by Andre Norton
He faced Eleeri, and his mind whispered warnings. He flung them off. What! Was he who had dueled other adepts to fear some wandering outworlder from an unknown people? He would take her spirit, break it to his will. Use her power to augment his own. Her friends would be useful to replenish his strength as well. They could have no ability to match his. They’d returned to him empty-handed; his slave remained chained.
He eyed Eleeri thoughtfully. There was something about her. Some vague familiarity. Then he snorted silently. What of it? She was nothing; they were all nothing. He’d regained a body, regained his own tower. Now they would pay. He flung back his head, laughing openly. Pride roared through him. He was master here. Let the insignificant ones bow to him—before he laid his power on them to compel. His eyes met hers and again the odd familiar feeling stirred. He stared angrily at the three.
Jerrany strained to move; Mayrin beside him struggled and failed even as he. From the corner of her eye Eleeri saw and understood. This task was hers. Her far-kin had opened the path to her; perhaps this was why. The Dark lord was not able to hold her entirely. This last act which would seal her heart and spirit to the land she had grown to love. She concentrated. Her foot slid across the floor.
Seated behind the desk, the Dark one noticed nothing at first. It was not until she had advanced several feet that he saw she moved. But even as he would have laid another spell on her, Eleeri, too, acted.
*Now!*
Hooves crashed against the door as four Keplian heads appeared briefly. The door sprang open a little, then slammed closed in spelled obedience. The Dark one jumped slightly, covering the movement by leaning forward.
“You have friends. They won’t help you. They will merely provide me with more power when I take them.” Hooves slammed solidly into the heavy wood, distracting him. He frowned, bringing his hands up to weave a spell. He’d make the door impregnable. Then he could deal with these inside first. After that, he would go out in his wrath to show those other fools what it meant to storm the tower of a Dark lord.
Eleeri felt his spell against her fade. Not much, just enough to allow her speech now. Under her breath she began to chant. From somewhere in the depths of memory she recalled the words. A plea to the gods to grant strength to a warrior who confronted the Dark forces.
“Earth Mother, aid your daughter. Sky Father, help a warrior.
“Ka-dih, speed my arrows, let my bow not break in my hands.”
She strained to break the power that held her captive. Blood pounded in her head—becoming the drums of starlight. Within that light she could see those who watched. Warriors, black eyes gleaming from where they sat proud horses. Warriors who nodded to her in recognition, war shields and lances upraised to acknowledge another of their blood. Her eyes widened at the salute. The starlight drums rolled louder as deep within she knew pride. Those who were gone returned to account her as child of their blood, true-born Warrior of the Tshoah.
Louder spoke the drums, and louder yet until her head rang, her body swayed to the raging beat of blood and drums. Deeper in her mind than she could ever have recalled consciously, a door slid open. From behind the barrier, words flowed, no ritual chant but one that built on she herself and all she was, and thus its power was greater.
“With the thunder I ride,
daughter to Ka-dih, child of Tshoah am I.
Walker on strange roads,
kin to a sister, four-footed, great of heart.
I do not bow to the rule of another.
Let Ka-dih look upon his daughter with favor.
I do not halt at another’s bidding.”
Her feet lifted a little as she swayed, stamping lightly to the surging rhythm. She allowed them to carry her forward a fraction with each stamp of a foot. Strength seemed to trickle into her with each tiny movement forward.
The Tower’s owner was layering the door with spells against the slamming hooves which threatened to smash the ancient wood. His words bound splinters together, froze hinges, jammed locks. Eleeri’s chanting grew louder as she called on the gods of her blood. She felt the answer as power poured into her. For a fleeting moment she knew the fierce pride of those who had ridden the plains, who had been known to all as Tshoah, the enemy people.
Her head came up as her chant grew. The man spelling busily broke off his efforts. His attention slammed back to her as he shouted a word. Eleeri’s voice slowed, but she forced herself to speak. It picked up speed. Now she moved forward, sword wavering in her hand. Despite further spells, her grip remained firm. The Dark one flung in all his power to hold her motionless. He failed. She slowed, but still she came on, his death glinting in her storm-gray eyes. Panicked at last, he lashed out at the wound on her arm. He would drain her blood; that would end this farce. She would learn what it was to confront a superior.
But Eleeri had bound her silver dagger over the injury as she left the shadowlands. On that the Dark one inadvertently drew, so that for seconds he convulsed in agony, silver’s spirit invading his mind. He cried out, concentration quailing, and as it did so, the clay mannikin leaped out from the chair.
The tiny body powdered against the stone flooring. From it Romar’s spirit rose up, entering his body as it lay flaccid against the carved wood. He remained still. He must take all the time he could to become used to it again. To allow strength to flow back into the once-empty shell. His eyes swiveled downward and his lips curved in the shadow of a grim smile.
About him yet he wore his sword belt with scabbarded sword in place. So, the evil one had been amused to allow this empty body to retain the trappings of its warriorhood. Well enough, that carelessness might come to destruction if Romar had his way—and time enough to recover. He relaxed. If there is nothing you can do, do nothing. Fretting wastes strength, or so his arms master had always taught him. He would wait. Hooves still struck at the door so that again and again it shuddered, booming hollowly. The very noise was infuriating the tower’s master. So, too, was this female who dared to move against him. Nor did all his shouted words of power halt her snail’s progress.
He moved back unconsciously, her grimness making him nervous. It was impossible she could reach him, quite impossible. But this silent inching advance was upsetting, as was that thrice-damned noise from the door. He fed power into halting her movements, drawing more from the spell which bound her friends. They appeared frozen in terror. They would keep. It was sufficient to give them back their voices, however, and Jerrany managed to turn his head slightly toward Mayrin.
“Be ready. If they can slay him, remember the gift.”
She allowed her gaze to drop down to where the faint bulge in her tunic betrayed Duhaun’s crystal.
“Yes.”
The increase in power had done nothing. Still chanting softly, Eleeri continued her slow advance. The room was wide, but she had covered more than half the distance. His chair grated against the stone as he shifted it backward once more. The door boomed again and again. He cursed viciously. He would stop that sound if it was the last thing he did. It offended him by its very sound, implying as it did that he was unable to enforce silence. In a fury he drew power from the spell holding Eleeri. He flung it wildly against the door. That would teach those who dared batter at the entrance when he had bade them be quiet. Silence fell at the door, but from where she stood Eleeri’s chant rose again.
“I do not halt at another’s bidding.
I am Tshoah, kin to Far Traveler.
Let the gods make their choices,
as I have made mine. I do not eat dirt at the hands of another.”
She staggered a whole pace forward as the lord of the Dark Tower gaped at her. The sword length gleamed in her slender hands.
“On strange roads have I walked of my own will. I do not walk with
another’s feet.
I do not strike at another’s word.
I am myself and my own.”
The sword lashed out.
“Ahe!” The coup cry of her hard-ri
ding line. The sword’s point brushed the Dark one, the keen blade slicing through cloth and leather to score across the hairless chest. Blood trickled down. In shock, fury, and a sudden deadly terror, the Dark one stared at his own blood. She had injured him—she had dared! He flung himself back as the sword hummed toward him again.
He fell back still farther, frantically searching for something which might halt her creeping advance. With her gone, he could deal with those others who dared oppose him. It was only this one he feared.
The sword sliced at him once more. Again he shifted back, giving ground. The word of power came to mind then. It was risky. It might take him with it, but he had no choice. At least they’d all die with him; none should survive to count a victory. He opened his mouth to shout it in triumph—and choked. The agonizing pain in his back was more than he could bear. He choked again, his head turning sideways to stare at the figure behind him.
Romar had risen to his full height. In two hands he had taken his unsheathed sword and driven it home. Now he slumped against the seat that had been his for too long. The Dark one glared at him in hatred and drew in a final breath. He would not die alone; he would take a revenge such as would be remembered down all the years to come. He opened his mouth to shout the word.
But even as Romar had struck, Eleeri had drawn back her blade again. It sang in flight, the tip slicing across his throat, destroying unspoken the word that might have doomed them all.
Drum thunder bellowed in her head. Somewhere beyond the room she saw the stone-headed lances toss high in salute to true-kin. Her voice lowered, deepened with triumph as she chanted the final words.
“I am myself and my own.
I am Tshoah—and thus do we serve our enemies.
I give thanks to the gods above, to Earth and Sky, to thunder.
I who am daughter give thanks to Ka-dih.”
Before her the body of the Dark one spilled blood. The light of hatred had faded from his eyes, life from his body as it slipped slowly, bonelessly toward the chill floor. Across the table, her eyes met those of Romar. A faint smile moved his lips. Hers curved in answer.
Released from the spells, Mayrin moved first. Her fingers flashed to tear open the lacings of her tunic. From within she lifted the crystal sent her. Raising it above her head, she dashed it against the floor, watching as bright splinters flew. About them the tower began to shudder. All that had been wrought by the one they had slain was failing. Only Romar knew how much that would be. It was he who seized Eleeri and his sister by the hands.
“We must leave, now and swiftly. There is a backlash of power when a master dies. Best we are gone before it builds too high.” His own strength was still small, but with the women’s aid he could stagger.
Eleeri grabbed at him. “No, look.”
Where the body of the Dark one had lain, mist was rising. A growing mist that shaped into the face of the man it had once been. His eyes flamed rage, hatred, vanity challenged and beaten. But from where the bright rainbow splinters lay, another mist arose. It wrapped the face in mist, enveloped it, closed in smaller and smaller until at last it thinned to reveal—nothing.
Romar breathed in deeply. His voice broke then. “That which was here is gone forever. The tower is cleansed. We have still to evade traps that may remain. But my master is no more.” His hand tightened on Eleeri’s. “I hail a warriorborn. I greet a friend.”
Eleeri grinned. “Save the speeches for when we are out.” Her head jerked around as the door boomed and splintered. Four Keplian heads poked inside.
*Sister, are you going to stand and talk forever, or may we leave this accursed place?* Tharna sent.
Eleeri grinned again and strode to join her friends. Behind her, Romar gaped. They had spoken of the Keplians. She told him of her belief that they had once been created to stand with humans in friendship. But never had he realized the majesty of the great beasts with their now sapphire eyes. Eleeri was hugging all four at once and checking for injuries. She wasn’t sure what that last silencing spell might have done.
*Nothing, battle-sister. It simply forbade the door to make sounds when struck.*
“And he wasted power for that? It killed him.”
Romar chuckled. “Thus does evil often defeat itself—with a foolish indulgence. The noise maddened him so that he used power to silence it. That power used released you somewhat, and your sword in turn drove him back to mine.” He reached out to take her hand. “You know my name, but as yet I do not know yours—only that you have called yourself Tsukup. Will you favor me with it?”
His eyes were warm on her so that she felt her spirits rise. This was a warrior, wise in that he gave credit to another. She had not been able to tell him all the story. He knew not as yet that they were far-kin. But for now that was not what he asked. In turn her fingers tightened on his hand.
“I am Eleeri,” she said quietly. “Now let’s get out of here.” Laughing, he leaned on her shoulder as she guided him through the door.
“I shall look forward to a round tale later. Also the Valley of the Green Silences must hear of all that has happened. But”—his face sobered as he gripped her arm—“I know what you risked to save me. Thanks are pitiful in contrast, but they are given.”
“And unnecessary.”
“But spoken nonetheless,” he insisted gently. “But I would share more than gratitude.”
She glanced up, to meet a look that sent blood to her face. She smiled up at him then. Well, she’d wondered if she was to be the only barren one in her canyon. It now appeared this might not be so. With a light heart, she shouldered more of his weight as they moved down the passage. There was much still to do, and perhaps in times to come, still more to be. But for now let them concentrate on escaping this trap.
Behind them, Tharna sniffed. *I scent water. Battle-sister, would it not be well to drink? The male you aid is weak from thirst.* Eleeri turned and nodded silently, gesturing the mare to search for the source. Hooves thudded lightly on marble pavement as Tharna moved to seek. Her nose poked out toward a circular spot in the blank wall.
*Here.*
Eleeri stepped up to lay the dagger against it. The wall seemed to writhe, then opened in a slow twisting motion. A basin protruded with a spout above. Water poured into the basin as the girl swirled her knife through it.
“No change.” Her eyes questioned the others. “Safe to drink?” Romar nodded slowly, then bent forward, holding the dagger within the basin as he drank. “It seems so. Let us drink lightly and move on.”
They drank one by one as the basin continued to fill. Then all shied back as from overhead came a faint slow creaking. It was as if the roof groaned at the weight of the keep above it. Jerrany glanced up worriedly.
“I think it best we move on. Sometimes when the owner is defeated, the building he commanded falls completely.”
Eleeri shivered. “Then let’s try to keep marching. I’d prefer not to be under this amount of stone if it does fall.” The last of the Keplians had slaked its thirst and Tharna sent agreement. The corridors passed by as they marched. Eleeri had shouldered Romar’s weight again; he could continue to walk, but only if he was aided.
Yet although she was growing weary, she continued to support him, trying to share with him her own strength. Hunger grew, both of body and heart. She felt warmth flow through her where his body leaned against her own. She had little to offer him, perhaps. He was son to a wealthy man, even though that one in his folly had scorned him. She was stranger, not of his blood completely. Would that matter to him? She recalled the moment when their eyes had met over a slain enemy. Nothing had mattered then, nothing but that the enemy was dead and the captive freed.
She prayed silently to the gods now: Let it continue so. Let us be one as more than far-kin.
The corridor was slowly opening out into a wider hall with great windows high along one side. Through these, sunlight streamed, making pools of warmth on the chill paving they walked.
19
/> As they passed one of the great windows, Romar drew Eleeri toward it. He stared hungrily at the landscape. So long, so very long since he had seen grass, felt the breeze or the sun, smelled the scents of his land. His face tilted so he could look at the woman beside him. There were some who would not see the beauty there, but he was a warrior, a hunter; to him, the strength, the lithe grace were beauty, and the clean lines of her face, the proud tilt of her head. She was as lovely as a fine sword, as graceful as a wildcat. He desired her, but more than that; over the nights when only their talking had kept him sane, he had come to love.
He eyed her wistfully as they rested. He had so little to offer. He was brother-in-law to a keep lord, but all that brought him was friendship. Mayrin would give him gifts if he wed, but they would get nothing from the grim old man who’d fathered them. Last word had been that he had wed again, some girl left husbandless by a sword in battle. She brought to him one child. Rumor had it that another would soon come, and that the old man had promised her the keep as regent if so.
True or not, to claim his birthright he would have to return to his father’s hold. Give up the wild lands out here which he had come to love so strongly. No—let this girl and her heir keep what was promised. He’d make a holding out of these lands and name them his.
If only . . . if only this one beside him, her flank warm against his, would accept a penniless hunter. He watched her face; he did not think she would be swayed by greed. She was not of that kind. But all women desired homes, and he had none to offer her. He wondered briefly where it was that she lived. Somehow they had never spoken of that in their dreams. She had probably feared to give a clue to her hiding place, should he break under the Dark one’s use. Curiosity claimed him then. Where did she dwell out here in the wild lands? Once they were free of the tower, he would ask. If it was big enough for two, maybe she would share. He could bring a hunter’s skills, a warrior’s training, some little gear and goods. He gathered himself as Jerrany signaled the end of resting. Gods, let them just be free.
