“Hello, Aunt Ro.” He kissed her hastily. “Wherever is everyone?”
“At the fighting, Trevyn,” she answered softly, “or else fled.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Where is Mother?”
“Above.” Trevyn turned to go, but Rosemary laid a hand on his arm. “Trev—she is not herself.”
“How so?” He had not foreseen this.
“She is sad and troubled, even more than most of us.… But I hope your coming will cheer her.”
“Aene be willing,” he muttered, and plunged up the stairs.
Lysse was sitting at the loom in the large central chamber—only sitting, not weaving. She did not glance up as Trevyn entered, and he stopped for a moment to look at her, feeling the sight jab him like a knife. She was not so much changed; her dress was still soft green, her hair a flow of gold and her face rose-petal smooth. But her eyes were locked on pain like prison iron.
“Mother,” he whispered, then went and took her by the shoulders. “Mother.” She looked up at him and smiled, but the smile touched only the surface of her pain. He hugged her.
“Had you forgotten I was coming back?”
“Nay, not a bit.” Her face did not change. “I am glad to see you, Trev. There is much work for you here.”
“Mother,” he queried very gently, “will you tell me what ails you?”
“Nay, that I will not.” Her jaw hardened with the resolve. “But if you send your father back to me, perhaps we can cure it.”
“Where is he?”
“In the midlands somewhere.” She faced him, helpless to gauge the extent of his knowledge, now that her Sight was gone. “Have you heard about the wolves?”
“I have spoken to no one here except Gwern. But I have met those wolves already, here and in Tokar. How bad is it?”
“In loss of life, not really severe.… Perhaps some few hundred folk have fallen their prey. But the whole land quakes in terror of them. They roam at will, insolently bold. Even within doors people do not feel safe from them. They have pulled an infant from a cradle at the mother’s feet and torn a grandmother sitting by her fire. They spread nightmare like a pestilence. Strong men who have seen no more than a gray shadow have left cottage and land, thinking somehow to escape them. But the dread is everywhere.”
“How far afield do they range?”
“I believe they have not yet ventured far into the south.… A few have come to Laueroc, and you have seen how the town has emptied on their account. In the east, the land is desolate.”
“I must be off at once.” Trevyn rose restively. “I don’t have time to go hunting dragons.… Mother, where are the dragons of Lyrdion?”
“Long gone!” She peered at him, justly puzzled. “They have not been seen for years and years, not since Veran’s time.”
“Riddles,” Trevyn grumbled. “There is no time for riddles. I must go, and … Mother, I know you must stay here; you are the governor, with Father gone. But shouldn’t Aunt Rosemary be in Celydon?”
“I know she longs to go to her home. But Alan and Ket have both bid her stay by me, for her own safety and also to keep me company. Celydon is hard beset. What could she do there?”
“Do? Perhaps nothing.” Trevyn gestured helplessly. “She is the gentle Lady of All Trees, Mother. The wolves worshiped her once at the Rowan grove. Her presence could—I don’t know. Could stir the Forest back toward the old order.”
Lysse gazed, vague and absorbed, as if a distant bell had rung. “Of course,” she murmured. “A dark spell needs magic to combat it. But Isle has nearly forgotten the old magic.…”
“See if Aunt Ro can get to Celydon. I cannot take her there; I must go to Father. I’ll send tidings when I can, Mother.” He started out.
“Trevyn,” she warned, “the horses will not face the wolves, not even Arundel, before he died in the winter.”
“I knew old Arundel would not last long without Hal. But I have a horse of a different sort.” He paused a moment, bemused, thinking of that horse, then turned away again.
“Trevyn,” Lysse called after him, “you’ll need a sword.”
“Indeed!” He grinned at her; she almost sounded like his mother again. “I lost mine when that gaudy ship went down. What do you suggest?”
“Take Hal’s, then, and his shield and helm. And Trevyn,” she called him back again, “take care.”
“I will.” He regarded her a moment, then said quite suddenly, “Mother, your father sends you his love and greeting. He is with the tide now.”
“Ah!” Her face softened. “Then he is content. What is it like, that Elwestrand?”
“A gentle country, full of peace and enchantment and singing. I’ll tell you when I return.… Farewell, Mother.” He left her with light of Elwestrand in her eyes, and it eased his going.
Gwern had put some harness on the horses, Trevyn discovered when he clattered back to the courtyard. For his own part, he had armed himself and found Gwern a pack and some clothes. He instinctively knew better than to offer Gwern weapons. He had seen Gwern angry, even furious, but he could not envision him taking part in any ordered combat.
“I don’t need those things,” Gwern complained.
“Carry them for me, then. Come on.” They took some food from the kitchen, then departed. It felt odd to ride out through the deserted courtyard, the nearly unmanned gates of the city. Trevyn looked about uneasily. Laueroc seemed ready to yield with scarcely a struggle to a Tokarian invasion, and much of the rest of Isle might be the same. The warships might already have landed.
It took Gwern and Trevyn a week of hard riding to reach the midlands, and another two days to locate Alan. Wolves and King and liegemen had joined battle on a grassy plain near the Black River, a plain that had seen battle before, and more than once. In evening light the fighters appeared as a dark, struggling mass, like gurgling mud. A coppery blaze shot through it, and Trevyn pulled up his fey white steed. “The sword!” he gasped, stricken, and they both stared. Even at the distance, they could hear Alan roaring and snarling like the wolves he smote. The sound was blood red and crushing, like the mighty weapon in his hand.
“By my troth,” Trevyn breathed, “I’d as soon beard a dragon as handle that blade. The song you sang, Gwern …”
“Hal’s song. I could always feel him singing, inside.… He felt the shadow of Hau Ferddas, and the prophecy.”
“That it must be flung into the sea—”
“By a mortal of elfin kind. Your father is not the man, Prince.”
They had come up behind the wolves, opposite Alan, and Gwern’s steed had already started to plunge and buck at the lupine scent. Resigned, he dismounted and let the horse pound away. “Go on,” he told Trevyn. “I’ll join you later.”
“To do what? I have no desire to kill wolves, poor things! And I’m not going to touch that bloody sword, either.”
“Go on! Just go to your father. He needs you, and he certainly doesn’t need to see me. Go on.”
Trevyn bit his lip and nodded. He unsheathed his silver sword, a gesture only of defense, and put heels to white flanks. Without hesitation, the cat-eyed steed cantered forward.
Alan raised a sword that flew on wings of rage. The battle meant nothing to him except the release of rage; kingdom, family, friends, and folk had long since ceased to matter to him. His innermost will was locked into hatred, and he watched in bitter triumph as his sword beat back those who tried to slay him.
His men, and men from all the southern towns, and from Whitewater and Lee and as far north as Firth, followed him apprehensively. Perhaps their King was demented, but what choice was theirs? They hoped they kept the wolves from doing other harm, that they saved a few lives in Nemeton. Alan wanted to drive the wolves clear away from the Forest into the southern sea. It appeared as if he even thought he succeeded. But his men could see that every day the creatures made a mockery of their efforts, toyed with them gleefully, leaving them cheerfully at sundown to return as cheerfully in the morning
. If Alan’s army moved, it was because the wolves chivied them and harried them and herded them here and there, picking off panicky men who faced them only because they had found it was worse to run, to feel the shadowy horror panting behind. Only Alan seemed oblivious to dread of the wolves. He dreaded night worse. While his men took all too brief a respite, he paced, shutting out a nightmare he refused even to name. He strode to battle almost eagerly in the mornings, for then he could lose himself in the glory of his magical sword.
So when the setting sun blinded him one evening, blazing in his eyes, he cursed; he hated it. He hated to remember that Hal and Trevyn had passed beyond the sunset, to the uttermost west, whence there was no return.… What figure rode toward him, emerging out of the sunset, a form armed in silver but haloed in rays of gold? It shimmered before Alan’s blinking eyes like a vision of the glorious past that he had nearly forgotten in the gory present. It was Hal! But it could not be Hal.… Hau Ferddas thudded to the ground, and Alan stood without noticing, watching the rider draw nearer. A shout sounded in his ears, someone seized him and tugged him back from the fray, but he only stared. The approaching horse was white, its forehead blazing white, on its breast a crescent of silven It sprang fiercely, almost joyfully, into the midst of the wolves, scattering them with its hooves. The rider laid about him with the flat of his sword. Golden hair shone under the silver helm, and gray-green eyes flashed beneath. It was not Hal, then, but someone like him, a hero of elfin stature whom Alan did not know. He had spied the enemy leader now, the big wolf that always sat and grinned; he sent his horse lunging toward it. But the wolf shied away, yapped once, and all of the wolves loped off. The men cheered, but the rider sat his horse and watched the gray beasts go without pursuing them.
Alan pulled away from the arms that held him, walked forward without realizing he had taken a step. His bloody sword hung from his limp hand and dragged in the dirt as he stumbled around bodies of men and beasts. The rider heard him coming, glanced around, and snatched off his helm as he slid to the ground. “Father!” he exclaimed, coming toward him.
“Trevyn?” Alan whispered.
“Ay, to be sure!” The young man gripped him, for Alan swayed where he stood. “What, have you forgotten me already?”
“Nay, indeed. But you have changed.” Alan looked as pale as if he had seen a ghost. “And I felt quite sure that you were dead of shipwreck.”
“Why? Did I not tell you I would return?” Trevyn smiled, teasing, trying to rouse Alan to some touch of joy. But Alan only fumbled at an inner pocket and brought forth a jeweled brooch, a sunburst of gold.
“I picked this up along the shore,” he explained dully.
“That brooch,” said Trevyn with feeling, “has taken part in more mischief than I can fathom! Guard it carefully, and keep it away from the sea. By the tides, I shall tell you a tale of that brooch! But first I must tell you a tale of these wolves. Let us go where we can talk.… Father, you look spent. Take my horse.”
Trevyn had to help him onto the cat-eyed steed. As they prepared to leave, Ket came up and merely glanced at Trevyn in greeting.
“Liege,” he addressed Alan, “shall I have the men advance their position?”
“Do what you like,” Alan told him numbly, and turned away. But Trevyn shook his head, and Ket silently acknowledged.
Trevyn walked off by Alan to the cottage where he had established his post of command, a mile away. Ket ordered the men to stay where they were for the time. Then, discreetly, he also made his way toward the cottage, to watch over Alan as he had done for many weeks, and to speak with Trevyn when he could.
Inside the cottage, Alan sank onto a seat without moving even to clean the blood from his hands. His clotted sword rested between his knees, naked under its coat of gore. Trevyn quietly found wine and poured his father a tumbler full, which he handed to him with some biscuit. He did the same for himself and found himself a bench along the wall.
“You will have heard by now that I met with these wolves before I left Isle.”
Alan scarcely nodded. Dazed from weariness, Trevyn thought. He went on.
“I was a fool not to tell you of them. I hope I have gained better wisdom since then, but at least I can offer knowledge.”
As briefly as he could, Trevyn recounted his adventures, speaking not so much of what he had done as of what he had learned. He brought forth the parchment that was headed by a leaping wolf and explained its meaning. Silence rang hollowly in the room after he finished. It was a long moment before Alan stirred and spoke.
“You have studied in sorcery?”
“After a fashion, ay.” Trevyn frowned in puzzlement. His father hardly seemed to have heard him.
“Well, you’ll use no sorcery here.”
Trevyn gaped in astonishment, fighting to keep his composure. “You face a wizard,” he said carefully. “How will you defeat him?”
“With a bright blade.” Alan’s hands twitched on the jeweled hilt they grasped.
“Do you plan to slay every wolf in Isle?” Trevyn protested. “They are victims of Wael’s treachery as much as we ourselves!” But Alan exploded into sudden fury.
“You think I don’t know my enemy!” he shouted. “By the Wheel, I will be King in my kingdom, and those that have shed my people’s blood shall feel my wrath! And you, if you cross me! There shall be no sorcery, or talk of sorcery, in my land. Heed me well!”
“That is a sword full of ancient sorcery in your hand,” Trevyn told him quietly.
With an inarticulate roar, Alan lifted the weapon and rushed against the bright figure of a brash youth who had threatened his power. His son was dead; nothing remained to him except his rage and his power.… “Dounamir!” Trevyn gasped. “Father!” But even the Old Language had no power on Alan’s hearing anymore.
Frozen and incredulous, Trevyn watched him come. Though his own sword hung at his belt, he could not move to draw it, not against Alan.… He was too stunned to flee. But as the invincible blade of Lyrdion whistled toward his head, Ket burst in and caught Alan’s descending arm. “Alan, ye’re as mad as a mad dog!” he cried. “Look before ye! Who is it that ye smite!”
Startled, Alan looked, and saw anguish in the eyes of—his son! Shaking, he dropped Hau Ferddas clattering to the floor and sobbed into his bloody hands. Trevyn went to his father, motioning Ket away. Ket hesitated, then seized the sword and retreated.
Alan wept tears of blood, or at least so it seemed. They ran in red streaks down his face, as if they had been torn from his heart. Trevyn clutched him tightly. “It has been hard for you, far too hard,” he faltered. “The whole land in shadow, and you most of all, being King.… And that accursed sword—”
“There is no excuse for me,” Alan choked. “I was half lunatic before I ever touched the sword. Trev, I have wronged you—”
“Hush.”
“And not only you.” Words burst from Alan in a feverish torrent, like his red torrent of tears. “Your mother has had nothing from me these many months but hard looks.… And Rafe! He who stood by me all through this hellish business, dead days ago, with no thanks for his constancy but the rough side of my tongue—”
“Hush,” said Trevyn more firmly, swallowing his own sorrow. “Rafe needed no thanks from you.… Father, of all people in Isle you have been hardest beset, and I must badger you yet again. In very truth, our fate depends on the morrow. May we speak of it once again?”
“Nay.” Alan quieted and faced his son with desperate honesty. “Nay, there is no need. It is as Ket has said; I am unfit. The command is yours. If anyone questions your authority, send them to me. But I think they will all be glad enough to obey you.”
Trevyn regarded him with aching heart, finding nothing to say. “Will you sleep now?” he asked at last.
“By my troth, ay!” Alan murmured in wonder. “Ay, I shall sleep well.” He started toward his bed, but turned to stand before Trevyn a moment longer. “I believe I forgot to say welcome!” he told him, and grasped
his shoulders and kissed him.
Chapter Two
“It’s just as well,” Ket said when Trevyn told him of the change of command. But Trevyn disagreed.
“It’s not a bit well,” he sighed. “But he shall be well, Ket, mark my words.… What have you done with that great, bloody sword?”
Ket looked at the ground. “I’ve hidden it—and I’ll reveal it to no one, Prince. Not even t’ ye.” His brown eyes flashed up, pleading for understanding. Trevyn smiled wearily.
“You’re wise,” he acknowledged. “You know I’m no more proof against its spell than Father was. But what of yourself, Ket? How long do you think it will be before thoughts of the thing eat away your reason and contentment?”
“Better me than ye,” Ket snapped unhappily. “I’ll call council.”
“Wait!” Trevyn exclaimed. A familiar form was approaching through the dusk. Gwern trudged up to stand by his elbow, raising his straight, shaggy brows in blank inquiry at the stares he was receiving from two sides.
“Gwern,” Trevyn declared, “I believe you might finally become useful in your own peculiar way.”
“Ay,” Ket muttered. “Ay, it can’t touch him; even a fish can feel that.” He disappeared into the gathering darkness and reappeared shortly with the sword, offering it to Gwern as if he could not wait to be rid of it. The weapon lay blanket-wrapped on his outstretched hands with the covering slipping away from the blade. Gwern stared as if he were confronted with something indecent.
“Take charge of the sword, Gwern,” Trevyn instructed. “Don’t let anyone have it, least of all my father. A deadly magic is in it.”
“I’ll bury it, then,” said Gwern. “Earth is good for such ills.”
“Nay, some fool will dig it up again. You must keep it by you.”
The Sable Moon Page 21
