by Andre Norton
They had dismounted among this place of stone tree trunks, for the footing was rough and they could move only slowly. Sometimes there were cracks in the surface of the ground in which it would be only too easy to catch a hoof.
The desolation about them, the ever-soaking rain, made Keris feel as if they had been captured by one of those fabled gates and shaken into a world which was no longer that he knew. Jasta was surefooted, yet he dropped a little behind, coming up behind the pack ponies. And his presence seemed to subdue their stubbornness, for they followed Keris’s tugging with no great protests.
The pillar trees gave way to a wide-open space. Open to the sky but not to the traveler—for in its center rose such a strange bulk that they halted at the very edge of the pillar land and stood staring at it.
Whereas the other gates the witch jewels had drawn them to were indeed worn away by centuries, this squatting erection made one uneasy to look upon. Keris remembered those strange shapes which abode in the otherworld of that Dark Tower where three of this party had ventured to save a life—and a spirit.
Massive, with no sign about it that it had been in any way pieced together, it was gray-green in color and, like the serpent head which they had buried, fashioned in a form which could only have served the Dark.
Its limbs were pressed tightly to the ground and its back was a warty hump. The face—if that which was at the fore of its ball head could be called face—was plainly close to that of the small, water-dwelling amphibians Keris knew from childhood. Jaws gaped for at least half the length of the head. There was no visible nose, nor any eyes; the warty skin stretched unbroken from jaw to crown of head.
Theela reared on her hind legs and trumpeted a challenge, the fierce blue of her eyes gleaming ever stronger. Those about her were making warding signs. That there was nothing to come from here but evil struck them all.
Although the Lady Eleeri tried to stop her, Mouse moved out of the group now clustered, gathering close as if human and beast sought protection in the presence of each other.
The light of her jewel flickered and Mouse stared ahead. She had taken only a step or so and now she stood still. Her voice, soft as it was, reached them clearly.
“This is—aware. . . .”
Keris’s shoulder nudged again Jasta’s sleek hide. No dead gate this, but perhaps one which at any moment might suck them in through that great mouth, or spit out at them some new horror hitherto unknown.
“Theela.” To Keris’s surprise it was the Keplian mare Mouse summoned. “Eleeri, Romar.” She added, then, the names of the other Keplians. Keris was left as Jasta moved forward, though Mouse had not named him. It was a strange company now fronting the lowering thing. Keris knew that the Lady Eleeri possessed Powers, some not even of this world, since she was one who had come through a gate. And the Lord Romar who was her mate had been greatly tried in battle with evil and come forth one of the conquerors.
He could see that even as they stepped forward, the hands of the two humans were moving in gestures, though they drew no weapons. The Keplians—who, until the Lady Eleeri had broken an ancient spell, had served the Dark—went mainly unwillingly. But these Keplians were free, and somehow, even as he stood some distance away, Keris could feel a backwash of Power generated by the three black forms—while Jasta, he was well aware, held within him that talent which was born in all his kind.
“Can it be locked?” The voice of the Lady Eleeri was very steady as she asked that. She had flung one arm over Theela.
“That we have not learned.” Mouse cradled her jewel in her two hands to press it against her forehead. “They search at Lormt—but we have not discovered how to seal a gate. If it were ever known. We cannot seal, but we can wall.”
Lord Romar nodded as if he understood at once what she suggested. He moved to take Eleeri’s free hand, though she kept still her touch on Theela.
“Widdershins,” Mouse said, and turned. Lord Romar followed, bringing with him his lady and Theela. Behind them abreast came the two other Keplians and Jasta.
They went slowly and Keris saw the lips of the three who were human moving, though he could distinguish no words. However, he was sure that what they uttered were the spells in which they most trusted.
The animals almost appeared to shimmer. In spite of the rain, there was a glistening gleam to all their coats and they kept carefully in line as they went. Three times that strange party made a wide circle about the drop-jawed thing.
The power they called touched those who waited. Both falcons suddenly took wing to soar above the bulk, weaving back and forth in graceful flight. And Keris found himself repeating words which held no meaning but had somehow reached into him to be uttered aloud.
There was movement within that gaping mouth, a thick black line, like one of the anchor ropes of the Sulcars thrust out. But in that moment Keris, for a second, caught sight of something else. There was a change in the fall of the rain. It seemed to thicken heavily, to form a wall along the path the dealers in Power traveled.
He was never truly sure, though the memory of it held through the years, if he had indeed witnessed it—that that rope had come within touching distance of the half-illusionary wall and been snapped back.
Those who had spun the web came back to the others.
“We must find a place—away from here,” Mouse said hurriedly. “For I must report to those at Lormt. An evil active gate—that must be known. Our walling cannot hold for long—but it may be that my sisters can reinforce warding from afar.”
So they trailed once more through the pillar forest and came at last to normal-looking land. It was dusk before they reached soil which bore living green bordering on a river, and beside it they set up their camp. At least with the coming of night the rain ceased and they were able to build a fire and attempt to dry out clothing and eat a larger meal than the last two they had allowed themselves.
Mouse withdrew to a small private place they had made for her by piling the packs together. And Keris went on watch, sharing duties with Vutch and Vorick. Lord Romar was using a rather wan light given off by a ball he carried in his wallet, which he brought out but seldom, to light his additions to the map he carried of their day’s passage. They must be close to the south border of Karsten, but this was country Denever did not know. He had led them as best he could through those portions of the rough land which would give them cover. And he had volunteered to scout to the east, which project they were discussing this night.
Keris was glad to be free of his guardianship of the pack train. Even with Jasta’s help he found the balky and sullen ponies hard to manage. Yet Liara had never appeared to have much trouble with them.
Liara—and the Gray Ones. For the first time Keris wondered at Mouse’s easy acceptance of the girl’s disappearance. To be untalented among those with power was to be as one blind or deaf, he thought suddenly. He knew that the Alizondern girl was not accepted cheerfully by the company—the Falconers and Borderers had fought her kind too often. And, considering the age-old hatred the witches had held for them, he wondered that she had been so openly made welcome at Lormt. However, it was also known that those who were struggling there to untangle old knowledge for the good of all did have some odd connection with the hounds.
Where was she tonight? He wondered. She had taken a pack from their stores, but it had only been a small one and he was sure she had no experience in living off the land. Gray Ones—his hand went now to his own belt.
He had forgotten that—the knife with a blade of quan iron which he had found in the curiously withered body after their battle. He knew of Liara’s skill and he was certain that the knife was hers—he should have returned it to her. That lapse picked at his mind as he kept sentry.
Denever did head off the next morning, striking farther east and going alone except for his Torgian. Mouse seemed to be at ease; whether she had indeed enlisted some distant Power to hold the gate, she did not say. However, she had another report for them.
&n
bsp; In all, nine gates had been located in Escore, where the abundance of talent made the project easier. Five showed signs of life and were under guard. Marshal Koris’s searching parties in Estcarp had added three more to the total of those discovered in their own territory. One of these appeared dead but was being watched just the same, and the other two quiescent. Keris was certain that those must have been dealt with temporarily as had that one they themselves had found the day before.
“Was there ever any record,” the Lady Eleeri asked when Mouse was done with her report, “how many adepts ventured into this wandering worlds scheme—any list of who they were and their own homes?”
“That is now with Hilarion and Kaththea,” Mouse replied. “Hilarion reported two gates of his own and he deactivated them as well as he could. But the adepts were not friendly among themselves. It was their pleasure to make some new find and astonish their fellows, but not explain how they achieved the results they paraded later. However”—her small face was drawn and tired—“most of the Old Ones were of Escore and Arvon—that was the world before the Great Battle broke all apart. Therefore what we may find here in the south are the works of either wanderers, more than usual distrustful of their kind, or of refugees who were scattered after the First Ending.”
They did not push on that day. It was plain that the expenditure of talent had been hard on both human and animals. The two Borderers fished to good results and Keris on Jasta, with Falconer Krispin, went hunting. They brought down a good-sized pronghorn and Farwing took four grass hens—such abundance of meat to build up their dwindling stores as they lingered for a second and then a third day to dry it, waiting for Denever’s return and some report as to what lay downriver and whether they might expect to run into some of the roving parties which seemed now to provide Karsten’s fate.
During a second such hunt on the following day they came across evidence that Karsten still had pockets of life strong enough to hold the chaos at bay. Farwing, on scout, picked out what lay ahead, reporting to Krispin.
“A road”—the Falconer smoothed the head of his feathered companion with a finger—“and apparently one in use. Farwing saw a party traveling it. Perhaps we should take a look for ourselves.”
Better know the worst as soon as one could, Keris silently agreed. If their present camp by the river was not at the edge of an overgrown wilderness, but rather bordered on inhabited holdings, they must be ready to move on.
They dismounted, and Jasta drifted a little ahead as scout. Following him, Keris and the Falconer came through a narrow ravine which provided a path for a small stream with bush growth enough to afford them cover.
There ran the road, rightly enough, and Keris was quick to take the meaning of that space on either side: not quite as wide as an arrow flight, but obviously cleared, so that an ambush would be hard to set.
Whoever ruled this part of the sadly war-torn land had the will and power enough to keep open roads. And roads meant not only quicker movement for armed forces but also for traders. Where went traders there was peace, even if an uneasy one.
The road ran across the stream with no benefit of bridging and Keris guessed there was either a ford or just a shallow flow of water.
The party Farwing had sighted was already close to the fording. There rode a cluster of armed guards and within their circle of protection a litter swung between two sturdy horses, brightly curtained though somewhat tarnished by road dust. A section of this had been looped back that the rider within could view the scene. Keris caught sight of a rich-colored robe which could only be that of a noblewoman, and he saw a silver-banded arm fast-closed about a small, struggling child who was red in the face and screaming as it tried to free itself from restraint.
Behind the litter came three women in more sober garb, their heads nearly hidden by winged caps, mounted on slow-pacing horses. Then more guards. They all held to the plodding speed of the litter horses, though Keris noted that several of the men acted as outriders, seeking the very verge of the cut-back growth for their passage.
“Luscan!” That sharp exclamation from his own companion was startling. Just as the Falconer had spoken, so did the bird on its saddle-horn perch let shrill a carrying cry.
There was instant answer from the wayfarers. The guard split smoothly in two, one half taking their places around the litter and the women riders, the three closest headed toward the ravine while their companions maneuvered to withstand a charge.
Before Keris could move, Krispin sent his mount forward as his bird uttered another screaming call. Then Keris noted that two of the guards wore the equipment of Falconers. Their own birds were mantling and quickly answered Farwing’s cries.
One of the three Falconers below pushed up the bird-beaked visor of his falcon helm.
“You ride, Brother of the Eyrie, on oath?” The part of his face Keris could see was that of a much older man, and a seamed scar lifted the corner of his lip to one side.
“I ride on oath,” Krispin answered steadily. “I ride in no quarrel against the brotherhood—though the Eyrie no longer exists.”
The guardsmen below were taking their cues from the Falconers. There were hands on sword hilts and bows well forward, but they seemed willing that, in this, their own fellow traveler take the lead.
Krispin lifted his own beaked visor and then, as if to make his identity certain to the other, he took off that helm entirely.
“You are Luscan of the Barred Wing Flight,” he said. “I was fledgling in the season you took flight command.”
“And who was your trainer then?” came quick demand.
“Asshfar—but he took flight long since, even before the rending of the Border.”
“Asshfar,” the other repeated. “So, boy, what do you now—play blank shield as the rest of us to scrape a living?” His twisted mouth was a sneer.
“I have taken service as my flight commander bade me—”
“With Baron Jerme? You ride boldly enough on his land.”
“Cross it only. Those I ride with have a geas set.”
Luscan stared at him. “What does witchery and geas have to do with an honest fighting man?”
“Perhaps much. But this I will swear to—by sword and blood, talon and beak—we come not to trouble any dweller on this land.” He hesitated and then added in a voice which was a tone sharper, “Be they of the Light.”
Luscan grunted, but it was plain that the oath Krispin had offered was binding to him.
“Whose shield badge do you raise?” he asked in a slightly less arrogant tone.
“That of two lands, perhaps even of Karsten, since that which we seek lies also here, as we have already proven twice.”
“Riddles!” That rather querulous voice came from the woman in the litter. “Speak plain or be taken for what you are—masterless and eager to profit by such freedom.”
The two other Falconers urged their mounts a few steps forward until all three faced Krispin. Keris tensed, knowing that if this turned from speech to sword, he would have a part in it.
“There is threat of the Dark for all men of good spirit.” Krispin made no move to resume his helm. “We come out of Estcarp, out of Escore, out of Lormt, to seek the seeds of death.”
“Witches!” Again it was the woman who spoke. “Have they not brought enough death upon us? Where lies my dear first lord, servant of ill power? Under the rocks of the mountains, lost forever.”
Her voice was nearly lost in a rush of wings. All four of the falcons had, by no order Keris was aware of, taken flight. At the same time Jasta’s warning hit him:
*Trouble. An ambush set and now they grow impatient. Their master is not an easy one.*
Down the stretch of road still before the cortege there frothed and bubbled, rising out of the grass of the verge, their natural hiding place, rasti—the great rat things who lived only to kill and eat.
Perhaps the scouts had not sighted this because they had been seeking more normal dangers. The screams of the women rang
as high and violent as the neighing of the frightened horses. Though they might grow no longer than a man’s forearm, yet rasti in a pack could well bring down a horse and rider.
Keris raised his voice in the Valley battle cry. “Light for sword—Light,” and Jasta bore him forward at a run. They met with the tail end of the pack. Jasta’s head went down. He caught one of the bloated brown bodies, snapped and flung it into the midst of the others, while he reared on high feet to bring forehooves into smashing play.
Keris fell into the familiar rhythm he had known ever since he had first ridden forth with Kyllan. He had left sword in scabbard. In his hand the fire lash of the Valley guard cut down into the pack and the screaming of those he seared ended as their own fellows turned upon them. For that was the nature of the foul beasts: Often they could be turned from their attack in order to satisfy their ravenous hunger on the bodies of their own kind.
Keris cut a path through the pack before they seemed truly aware of what enemy harassed them. Then Jasta wheeled and back they went, the flame lash sending sparks of light to catch in the fur of those it did not actually touch.
He was no longer alone in the battle, but was aware of war-trained Torgians stamping and rearing—though the steel used by their riders was far less efficient than the weapon from the Valley.
Keris was aware of a falcon in dive, turned to one side, and quickly reversed the swing of his whip to kill the rasti attacking from his left. The smell of scorched flesh and blood was like a mist rising among them.
He saw suddenly a block of the creatures heading for the horses of the litter. Those huge animals went wild, screaming and rearing. The litter came free at one pole, throwing into the dust of the road the child while the woman hurled herself after to protect the little one with her own body.
