Climber, who I now realized had vanished during our ordeal, appeared only as we rode forth. He made an exaggerated curve to avoid passing close to Duty as he came to pad along beside Zolan’s mount.
We had gone but a short distance at a pace modified for Rogher. The squire managed to sit a saddle, once he had been aided, with some effort, to mount. The whistled signal of a scout from some distance ahead slowed us more as Father signaled a halt to await the report.
We were, the scout told his commander, about to meet others—a party from the keep Lolart had ridden to warn were on their way. The old soldier’s arrival at Rossard had come hard on the heels of a hunting party who had returned to tell of Frosmoor’s fate. It was well that Lolart was known to the keep lord, or he might have met his end then and there. We needed to kindle no beacon fire to assemble, for, on learning of Father’s approaching troop, the folk of Rossard were eager to ride and join us, seeking to balance bloodscores.
So, before the sun moved very far on its downward path, a motley band of riders—in vast contrast to our disciplined armsmen—joined us, Father greeting them gratefully. The newcomers had news of Kingsburke, mainly that the Starkadders and the Raghnells had fought a battle in the streets of that city, where new monsters appeared at nightfall out of nowhere to attack both sides, wreaking a great slaughter. No one had heard of the king in days, and some thought him dead.
Thus encouraged we continued our march northwest. Again we camped at the coming of night and, together with Mother and Duty, we laid Wards. Those Gurlys who had merged their forces with ours looked askance but remained silent. Zolan did not join us, nor did he even give sign that he knew what we were about. I felt an uneasiness at his behavior.
Our present Binding was set against all evil but pointed to no one kind. True, the man from the Dismals had shown some ability to control Wild Magic, but our recent experiences gave evidence that the Wards we had always trusted were not so strong as we believed when we were confronting an unknown and—to us—alien Power. Indeed, Duty and Mother added more elements to our ritual. For my part I openly bore the golden gem for whatever it might do to strengthen those vital barriers.
Twenty-seven
Sabina
Zolan came to our fire as Duty shared out provisions, but he took a position outside the circle that included our family and the Gurly lord with two of his principal followers. I watched the man from the Dismals carefully, not paying much attention to the talk, which was mainly an exchange of rumors ensuing in the chaos that Gurlyon had become. Perhaps because I was so intent I noticed that Zolan was also being covertly eyed by one of the party from Rossard.
The stranger was close to Zolan’s age, yet obviously well seasoned to warfare, for he wore, in a backsheath, the longsword of an earlier time with an unusually ornate hilt. An antiquated mail shirt also covered his wide shoulders and broad chest, and his long, sandy red hair caught in its links now and then. The metal garment appeared a most uncomfortable piece of gear even for protection.
I tried now to remember his name as presented by the clan lord: Fergal? Fergus? I was not sure. He was pleasant of feature in a rather barbaric way, and clean shaven as was Zolan. Beardless—now I looked at our companion in the adventures of months past. In all our traveling, I had never seen Zolan shave, yet he showed no growth of facial hair. For some reason, until this moment, that lack had not occurred to me.
Cilia had often worked with my stores back at Grosper, combining and refining herb juices and extracts. Some years back she had produced a cream, nicely scented, which would sweep hair from the arms, leaving them smooth. I had no reason to understand why this observation, so far removed from our present troubles, made such an impression on me, except in our present company smooth cheeks were nonexistent for males. I also knew that youths preferred a good sprouting of face hair.
“So be it.” Father nodded to the Gurly lord, his slightly louder tone breaking my train of thought. “We shall scout.”
Uneasy curiosity continued to prick me even as I settled for the night, Cilla and Tam beyond me. However, for some reason I did not share the oddity I had discovered with either of them.
Sleep did not come quickly though I sought it even by the mind control I had learned from childhood. Too much had happened this day. Also, I was puzzled. It was true that we rode now into unseen danger, whose nature we did not understand, yet the purpose which had brought my father and mother into the war-swept North to Kingsburke set me to pondering. We had believed that they had come to seek us—well, we were united again. Nonetheless, we were still pushing on deeper into Gurlyon. Was it only because of Zolan’s need to confront the Dark? Or—
I lay very quiet, staring up at the tent covering, and shivered. Never could I forget the horror of the silence the dimming of our shared Talent had forced upon me. What if we were all bound by some some unknown geas and were being forced, unknowingly, to serve as pieces in another’s twisted game?
A slight stir broke the night silence outside—some sleeper shifting position? We three lay nearest the opening on the side of the improvised shelter. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: would I ever rest in a proper bed with stout walls, well guarded, standing between me and the perils lurking so plentifully in the outer world?
I near cried aloud. Dim, far away, yet within my reach sounded a murmur. A Send I could not quite receive? Climber! The cat-creature was only a shadow creeping, belly flat to the ground. I smelled the scent of his fur—a strange odor pungent as crushed leaves, sharp as his teeth. Then his breath blew softly against my face, strong, too, but right for his kind—that of a carnivorous beast.
That Zolan’s companion had come with a purpose was certain, only I had no knowledge of beast-tongues. Making an effort, I strove to project a mind-message. What reached me in reply was a need for my attendance on some task—and immediately.
Tam and Cilla were breathing evenly. I was aware of their deep slumber—they might be caught in a pleasant net of the Dream World. I edged off our shared pallet with infinite care. Why it was so needful to prevent their knowing what I did, I could not say, but I felt intensely that it was necessary.
Then I crawled forth, flattened as best I could, from under the shelter. Climber retreated before me, moving backward and keeping close watch on me. I saw the sentry, and I paused. Though my every move seemed to rustle loudly, he did not look in my direction.
Zolan had never shared our shelter on the off-side where Rogher rested, nor was he near my parents. Instead, he found a place of his own, companioned only by Climber, outside. It was toward that shadowed spot the beast now urged me. Then all at once Climber stopped short and hissed, warning me to pause too.
Voices—very low but, by some chance audible, though they were the merest whispers.
“My lord king—do you not know me? My mother was your nurse; we were milk-brothers—”
“You are mistaken!” This was certainly Zolan and he was angry.
“King Gerrit, do you not bear on your shoulder the Mark of the Eagle? I did see that when we bathed at the pool this night, just as I saw it when Wisewife Nolwen set it upon your skin. It was the sign proper for the blood son of the king.
“I am not the one you seek!” Almost a hint of fear struggled with the rage now. “I am Zolan and I come from the Dismals. Do not make more of me! This is my warning, Fergal of Wild Cat.”
A choking noise, then Fergal spoke again.
“What did you? You took away my breath!”
“And I can as easily take away your tongue!” Zolan’s anger was in full spate now. “I am not a king, nor will you shout abroad such a falsehood. I am one of Power—no one, and nothing, else—and I have been set upon a task. That truth is all that exists.”
“Stand by your ‘truth’ then.” An equal anger sounded in the Wild Cat’s voice. “You have doubtless lived too long with these Southerners and now they use you to their purpose. It was often said that they stole you away, and that legend has at last been prove
n. Fear not—who wants a turncoat for a ruler? I was foster brother to Gerrit when he knew truth and fair dealing—and what country truly owned him.”
Suddenly I felt of a vast surge of alien Power, a force that was neither of the Light nor the Dark. Only the edge of its outflow may have touched me, but my body recoiled as if in answer to a monster blast of winter stormwind.
What had Zolan done? I was certain that he had raised that Power. We had accepted our companion as being a follower of the Light, but could we be sure of anything about him? That Fergal was certain of his being Gerrit, I could well accept, even though Zolan rode now with the Lord Warden from the South. The rumor long believed by the Gurlys, that their boy king had been a prisoner in Alsonia—would seem at last to be proven true. And the return of their long-lost ruler would be enough to unite the clans to turn southward in invasion.
A shadow passed from behind a pile of equipment and supplies beside our shelter. The moon was cloud-bitten tonight, but I was able to mark the hilt of the back-sheathed sword. Fergal was returning to where the armsmen rested. Climber pressed against my thigh, and I reached down to draw my hand through the thick fur of his head. Then he, too, was gone. Why had the beast summoned me? To be a witness to Zolan’s strong denial of any other identity?
What I had heard I must share as soon as possible with Father. In the past, when pressing need arose, we could Send to him. His was a lesser Talent than our own, but such Gift as he possessed had been honed by years of his union with Mother.
I cast forth my mind-message, felt it enter his thoughts. For a moment, I stood on a hillside looking down at a sunlit valley, a place of peace and rest. Then that vision broke and was gone, and I knew that Father’s dream, too, had been broken.
Swiftly I reported what had been overheard. There was no reason for me to add the danger of what might come of Fergal’s revelation, for he would think of that at once.
“Well done,” came his answer, almost as strongly as if Tam or Cilla replied. And the compliment, for its very rarity, I would treasure even above the words of my sisters.
Tamara
THE GRAY OF near dawn hung over us when we roused. Our camp was quick in its action as it prepared to move out.
“What’s to do?” I demanded of Bina, who was braiding her hair tightly for the day’s riding.
“Trouble,” she answered shortly.
Then a Send came. After hearing what had happened in the night, I stood amazed. It was Cilla who at once pounced upon the question that mattered most to us.
“Why did we, too, not awake?”
Why not indeed? Always, before lately, it had been true that any thought or action that caught the attention of one of us became instantly a matter for all three. Bina looked from me to Cilla and back again.
“I do not know,” she replied slowly, spacing the words. Apparently the oddity of this situation had not occurred to her.
A breaking of our communication—a muting, a silencing! The fear implanted by the Frush stirred again. Swiftly I Sent to Cilla and Bina, then to Duty, who was packing some of our mother’s possessions.
All those so thought-touched answered, Duty turning to look at us even as her reassuring silent reply came. So we had not again been rendered helpless—at least so far.
Bina spoke of the wave of strong Power that had ended Zolan’s meeting with Fergal and the way it had swept past her. Had being brushed by that force kept her from us? No, she had been able to focus and reach Father. But the fact that we were now dealing with a Power we neither knew nor understood was a new peril added as a bead on the thread of the many we already wore.
I saw Zolan at the other side of the camp for only a moment. He was saddling his horse, and Climber was a bright patch of scarlet beside him. He seemed unaware of our coming forth to take wedges of journey-bread from the stores and to pick up the saddle water bags that had been filled the night before. Nor, as we rode forth, did the man from the Dismals make an attempt to engage either Cilla or myself, Bina having joined Duty to see how Rogher fared. Father, Mother, and Gorfund stayed deep in conversation, while the keep lord and his men grouped more closely together than the day before, though a little apart from us. Our scouts had departed early as was the custom.
On impulse I urged my mount forward beside that of Zolan.
“A day more,” I observed, “and we raise Kingsburke.’Tis the secondlargest city of Gurlyon—only the port Varbruke being larger.” I spoke as I would to a visitor knowing nothing of the territory. Was that not what Zolan presented himself as being?
“You have been there before, Lady Tamara?”
“Once, seasons ago when we first came North and our father needed to present his warrant to King Arvor. Kingsburke was all new and strange to us and we found much in that city of interest, for it is unlike our own queen’s court in Alsonia.”
“Arvor—what manner of man is he?”
I noted that he did not use any honorifics in mentioning the ruler. That omission might well betray him if he repeated his question to a native of Gurlyon.
“His Majesty is young and well versed in arms. Two seasons ago he led an army to beat off raiders from overseas and won. Ten of the raiders’ ships were burned to the waterline and the men left from their crews now labor in chains. ‘Tis also said that he pushes against the clan chiefs who placed him on the throne and would be rid of them, and that is why he favors the Chosen.”
“It is also said,” our companion added conversationally, “that he has disappeared. The kings of this land, it would seem, have a habit of doing that.” Zolan was watching me with care. Did he believe he could read in my face how much I knew?
“Yes,” I agreed brightly. “And now,” I continued brashly, “they may think that Father returns with a new king—”
“And whom does the Lord Warden support?”
“Since you are the only stranger and not one with the Southerners, they may just hail you.”
To my surprise Zolan grinned widely. “I fear they are going to be disappointed. I may be several things”—his tone became serious—“but I am not one to welcome Tharn, no matter what guise he wears. The ways of courts are not for me. What I do may well lift trouble from this country rather than split it with fighting clan chiefs shouting slogans at one another. The farther I ride from my own land, the more I long for its peace.”
From the close of this speech, our companion rode quiet, and I forbore to break that silence. I was, however, sure of one thing: Gerrit might be thought to ride with us, but Zolan chose in no way to assume the identity of the lost boy king. However, though he did not elect that role, might not others make the decision for him?
The scouts did the best they could to guide us along a way to avoid any keep or village, though the latter mainly huddled around such a fortified hold. However, the closer we came to Kingsburke, the more difficult this became. Finally we had no choice save to take what passed as the main highway, though it was as badly rutted as the road about Grosper.
Drucilla
TAM HAD SPENT the morning riding with Zolan, Bina and Duty with Rogher. I had started alone, but someone came up beside me. I recognized Fergal, he who claimed to be Gerrit’s milk-brother. He inclined his head in the formal manner of the Gurlys, but appeared to have little time for flowery speech commonly used to address a woman of rank in Alsonia.
“Your servant, my lady.” The Wild Cat did use the Border speech and not the Gurly dialect, though I would have understood that also. “You have passed along many hard trials.”
He wanted something of me, and I was eager to know just what.
“You have the right of that, sir. Taken by black sorcery, we were thrown into the Dismals. It would seem that that land is used to hide the evidence of Breaksword raids.”
“True, Lady Drucilla. We hope the king will raise the Standard, calling upon all true men to root out these raiders. Too long have they been free to do as was done at Frosmoor.”
Momentarily I was overwhelmed b
y the memory of the rapine that had been wrought there. I hesitated, then decided it might be well to aid our own cause, for words, too, could be weapons.
“Those at Frosmoor were betrayed by a Chosen. Even if those Gray Robes do not command troops they can turn the minds of clansmen to murder.”
“As they have!” Fergal was silent for a time, but he did not leave his place; his mount still matched pace with mine. When he spoke again, he had changed the subject.
“Lady Drucilla, what know you of the Dismals?”
“Little enough,” I answered, though, as with the recollection of the ruined keep, the nightmare memory of the World Below flooded my mind like a full Send. “Those who took us were not able to deliver the three of us to the one who paid them; they had been warned that Father and his troop rode hot-tod behind. Thus we were lowered into that place and left. It is a strange land quite unlike this Upper World as if it were no part of it. And it holds many perils—”
“Yet it also holds people,” Fergal observed. “This stranger who rides with you makes no secret that he comes from there.”
“That is so.” I did not expand my answer. “Our imprisonment in the Dismals seems, as I said, to be a common ploy of the Breakswords.”
“Did many survive, then? Our tales tell only of those who tried on their own to discover what lies below, never to return. Men speak of treasure to be found in the Under Land.”
I turned quickly to a half lie. “We did not seek for riches but a way to the Upper World again. We found that at last where some who had come, perhaps in search of wealth, had died—and not easily. But their ropes served us.”
“If such a way out existed for you, lady, could it not serve others also?”