by Andre Norton
When I saw that I could not sway the disputants to accept my plan, I withdrew from Lormt to a forester’s lodge in the nearby mountains. The simultaneous working of spells by so many Adepts at Lormt was creating continuous cross-currents of Power. I determined to act alone, using my jewel to open a postern to Arvon. I had framed my spell and actually begun my transit when the most awful catastrophe occurred.
The main body of Adepts, having descended to the very roots of the Lormt citadel, had invoked a Great Spell, mightier than any ever before attempted by Adepts of either the Light or the Dark. As they had expected, a multibranched Master Gate did briefly form at the quaniron spheres’ Power focus, but the Adepts balancing the intricate layers of spells lost control of the structural flux. An unbelievable surge of Power blasted outward from Lormt, disrupting my comparatively feeble postern spell. I was literally snatched back to the forester’s lodge, where I lay for some hours, stunned in both body and mind. As soon as I had revived, I rode immediately to Lormt, where I learned the appalling extent of the disaster that had afflicted us.
There was no one left to testify to the events that had scoured the spell chamber, but apparently, when the Master Gate coalesced in the center of the chamber, it must have exerted an irresistible suction that pulled all of the spell-workers into its maw. The apprentices and retainers who had been stationed in the outer corridor told me that they had been blinded by a blaze of light and deafened by a thunderclap of sound. At that same instant, the Power surge erupted from the chamber, physically dashing them to the floor.
The only Adepts spared to us were those few elderly mages whose bodies had been thought too frail to dare the exertions involved with a Great Spell, and a few others who had shared my distrust of the project and had declined to assist. Even in their tower quarters remote from the spell chamber, they, too, had been rendered senseless by the discharge of Power loosed when the Master Gate vanished.
From a formidable force representing the Light, our company had been reduced to a devastated remnant. I gave what succor I could to the dazed survivors, and dared one magical effort in the spell chamber to establish contact with any of the missing Adepts. The very air in Lormt’s lower vault had been drained of all energy. I knew with cold certainty that the Master Gate was unreachable, and all those who had passed through it were lost to us forever.
Once all of us had recovered sufficiently to gather in the great hall, I conferred with the remaining Adepts and apprentices—a pitiful number compared with our former strength. They agreed with me that our only hope now lay in an appeal to Arvon’s Adepts of the Light, but feared that no one could be spared from our watch on Escore. With the residual Power of the quan-iron spheres to aid us, we could just barely preserve the same evident force level as before. That was vital, for we knew that Escore’s Dark Adepts would have registered the Power disturbance rippling outward from the Master Gate’s collapse. They would certainly soon emit questing probes to seek the cause of the disturbance, and to test our remaining strength. As the primary bastion of the Light, Lormt had to appear to be unchanged and impregnable.
Having already once constructed a postern to Arvon, I offered to re-establish that link and essay the mission to seek aid from our brothers to the west. After agonized discussion, the others bade me to make the attempt. Ordinarily, I would have allowed myself a day or more of rest and meditation before I again conjured such an extended postern. In view of our perilously decimated situation, however, I waited only long enough for a fresh mount to be brought before I set out for the forester’s lodge.”
[Mereth’s hand abruptly faltered. She snatched up a fragment of parchment, wrote on it, and handed it to Morfew, who hastily rounded the table to peer down at Elsenar’s journal.
Alarmed, Ouen asked, “What is amiss?”
“Mereth can no longer sense Elsenar’s message,” Morfew said, pulling the study lamp closer to illuminate the opened page. “Master Ouen,” Morfew exclaimed, “the hand composing this journal has altered. I can read this script! It appears to be an addition by an apprentice—a distraught apprentice, as well he might be. . . .”
“Morfew,” said Ouen in a decisive tone, “pray share your discovery with us before we become distraught.”
Morfew was instantly contrite. “Forgive me, dear friends. Could you fetch one more lamp? This scrawl is so ragged that some words are difficult to make out. Thank you. ‘Master Elsenar has not returned,’ ” Morfew read haltingly. “ ‘It has been . . . three days! Old Master Verdery was taken to the lodge to employ his scrying glass. He detected vestiges of a spell so shattered by intense Power flow that the postern to Arvon which Elsenar had anchored there could not be re-established. We fear the worst—that a Dark Adept in Arvon must have intercepted Elsenar. We can ill bear the loss of one of our few remaining Master Adepts. May the Light defend us!’ ”]
CHAPTER 14
Mereth–events at Lormt (10th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/ Veneration Day, Moon of the Knife)
When Morfew stopped reading and closed Elsenar’s journal, we all sat in shocked silence.
Ouen was the first to speak. “It would seem that our present dangers may echo long past events. As in Elsenar’s time, Lormt may once again be imperiled by Dark forces from Escore.”
Morfew, excited by other aspects of what we had just heard, briskly rubbed his hands together. “I never thought to learn the origins of Lormt,” he exclaimed. “At last, Master Ouen, we possess evidence concerning when and why the citadel was constructed.”
“And why it was almost preserved untouched during the Turning,” Ouen commented. “We knew that our quan-iron spheres were somehow involved, but perhaps an explanation emerges from Elsenar’s account. The spheres provided Power for the working of the Great Spell, and for the watch upon Escore. I believe we may reasonably suppose that when Lormt is in any way subject to a magical assault, our spheres have been prepared to produce a protective enclosure spell to encompass the entire citadel.”
“Which we certainly observed, to our benefit,” Morfew agreed. “Had not the earth subsided following the Witches’ Turning, Lormt’s walls would have held—but once the Witch-magic departed, our sheltering spell bubble withdrew, and the damages Lormt suffered were entirely due to non-magical causes.”
I had by then retrieved my staff, and thumped it to draw their attention. “We may now also understand,” Nolar read my words, “how what I had considered to be my betrothal jewel first came to the western lands; Elsenar carried it to Arvon a thousand years ago when he crossed the sea through his postern from Lormt.”
“The critical menace we face is here and now, not a thousand years ago,” Kasarian declared impatiently. “You have admitted that if Gratch succeeds in arranging an encounter with the Escorians, the Dark mages would be aware of this ancient jewel of Power now possessed by Gurborian.”
Jonja nodded grudgingly. “Yes,” she said, “even if the jewel was not worn in their presence, the Dark mages would recognize its magical aura lingering from Gurborian’s physical association with the stone.”
“But Elsenar described his jewel as being singularly attuned to his mind,” Nolar pointed out. “Do you suppose that such a personal binding might prevent any other mage from tapping its Power?”
“We must recall that a thousand years have passed,” Ouen said. “It is possible that any limitations impressed by Elsenar upon his jewel may have weakened over so long a time. While I feel confident that mages of the Light would not seek to impose their wills upon an object of Power attuned by another, I suspect that mages of the Dark would not likely be bound by any such scruples.”
Duratan had been quietly pacing. He moved a chair next to Morfew and sat down, propping his stiff leg upon a document chest. “Two reasonable outcomes suggest themselves in that regard,” he mused, “and I do not welcome either one. If the Dark mages can draw upon the Power inherent in Elsenar’s jewel, should they acquire it, then the peril to Estcarp would be unbearably increased. On the
other hand, if the Dark mages attempted to force their wills upon the stone, and it resisted their efforts, might there not be another immense discharge of Power, such as that caused by the destruction of the Master Gate?”
“It is obvious to me,” said Jonja tartly, “that Elsenar’s jewel can not be allowed to fall into the hands of servants of the Dark. It must be controlled by, or at the very least be held under the protection of those devoted to the Light.”
“But how can we achieve that end?” asked Morfew. “We are here in Lormt, and Elsenar’s jewel is in Alizon.”
“Your question has a simple answer,” Duratan replied ruefully. “It is an answer simple in the stating, but far from simple in the achieving: we shall have to wrest the jewel from Gurborian.”
“Has Lormt an army at hand of which we are unaware?” Kasarian inquired in a coldly polite tone. “Baron Gurborian is unlikely to surrender his jewel for the mere asking, however persuasively you may phrase your request.”
“Perhaps you can suggest a more promising course of action?” Duratan challenged.
Kasarian nodded, ignoring Duratan’s sarcasm. “We cannot waste precious time on raising a fighting force or travelling the distance overland to Alizon City,” he argued. “If the spell that delivered me to Lormt will also function in the opposite direction, I could return through Elsenar’s postern in your vault and attempt to recover the jewel from Gurborian.”
The Lormt folk all tried to speak at once, until Ouen raised his hand to restore order. “You would dare such a mission?” he asked the Alizonder.
Kasarian’s voice was firm. “I would.”
“A drastic reduction in offensive force, would you not say,” observed Duratan, “from a prospective army to just the one man? Unless Baron Gurborian customarily marches about alone, and you can provide a well-armed household force to waylay him, I urge that several of us accompany you on this quest . . . to improve our chances for success.”
Kasarian stiffened, about to respond, but I thumped my staff to forestall him. All during their discussion, I had been forcing my hand to write. From the moment that Duratan proposed the forceable capture of Elsenar’s jewel, I knew that my course of action could not be denied. Although my spirit—indeed, my very body—shrank back from the conclusion that my mind had reached, I knew I had to interpose myself in these crucial deliberations.
I handed my parchment to Nolar, who read for me, “Remember the stricture on Elsenar’s postern spell: only those of his blood may traverse that passage. I believe that I, too, must somehow be related to Elsenar; otherwise, why would my mother term his jewel to be our family’s betrothal gift from olden times? Could it be that my talent for insightful touch might derive from some measure of previously unknown mage blood? I suggest to you that my appearance weighs in favor of my passage to Alizon—you may have noticed that my hair and eyes could be mistaken for an Alizonder’s. Furthermore, I possess one commandable attribute for a potential spy—I can commit no slip of the tongue in the enemy’s presence. Besides, should Gurborian have hidden away Elsenar’s jewel, I assure you that I can identify it by touch, even in the dark, if need be.”
During Nolar’s reading, Kasarian had leaned forward in his chair, his face drawn with dismayed surprise. “You cannot mean,” he blurted, then paused, and stared affronted at each of the others in turn. “Surely on so vital a mission, you would never consider dispatching an old, speechless female!”
Morfew smiled. “Mereth is not at all accustomed to the sheltered ways of our Alizonder females,” he said mildly. “I hasten to inform you that the women of the Dales are every bit as active as the men, in both trade and warfare.”
I nearly broke the point of my quill in writing my reply for Nolar to read to Kasarian. “Young man, in my seventy-five years of life, I have likely traveled farther and endured more fighting than you have. I can do more with a staff than merely lean upon it, and during my days as an organizer of war supplies for the Dales, I became a keen shot with a dart gun.”
Kasarian did not immediately reply, but his thinly veiled disdain for me seemed to be replaced by an air of wary reassessment.
Ouen again raised his hand to focus our attention. “We have before us,” he said, “two proposals: Kasarian’s offer to attempt a return to Alizon by postern to act on our behalf, and Mereth’s offer to accompany him. We must weigh the virtues and the drawbacks of each offer. I suggest that Kasarian withdraw briefly to his guest chamber to ponder his appraisal and response to Mereth’s offer, while we of Lormt abide here to discuss the merits of his offer.”
Kasarian instantly stood up, and bowed to Ouen. “I perceive why you are regarded as Lormt’s chief scholar,” he remarked. “You speak wisely. I welcome the opportunity for a private examination of this . . . irregular proposal.” He turned, bowed to me—to me!—and touched his House badge, then left us, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Jonja waited a moment, then eased open the door and looked down the corridor. “He has gone toward his chamber,” she confirmed. “Shall we leave the door ajar?”
“I think not,” said Morfew, amused. “Kasarian will likely truly retire to reflect upon the notion—quite bizarre to an Alizonder, I assure you—that a female can be expected to do more than produce strong whelps and mind a household.”
I sat very still. I had never before had occasion to think about Alizonder women and how they might live. None had ever been seen during the Dales war; we had assumed that they either did not choose to travel with their men, or were not allowed to do so. Should they be customarily kept as virtual prisoners in their manors and castles, it might be difficult for me to move about freely in Alizon City . . . assuming that Kasarian would accept my company.
Duratan was again fretfully pacing. “How can we dare to trust one Alizonder baron to oppose another such?” he demanded. “Now that Kasarian knows the awesome strength of Gurborian’s jewel, might he not try to seize it for the benefit of his own House—or worse, inform the Lord Baron so that he might act?”
Morfew shook his head, all traces of humor banished. “No, I believe that we may rely upon one sure fact: Kasarian would not venture to keep such a jewel in his own possession. The Line Sired by Krevonel was ever one devoted to the old ways. They feared and despised any association with magic. I think we can also trust Kasarian’s unswerving hatred for the Line that murdered his sire—such actions are not forgotten in Alizon.” His voice shook as he added, “That is why we have been cursed over the years by blood feuds. Deep wounds leave deep and lasting scars that persist over generations.”
“Should Alizon loose its fighters upon Estcarp at the same time that we were magically assailed by Escore’s Dark mages,” Duratan worried aloud, “then our plight would be truly desperate. Our Witches have not yet fully recovered their strength from their mighty exertions required by the spells that caused the Turning.”
“I fear that they will never completely regain their former strength,” said Nolar sadly. “So many of them were killed or woefully afflicted by the excessive Power they wielded. Even now, the Council in Es City continues to search the land for young girls—even children—to be trained as rapidly as may be in order to reconstitute their numbers.”
Jonja glanced warily outside the door, then rejoined us at the table. “Should such an awful double assault befall us,” she said, “I would not be surprised if the Witches’ Council chose the same tactic resorted to by the Sulcar when the Kolder sent Gorm’s mindless masses to capture Sulcarkeep.”
Ouen stared at the table, but his eyes were focused upon something other than the wooden surface. “The utter destruction of Sulcarkeep was an act of sorrowful necessity,” he said. “May the Light forbid that we of Estcarp ever be driven to such a violent ending.”
“Lormt presumably would endure,” asserted Morfew stoutly, then he paused, and added, “provided our quaniron spheres continue to protect us.”
“Who would want to exist in a single, isolated fortress surrounded like
an island by the flood tides of the Dark?” asked Duratan bitterly.
“In regard to the possible outcome of a mission to Alizon,” observed Morfew, “should Kasarian and Mereth succeed in passing through Elsenar’s postern, how could they go about securing Gurborian’s jewel without being captured or killed?”
“Kasarian will have to formulate a plan feasible for use in Alizon,” Ouen replied. “We must then judge whether his plan holds a reasonable prospect for success—as well as whether it provides sufficient protection for Mereth. It disturbs me greatly,” he said directly to me, “that because of the postern’s stricture, you alone may represent us, risking your life for Estcarp’s sake.”
My hand was steady as I wrote for him to read, “I am an old woman who had thought her remaining active days were likely few. If this mission should be my last journey, I have no regrets. We of the Dales can never forget what you of Estcarp risked to aid us in our time of need. I have been a trader all my life. Fair service in return for fair service—what honest trader could offer less?”
Ouen’s smile softened his usually stern demeanor. “The Dalesfolk have ever been known for their steadfastness and courage,” he said. “Jonja, will you fetch back our guest? We need to hear what plans he has devised.”
CHAPTER 15
Kasarian–events at Lormt (Veneration Day, Moon of the Knife/ 10th Day, Month of the Ice Dragon)
It vexed me that I had not fully grasped the mute female’s potential for disturbance. Soon after we commenced our joint search of Lormt’s archives, Mereth poked her writing slate at me, querying me anent Gurborian and why he had been awarded “her” jewel. I thought it advisable to plead ignorance of the details due to my relative youth at the time, thus I did not inform her that the first bestowal ceremony had taken place shortly after my twelfth-year’s Presentation to Facellian, the Lord Baron at that time. I had already left Alizon City when Facellian was deposed, so I did not actually see the jewel until its second awarding to Gurborian by Lord Baron Norandor at this just-past New Year’s Assembly. Mereth did not press the matter, but I suspected that she did not entirely believe my disclaimer.
