Spell of the Witch World (Witch World Series) (4 page)

Aufrica raised her head, and seemed to banish by will her trouble. I knew that she now determined her strength would be as a force of swordsmen to guard me. And the strength of Aufrica as I well knew (I who had seen her battle death in her time and win) was a thing to be reckoned high.

“Where will you seek?” She spoke briskly as one who would plan.

For that—the casting.”

Again she went to her store place and this time brought out a much-folded cloth to be smoothed flat. It was divided with lines of gold into four quarters, and those quarters in turn to small triangles by lines of red all running through the center inscribed with runes no man could longer read but which were Words of Power.

Then she produced a chain of gold from which hung pendant a small ball of crystal. On the other end of the chain was a band ring she slipped on her finger. She then stood by the table, stretching forth her hand until the ball was directly over that centerpoint on the cloth. Though her hand held steady, the ball began to swing back and forth. Then it altered that swing, traveling only along one of the red lines, back and forth. I studied and remembered.

So—south and west I must go. And soon, or, as I had warned Jervon, the snow would come to close the passes and there would be no traveling at all.

Now the ball hung motionless. Aufrica drew it up by its chain into her hand and put it away in a small bag as I refolded the cloth.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“It is best,” she agreed. Straightaway she went once more to her storage place and began taking stock there. I knew she would send me forth as well armed with those things of the Wise Learning as she could.

But I went to seek Omund in his hut. Since all were aware that Aufrica and I had ways of seeing the un-seeable and dealing with matters not open to most, my news would not sound unbelievable to him. Though we did not explain to any the methods we used to gain our foreknowledge. I merely told him that through the learning of a Wise Woman I had discovered my brother was in trouble. And that trouble came not from war but was of the Old Ones. Therefore, since this was a birth geas long laid on me, I must go to his aid.

Omund nodded his head when I was done, though his womenfolk, as always, gave me side looks of ill-confidence.

“It is as you say, Lady, there is no choice for you. You leave us soon then?”

“With tomorrow's dawn. The snow may come early this year.”

“True. Well, Lady, you have dealt fair and fine with us, as did your Lady Mother and the Lord, your father, when they dwelt among us. But we are neither blood nor kin of yours. And both those are ties we must answer when the call comes. For all your aid in the past we are thankful and—” He arose stiffly to his feet and went to a box-chest he had made. “This is small enough return for all you have done, but it will keep you warm of nights in this harsh land.”

He brought out a journey cloak which must have been the work of many days. It was fashioned of the shaggy hair of the high mountain goats left on the hides, yet dyed a soft, dark purple like the haze of twilight—a color which might be accident of some chance combination of dyes and not to be found again, ft had a beauty which was rare in our present lives. Nor would I believe that any lady would have a winter covering to better it.

My thanks I could only make in words, yet I was sure he understood what this meant to me. For in my life I had many useful things and things well made, but seldom did those combine with beauty also. But he only smiled and clasped my hand in both of his, bending his grayed head to touch his lips to my calloused fingers as if, indeed, I was his lady.

In that moment I realized that, strange though I had felt myself in Wark always, yet, in a way these were my people and I was losing something now. Still not all felt as Omund, and those even of his household were glad to see me go.

With the cloak over my arm I went back to Aufrica—there being none other here to take private leave of. There, somewhat to my surprise, I found Jervon. He was seated by the table which was now bare of all Aufrica's things of power, though she was still fitting packets into a shoulder bag. And he seemed more at ease than I had seen him before, in his hand a cup of Aufrica's blended herb brewing sweetened with wild honey.

He arose as I entered and there was an eagerness about him I had not seen before.

“The Wise Woman says you ride forth, my lady.”

“I have that which must be done.”

“Which I have also, having lingered long enough. Therefore, these being days when no man rides alone if he can help it, there being a need for eyes to watch both sides of the road, we shall fare together.”

Nor did he ask that, rather he spoke as if it were already decided. That irked me. Yet I knew that he spoke the truth—that to travel in company, and with one who knew far better than I the dangers wherein I would travel, would be an aid I dared not, simply out of pride, refuse. So I schooled my voice, but I asked:

“And if I ride not in your direction, swordsman?”

He shrugged. “Have I not said I know not where my lord may now be? If you seek your brother to the south and west, there shall I also find news of my banner. Though I warn you, Lady, we may be heading directly into the open mouth of the dragon, or perhaps I should say—the open jaws of the Hounds!”

“Of which your knowledge shall warn us,” I retorted. I was determined that this would be no farfaring in which I was to be treated as a fine lady from a Dale house, guarded and swaddled with care. If we rode together, it was as battle comrades, free and equal. But how I was to say this I did not yet know.

Aufrica, seeing the cloak, came forward with an exclamation of delight that I would have such a fine protection against the cold. And she straightaway brought out a box brooch to fasten it. Nor did I need telling that within the lid of that was set as powerful a travel spell as she could evoke.

Jervon put down his cup.

“With the dawn then. Lady? We do not go afoot—I have the horse which bore me hither, and the one which was Pell's.”

“Dawn,” I agreed. And I was pleased at the thought of horses, for they would mean swifter passage. South and west—but to where—and how far?

4

Coomb Frome

P
ERFORCE
we took the road which had brought Jervon as there was no other trace across the wilderness. And, since his coming, none had traveled it.

It was a very old road, and here and there were signs it had been worked upon—by man? I thought not, for those before us here had been only herdsmen and hunters, wandering folk. Which meant this was a way of the Old Ones.

“This comes within a league of the Ford,” Jervon said. “But there it loops away from the sea. We turned into it only because it gave better footing for the race we were forced to. But where it comes from and to where it leads—” He shrugged.

“It is of the Old Ones, and who knows their reasons?” That was a Dales’ answer, yet I knew there was always logic in the remains of the Old Ones—though it might not be ours.

“You are not of the Dales.” He sent that statement at me as he might a well-aimed crossbow bolt, a deadly one.

Deadly? Why had that thought come to me? But I made truthful answer.

“I was born in Wark, therefore I am of the Dales. But my parents came from overseas. Yet they were not of Alizon. but of some nation already at war with the Hounds. So that when my father heard of the invasion he straightaway rode to war. Since we have heard naught since, and it has been many seasons now, he is likely dead. My mother died at the birthing of Elyn and me. That is my breeding, swordsman.”

“No, you have nothing of the Dales in you,” he continued, almost as if he had not heard my words. “They say things of you, these people once of Wark—”

“As they say of any Wise Woman,” I countered. And I did not doubt that many things had been said of me, surely not all to my favor, for with Aufrica alone had I been close. And such as Omund's women had long looked askance as I passed. I was not wedded wife, not like to be—for that state goes not with my gifts. That, too, made a gulf. Had we had more able-bodied men I might have been pushed to a troublemaking decision. For I was not like to tend the hearth of any man of Wark.

“More than Wise Woman, they say. They speak behind their hands of dealings with the Old Ones.” There was no tone of awe nor trace of aversion in his voice, only curiosity. He was like a warrior confronted by a new weapon who would ask questions concerning it.

“Would I might say that was so! One able to bargain with the Old Ones need not live as you saw us living. Do not men say that the power can bring all things-build Keep in a night, dash an enemy army into nothingness, make a rich garden grow on barren rock? Have you seen that behind us?”

To my surprise he laughed. “Far from it, shield-maid. But I do not decry the learning of a Wise Woman—whether she be of a village or one of the Houses of Dames. Also, I think that the Old Ones might not be interested in our petty squabbles—or so must our strivings seem to them—and they could be inclined to treat summarily any who disturb their rest.”

“You must seek them, they come not uncalled.” And in that I might have been foreseeing without knowing it

The country continued barren and we kept to an even pace which did not tax our mounts, for to be afoot here would be dire. At noon we turned from that old road way and ate journey bread, drank from a stream, and let our mounts graze for a space. Jervon lay on his back, looking up into the laced branches of a gnarled tree which hung, with just a thin tatter of leaves, over the bank above the spring.

“I am truly of the Dales,” he said. “My father was a third son and so landless. After the custom he took oath to the Lord of Dorn, who was kinsman to his mother, and became his Marshal of Horse. My mother was a damozel of the Lady Guida's household. I was well trained. My father had it in his mind to strike out, when I was old enough, to the northern wild country, and seek his own land. He had four or five heads of households pledged to back him.

“Then came the invaders and there was no thought of riding north, only of trying to preserve what we already had. Dorn was in the path of the first inward thrust. They took the Keep in five days, for they had new weapons which spat fire and even ate rock. I had ridden to Haverdale to beg help. We caught up with two survivors on the road three days later. Dorn was gone, erased as if it had never been. We did not believe them at first. I took to the country that night and reached a place from which I could look down. What I saw might have been a place of the Old Ones, so time tumbled you could not tell wall from courtyard.”

He spoke without emotion, perhaps time had dulled it so this seemed now to have happened to another man. This is a merciful healing when it happens. Now he paused and, though his eyes seemed to search the branches over him, yet I knew he saw something far different.

“I stayed with Haverdale and took oath. We could not hold the western road, not with the devil weapons of the Hounds on it. Though those did not last long. They could be destroyed by desperate men and fire, and they were. It would seem that the Hounds had no others, at least we did not see them crunching over the countryside again. But they had made good use of them. Every major Dale hold in the south was gone—every one!” The hand lying on his chest balled into a fist, though there was still no emotion in his voice.

“There was no one leader to whom all the Dale lords would rally. The Hounds had made sure of that—Remard of Dorn, Myric of Gastendale, Dauch, Yonan —all the men of promise were either wiped out with their holds and their followers, or assassinated. The Hounds were well prepared, they knew all our weak points. And it would seem we had more of those than defenses. The lords did not unite and they had no trouble plucking them off one by one as they would pluck ripe fruit from a heavily laden branch.

“We could only run, and perhaps hit, and then run again. And we would have all been bleaching bones had not the Four Lords come out of the north and beat some order and sense into us. They made all see we must unite or die. So there was the confederation and they made the pact with the Were-Riders.

“It has been long, but the tide is turning now. We have driven them back dale by dale—though they rally at times—we who were at Ingra Ford can say that. But in time I think the Hounds will howl instead of bay and we shall have a final accounting. Though what will be left then—For there are many lords dead and dales war swept. High Hallack will be another land altogether. Perhaps there will be an overrule of the Four—no, Three—for Skirkar is dead and he leaves no son to raise hold banner. Yes, it will be a different land.”

“What will you do? Remain Marshal at Haverdale?”

“If I live that long, you mean?” He smiled. “We do not plan futures for ourselves any more. There will be some to survive, but as a fighting man I cannot say I shall be among them. I do not know what will chance if I live to see full victory. For all the days since I have been counted a man I have been at war. I can hardly remember what peace means. So—no, I do not think I shall give peace-oath to Haverdale. Perhaps I may even follow my father's dream, go north and seek land of my own. But I plan not. To live through another day takes all the wits a man has.”

“There are tales of the north and east, that there are more remainders of the Old Ones there.” I was trying to remember what little I had heard of that country.

“True enough. So perhaps it is just as well not to go troubling in those quarters. It is time we ride, shield-maid.”

Nightfall found us in a place of rocks and there we huddled without any betraying fire. I offered the over-protection of Omund's cloak as I would to any comrade. And he accepted cloth-company as he might had I been Elyn and not Elys. So that the warmth of our bodies under the cloak let us sleep snug in spite of frost without.

Another day's ride and we were at the Ford. The wrack of the fight was still strewn there. Though there was a funeral pyre at one side. Jervon raised bared sword in salute.

“Haverdale did that. They paid death honors. Therefore they gained forces and returned.” He dismounted and went searching among discarded weapons, returning with a dozen crossbow bolts to replenish his small stock. He also had a fine dagger with a gemmed hilt and a blade which, for all its outlaying in the weather, had not been dimmed by any rust.

“Hound work, of their best,” he said, putting it into his own belt.

“Now,” he swung into the saddle once again, “there is a traders’ road here, it swings south to Trevamper. Though that town may not now stand.”

Though it was close to dusk we did not camp at the Ford. That was too close to the pyre, too full of memories for my companion. We rode on until he turned off into a thicket. That was a screen for a place where rings of stones were set about the ash of old fires, and some hacked poles made rude shelters.

“Our camp.” He stirred the ashes with boot toe. “Long dead. I think it will be safe to stay.”

Once more we dared not light a fire. But this night the moon was bright and clear. I knew that I must look upon my talisman for this search. Though I could not be private, and to let my secret into the keeping of another was hard. Yet it was necessary to know how it fared with Elyn.

Thus when we had eaten, I got out the cup and took away its shielding cloth. Almost I dropped it. For that tarnishing cloud, which had been only a mist, had now deepened about the stem and lower part of the bowl into a black stain. So I knew that ill had come upon Elyn. But, though he was in grave danger he still lived, and would until the cup was entirely black.

“What is it?”

I wished I did not need to answer, but there was no way of escaping Jervon's interest.

“This warns of my brother's danger. Before it was only a clouding, now—see this black? As it rises up the cup, so his danger grows. If the cup be all black, he is dead.”

“A third of the way,” he returned. “Have you any way of learning what this danger may be?”

“None—save it is not the chance of war—but bound up in the ways of power. He is caught in some ensorcelment.”

“The Dalesmen do not take to sorcery save as the Wise Women practice it. And the Hounds have their own kind, not rooted in our beliefs at all. So—the Old Ones—”

But I could not think of any way Elyn could so have aroused some ancient evil. He had never had any interest in such matters. I tried to recall my far-seeing—of that bedchamber where the girl had slept while my brother wrenched and levered at bars across a shuttered window.

“Can you far-see?” Jervon asked.

“Not here. I have not the proper things—” Then I wondered.

I had been so schooled by Aufrica that instinctively I thought of all such seeking in patterns she set. But she had always insisted that I had inheritances of stronger powers.

The tie between Elyn and me was close; we were born at one birth; when we looked upon each other we might be looking into a mirror. Therefore—

“Give me the water bottle!”

Jervon passed it over. I took out one of the strips of soft-beaten inner bark which I carried in my pouch for wounds. Into this I rubbed pinches of three of the herbs Aufrica had supplied and then wet it with water from the bottle, washing my hands carefully with the mixture.

Having so purified myself, I took up the cup. Though it held no liquid, I looked into it as I had into the shell basin, striving to shut out of my mind all save Elyn, thus search out where he was and what he did.

Suddenly it was as if I were
in
the cup, for about me was a silver-white light. Only for a moment did that bedazzle me, Then I was able to see more clearly. Around me stood tall pillars like the trunks of forest trees, save that these were smooth and polished, their slimness unbroken by any branch. Nor did they support any roof; overhead was nothing but moon and star-hung sky.

These pillars stood not in rows, but rather in a spiral so that one entering among them would walk around and around, in and in, to whatever lay at their heart At that moment I knew a vast fear, like none I had known before, so I could not even think. For what waited at the heart of that spiral was something so far from the way of life I knew that it was utter terror.

Then—that changed. It was as if it suddenly put on a mask or shield. The terror was cut off, and in its place—a drawing—a sensation of wonder, of the need to see the source of that wonder. Yet because I had earlier felt that overwhelming aura of what really lurked there I was repelled and not ensorceled.

Out into the open came a figure, mailed, helmed, with sword at hip, riding a war steed. He dismounted, dropping the reins as if he cared not now whether it should wander or not. And he moved toward the opening of the spiral as if he were called.

I tried to cry out, to force myself between Elyn and that gateway to a darkness far worse than death. But I could not move. My brother approached the beginning of the spiral—

“Elys!” Hands on my shoulders, shaking me. I sat hunched over the cup—the empty cup— The moon was light but there were no pillars, no spiral.

I raised the cup hurriedly to eye level, more than half fearing that that black shadow would have crept higher. For if Elyn was in that pillared way—how could he be saved? But the stain was no greater than it had been before.

“What did you see?” Jervon demanded. “You—it was as if you looked upon some great horror and you cried upon your brother's name as if you would pull him out of death's hold by voice alone.”

Jervon knew more of this land than I; surely he would know of the spiraled way—the quickest path! For such a thing of menace would be noted to Dalesmen.

“Listen.” As I covered the cup to stow it away, I told him of that earlier vision—my brother laboring to open the window, then of this later one. “Where lies such a place?”

“Not in Trevamper, or near it,” he returned promptly. “But the barred window—somewhere—sometime I have heard of that.” He rubbed his forehead as if so to summon back a wisp of memory.

“Window—barred window! Yes—the Keep of Coomb Fromel There is an old legend, that from one window in the center tower men can see the far hills. And if they do this at some one hour—they take horse and ride—and from that riding they do not return. Nor can those who seek them thereafter ever find them again. So Coomb Frome was no longer a lord's house but kept only as a garrison and the window in the tower was close shut. But that all happened in my grandfather's time.”