by Andre Norton
He could see Ibycus weaving back and forth, keeping his feet only by his hold on the staff. Then from the mage’s forefinger flashed a last and great starburst. It struck full center on that weaving of the light. There was a sound which sent them deaf. They all fell to the ground.
There was complete silence, Kethan, lying face down where that last great blast had thrown him, heard only his own breath coming raggedly. He made a great effort and forced his head around.
The gate . . . there was no gate, no arch, no city risen out of the past! Even the black lump which had stood there and which they had seen from afar was flattened—gone. Washing up about where it had been was a lacing of white wave. The clean smell of the sea came to clear the air and out of the sky wheeled birds, white of wing, swooping and soaring as if they played some game.
Between Kethan and that world’s end lay the others. He had not been the first to stir. Aylinn was drawing herself inch by inch toward the two who lay so close together—Ibycus, his head half hidden by his crooked arm, and Elysha, whose hand rested on him as if she had made a final effort to aid.
There was Firdun also, his hands planted on the ground, visibly straining to raise his body. And beyond him another. Another . . .
Was Kethan caught once more in one of those dream visions? No, the city was gone, the gate was gone, what remained now was only the truth. On his hands and knees Kethan pushed toward those who had defeated and survived—or had they?
Aylinn was on her knees now, pulling at Ibycus, striving to roll over his limp body. Elysha raised her head, struggled upward to aid the girl.
But for this moment there was another calling Kethan, calling him with something deeper than magic which could be learned, something which was bred into him and was now aroused.
He dared not try to rise higher than hands and knees, and, with each pull forward, his lungs labored and his head shook as he doggedly fought the terrible weakness of his body. He was dimly aware that Firdun was stirring now, but his attention was all for that other.
She lay curled as if she slept. Her face was toward him and she was all he remembered from that night vision—save that now on her forehead above and between her closed eyes was a point of light, star bright.
Kethan pulled himself along with a fierce need to know. Had life itself been drawn from her? He collapsed at last beside her body and put out a hand which shook to touch her cheek. His lady of fur, his lady of—
Her eyes opened slowly and at first it was as if she did not understand what she saw. Her hand moved slowly over the soft black suit as if hunting for something gone.
“Uta!” He had cupped his own hand under her head, drew it to rest against his shoulder. “Uta!” And he knew that that was the name she bore.
There was surprise on her face, and then a surge of light like happiness.
“It is served—my time of exile. . . .” Her voice was hardly above the softest of murmurs, but he heard it easily. Now she looked straight at Kethan. “No, great warrior, I am not of the kin—no were. But shapechanging was set upon me long ago. How . . .” Her hand went to her forehead, where that spark gleamed ever brighter. “The promise is fulfilled at last.”
Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Yes, it was promised, but so long . . . so long . . .”
“The past is gone.” Kethan drew her even closer. He wanted this treasure he had found to be a second part of him. Now his lips touched the salt of the tears on her cheeks. Then found her own lips waiting for him. What did the past matter for either of them now?
“Uta.” He wanted to sing her name, but he had no bard’s voice. Her arms were about him now, her lips as eager as his. They were lost in that magic which had nothing to do with sorcery until a cry startled them.
Aylinn held her flower staff across Ibycus’s body. The mage’s eyes were open. He looked at her, then to Firdun on his knees by him, and, lastly, up to her who cradled his head.
Somehow Kethan gained his feet and drew Uta up beside him. Together they stumbled toward the others. Ibycus’s eyes steadied now upon them.
“Well done, huntress and far wanderer. Serving the Light has broken the burden you have carried so long.” His voice was the faintest trace of sound. “Neatly did you trip that Dark one.”
“Lord . . .” Uta dropped from Kethan’s hold once more to her knees. “The time of exile—”
The mage smiled. “Is past. You bear your pardon and will hold it all your days. Also you have chosen and are chosen, and that is as it should be.” Now his gaze passed to Aylinn. “Do not fret yourself, Moon Daughter. To every living thing there comes an ending. For every Power there is a price. Payment is now demanded of me.”
“Be not so sure!” they heard Elysha say. “You have always been so quick, so sure, dear lord, of the needs of duty, of everything but that which lies deep-buried within you. It is time for the seed to open, and let the plant grow and flower.”
Swiftly, before he could protest, she shifted his head and shoulders to Aylinn’s hold. Then she walked some space away as they watched her wonderingly.
Up went her arms and around each wrist blazed fierce purple fire. “I summon—let me be answered!” she cried—demanding, not pleading.
They saw it take form in the air even as had the vanished city, but far brighter, like a rainbow, glittering with scattered bursts of colors. Steadily it grew more visible as it descended, more solid, until, as it met the ground, Firdun felt a tremor, heard sound.
Then Elysha beckoned to them. “Bring my lord.”
Kethan and Firdun between them took him up. His weight seemed no more than a fraction, like that of a child, his body shrunken, his face shadowed as if age were fast creeping upon him. They carried him as easily as they could and Elysha pointed to a place within the palace’s wide-open gate. She stood there as if for anchorage until they left him, and then returned running.
“Glamorie, then, dear heart?” he asked.
She laughed. “To each his own. It has always served me well.”
He had held to his staff during their transport. Now he lifted his other hand to keep them where they were and they saw that the ring stone was cracked, shifting away in ash like bits.
“Firdun”—there was more strength in the mage’s voice now—“well have you served and even better will you serve. He who is a warder passes ward to the proper one when his time has come. Take you this.”
He held out the staff. Firdun wanted nothing so much as to refuse. But there was that in him now which made him accept it.
“Gryphon’s get,” Ibycus continued. “You are not less than your kin, only called to walk another path. And I hold no doubt that you will tread it well. Now my time is past and I think my lady grows impatient.” He smiled at Elysha, who now took his head up against her shoulder once more. “Return you to the Eyrie, that your story will be known there and at Lormt. There still lie pools of the Dark, but if the gates are closed as they will be, there will be nothing to feed them from afar. May the grace of the Power watch over you.”
His eyes closed and he sank deeper into Elysha’s hold as the castle arose from the black sand. It was bright enough to make them close their eyes and when they opened them again it was gone.
Aylinn rubbed her hand across tear-wet cheeks. Firdun stood with the staff in both hands now. There was a grim, shut look about him as if he was no longer one of them but faced a duty which was drawing all light and laughter out of his life forever. Aylinn studied him for a long moment, then she came to him, holding out her moon wand so that it matched in straight uprightness the staff. The flower was fully open, though they stood in the light of late afternoon.
“No path must be walked alone,” she said. And the light in the flower appeared to pulse as she spoke. “There are many different ways of warding and watching, Firdun. Shut no doors until you are sure.”
Frowning, he looked at her, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His shoulders had slumped as if the staff had become a
burden to pull him down.
“Ibycus rode alone.”
“Ibycus was one man; you are another. Make your own choices, Firdun. Do not accept past ones as duties which must be followed. Look you.”
She held her moon wand closer until one of the outstretched petals of the flower touched the staff only a finger’s-breadth away from his own hold.
It was as if some of the stars which had been words sprung to life again, running along the length of the age-darkened shaft. Firdun gave a small broken cry.
“Aylinn!” Just as her wand had come to him freely, so did she now.
“With you—with you I can.”
“Of course you can,” she answered triumphantly. “Ibycus knew it or he would not have passed his Power to you. You will come to be even as he was—the hope of many, a sure shield against the Dark.”
“Lord . . .”
They turned their heads.
It was Hardin and Guret with Lero, standing together. And Hardin pointed to the lace of waves. Those caught together in new understanding, felt the wash of water now about their feet, splashing upward.
“The sea comes.”
Kethan laughed. “A time for all felines to withdraw! And we have a long road before us.”
“Let it be so,” Firdun said. It seemed to the others that there was a new note in his voice. Almost, Aylinn thought fleetingly, that if she closed her eyes she might have believed that had been spoken by Ibycus himself. A long road, but not alone—no, never alone.
And, as they drew back, the sea washed up over where the gate had been.
Interlude: Es Port, Es City, Estcarp
I t was a fair enough day, and the sea wind which poked intrusively into the tower lookout was fresh rather than chilling. But the Lady Loyse drew her double woolen scarf more tightly around her shoulders, even though she was well aware that the chill she felt lay within her and was not an assault from without.
She tried not to count the days she had stood here, looking out over the great harbor, past the evil black blot that was Gorm, the cursed. There were ships aplenty. It was a good summer for traders, and the Sulcars were making the best of brisk winds and stormless seas. She could count five ships at anchor now—but not the one which meant the most.
The sea she knew—the worst of it. Verlaine, where she had been born, had been one of the old menaces. They had not been pirates, those of that hold—but equally as evil, for they had thrived on wrecks, and nature aided them in the worst storms by driving ships full on the fang teeth which lay beneath the water not far offshore. Verlaine could not have been the only one of its kind. What wrecker lords ruled in the north, in Alizon, overseas in the lands unknown?
There were there pirates also. However, a nest of them had been efficiently cleaned out near Seakeep in the northernmost Dales.
The Dark was abroad and where it might manifest itself next, or in what fashion, who could say? They had some communication with the Eyrie in Arvon, but that was far from the coast and those laboring there knew nothing of the perils of the sea.
Koris, now Defender and War Marshal, virtual ruler of Estcarp, was no taller than she, but she had seen him deal so well in battle that no foe dared come at last to face his wide-shouldered frame.
Loyse forced a laugh. “I am like a green maid waiting for . . .” She hesitated and was lost, but she would not let him see tears—never that.
“You are a very great lady”—he was speaking directly against her cheek now, his breath warm—“and you have a son gone from your hearth.”
“News?” she asked that, even though she knew that if there had been and, he would have told her at once.
“The Tall Sails is in from Seakeep. Their master took barge before they came to direct anchorage. He has only rumors and some knowledge—that the bergs are unusually numerous and faring farther south this season.
“Also”—and now he had drawn a little away from her—“Vixen has asked for a meeting.” Lightness was gone from both his voice and his face. Loyse pursed her mouth as if he had offered her something sour to taste.
“What spell would you set upon the waters, dear heart?”
Though he wore heavy boots with his half armor, he had not made enough sound to distract her from her concentration, so she was startled as he moved up beside her, his strong arm, well muscled from axe-swinging, closing about her waist. She turned her head and looked directly into his eyes.
“Let us go, then.” She turned toward the winding stair. “Koris, you dealt so many years with those of Vixen’s kind. How did you keep your tongue ever civil? I had thought that the new gathering of witches were of a more calm and peaceful nature—until she was wished upon us for our contact.”
“Dear heart, Vixen is as nothing to some of the High Ones in the old days. They armored me well. Nor is she like her sisters now—except there may be one or two lingering on. But the strongest died or were burned out with the Turning and the new ones are more tolerant of us.”
They came down to the barge which would take them upriver to the city, and the rowers set their oars to a sharpened drumbeat which not only kept their swing of arms to a rapid pull but warned any craft ahead of them to give right of way.
Loyse did not settle back into the cushions at the stern but sat bolt upright. Could there have been news from one of the gate-seeking parties which was important enough to force Vixen to call them? Had there come some discovery from Lormt? She had a small regretful thought at how little Lormt had yet aided them. The Sulcar records uncovered there were all of a later date when the sea people had made strong contact with Estcarp and the Dales. So little as a guide—a legend! But then, legends sometimes yielded up their cores of truth. At least Estcarp and Escore were cleansed of any of the unfortunate and threatening openings into other times and places. And they had been well able to follow the southern seekers.
With Arvon . . . who knew unless Hilarion had once more opened his spellway with the Gryphon’s stock?
“They have only a limited season.” She spoke one of her fears aloud. “These in the south, in Arvon, need not fear an early winter.”
“True.” Koris did not try to belittle her word-concealed fear. “But Captain Stymir has traded north and gone farther than any of his people for generations. He knows well what is to be feared.”
She knew that as well as he, and she was ashamed to be so on edge. Their son Simond was battle-tested. And he had Trusla by his side. No one yet knew just what powers she had—she refused to be tested by the witches—but that she possessed such was very visible to anyone also talented.
At least Vixen had not been foisted on Simond and Trusla. Frost, their selected witch, was of the new blood: very well trained and yet amiable with those outside her own small calling.
Ancient Es loomed over them and then the citadel engulfed them. Loyse, though Verlaine had been old and had much of a dark history, had never felt at ease in these halls. All was too old—seeming to reach back before people were people and other presences dwelt here.
Koris kept his office in the lower room of one tower and it was there that the most private business was conducted. They had no sooner entered than Vixen was upon them. Loyse resented bitterly—for Koris’s sake—that this witch, chosen to be their contact with her kind and Lormt, loomed well above both of them. Nor was she beanpole-thin as might have seemed in keeping with their austerity, but as broad-shouldered and hulking as a man at arms.
As usual all her face except for her eyes was impassive. Those two points of light half hidden by the puff of her cheeks were never pleasant to face. Loyse had her share of highborn pride and she had nothing to be ashamed of in her past, yet when Vixen cast one of her cutting glances in her direction she felt as if she were still back under her father’s cruel rule.
Koris had seated his lady with all the formal courtesy of the court (that, too, was a small reminder of his rule here) and had waved Vixen to a seat across the small table piled high with maps and reports.
&n
bsp; “You have news, Lady?” He came directly to the point.
“Of a kind.” Her thick tongue swept across her lips as if she savored what she had to say. Which meant, Loyse knew, it was trouble. “Our watch sister near Korinth has sent a warning.”
“Korinth.” Koris was already reaching for a map. “Yes, the secondary new settlement of the Sulcar, north of the Alizon Border.”
Loyse wanted to smile but kept any signs of levity under strict control. Did Vixen think that she could for a moment know more of his duties than Koris?
If she was irritated by the fact that a meant barb had not gone home, the witch did not show it.
“They have given refuge to strangers,” she continued. “People not of their kind, nor Alizonderns, nor of the Old Race. These are fleeing from the north and their shaman”—she used the word with a tone of disgust—“babbles of trouble building. They dream, do these strangers, and take a nightmare born of lack of food—or too much of it—for some revelation from the Great Power.”
Koris’s attention seemed fully for the map. “If the winds continued fair, the Wave Cleaver should be at anchorage there. Stymir has kin in Korinth and so access to the latest rumors out of the Great Cold. Their wisewoman accepts these refugees as such in truth?”
Vixen gave a curt nod. Loyse thought it was plain she would like to express an opposite opinion.
“Well enough. With the storm of the Magestone’s passing, raw power doubtless passed around the world. Who knows what balance it may have upset in these lands we know nothing of?”
Loyse’s fingers tightened in a hard clasp where her hands lay on her lap.
“What is the news from Lormt?” Koris asked with the same tone in which he would have required a report from one of his menie.
“They dig and they delve, and that adept urges them on. But as yet he has no answers and he has no touch with Arvon.”
“And it is southward these refugees flee.” Koris was busy with the map again. “Of your favor, Lady, call upon this outland sister of yours and ask for all she can tell us—even to the smallest detail. It may even be necessary for her to leave her post and go to Korinth to learn all we should know.”
