He laughed, and tasted the bitterness on his lips. "I have been both, at need," he said, without turning. "Once. I have crossed a whole wide land, and sought out the duergar in their mountain fastnesses, and lived with them two long years; I have lived with the alvar of the forests, Tapiau's Children, and escaped the forest's power. I have sailed the Seas of the Sunrise, I have fought beside an exiled lord against the Ekwesh by land and sea, and when he won himself his kingdom. I have battled a dragon beneath the earth, and the Icewitch herself on a palace stair - aye, and bested her! And yet I would far sooner be a man whole and at peace, in the land I made my own, with my true love by my side."
He heard her laugh. "A braggart, as well as a boor!"
Elof turned about in annoyance and heard her gasp. She reached out suddenly, and he felt her soft fingertip trace out the faint mark on his breast. "That is a scar also! That is… the same scar! As at the back…"
"Your father remarked on that wound once; shortly before he had me crippled! Before he made me a pinioned swan, a tethered hawk! Less than a man!" He turned away impatiently, and again she caught her breath.
"I see another pair, even more faint! But… one such wound should have been mortal! How did you come by them? And how survive them?"
"Ask rather why!" he said, and went on washing.
Behind him there was silence; until a small voice said "Would you tell me some of your adventures?"
Slowly he rose, and turned, reaching for a cloth to dry himself. "To a wellwisher or a friend, I might. But what joy or profit can there be for a listener who does not care?"
To his astonishment a hand was laid lightly on his arm. "Did I say I do not wish you well? I will listen gladly - if it please you?" He looked down at her, and suddenly her hand seemed to sear him worse than the forgeflame. It was long, long since a woman had touched him. His breath faltered and grew fast, and forgetting all he hoped to gain by patience he crushed her hand beneath his own, hard against him. She stiffened, but made no attempt to pull away. He swallowed, and heard his breath whistle through flaring nostrils. Hesitantly she lifted her free hand, and laid it upon his breast.
"Your heart pounds like your hammer!" she said, and giggled softly, her eyes lowered.
He felt a taut smile settle on his lips. "Does yours?" Her grip tightened on his arm, and slowly tentatively, she bore it to her side. Equally slowly, with deliberate malice, he stroked his fingers down her ribs to her waist, and then up again, to slide one by one across the curve of her breast, gently passing over the peak taut beneath the gown's silken lightness. He bent to whisper in her ear "It does…", and stayed to kiss the lobe of it, the neck beneath, the satin cheek and so, at last, her parted lips.
She met the kiss fervently at first, a little clumsily; then suddenly she squirmed, wrenched free, gasping. "How dare you?" she squealed. "What are you - what have you done? What have you done to me? What spell have you…"
Elof shook his head. "I have cast no spell upon you, my lady. But you took one upon yourself. Will you be able to shed it so easily? It has power. Yet remember, there is none in it to create what is not already there…"
"No!" she shrieked, and plucked the ring violently from her arm. It tangled in her gown a moment, fell and rolled against some sacking. But then she let out a despairing wail, hugged herself tight and burst into hysterical sobbing.
Elof reached out to her, cupped her face in his strong hands, and she did not resist. His thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. Her eyes looked into his, and now his hands ploughed among her crisp hair, stroking her neck from behind her ears to the neck of her gown, tracing its edge around to the front. Her eyelids fluttered and her head relaxed, lolled back, as the topmost fastening parted under his deft fingers and they met and caressed in the hollow of her throat. She clutched at his shoulder to steady herself as they swept back, parting another fastening, and so on down till they curved around her neat small breasts and laid them bare. He clutched her close then and kissed her breast to breast, and she did not pull away, but drank at him as if he were a spring.
He felt her heart flutter, and a flutter of a different pace below her ribs, down the whole front of her body, as though it were a bird imprisoned behind those bars and beating to be free. Slowly, carefully, as her gown fell open and apart, his fingers tracked it about her and down to its source, tracing it tangled amid damp curls. Gown and girdle slid unheeded to the silver sand. Her forehead lay on his shoulder, her shifting thighs imprisoned his fingers as they explored, and she clutched at him in her turn, tugging at his belt, pulling at his breeches. A wave of hesitancy welled up in him suddenly; all these long years he had half believed himself become less than a man, maimed in more than limb, and he feared to find it true. But as her long fingers discovered him, probed and plucked at him, spider-light, his fears were fiercely overborne. He managed to croak a word in her ear, and together they swayed and stumbled towards his bed, her fingers playing about him still, her lips smearing his chest with their colour like so many fresh wounds. He flung aside his crutches, and they toppled together among the coarse blankets. She raised her head to kiss his lips, his throat, his shoulders and armpits where the crutches galled them; he lifted himself on his arms, his lips touched her breasts and lingered, then swept down, drinking her in, a feaster after famine, till her back arched like a bow and her fingers wrung in his thick hair. Then, with a single shuddering gasp that two throats shared, they writhed together like serpents and joined.
There was no love in that unity save its very intensity, only a community of need drinking from a common source, clambering, one upon the other, to reach a common peak. So savage was that need that it knew no barrier, no obstacle; even braced, Elof s legs were almost useless, but by strength of arm alone he bore up the girl like a leaf in a whirlwind. The single fire that burned between their thighs breathed and quickened in that wind, grew hotter, brighter, and at last swelled out in a searing globe to envelop them, the room, the world in a scalding burst of light, in which nothing existed save their shared flesh. Timeless, rigid they hung there; and then it passed, and the world rushed in on them again. They fell sweating among the blankets, their thighs still thrusting convulsively one against another, the spasms of fighters dying upon each other's blades. They gasped for breath, through lips that trembled and would not form words.
But as the fires in Elof's heart were slaked, so it fell to embers and ash. A black mood settled upon him, in which all that had passed seemed to him little better than rape, and an ugly parody of what he had felt with Kara; missing her was an acute ache in his heart. Beathaill sensed something amiss, and sought to distract him with mumbled endearments and caresses. She was inexperienced but not unknowing, and gradually, despite himself, the brush of her breasts against him, the play of her lips, brought a reviving warmth. He stifled his sense of loss beneath cold cynicism, telling himself it scarcely mattered and he should enjoy himself while he had the chance; he had held back long enough. She giggled again as he caressed her and she felt him revive, and with a mischievous flicker in her eye she laid her head in his lap, tongue darting; he gasped, laughed, rolled his head…
And saw the long shadow that stretched out across the forge, seething, shapeless, demonic. Saw beyond the open door the slender woman's shape that cast it, the cloak that billowed from her arms, the short mailshirt that was her only garb, the helm above like the head of some great bird of prey. Beneath its eyeslots, slanting, narrowed, bitter rage burned in the dark gleam of her gaze, a rage he saw echoed in the very stance of her, tensed as against a high wind, spear outstretched. Then Beathaill saw her too, screamed and sprang back among the blankets; but Elof had all but forgotten her, save as a fragment of his shame. He sprang up, forgetful still, in hope of running to the door, but only managed to sprawl headlong upon the sanded floor. Half stumbling, half crawling towards the light, he reached out an arm to her; but it seemed to him he read words in those wide dark eyes, heard her voi
ce clear in his mind.
Now you have lost me! Lost me forever!
His arm fell; he could not face her, and bowed his head. The long shadow changed, as if the cloak swirled now from arms upraised, and suddenly a great wind scoured through the forge, lashing his face with blown sand; the light pulsed, then was clear, empty. Elof turned away, blinking gritty eyes, and sank down by the bedside.
Beathaill sprang up from the bedclothes and clutched his arm. "Sweetheart, who was that? Will she tell…"
In a fury of loathing Elof rounded on her, swinging his arm to lash out viciously. "Away, you riggish little viper! Get out, out and leave me be! Get you to Hella, you empty she-whelp! And beg a heart of her, that some better soul has lost!" She shrank back with a squeal and began to wail, open-mouthed like an infant. Elof sank his head in his hands. "No! No. I am sorry; the fault is mine alone." He looked at her. "Mine alone. Only the folly is yours. You came here for no good purpose, came to taunt and tease the tethered bear -"
"I came because…I was sorry for you!"
Elof shook his head sadly. "No, princess! Not so, whatever you told yourself. True, you pitied this man you thought fair, for being alone and womanless. And since you do not understand love, you thought to dangle your charms like a toy before him. Why not? It would be an extraordinary condescension from one of your rank; he should feel honoured. You came alone, and when you had made sure he was alone; you thought to sport with him a little, assuage your own feelings but escape unscathed, unstained and laugh at his frustration. But such feelings are dangerous to play with, my lady, most of all one's own; you were tethered by them in your turn, they were the chains. Well, do I speak false?"
She had stopped crying almost at once; a look of blazing outrage crossed her face, but Elof held up his hand. "Shall I tell you why I am so sure? Because if you had been truly sorry for me you would not have sought to deceive me. You would not have kept from me what your father plans for me as soon as he returns. What it is that made me one of the few men you could safely indulge yourself with - because you thought that soon my mouth would be far away, or stopped forever. But of course, you had to have me repair your precious armring first!"
Her mouth opened in a shriek of anger, the tantrum of a child humiliated; but then she saw his bleak eyes, and slowly she subsided, cowering among the bedclothes. "Do not look at me so!" she whimpered. "Do not hurt me!"
Elof gazed down at her, unrelenting. "What does Nithaid intend?"
"He means… the Icewitch, she offered him peace, complete peace! On one condition only…"
"That he hand me over to her?"
She nodded frantically, clutching the blankets to her bare body. "He… he didn't agree at first; he's been haggling… Now they say she has offered the Gate back, and all the Wild Lands, to leave Kerys be and take her savages to another land… They say he is coming back to announce his decision…"
"Aye, before I get to hear of it!"
"Yes!" she breathed. "So… so…" She began to weep again, slowly, looking up at him in terror. He sighed deeply, and when he reached out a hand she cowered; but it was only to stroke her shivering shoulder.
"I spoke too harshly," he said. "There was some pity in you, though much else. I alone am to blame. I wish you no ill, Beathaill, and none shall hear of this from me. Get you dressed and go. Leave me here with my own company; I deserve no other."
So afraid was she that she sprang up and ran to the door, almost forgetting to gather up her gown as she passed. Once she looked back, at Elof, still sitting by the bed, and at the arm-ring, gleaming against the dusty sacking; but she made no move to take it. For a moment it was her shadow that filled the doorway, then, still naked, she ducked out into the light and was gone.
Early next morning Roc returned, staggering up the hill apparently much the worse for a night's wine. But once within the door, beyond sight of the departing guard-boat, he became alert, even elated, and thumped his fists exultantly on the great table. "That's it! All your errands discharged, every message delivered; say, have I not done you proud…" He stopped then, and peered at Elof, saw him seated at the other end of the table, toying absently with the ring. "What's the matter, then? Not want to hear? What've you been up to, then?" He circled the forge, peered into the furnace and turned on Elof savagely. "Not your bloody labours, that's for sure! You've not done half of what was left you! And when every flaming minute counts… Man, what's amiss in your head? A fine damned trial you can be to a patient man, and at what a time! Want to toss away your own life and mine too? All because you've suddenly sprouted a tender shoot of conscience - and for a crew of bastards and betrayers who merit it less than most I can set mind to! You and your bloody maunderings! Stop mucking with that thing, pay some heed -" And in his anger he might have sought to strike the ring out of Elof s hand, save that his wrist was seized in a grip that, for all his own solid strength, held him clamped like his best vise.
Elof glanced up, and he sounded as grim as he looked. "You mistake me, my friend!" He released his grip. "It is not that which concerns me; I have managed some work, and I had a new task to complete. What remains we can finish in time - just. Beathaill was here…"
Roc looked at him sharply, and at the arm-ring, then his eyes widened as they took in the blankets rumpled and stained upon a bed that had manifestly not been slept in. "Oho, was she now?" he breathed.
"And so was Kara…" He held up a hand to cut off Roc's exclamations. "Wait! I know now what Nithaid plans; and it is ugly. Whatever else befell, it was a mercy Beathaill came when she did. Roc, there is no time left you, none at all; you are sure all is done?"
"So you do want to hear, then? So be it!" It had seemed simply one of his usual errands that took Roc ashore, this time to the palace; he had delivered a minor order for necessaries, and contrived in doing so to exchange words elsewhere. It was with a full purse, and little extra effort, that he had managed to entice his guards to come in search of some old friends to drink with, around the harbour quarter. So, all was indeed done, and the hook swallowed. "Just as you said. A summons to come to you, alone and utterly in secret, all conditions as you laid them down and at the hours you said, tonight. It wasn't too well received, that - not with the name this place has got for itself! But then I gave the rest of the message. Then I will show you a secret that shall give you mastery over your brother at a single stroke - your very words. And didn't that summon up a grin!"
He was grinning himself as he described it, but Elof seemed grim and preoccupied, and drew little cheer from the tidings. He nodded wearily, and with an awful tenderness he wrapped up the arm-ring and put it gently aside. "Thank you; you've done well, Roc, as always. Would there were no more, that I could know you at least were safe! But as you say, we must work, and not forget to make ready to receive our visitors as befits them. And you must hear of the new cloud that hangs over us; for you are proven right. Louhi has guessed where I am; and if Kara has not told her already, I fear she may now…"
That day's labour was the worst they had endured, all the worse for the sense of apprehension that swelled in them both. Like the heavy air before a storm it hung about them, setting their nerves on edge, distracting their thoughts; a hundred times that day they might have exploded into foolish quarrels, save that they could not waste the time. They would look up to dash sweat from weary eyes or free a cramping muscle, and their gaze would meet in a sudden mutual awareness of dread. Only once did Elof break off for what seemed to Roc no good reason, and that was to search out two wide silver cups, plain things he had made long since as trial pieces for a gift Nithaid wished to bestow. Only at the day's end, though, did Roc find time to ask about them. Elof turned over the wide cups in his hand. "They are not important in themselves; scant art and no virtue. Just a little of Nithaid's silver. I mean to show him one small mercy, Roc."
Roc stared. "Even after what the girl…"
"All the more so - though little he may appreciate it! As I said, I'll not betray those treacherous
limbs of his to him. Let him go on thinking them loyal."
Roc shrugged. "Why bother yourself? He's no fool; he's bound to guess the truth, when he starts to think about it."
"Yes. Unless he cannot; unless the shock to him is too great… So, I must see that it is…" His voice faded. Roc waited, but when he spoke again his words were brisk and lively. "What's the hour?"
"The last before the middle hour," Roc answered calmly. "And there's a small boat tacking in towards the west beach. They gather, Elof; do you cool your head, and your heart'll harden once more!"
Two weeks had passed since the coming of the princes to Elan Ghorenhyon, and for Elof they had been two weeks of remorseless labour, both arduous and minute, work that might have killed a common thrall outright. To that he had been hardened since his youth; he made no complaint. But he was heart-weary, and that which he strove to make was not finished. Yet he must now lay all aside; for this was the night he had laid down in Roc's message, the beginning of the hour.
"It's Kenarech right enough!" hissed Roc. "A showy sailor he is, but skilled to my eyes. And he's taking care to hide the boat, as you asked. Aye, here he comes now!"
It was not long before the younger prince stood on the threshold, his face so reddened by excitement and the climb that in the forgelight he seemed to glow. A dark mantle covered his rich garments, and Elof was sure he detected the line of a mail shirt underneath them. He bowed. "Enter, my lord! Surely you do not fear to come to Sorcerers' Isle, when you have met the sorcerer?"
Kenarech scowled. "I do not fear any man. But this place was so called, and bore a bad name, long before my father set you here; why think you it was kept for exiles?" Roc and Elof exchanged swift, significant glances, but Kenarech did not seem to notice. Nettled by any suggestion of fear, he stepped briskly into the forge and glanced about. "Well, Master Valant? What's this secret you have for me?"
The Hammer of the Sun Page 35
