely below her breasts, which were made more prominent by a drapery of jeweled chains. About her short neck was set a collar of flashing stones that fitted tightly. The back of her ball-head was covered by short, red, silky hair much like fur, while her eyes were slightly protuberant yellowish orbs. As soon as she became fully visible, her ring-bedecked fingers went into motion.
I caught my breath. Two of those signs I knew—and they were repeated by my mother.