by Andre Norton
22
IN THE CHAMBER of the silver tree they found Oxyle holding some of the ash-colored leaves in a fan. The others crowded around him.
He looked at Twilla and Ylon, fires of excitement in his eyes.
“We know where Khargel bound the women! Now we can treat with this Chard!”
“A bespelling,” Musseline said, “by such as Khargel—can it be broken? Is it not true that a spell of the second order—or of the third—as this may well be—can only be broken by the one who sets it? And Khargel has been gone for almost as many seasons as there are message leaves here.”
“Did not Moon Daughter break Khargel's spell to release the undermen?” countered Oxyle. “At least we know now where our battlefield lies.” He gave the leaves in his hand a little wave which set them fluttering.
“The seal to this heart hiding is broken,” Vestel pointed out. “And that she-snake is free to come and go as she pleases. Can we set a barrier against her raiding here again? We do not know how much she had already thieved and what greater secrets she can find.”
Ylon moved then. He had undoubtedly located Oxyle by his voice for he turned slightly in the direction of the forest lord.
“There is a lock with which even Lotis will not tamper.” From within his jerkin he again produced the dagger. “This has been a key to gaining entrance, now let it prove itself a lock.” His head swung as if he were seeking by scent or ear, and Twilla, guessing his purpose, took a handful of sleeve and drew him to face that still open way through which his iron had blasted them a path.
With the girl's aid Ylon crossed to the door, then went to his knees, measuring the opening from side to side with outflung hands. When he had at last satisfied himself on some point he leaned forward and drove the dagger, the quiver of his shoulders betraying the force he must use, into the beaten earth which floored this place, just a palm's width within the walls.
There came a murmur from the forest people. Oxyle, having surrendered his fan of leaves to Vestel, came up to them as Ylon arose again.
“You are clever, outlander. Yes, such will keep at bay whatever Lotis may wave toward our undoing while we remain herein. But what if her power be fueled by that of this outlander mage? He fears not iron.”
“No,” Ylon shook his head. “He would not fear iron. But there will be that which he will fear—being who and what he is. These priests fear and hate women. He is not easy, I will swear, with any partnership with Lotis. For to him she will appear to have every art his kind loathe. Therefore their linkage is already well-eaten by suspicion, and he will have no trust in her. If she strives to draw upon what he can command he will examine very well what pitfalls might lie in any such surrender or union.”
“I trust you have the right of it. But it will be better for us if we be quickly about what we can do now,” Oxyle said. “However, outlander, you have sealed us in here as effectively as you have sealed Lotis out and the door to what we seek lies elsewhere—”
“Easy enough to mend.” Ylon stooped and wriggled the dagger a little, freeing it from its earthen sheath. “Your door is so unlatched, go through and leave to me the locking once again.”
Those of the forest people went, sidling by at a good distance from where Ylon stood waiting, the dagger in hand. When they were all in the outer passage, Ylon followed.
Feeling once more about the portal he had earlier blasted he knelt again, stretched his arms a little within the room, and with both hands drove the dagger into the ground so that it stood upright, midcenter and well-lit by the pulsing of the silver tree.
Again they threaded passages but Oxyle, in the lead, appeared to have no doubts about direction and at last he came to a door in a hall which Twilla recognized. So had she and Ylon come from the lair of the great worm.
Choosing one leaf from the packet he had earlier held, the forest lord touched its tip carefully into the top of that intricate door pattern and drew it, following the lines from left to right. As the leaf passed so did the line it had touched begin to fade.
In the end there was a blank slab showing no markings. Oxyle stood facing that for a moment in the palid light, for though there were no mists swirling now, there seemed to be the faintest ghosts of such accompanying them.
Oxyle set hand to the door and it gave, not as it had for Ylon and Twilla, yielding to their bodies, but rather it swung away and they could look into the rough passage ahead.
As they started down that the faint light still held about them. For the first time the forest people produced tangible weapons in plain sight. Remembering the worm, Twilla hoped that those silver swords might have better effect against the hide of any crawler than Utin's blade had.
Stench wafted on a stir of air before them. It grew thicker as they reached the site of their battle. There had been drastic inroads upon the bulk of the crawler, in some places only a round of bones lay on the rock. What had come here to feast, and did such linger? Twilla brushed shoulder with Ylon as she steered him as close to the wall as she could, remembering those splashes of poison. As she did so, she warned the others.
They made their way by that obstruction and Oxyle kept to a swinging pace. It was plain that he wanted to accomplish what he could as soon as possible.
However, when they emerged into the underworld, he did not venture far from the exit. While the others crowded up behind him. They were being awaited.
Spread out in a line which might allow them to close in from both sides if those from the upper world came farther out were a number of the small warriors. Each bore unsheathed blades. Behind them was a scattering of others bending small bows, and the arrows set ready to those cords, Twilla was sure, were also headed with deadly iron.
From among his followers stepped Chard. Oxyle towered over him and yet there was a certainty of purpose, a suggestion of confidence in the smaller figure which matched the assurance of the upper forest leader.
Oxyle raised his right hand and wove a complicated pattern in the air. That showed in green lines, holding as firm as if he had produced a thread of real substance. In turn Chard steadied his boar-headed staff before him. From the eyes of that came thin lines of red reaching out, winding about the green, yet not touching. So for a long moment the air was aglow and then it winked out. Chard swung his staff and Oxyle also made a motion.
The under warriors drew back, those of the forest sheathed their silver weapons. Arrows were returned to quivers. Then Chard spoke:
“You weave the peace sign for us, over lord. But there is only one reason for us to welcome such as you into our ways—have you come to repair the evil wrought by your kind?”
“Khargel is long gone—and we hoped that his evil vanished with him. Yes, we shall do what we can to repair the weeping rift he left behind. But know this, Under Lord, this is again a time of ill will and worse. Not only do those from over mountain threaten, but there are those of forest blood who show the old taint.” Oxyle's voice was grim, his expression dark, and Twilla could guess what effort it must be for him to admit this to one who was an ancient enemy.
“So we have heard,” Chard replied. “That you speak the truth is in your favor, over lord. Release that which your kind have bound and then we can speak of other things—perhaps some which shall serve us both.”
From his green jerkin Oxyle pulled one of the leaves. In this light the marking on it seemed so faded Twilla could barely distinguish that there had been lines at all.
“This we have found—in Khargel's sealed chamber. It points a way, but your ways are not ours and we cannot say where it lies.” He held out the leaf.
Chard transfered his staff to his left hand to accept it. It appeared to fade even more. He uttered an exclamation and lowered the staff. Again the eye beams shone and what had been faint greenish lines on the leaf surface flared bodly red for an instant or two. Chard examined them eagerly.
Then he raised his head. There was a baffled expression on his face and Twilla believed an awakening of suspicion
. The lines of the leaf had turned brown and the withered tissue of it was flaking away.
“This I do not know. Do you strive to pass off some mage work to win us, over lord? Where are our women?”
There was a growl. Once more the small warriors moved up, arrows were in land, put to cords.
His eyes were fierce, near as glowing as those of the boar staff. Oxyle held up both hands, palm out.
“Under Lord,” he replied quietly, “your guards have in their hands what can send all of us to a torturous death. We play no games with you. If you do not know what that map held,” he glanced for a moment to the fragments of the leaf lying between them, “then Khargel was the one playing games. Yet where we found it insured that for him at least it had meaning.”
It was Chard's turn to look down at the fragments. Perhaps Oxyle had managed in a little to win through his rising suspicion. Suddenly, as if a new thought had struck him, he moved forward the butt of his staff.
Once Twilla had seen smith magic over mountain when a stone the smith declared had inward power brought to cling against it filings of iron. Now the shreds of ancient leaf moved in the same fashion. But what gathered about the end of the shaft was not a reassembled leaf, rather some crooked lines of fragments.
“Gogalar!” that guttural word had burst out of Utin who had crept closer to his lord. “Gogalar!” he shouted gutturally, stamping his foot against the rock, and his cry was taken up by all the others.
They broke lines, crowded in about Chard, while the forest people, very wary of the weapons being now shaken overhead and clashed together, drew back and away.
Chard having stared at that pattern now looked once more to Oxyle. “Mage power, Over Lord, but this makes good sense and we shall see how well it leads us. Those now suggest a way for which we must have a guide. Come, rest and wait until we can summon such.”
They came to that hall which Twilla had seen deserted and then busy. However, Chard turned them aside before they entered saying that he well knew they wanted no near contact with what his smiths wrought. They settled instead in the open and the small-winged lizards came in a whirling flock to inspect them. Food was born forth from the hall and they ate. Twilla could hear whispering among the forest people commenting on a land so strange.
There appeared to be no shadow of night touching this land, still they waited. Twilla sat beside Ylon. She had described to him this inner country, and from his comments it sometimes seemed as if he did see what she pictured.
“We take but one step at a time,” he said suddenly. “My father has summoned a weight of iron such as the forest people have never imagined. If indeed he has had promise of the land crawlers, then those are encased in iron. They shall be able to root into the forest and wrack their will as they wish.”
“And will they?” she asked.
Ylon frowned. “Who can tell? These others may have still defenses we have not dreamed of. But,” the hand resting on his knee curled into a fist, “it is folly! Those of the forest have no wish for the open fields. But people need not hack into the great trees. There is dead wood to be had—those of the woodlands do not touch such. If that could be offered to our people—”
“For what in return?” Twilla asked.
“I do not know. Perhaps so that there might be no reason to break the forest bonds.”
“Payment to withhold raids upon their own land? Hulde had volumes of the old lore and never has such bargain ever been kept.”
“Yes.” There was a bleakness in that single word of his answer.
Twilla felt a light touch on her hand and saw that one of the flying lizards had alighted there, its small head held high as it eyed her.
“There is also the matter of the priest,” she reminded him.
Ylon's mouth worked as if he would spit. “Yes. There is that. Perhaps we face more than we can hope to deal with.”
“We?” she questioned. “Do you now range yourself against those of your blood?”
“I do not know. I bear with me always the hurt which the forest can deal. You, too, have seen the horror which our iron can bring to these people. And I cannot support the dealings with the Dandus beliefs!” he ended on a sharp note.
They were silent again and in time followed the example of their forest people who, except for Vestel, curled down into the long yellow grass and slept. There was everlasting activity about the hall yet no one came in their direction.
The spiraling notes of a horn vigorously blown brought them all alert. Chard, with an escort of warriors, had come out of the hall to head in their direction. Utin trotted beside him and within a few strides halted to again sound the horn he carried.
There was a billowing in the tall grass as if something stirred its way out of nothingness into the open. Then a great tusked head pushed forward and that boar, which had been Twilla's escort before, came into full view.
It swung its heavy head in the direction of the party from the upper reaches but gave no more than a snort as it passed them. Chard raised his staff in salute and the boar grunted, it might have been speaking in the manner of its kind.
Just as Chard could pass easily into the guttural speech of the dwarves so now his lips shaped a series of grunts Twilla could not distinguish from those of the animal, if she closed her eyes. Once more the creature looked toward the forest people who had now all gotten to their feet. Then it swung away, trotting at a pace unusually swift for the bulk of its body.
Chard broke into a fast stride behind it. As he passed the others he waved them on with his staff, while those of his own escort closed in behind. So they pushed their way through the tangled, straw-colored grass of the land, coming out of that into a place of rocks, encircled by a river-like stretch of gravel.
Twilla felt the knobbiness of the stone through her badly worn boots and set her teeth. She must keep up, for Ylon depended upon her. His hand rested on her shoulder as she twisted a way among those rocks.
There was a great warmth to the air and the dirt stirred up by their passing stung. Clinging to some of the more rugged rocks along this trail were patches of tough hair from which wafted the strong smell of the boar—perhaps there was its chosen lair.
They came at last to the edge of a drop. What lay below was hidden by a dank fog which arose only level with that lip where they stood. The boar halted with a grunt and Chard moved slowly along that edge.
To risk descent into the unknown was a danger Twilla, for one, was not willing to take, sure that she would not be able to aid Ylon if he could not find his own hand or foothold. However, that was not to be part of their testing. Instead Chard, the rest of them trailing behind him, came to a place where there was a splitting off of that edge, the promise of a way down. Twirling his staff before him, he unhesitatingly took that path.
At least he had one aid. From the eyes of the boar staff there speared out the joint beams which cut into the fog enough to show them that what was here was a ramp, steep to be sure, but still better than any other way to win into what lay below.
The fog was clammy against the skin, and there was that in it which made Twilla cough. She slowed her pace a little so that most of the forest people passed them, keeping up a flow of description about their footing for Ylon.
Then the ramp became a flight of steps, luckily wide. And they continued. The flare of Chard's light beckoning them on.
As suddenly, as if they had been lifted and dropped, they broke through that corking of fog, though it clouded what lay around close to the dark of night. More rock here, standing lines of it. Twilla remembered that farseeing she had tried to do for Chard. Just such a pillar of rock appeared then in the mirror.
Chard halted at the edge of that stretch of ground. He was staring out over the lines of standing stones, and he uttered a moaning cry which was echoed by those of his guard. There was anger, fierce and open on his face as he looked to Oxyle
“Give us back what you have taken!” He gestured to the dull ranks of stones.
&n
bsp; Oxyle stepped up beside the under lord and made a throwing gesture. From his open hand there lifted that silvery dust which was the weapon of forest ensorcelment. It hovered over the closest of those rocks, whirled down to encircle it, then was gone. But the rock remained.
“Give us back our women!” Chard's slender body was shaking now with rage.
Slowly Oxyle shook his head. “Khargel sealed them, our power cannot break through his set will. It is the law which rings us in, none of us may undo another's full spell.”
“So. Then what—” Chard had half raised his staff in menace toward the upper lord when his gaze slid beyond and set on Twilla. He shouldered past Oxyle to come to her.
“You freed us from the holding put upon us, free now those who are dearest to us!”
“Then iron,” she said, “touched—” and no sooner had she spoken those words when there was thrust into her hand Utin's own sword.
“Then use it again—now!”
She moved on to nearest of those waiting stones and tapped it with the iron. There was a ringing note through the pocket but the stone remained intact.
Helplessly she stepped back. The mirror swung as she moved. Ylon's hand was out and she passed the sword to him, raised the mirror and held it out to reflect the stone.
Words, she needed words! They jingled in her mind and she spoke then aloud:
"Be as were, truly be—
Let this moonlight be the key.
Return to life by mirror's will.
Let right triumph over ill.”
The silver reflection blazed into life, the core of its beam enwrapped the stone, held but there was no change.
Twilla held the mirror steady, so tightly that its edges cut into her fingers. The light continued to play upon the stone, but it brought no answer. Still the mirror was alive, alive as it was when ready to answer her. There was something more, something she could not—
Swiftly she turned her head to Ylon.
“The iron! Bring the iron!”
By the guidance of her voice he came forward, touching her shoulder, he used that for a guide and, wavering a little, thrust the sword directly into the beam of that reflection. The blade blazed, a fire to equal that of the mirror—so brilliant Twilla hardly dared watch it.
