“vos!” Again the strange word—a name?—spoken by Zolan. From my position behind him, I could not see what he was doing, but the apparition gave ground. The light of my jewel followed it until the apparition flickered, broke into yellow fragments, and disappeared.
I remember but little of the rest of our journey. Mother rode beside me and now and then put out a hand, feeding me from her own inner strength. The pain that had come with the awakening of my stone held me, dulling all other perceptions.
Sabina
IT WAS EVIDENT that an attack had been made upon some portion of our company. I could easily sense that the battle was a matter of Power, but, because it occurred farther ahead in the troop, I could investigate no further unless I called upon the Talent. I heard mutterings among those close to me, but I could spare no attention to translating them, for I now used a Send to Cilla and to Tam. Cilla replied clearly at once, but Tam’s answer came haltingly, and with it Mother’s assurance that the danger was past.
Not long afterward, we swung from the road we had followed with such care and the horses began to climb. The heavy darkness that had hung about us through this journey—perhaps in itself a lesser assault of the enemy—held unbroken until a torch blazed ahead. Shortly thereafter, we passed between thick walls into the inner court of one of the two towers.
A relief that, oddly, took the form of a feeling of pressure relaxing followed our passage through the gate and our sight of the wall about us, its sturdy, well-set stone rising for three stories. Here were more than torches to drive back the dark—several lanterns had been lit. With a sense of profound gratitude, I dismounted.
For the remainder of this night, at least, we would shelter behind stout walls and under a solid roof. Darkness, within and without, had been banished for a time, and we could rest.
Drucilla
WE BEDDED DOWN at one end of the hall on the second level of the tower. I obediently drank from a flask Duty urged upon me and passed it on to Tam. So far, my warrior-sister had said nothing of the skirmish of Power that had occurred along the line of march, but she sat with our mother’s arm about her for a while. Then she seemed to rouse and pulled the gem off her forehead. Her cropped hair swung free as she shook her head vigorously, and we could see a dark bruise between and above her eyes. Duty hurried to spread ointment on the mark.
That Tam had once more met opposition or threat from the enemy, we were sure. However, for the first time in our lives, we did not press her for an explanation but were content to watch Mother settle her for the remainder of the night. She pulled up a cloak over Tam before moving the lantern away so that it would not shine in her face. Before she slept, though, our sister first made sure of the jewel from the Dismals, dropping its cord once more over her head.
Was Tam somehow loosening the threefold bond that had always been our strength? That talisman from the ruins—did it threaten our oneness? I stared at the ceiling above, trying somehow to fasten my attention firmly on its boards, to force myself out of the present entirely.
One by one, I summoned memories, not of Grosper but of a far less imposing dwelling and the sights and smells that went with it. I saw fields of grass and pastures where cattle grazed, heard flights of doves, felt the pleasant weight in my arms of Quinnie, cat matriarch of the house we had once called home. Why, two of her kittens were sleeping in the folds of the scarf I had just discarded … .
A hand touched my forehead gently.
“Sleep, my dear Cilla.”
Yes, I was small and wrapped in warm love again, back home in my own land.
Twenty-nine
Tamara
A violent storm awoke me. Though thick walls kept its blasts from us, the rage of the winds was beyond anything I had ever known. I shivered, pulling closer the cloak that wrapped me.
But the tumult of the wind was not the only sound disturbing the night’s peace, I thought as I sat up, holding my aching head. I was also hearing voices, faint but hot with violent anger, threatening. Yet I could distinguish no real words in the bursts of growls and shouts.
The light of a single lantern across the chamber did little to illuminate my surroundings. I counted the mounds on the floor and numbered four: Bina, Cilla, Mother, Duty, all of whom lay silent and unmoving. None of them had summoned me. Had the “voices” been merely the storm-winds venting their rage into the arrow-slits in the tower walls?
But no—I caught movement in the far reaches of the hall. How I was able to see motion through the heavy shadow and dark I did not know, but that this was truly important I was very sure. Trying not to disturb those about me, I got to my feet.
The movement was stilled now, but need had not released its hold on me. If I made any sound as I moved, the storm covered it. The darkness was almost palpable; I edged forward with hands outstretched, as if expecting to encounter a barrier. We had set Wards in this place prior to retiring, but those barriers were of a nature I could understand and pass if I would.
Now I became aware of a faint graying in the dark ahead. Using this lessening of the gloom as a guide, I soon discovered the bottom step of a stair that must lead to the next floor of the tower. I could not have turned back even if I wanted to; as though I were under Father’s orders, I began to climb.
As I ascended, the pallid light grew stronger. I reached the next floor where I could make out several long guns, each braced by a small square of window, their heavy barrels set to fire through those ports. However, the light I had seen, which was quite visible now, shone downward from above another stair. These steps could only lead to the roof, and who would dare venture out onto a flooring of rain-slick stone in the midst of such violent weather? For the first time I questioned where my curiosity was leading, or what might control me.
My pause, though, was only a brief one. I came to the foot of the stairs to look up. If the next level held an opening to the roof, it had certainly not been broached, or the fearsome wind would now be prying with rude fingers at my night-garb. I climbed.
Thus I entered a much smaller space, one that must crown the tower. Lying on the floor at the head of the stair was a rod, from which came the limited glow of light. At each of the four sides of this space, a window was set into the wall. Three of these were shuttered, but the fourth framed a square of the night. It also admitted sound: the howl of the wind, the clamor of the voices I thought I could hear borne upon it. Yet no wind-force reached this place through that window!
Before it stood Zolan, his back to me, as unmoving as one of the well-trained guards before the Alsonian palace. Crouched before him, front paws on the inner window sill, was Climber, his attention also fixed on what lay without.
Neither of them showed any awareness of my presence. I left the stairwell to step behind Zolan, striving to discover what that stone frame held to inspire such interest. It puzzled me intensely that no storm-blast blew through the opening.
The tempest raging outside was no uproar of our world’s winds, I straightway realized. Beyond the window spun a whirling, lashing fury, visible in itself. The unnatural storm needed no trees or other solid forms against which to display its power, yet, weirdly, it had not come within the outer wall about the tower.
And that maelstrom itself held movement. Ships? But ships were of the sea; none swam the waves of the air! Nor were these objects like any seagoing vessels of my knowledge. Each was shaped not unlike a huge rod tapered at both ends and outlined with red-orange light. After a moment’s observation, I realized that they were engaging in some form of combat. Lines of fire shot from one vessel, aimed at another. Suddenly one of the airships broke apart and fell earthward.
“Yes—so!”
In spite of the uproar of the eerie wind I was able to hear Zolan’s words.
“This is of the past.” He continued as if carrying on a conversation, yet I was somehow sure he remained unaware of my coming. “It is buried centuries deep, finished. Nor shall Dobulgar rise again.”
The combat in the clo
uds had ceased, but I hardly noticed, for in that instant I myself fell under attack. The living heart of Tamara Scorpy was assaulted, an unseen entity striving to quench my inner core of life as a lantern might be extinguished.
I knew in the same moment that I could not escape, nor even survive except by summoning all the Power I could draw upon to hold fast. Zolan spun about as I swayed from side to side. His arms went about me, and I was held fast as his lips met mine—not in a show of passion but in a sharing of energy.
Power—eagerly, hungrily, I drew it in, and still the exchange continued. This was no longer my own fight—my body had become a battlefield on which two opposing forces contended while my soul was merely a bystander. The invader, whoever or whatever it was, no longer tried to bend me to its will but turned instead on Zolan with fierce intensity.
However, it had not utterly overwhelmed my defenses, and now I strove to raise such a shield as I could for Zolan’s aid. How long did we wrestle with the Dark before allies arrived to lend aid in the fight? I never knew. Dimly I became aware of the approach of unity and determination. Bina and Cilla—Mother, Duty—they had ascended into the tower and joined our eldritch encounter! I now held all the forces of an army within me—one such as I was sure the intruder had never engaged before. Then a new, less-powerful strain of Talent arrived at that moment, approaching timidly but certain of what must be done. Still Zolan and I stood lip to lip, and the invisible war within me reached the point of slashing, tearing pain as if my body were being torn apart.
Sabina
WE CROWDED TOGETHER in our desperate need to ascend the tower stairs, jostling against each other in our haste to climb. We found Tam standing encircled by Zolan’s arms, her lips pressed tightly to his. Outside the open window behind them, streaks of raw color were bursting back and forth across the sky. Without any word from Tam, I moved to her back and placed my hands upon her shoulders. A moment later Cilla joined herself to me in like manner.
What we two had, we speedily offered our beleaguered sister: energy born of Cilla’s Talent united with mine and poured through me to Tam. I became aware that a beam of light had formed about the two before us. Then, as a spear might be aimed by a warrior, that shaft shot out through the window.
More and more Power surged through the channel of my body into Tam. The ray of luminance broadened and continued to bore outward. The turmoil outside grew worse and worse, and I had to close my eyes against the whorls of blistering color.
Green and blue in that aerial weaving darkened to red, the raw crimson of blood. The stain might not have entered to touch my body, but pain thrilled in my every sinew. Still I clung tightly to Tam, as did Cilla and those behind her.
It was Zolan who, never loosing his hold on my sister, moved. Drawing away from the window, he took all of us with him. The pulsating scarlet outside had moved toward the tower and now appeared to touch the very frame of the opening. Without hearing any order, but simply feeling a demand I could not leave unanswered, I struggled to increase the flow of Power in spite of my pain. Around the ragged edge of my thrust came a whole entwined wave of force from Cilla and the others—our final great effort.
The light outside was bulging inward, swelling like an overloaded waterskin being forced through too small an opening. Then it burst to spit forth a body. In that instant, our connecting Power was severed. I crashed to the floor as Cilla struck me from behind, and Tam, released by Zolan, crumpled against me.
The blood-glow vanished and, in its absence, we were blinded for a few breaths. When we could see again, Zolan was standing over a man whom another Power had used the scarlet light to deliver.
Rolling forward until his body struck the wall under the open window, the newcomer began scrabbling against the stone in an effort to hoist himself to its sill. Now Zolan moved, as well, catching the stranger around the neck to drag him back. And the man from the Dismals was not the only one in action, for Ison, the Scorpy who claimed kinship with us, thrust his way past him to slam shut the shutters, submerging the room in darkness. We could still hear the fight but could see none of it.
“Yya werli cvorg!”
That cry did not come from Zolan. The words were strange and without meaning to me, yet they seemed harsh, even—evil. At least they carried a chilling sense of sheer horror.
Around Tam grew a radiance we had witnessed before—one that promised aid: the gemstone had surged to life, and it brightened ever stronger. At last we could see Zolan clearly. But, though we might have expected the new arrival to be another of the ball-headed folk, the man he was now choking into silence appeared to have no relationship to the people of the Dismals. Rather, he was a young Gurly, more richly dressed than a clansman.
“Aid me!” The stranger managed a strangled cry. “I am your king! This madman—”
He got no further as Zolan, abandoning his throat-hold, swung up a fist that connected with the point of the clansman’s chin. Under the force of that blow, the intruder reeled back, striking the edge of the closed shutter. The thud of his head against the wall was loud enough to be clearly heard.
Zolan at once stepped forward to stand over the limp body of the stranger, wavering a little and breathing in great gulps. Ison Scorpy dropped to his knees, setting his fingers to the side of the bruised throat.
“Still alive,” he announced, then turned his head to look up at Zolan. “Who is he?”
Tamara
BUT NO ANSWER came. I raised my head from Bina’s shoulder with some difficulty. Any weakness I had ever felt before at a draining of the Power had been nothing compared with this.
“He said—king.” I looked to Zolan, not to the body crumpled on the floor. A king was reported to be captive in Gurlyon, yes—but there might be two rulers now.
Zolan made no move to examine the body Ison was straightening out. Climber came out from the shadows, sniffed at the inert man, and lifted his lip in a silent snarl. The beast had expressed his opinion of the man, and it was a low one, no matter what his rank.
Mother came into view from behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders. She had sent into and through me many of those wracking waves of Power.
“This is King Arvor,” she said, not in accusation but in recognition. Yet her attention was for Zolan, not for the unconscious stranger. After a pause, in which the man from the Dismals made no answer, she spoke again:
“Is this the king?”
That she would ask such a question when she had already answered it made no sense. I straightened. The glow from my talisman appeared to keep rhythm with her labored breathing.
“What is he”—I flung out toward the body the hand holding the gem—“flesh or spirit?”
Zolan, who had paid no attention to our mother, stared at me sharply for a second and then gave a guarded look at his recent opponent.
“Who knows?”
But our mother was not to be denied. She gestured at Arvor.
“You drew him here—”
Zolan denied that statement at once. “He was sent.”
“So …” Apparently she was able to accept this reply. I was thinking far more clearly now. We had heard that the king was reported missing, that the Chosen from the mountains remained in Kingsburke. If Arvor had been a prisoner, and that renegade from the Jar Folk did possess great power, he could well have planted the ruler among us now as a weapon of his own.
Now Mother addressed Ison rather than Zolan.
“Ask my Lord Warden to come—” she began, but she had gotten no further when Bina and I were gently pushed to one side, and Father stood there.
“What chances?” he demanded of Mother. “Even the troop is near ready to flee. Men have been struck down by the Power that raged here!”
He did not wait for an answer but took another step forward to look down on Arvor. The king moaned and made a weak gesture toward his head. I moved the gem at once so that its still-growing light more fully illuminated him.
“King Arvor!” Our father looked d
irectly to Zolan. “How came he here? Was he with the tower garrison but did not flee?”
Ison spoke. “The Power brought him, Lord Warden.” He pointed to the window. “Through that—in a blaze of flame!”
Father’s thoughts kept pace with Mother’s. “Was he drawn by you? For what purpose?” he demanded.
Zolan gave a sigh, and his hands went out in a gesture of helplessness as he made the same answer: “He was Sent!”
The radiance of my jewel made very plain the expression of our father’s face. Familiar as he was with the force that fueled our Talents, there were some displays of that Power he would not accept without more explanation.
I was on my feet now, though I still held the talisman so that its radiance touched the king. He was showing more signs of returning consciousness, turning his head as if to avoid as much of the eye-smiting light as he could.
I faced Zolan squarely, and my words came evenly and with emphasis.
“Is this one indeed our enemy?”
Slowly our companion shook his head. “Not now—”
The man on the floor suddenly sat upright. He stared at us, his eyes fastening on each in turn before passing to the next one. Fear shadowed his eyes and furrowed his face. Then Ison stepped back, and the king looked beyond him.
“How—how came I here?” His voice was unsteady. “I was with the Chosen while he told me what was happening in the streets—that monsters had been summoned by those accursed Southerners whose unholy Power killed and yet could not be quenched.”
Suddenly his eyes fixed again on Father.
“Damned dealers with the Dark!” His voice had risen to a scream. Then such a stream of obscenity aimed at Father, Mother, and finally at us burst forth to taint the air as I had never thought to hear from the lips of any man of gentle birth.