by Andre Norton
Then she was under the hot sun of late afternoon, fronting those two who had shared her trip over mountain.
“I have come,” she said.
Leela gave a quick glance over her shoulder to where the crawlers had come to rest.
“They took our men—like plow beasts they use them to move those things. It grows ever hotter within when the sun is full upon them. We would have them free.”
“We have offered to treat,” Twilla returned, “but that can only be with Lord Harmond and none among those netted would agree to take our message.”
“So—” Rutha, too, looked back at the tangle of men whose voices arose even higher now. Where earlier they had pled now they were cursing and uttering threats. “I think you will not find a messenger there. But we also have voices and enough that Lord Harmond cannot close his ears to all. Our men have been pressed by the soldiers into this, we want them free. If to carry a message will aid in that we shall be glad to do so.”
Leela nodded vehemently. “What is your message, Healer?”
“I am not the leader here, that I must discover. Wait.”
Twilla pushed back through the brush and spoke directly to Oxyle. “Well, Lord, do you appoint a time for such a meeting?”
“At moonrise,” he said. “Tell Lord Harmond to come himself at moonrise.”
Would the lord listen to women no matter how demanding they were, she wondered. He had been so used to disposing of them for life in his shameful lottery. And he might still even have a portion of his guard who had not been sent on this mission. But the end must be left to fortune as always.
“Moonrise,” she repeated and returned to the waiting women. “Tell Lord Harmond to come at moonrise, but until then his men remain prisoners. I am sorry for your men, sisters in bondage, but we dare not free them.”
“That is so. But let our women remain. We two and another shall go.”
Leela was frowning. “It is very hot in that thing of the devil. Our men will be spent by moonrise.”
“I do not think so. They are strong and the sun is near down now. When that is gone it will be cooler.”
“Come,” Rutha pulled at Leela. “The sooner we find the lord and give him the message perhaps the sooner they will be free again. We shall do our best, Healer.”
She turned abruptly and marched back toward the crowd of women. They had not approached the netted men too closely, but they were exchanging shouted messages back and forth.
Twilla remained where she was until she saw Rutha swing into the saddle of one of the loose horses which had been grazing and Leela helped herself to a second—then they were off, heading back for the town.
Twilla returned to the place she had left Ylon and swiftly she told him of the agreement of the women. He gave a low whistle.
“Indeed Lord Harmond will have to change his mind on several counts,” was his comment.
Those within the wood could see the women now settled down in the tall grass, broken into small groups where each seemed to know well the others. Twilla watched them, suddenly a little wistful. She missed the quiet round of the old days when she had gone forth with Hulde and had had a measure of respect from those who called upon their aid. Though Hulde had been much bound up in her studies between calls on her skills they had often talked about many things and the wisewoman had always treated her as a peer. She had never had such a relationship with any women since she had come over mountain.
Karla and Catha had a place in her life, but the fact that they had sprung from very different roots always tinged their meetings. Leela, she thought, might have been the friend she longed for—or Rutha. But between them now stood the shadow of power and she did not believe that that would ever be swept away.
“Twilla?” Ylon's questing voice drew her. Again she knew the burden she must cheerfully bear from now on—never letting any know that it was not her first choice. If she only could have forced Lotis to undo the wrong she had done!
“I am here.” Two steps took her to join him. The forest people were remaining where they were but there were baskets of fruit and their all satisfying cakes, as well as the sap-filled flagons appearing and they settled down under the spread of the trees to eat and drink.
Twilla swiftly took a portion from the nearest basket, chose a small flagon and brought them back to where Ylon waited, sharing out the provisions with him. After his calling of her name he was silent, only ate and drank with the air of one preparing himself for a future need.
When he had done, his hand went to the sword at his belt and he drew it, running his finger lightly down the edge of the blade. Twilla watched him with growing apprehension.
“Will they fight?” she demanded.
For a moment he did not reply and, when he did answer, there was troubled note in his voice. “I do not know what spirit rules my father now. He is a proud man, to admit himself defeated may be too bitter a mouthful for him to swallow. The under men have no more of their nets—if Lord Harmond has held back any force of men then—” He shook his head.
“Would he agree and then play false?” she prodded.
Ylon frowned, his head forward so he might be regarding the sword he held.
“Before time I would have smashed such a lie back into the teeth of him who dared to utter it. All my father possessed when he was chosen by the king to come over mountain was his honor. And that he had cherished from his cradle. But why he allowed the Dandus priest to build the balefire—that was not the doing of the Lord Harmond I knew. Perhaps there has been some change over mountain—some command directly from the throne. If so—then—”
“Then any truce or understanding we might achieve here would be for nothing in the end,” she said. She was tired, feeling her whole body ache with that tiredness. There never was any foreseeable end to the troubles now and ahead.
“That is the dark side of the matter. On the other hand my father may have been forced to accept that blood drinking priest and feels freedom with him gone. If that is the case he might well make very sure that no other such caller of the Dark gets a foothold here. There is this: In his youth my father was a sword brother of Arvanis, passing upward from novice to guardsman. He was recalled by the kin when his two elder brothers were drowned in a faring overseas. But the teaching of Arvanis has been his inner belief. He kept always a sword shrine in any house where he was quartered for long. If—if we can get him to swear the swordoath I do not think that even the king's own word can make him break it.”
Twilla knew a little about the sword brothers. They were astute, dedicated men willing to serve any cause they knew was just. So incorruptable that any lord or king gave them absolute trust, but also so incorruptable that they took service with none whose cause they had not debated in open council and found to be good.
“That is why,” Ylon was continuing, “it must be me who states the terms—Can you bring me to Oxyle?”
Twilla saw the forest lord at a distance. Chard was with him and Karla, Catha, and some of the forest men. They were talking earnestly together, each in turn, with the others carefully listening.
“Come,” she was on her feet and reached down a hand to draw him up beside her.
32
TWILLA HAD LISTENED to their arguments for what seemed a long stretch of time. Ylon was fast set in his belief he would be the best spokesman to open any communication with Lord Harmond. Twilla wondered fully if he feared his father had in mind some surprise attack to center on the forest people. It seemed to her that Ylon himself was in doubt of where Lord Harmond now stood.
As the suggestion and counter suggestion dragged out she felt as if there was a wall growing between her and those engaged in such strong argument. She felt dull of wit, drowsy as one who had withdrawn in part from those about her. Her shoulders were supported by one of the giant trees, and she did not even feel the roughness of the bark through jerkin and shirt.
It was odd, this state into which she had passed so gradually that she was not aware
of what was happening. Neither did she have any urge to break it, even if she could. Dimly she was aware of the woodland, of the forest people centering now about Ylon, of the floating mists. Certainly she was there.
However, she was also in another place and sometimes that sharpened enough to blot out her surroundings but never to the extent that she was not aware of where she truly was.
However, that other scene drew her, promised quiet, safety, removal of all need for struggle or action. She saw again the walls of Hulde's dwelling close about her. All the once-loved, familiar furnishings stood in their proper places. Twilla drew a deep breath and near tasted the freshness of the spicy, minted herbs she could strongly smell. There was the table even more crammed with retorts, phials, a brazier or two, and lord of all he surveyed, Greykin sat eyeing the clutter before him with his usual disdain.
There was safety here—that she knew and drew the vision about her as she might a winter cloak against the fury of a storm. She was seated on her familiar stool and she was busy with her set task, polishing the round of the ancient mirror. Though this time she did not hum the usual notes Hulde had first voiced for her.
No, she was singing something else, words out of nowhere so impressing themselves on her mind as they came one by one that she was sure she would never forget them:
"See not with the eye, but with the mind.
Evil spell can no longer bind.”
Even through that half-sleep she grasped that, held to it. Round and round her fingers went on the surface of the mirror. She wore no pads to protect the flesh and the friction of that pressure caused pain. But the hurt was something far away, it had nothing to do with the here and now.
She polished on. Greykin yawned. A shadow moved. Twilla looked up eagerly—there was a flicker. She was back in the forest. Fiercely she fought to recapture that other half-seen world. She did so in time to front Hulde.
The Wisewoman was looking at her, smiling gently. She raised a hand to tuck one of her wandering gray locks under her cap as she said:
“A long way you have gone, Twilla. You have chosen and your path lies clear.”
“I want to stay here!” There was a tree pushing its trunk from the wall behind Hulde and Twilla strove to thrust it away.
“One wants many things, child. Perhaps a growing plant wishes to be again a seed, sleeping deep in the earth. But such can never be. You have passed beyond these boundaries, Twilla, you must fashion your own heart place, dear child.”
The walls grew dim, were gone. Greykin and his table throne vanished. For a moment Twilla fought to hold to Hulde. She felt a caressing touch on her forehead and looked out among aisles of trees. Catha was beside her, the under woman's small face somehow echoing the same smile Twilla had seen on Hulde's wrinkled countenance.
“You are prepared for battle then?” she asked softly and gestured to where Twilla's hands rested on her knees. The mirror was under them and one hand still lay upon its surface as if it had been halted in mid-swing. Twilla raised it to survey her fingers. They were reddened but the skin was not broken and, though they hurt, the pain was small and still seemed afar from her.
“I do not know—” Twilla answered, still half bemused. “Does it not depend upon the outlanders what we must do?”
“Your young lordling nurses fear. He has won his point with the upper lord. But there is trouble in that voice which will greet this leader from far away.”
Twilla slung the mirror once more around her neck.
“Not alone,” she said briefly.
Catha smiled again. “No, not alone, healer. I give you this to remember—when your heart tells you the moment—then heal as only you can. Be never doubtful, Moon Daughter. There are many things of power in the world, hidden and in use. But most of them pass by their own will and in doing so they shape the one who takes them.”
“All I have learned has come by chance—”
“Not so. What you have learned lay within you to be awakened. And there will be more and more, as you will discover.”
Twilla smiled uncertainly. “You give sustaining counsel, Catha.”
“I give what is to be known. Now come, we break our fast again. Night's dusk is growing heavier and the moonrise follows thereafter.”
The girl followed Catha and, passing among the forest people and the under men, she found Ylon. He sat with the bared sword balanced on his knees, running his hand up down the blade as if he polished it so, even as she had the mirror.
Twilla settled down beside him but did not speak. His head swung around so he was facing her.
“How far from moonrise?” he asked almost dully as if, having decided upon some act of duty, he discovered little hope in it.
“Not long. The messengers say that they still are enchained. But that the women wait with them.”
“This whole matter rests somehow on women. Those of the forest defeated us in the beginning. Then—” he paused, “Twilla, you were unwilling to come over mountain, were those with you also?”
“Those I had speech with, yes.”
“So we used women as weapons,” he commented.
“And yet, Twilla, you have already countered much of what was done and planned to be done.
“It is different within the forest. Yes, Lotis and some of the others fought, but in the beginning it was a fight to defend themselves. Here man and woman stand equal—each may have some powers open only to their sex. But those are weighed against each other and none is the lesser for it. Women have not fared well at our hands over mountain.”
“Each people has their own customs—”
“But,” he said abruptly, “the wise learn the best wherever that is made plain. Ustar would have put you to raw shame to mend his own pride—”
Twilla laid a hand over one of those busy smoothing the sword. “Ustar is Ustar—I have Ylon to know and remember.”
His forest-paled face suddenly flushed. “Healer—Lady—I am only half a man.”
“Here you have proved yourself complete!” she said sharply. That inner rage moving in her and with it the shame that she had destroyed his last chance of standing equal to his father and the men he had once commanded.
“Ylon—they come from the town!” Fanna stood beside them.
Ylon got easily to his feet and Twilla was instantly beside him. “Not you.” He sheathed his sword and flung out a hand to form a barrier before her.
“Yes. You have said that this included women, Lord Ylon. Very well I stand with those of my own even as you front those of yours.”
The moon was indeed rising as they pushed their way back through the brush and stood at the edge of the open land. The captive men were silent but their women still kept their places not too far away and from the distance came the pounding of hooves, a handful of tall men rode into the fuller light.
At least one of their questions was answered, he had brought no large force with him, that straightbacked leader whose mount paced well before the rest. Most of his followers wore mail and went armed, but two huddled in the dull cloaks of townsmen. Behind a horse's length or two, rode others—women—so Twilla was sure Rutha and Leela had returned.
“They are here,” Twilla said in a low voice, as that line drew up among the blackened spaces where the fire brands had left their scars.
Lord Harmond had still kept his place well to the fore, and now he raised his hands as his well-trained charger stood still and unlatched his helmet leaving his face bare in the moonlight. It was the same set countenance Twilla had seen at the lottery. This was not a man to be easily swayed though she had never believed that he would be.
She caught at the brush and pulled it away leaving an open path for Ylon. He moved forward with the same determined stride that any soldier on the march would use.
Twilla followed him a space behind, standing. She was aware of other movement. Oxyle might have at last been won to allow Ylon to be spokesman but he was there and with him Karla, Catha, Chard, his boar's staff deep plante
d as he stood, both hands clasped tightly around it.
“I am here—” Lord Harmond's voice was as cold as Ustar's ravings had been heated by rage. “My men you hold in bondage.”
Twilla saw a stir among that small group who had ridden here with him. Perhaps they wondered that their lord would admit so much.
“In bondage—not death!” Ylon's hand brushed his sword hilt. His head was raised and his father's voice was his guide so they spoke face to face.
“So speaks a traitor—Where is the commander who would talk with me?”
“He is captive to that whore before you—he speaks with her tongue!” The hoarse voice, worn by ranting came from the netted men, it could only be Ustar. “Do not deal with a traitor who bends to a woman's orders.”
Ylon made no answer to the taunt.
“I have been given the right to treat,” he returned calmly. “For I know what life lies in the outlands and what abides in the forest. You see your army in bonds, Lord Harmond, and I say to you that that is not the least of the defenses which can be brought against you.”
“I speak only with leaders,” the chill in his father's voice carried the arctic wind of mountain winter now. “No maimed man can treat with warriors. These have not given you back your eyes—perhaps they cannot. So there are limits to their powers. Make no mistake we shall search out such and use them.”
“Do you swear that by Izearl?”
The name seemed to reecho across the open. There was sudden quiet from the captives. Lord Harmond sat statue still in the saddle.
His features remained as if chipped from stone and yet Twilla sensed something—a kind of wavering which lay now in the air about them. The moon was unusually brilliant tonight. Like to the moon she had seen in the pool where her powers had been restored.
“You speak a name—” Lord Harmond hesitated as if trying to find words.
“I speak a name which must be well known in the outlands. Was it for Izearl that your priest built a balefire and would burn a child? Such was not the way of Arvanis. Have you bowed knee in Izearl's foul house?”
