by Andre Norton
When I at last reached the lowest corridor, I had to lay Mereth down in order to extract the elder’s key and unlock the door to the postern chamber. Recalling how that door had shut behind me before, I had to assume the same magic could again protect our backs once we had entered the room. It was still deeply unsettling to behold the heavy door swinging shut and locking by itself, but I was almost immediately distracted by the formation of the eerie floating patch of light signaling the postern’s opening. Carrying Mereth, I stepped through, hoping that the Lormt folk would be aware of our coming.
Evidently, Ouen had ordered that someone be present in Lormt’s cellar at all times. When I emerged, one of the elderly scholars was standing nearby, his face stricken with fright and amazement. I cudgeled my wits for the proper Estcarpian words. “Do not stand there, man,” I told him. “Fetch a healer!”
Speechless, he snatched up his lantern and scurried toward the distant door, but before he had proceeded very far, was met by two figures hurrying toward us.
Alerted by their unnatural talents to the postern’s activation, Duratan’s mate and the Wise Woman were approaching at a fast walk that quickened to a run when they saw that Mereth was injured. Dispatching the scholar to inform the others, they assisted me in laying Mereth on one of the wooden benches. “What happened to her?” the Wise Woman demanded.
“It was necessary to fight,” I replied. “Gurborian and Gratch are dead. I believe Mereth’s leg is broken.”
The Wise Woman had been delicately feeling Mereth’s body and limbs. “Also some ribs,” she snapped, “and who knows what else.” She glared at me as if she held me personally responsible.
“Were you wounded in the fighting?” Duratan’s mate asked, raising her lantern to shed more light on me.
“A mere bruise or two,” I said. “Attend to the lady—her injuries are more severe.”
Mereth suddenly opened her eyes and fluttered her fingers. “I think she wants her slate,” Duratan’s mate observed. She turned to Mereth. “Is that what you wish?”
Mereth nodded vigorously. By great fortune—or perhaps the force of long habit—Mereth had retained her slate and chalk in her tunic pocket. The Wise Woman extracted them, while Duratan’s mate supported Mereth to a sitting position so she could write. I lifted a lantern to provide illumination.
CHAPTER 24
Mereth–events at Krevonel Castle and Lormt (21st Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/ 20th Day, Moon of the Knife)
The gnawing agony in my injured right hip combined with the searing ache in my left knee to distract me from noticing the unsettling effects accompanying our postern transit. I knew I had returned to Lormt when Nolar spoke to me and Jonja retrieved for me my slate—only slightly cracked—from my tunic pocket. I had become increasingly aware of another sensation overriding my pain. I recognized with a start that it was the same mental pressure I had earlier felt at Krevonel’s conference table, except it now waxed even stronger.
I remembered the flash of silver in Kasarian’s hand when he stepped back from Gurborian’s body. Seizing my remaining sliver of chalk, I wrote on my slate for Kasarian to read, “You found the jewel. I sense its presence. Let me see it.”
He hesitated for an instant, then slowly drew out the chain. The brilliant blue stone I had discovered at Vennesport so long ago at last dangled before my eyes at Lormt.
Jonja gasped audibly. “It is truly an object of great Power,” she whispered.
Nolar peered thoughtfully at the jewel. “I feel something akin to the puissance of my own Stone of Konnard,” she said. “Perhaps this jewel, too, possesses similar healing properties that might relieve Mereth’s pain.”
Kasarian dropped the pendant into my outstretched hand. The instant it touched my flesh, all other sensations diminished as if cast into the depths of a bottomless well. My mind reeled as a strange, insistent voice addressed me. Before I became incapable of acting, I managed to thrust my hand into my pocket, unclenching my fingers and breaking my contact with the jewel.
I snatched my slate, and wrote for Nolar to read, “Elsenar has enspelled a message within his jewel—an urgent plea for aid. I long to write it for you, but my hand grows unsteady. Can you carry me to a bed? I fear that my pain is such that I may swoon at any time.”
Jonja emitted a derisive snort. “A plea for help that has waited a thousand years to be heard can wait a few more hours—or days. Your leg and the rest of you needs a healer’s attention. What can be delaying that scholar? He should have notified Ouen by now.”
My vision was beginning to darken again, but as often happens in times of great strain, minor irritations can assume undue significance. I abruptly realized that my hands were bare, and managed to scrawl, “Pray express my apologies to Mistress Bethalie. In the struggle with Gratch, I have lost both her fine gloves.”
“Good riddance,” Nolar said firmly. “They were atrocious to look upon.” She turned her head away toward the distant door, and smiled with relief. “Be of good cheer—Duratan is bringing the litter we used to transport Master Kester when he fell and broke his hip.”
Her voice unaccountably receded, as if she had moved far away, then swooping darkness obliterated all further sensations.
My next awareness was of a ravishing smell of herbed broth. I opened my eyes to find myself in a bed of glorious softness, propped against a bank of pillows. Nolar was sitting nearby, stirring a pot suspended over the fireplace coals.
I raised my hand and slapped the bedclothes to attract her attention. She hurried to my side at once, bringing a pannikin of broth and a horn spoon. No wealthy merchant could have savored the finest banquet fare more than I did that simple broth. I gestured for my slate, but Nolar would not give it to me until I had drunk the last drops of nourishment.
I saw at once that my poor old slate, companion for so many hazardous leagues, had been replaced by a fresh slate mounted in a sturdy wooden frame. Nolar handed me a piece of chalk, and I wrote, “How long have I been asleep?”
“Nearly half the day,” Nolar replied. “It is more than an hour past midday, and all of us are most grateful for the respite after last night’s exertions. Although,” she added with a mischievous smile, “we are markedly curious to hear Elsenar’s long-delayed message. When you are certain that you feel strong enough to convey it, Master Ouen wishes to be informed. Since this room will not comfortably accommodate our full assembly, he suggests that chairs might be placed in the hall.”
I wiped my slate, and wrote, “Pray tell Master Ouen that I, too, am most anxious to learn whatever Elsenar sealed within his jewel. I cannot know in advance the extent of his message, but if you will fetch me parchment and ink as before, and a table we may position across the bed, I shall try to transcribe Elsenar’s ancient plea.”
Within the hour, my bedchamber had been converted into an audience chamber. Morfew claimed a cushioned chair near my bed, the better to hear the reading. Nolar insisted upon sitting next to me, where she said she could most easily read the pages I wrote and also provide any refreshments I might require. Ouen sat beside the door, while Jonja and Duratan placed chairs just outside the door in the hall. Kasarian preferred to stand at the foot of the bed.
While I had slept, in order to attend to my bodily hurts, Jonja and Nolar had removed my baronial clothing, replacing it with a long-sleeved, high-necked linen nightgown which was far more comfortable. They had bandaged my aching ribs, and my knee, and had applied a wondrous poultice to my hip, which both warmed and numbed the area. I felt considerably more alert, with far less pain than I had upon my return through the postern.
Oralian’s green velvet tunic had been carefully draped at the foot of the bed. I did not have to touch it to know that Elsenar’s jewel remained within its pocket where I had left it. I motioned for Kasarian to hand me the tunic. When I had first grasped the jewel in Lormt’s cellar, my impressions had been confused and fragmentary due to the strain of my injuries. I had to hope that Elsenar’s spell would allow
me a second opportunity to receive his message now that I could devote my entire attention to it.
I shook the chain and pendant out upon the table positioned above my lap, then deliberately seized the jewel in my right hand. Like a rush of icy mountain stream water, the enspelled voice of Elsenar poured into my mind.
CHAPTER 25
Elsenar–his enspelled message transcribed by Mereth at Lormt (21st Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/ 20th Day, Moon of the Knife)
“Greetings, Child of Mind. However distant in time you may be, I know that you will heed my call and come to my aid. Hear now the tale of my plight. I am Elsenar, Mage of the Light. I conjured a postern from Lormt to the land of Arvon across the sea in order to seek assistance from like-minded mages there in meeting the perilous challenge from the Shadow emanating from Escore. My first attempt was disrupted by the unprecedented forces loosed at Lormt by our mages’s disastrous efforts to conjure a Master Gate. The momentary existance of my postern probe to Arvon, however, was detected by a Dark Adept there, one Narvok, who was himself seeking to open a Gate, but lacked sufficient Power. He lay in wait for me, and when I later launched my second spell, he twisted my postern’s opening to his lair so that I was drawn into a Duel of Power as soon as I emerged. My jewel afforded me insight into Narvok’s intentions. I immediately framed a spell to pitch him through his half-opened Gate and seal it behind him—but he, in turn, discerned the inestimable value of my jewel, and by tapping Power from his Gate spell, for an instant, he succeeded in stripping the gem from my grasp.
Before Narvok could seize his prize, however, both of us were overcome by a third and far greater Force. Unknown to either of us, the place where we contended had been a Site of Power in the distant Elder Days. The energy of our spells had stirred the residual Force to awareness of us. It fastened upon my jewel, dashing the gem from Narvok’s control to the stone floor beyond my reach, while simultaneously expelling Narvok through his Gate, and disintegrating the portal once the Dark Adept had passed through it.
Lacking my jewel in hand, I was at a great disadvantage, seemingly unable to communicate with the aroused Force. I felt myself beginning to be swept back toward my postern’s opening to Lormt—but the excess of Power unleashed in that place was more than either my modest spell or its framer could bear. My very being was reft in twain; one part of me was ejected through some portal beyond my knowledge, while the rest of me was englobed, as in a drop of amber, within the walls of that place. Yet I was not truly physically present there, for I sensed that my fragmentary essence was so insubstantial as to be invisible. Still, my jewel was physically present, and because it was so intimately linked to me, I could bespeak it by mind-call. Through it, I entreated the Force of that place to examine both my jewel and what remained of me, to determine that I intended it no ill will, and was not of the Shadow as Narvok had been.
At once, I was subjected to a pitiless appraisal that probed my inmost being. To my extreme relief, the Force ruled me acceptable . . . but in its dealings with Narvok and me, all of its Power reserves stored through the ages had been expended. Its mind-touch fading, the Force expressed genuine regret for causing my sundered condition, then to my horror, it ebbed away, diminishing beyond my mental reach.
Lacking physical substance, I could not touch my jewel, even had I been capable of movement. In one sense, my suspended state was fortunate, for I required neither food nor drink in my bodiless condition. I could only wait for someone to enter the place, someone whose mind I could address by means of my jewel. I had no way to know what span of time elasped. I was entrapped in what appeared to be an underground vault, but it might lie beneath an inhabited castle or an abandoned ruin. Flares of light released during our Duel of Power had revealed a stone staircase in a far corner of the chamber, but that rose to a landing and twisted so that no outer light penetrated to delineate day from night . . . or, as I was to find to my dismay, season from season.
When at last a figure finally stumbled into the chamber, its heavy outer clothing was laden with snow! I caused my jewel to pulse with a bright light so that it would both provide illumination and attract the intruder’s attention. At once, the figure threw back the fur-rimmed hood of its cloak, exposing an unmistakably female face.
As she drew nearer to gaze upon my jewel’s waxing brilliance, I used that thread of visual contact—for she was no mage nor even mage-trained—to call to her mind. I employed the simplest of commands: “Come to me.” She was receptive to my mind-call, and once she reached down and grasped the gem in her bare hand, I achieved a strong mental link with her.
It was instantly apparent that she could not act to free me, for she possessed neither the knowledge nor the Power to wield my jewel. During my immurement, I had considered such a likelihood; I could scarcely expect that the first person to enter my prison would be an Adept. I had also considered a possible strategy to employ should my first potential rescuer be a female untutored in magic.
It would have been unspeakably shameful to use my Power to force this woman against her will—only those of the Dark would dare such evil. I therefore described to her my desperate situation, and proposed my remedy—that only with her free consent, I would, by my ma sire a line through her body so that one day, the resulting empowered Child of my Mind could return to this place, able to wield my jewel and release my enspelled fragment.
I sensed an immediate turmoil in her mind. The very thought of magic repelled her—a most curious reaction which I had not foreseen, but I could not know what alterations in attitudes might have occurred while I had been entrapped. Simultaneously, however, she was also fiercely attracted by the possibility of childbearing. Throughout the three years of her marriage, it had been her ardent desire to bear sons by her husband, but no children had been granted to them.
After intense deliberation, she told me frankly that she was accustomed to weighing all the costs and benefits of any proposed course of action before committing herself.
I was most favorably impressed by her prudent demeanor. Should she consent to subject herself to my spell, this woman of forceful character would serve as an admirable mother for my rescuer-to-be. Since she could not perceive my invisibly ensorcelled remnant, in order to assuage her understandable fears, I provided her with a vision of my previous physical appearance.
I further assured her that the action I requested was not to be viewed as a betrayal of her wedding vows. I entreated that she and her husband foster the child of my mind as if it were their own. Indeed, in an additional attempt to ease her aversion to my Power, I suggested that I could, for a set time, veil her memory of this entire incident. From her first intimation of pregnancy, I wanted her and her husband to consider and then rear the child as their own. I did insist that when the child reached a practical age to be able to commence my rescue, she would regain her clear memory of this encounter so that she could impart directions and advise in the planning. I explained to her that if she did choose to help me, she must agree to take my jewel with her, for it would maintain my magical protection over her and the child, insuring that both would survive.
“She pondered my offer, then affirmed her willingness to assist me. She did ask that I perform the temporary obscuration of her memory. To account for possession of my jewel, I proposed that she would remember it as a valuable gift received from a secret source, and that would safeguard it for the child’s coming of age (should it be a male), or betrothal gift (should it be a female). When that time came, her full memory of our bargain would return; she would present the jewel and its accompanying obligation to the child of her body and my mind.
“Upon her agreement, I expressed my profound gratitude, and at once commenced my initial incantations. To promote introspection and the development of a reflective nature, I set strictures to produce a child mute from birth, who should also be gifted with the insightful touch, allowing instant future recognition of my jewel, mind to mind.
“Know therefore, Child Who-is-to-come, tha
t I, Elsenar, your father, implore you to hasten hither to free me. You must seek guidance to this place from your mother, the Lady Veronda of the Dales. . . .”
CHAPTER 26
Mereth–events at Lormt (21st Day, Month of the Ice Dragon/ 20th Day, Moon of the Knife)
At first, Elsenar’s mental voice totally dominated my senses, but gradually I recovered an overlapping awareness of my Lormt surroundings. I found that I could briefly lay the jewel aside while I wrote Elsenar’s words for Nolar to read aloud. I wished that the others in the room could “hear” the degree of urgency underlying Elsenar’s magical communication. Somehow I knew beyond any doubt that there could be no possibility of deceit in such a message. The emotional overtones were stark—Elsenar had been convinced that his sole hope for rescue depended upon the response of his enspelled plea.
I glanced up for an instant. Lormt’s party of listeners were thoroughly engrossed by Elsenar’s account of his unnatural incarceration. As I resumed my transcribing, Elsenar’s words “to produce a child mute from birth” echoed through my mind. I was gripped by an icy sense of foreboding. I forced my fingers to continue to wield my quill until two unbelievable phrases assailed me like the lash of a whip: “I, Elsenar your father,” and “your mother, the Lady Veronda of the Dales.”
Had I possessed a voice, I would have cried out in utter consternation. I did not feel the jewel drop from my nerveless fingers as a tide of darkness swelled within me, blotting out all sensations.
Afterwards, the others told me that quite abruptly, I seemed to stop breathing, and fell back against the pillows. While Jonja chafed my hands, Nolar fetched her nearby satchel and thrust a handful of crushed herbal leaves under my nose.
