Spell of the Witch World (Witch World Series)

by Andre Norton

  “The serpent—key—key—”

  The light faded, she could no longer see the face as she sat hunched among the tumbled coverings. The serpent was warm about her wrist, as if lit by an inner fire.

  “Key—” Ysmay repeated aloud. Key to what? To be found where? She pulled at the curtain—should she return to the star tower? There was light in the chamber, but it came from the dawn. Her chance was gone. If she would make another invasion of Hylle's place she must wait for nightfall.

  The day was long and through it she played a taxing role. Ninque brought forth feast dainties and also stayed within call. While Ysmay busied her brain with planning. She dared not try once more to drug Ninque's cup, for she did not underestimate the woman, and to issue another such invitation might awake her suspicions. Was her usual attentiveness today a sign that she was watching Ysmay for some purpose?

  Her plans came to nothing because at dusk Hylle and his men rode in. She watched them from the window, steeling herself against the need of fronting the dark lord without revealing any unease.

  To her relief he did not come directly to her, but went to the star tower. Then her relief was quickly gone as she wondered if her intrusion had left some trace. That thing of amber before the mirror—whoever had transported it there could well have seen her.

  Ysmay twisted her hands together, her fingers seeking the serpent band. A key—to what? She was like one who had an invisible sword lying to hand yet could not find it for her defense.

  She drew on her powers of self-control. To seem as usual she must work hard. She went down to the lower chamber where Ninque was setting out the evening meal.

  “My lord has returned.” Ysmay was surprised at the steadiness of her voice.

  Ninque looked up. “It is so. Do you wish to bid him to your table, my lady?”

  Ysmay nodded. “This is a feast night. If he is not tired from his journeying, perhaps he will find some small pleasure so. Can you send a message—”

  “I, myself, will go, my lady. He will wish to share your feast.” There was almost a note of authority in that, as if Ninque could urge this on her master and be obeyed.

  Ysmay stood by the fire, facing the door, summoning strength against this meeting. Hylle had been strange enough, a person to evoke awe before. But now—now that she suspected what he might do, could she face him showing no measure of what she had learned?

  It seemed long, that wait until Ninque returned. The woman, not shedding her cloak, said in her usual soft and insinuating voice, “My lady, my lord has prepared a feast for your tasting. He would have you come—”

  Ninque did not finish her sentence. For Hylle entered. There was a light powdering of snow on his cloak and he carried over his arm another drapery of silken material, the color of rich amber. This he shook out to display a cloak with clasps of amber at throat and waist.

  “A fairing for my lady.” He whipped it about Ysmay before she could move. “And a feast waiting, so come, let us be merry after the custom of your own people.”

  She could not avoid his grasp, he used the cloak as a net to entrap her. But fear was a cold thrust through her, a sour taste in her mouth. She had wondered why he wanted her, now she was about to learn and she had no defense against him.

  Yet he spoke lightly as he drew her with him across the courtyard. They might have been truly man and wife on their way to a happy hour. She dared not reveal her fear lest it weaken her past all hopes of trying to save herself from whatever he planned.

  They came into the room of the mirror. There was more light there now, but that monster carving was still in place, only now it faced them at the door.

  Hylle's arm tightened about her. Had she betrayed herself with a start? Or could her reaction be counted normal at facing such ugliness?

  Still keeping one arm firmly about her waist, Hylle put forth his other hand. The thing moved, stretched upward as might a cat to meet some caress, until his fingers rested upon its spiked crest. But—it must be a carving—not a living thing!

  Ysmay heard Hylle's soft laughter. “Does this frighten you, my lady? Did I not warn you I was learned in strange ways. And now you will see that I have strange servants also. But I do not loose this one yet, it shall play sentry for us. Come!”

  She fought her fear. That he meant her very ill she was now sure. Yet she had come from generations of fighting men who held their lands against many perils, or fought until death trying to do so.

  Under the edge of the cloak he used to engulf and hold her, she caught at the serpent. A key—to what? However she schooled herself against vain hope as they went up and up, past the room which was a work place, into the chamber of pillars. And he pushed her before him, saying:

  “Welcome, my lady, to the heart of Quayth. Its secrets you have sought by stealth, now you shall find them out. Though whether you shall relish your enlightenment is another question.”

  On he urged her between the pillars to the center, then dragged her around to face the two there.

  6

  “YOU CALL YOURSELF Lady of Quayth, Ysmay of the Dales. Look you now upon the true lady of this hold, Yaal the Far-Thoughted. I wonder where her thoughts now range, since she can travel by thought alone. Wench, she is such as your upstart blood cannot equal. Her rule was old before your people arose from root-grubbing savages.”

  He looked upon Yaal as if he hated yet respected her, with more emotion than Ysmay had seen in him before.

  “Yaal—she is such as cannot be dreamed of by your ignorant breed. Just as Quayth, Quayth was once what it shall be again—since I have the will and now the tools to make it so.

  “You gave me those, wench, for which thank that small power you bow head to. Otherwise—you would be as a flea cracked between the nails and dropped into the fire. For you brought me the seed from which I shall grow much. Hear that, my Lady Yaal? Did you dream that I had come to the end of my power when my supply of amber was finished? If you did you underestimated me and the greed of these Dale barbarians!

  “I have amber again. Yes, and many strange uses for it Hear you that, Yaal!” And he held out his hand as if to tap on the surface of the pillar, but did not quite touch it.

  Yaal's eyes were open but the girl could read no message, not even a spark of life in them. Hylle's grip loosened. Impulsively Ysmay shook back the hampering folds of the cloak, made a deep reverence to the prisoner.

  Hylle stared. “What do you, wench?”

  “Did you not say she is lady here, my lord?” Ysmay did not know what moved her, it was as if action and words were dictated by another. “Then it is meet that I pay her honor. And he—” she turned her head to nod at the other pillar—"if she be lady, is he lord here?”

  Hylle's face was convulsed. He struck out at her viciously and she could not dodge the full force of the blow. It sent her spinning against the pillar which held the man and she clung to it to keep her feet.

  In Hylle's hand there was now a glittering, golden rope. He swung it loopwise as he mouthed words which had no meaning for Ysmay. The loop whirled, circled about her, fell to the floor. Then Hylle's face was smooth, guarded. He had regained control.

  “Bide my pleasure here, wench. It will be for a long time. I go to prepare the means to assure that now.”

  He left, and Ysmay was bewildered. That shining circle, now that she had time to examine it, was composed of beads of amber strung on a chain. She could not guess its purpose.

  But Hylle was gone, and if the serpent was a key, she must bestir herself to find the lock. She took a step forward, to discover that she could not cross the amber circle. It kept her as tightly prisoner as if she were in a cage.

  For a second or two she was as strongly held by fear as by the chain. Then the strength of her breed returned and she forced herself to think rather than feel. It was plain that Hylle controlled great powers. He kept these two captive, which meant that, as bis enemies, they were potential allies for her. If she could enlist their aid—

&nb
sp; The serpent was the key, but how to use it? Ysmay looked at the woman, then the man. She stood between them, but closer to the man. Moistening her lips with her tongue, she thought of keys and locks—

  There was no visible lock, but then neither was the serpent an ordinary key. Locks—the pillar people were locked— She shook back her sleeve, reached out her arm until she could touch the serpent head to the amber casing about the man.

  Around her wrist was a blaze of fire which brought a small, choked cry from her. But she held it fast.

  The amber pillar began to change. From that small point of contact it filmed, darkened to an ashy dullness. Cracks appeared in it, ran in jagged lines, widened to fall in flakes. And the flakes on the floor powdered into dust.

  A tremor ran through the newly freed prisoner. She saw his chest expand as he drew in a great breath. His hands arose in small, jerky movements to his head, slipped down over cheeks and chin as if he sought thus to assure himself of his own being.

  He did not look at her but rather stepped stiffly from the pillar base and stood, his head turning from side to side, as if he sought something which should be in plain view and yet was not.

  If he hunted some weapon, he was not to have time for a thorough search.

  From the stairhead came a rasping hiss. Ysmay cried out. The monster thing from the lower chamber hunched there, its hideous head darting as might a snake's seeking to strike.

  The man faced it with empty hands and Ysmay thought he had little chance if the thing rushed him. Yet he raised those hands and, using his two pointing forefingers, he sketched in the air.

  Glowing lines of light appeared, a grill of them crossing and recrossing. Behind that strange barrier, he put a partly clenched fist to his lips as if he held a trumpet, and loosed a murmur of sound.

  Ysmay could distinguish no words, only low crooning notes repeated over and over. The monster paced back and forth, its armored tail twitching in frustration, the spines on its head erect. It edged among the pillars, but kept a wary distance from the light. And still the man crooned those three notes over and over again.

  Then—

  From out of the air swooped a bolt of blue fire, the ugly color of the candles. Seemingly heartened, the monster, too, surged forward, shaking its head from side to side as if it advanced under a rain of blows.

  The man showed no dismay. The sound of his murmuring voice grew stronger. There was more movement in the chamber, beyond the candles, someone sliding along the wall.

  Ysmay, without seeing the pale face of that newcomer, still knew it was Hylle. He was trying to reach not the freed captive but—

  The table! That table where lay the instruments of black sorcery. And it would seem that his former captive had not yet sighted him.

  Ysmay would have cried aloud in warning, but she found that she could not. It might have been the power of the ring about her feet which also stifled the voice in her throat. Yet she had been able to use the serpent once—what else might she do with it?

  She stretched forth her arm at an awkward angle so that she might touch the yellow-eyed head to the circlet about her. There was a flare of blue fire. She cried out, using her hands to shield her face from the fierce glow. There appeared to be no heat in the flames, only blinding light.

  The flash seemed to dim her sight. Tears ran down her cheeks as she fought to see, though it was like peering through a thick veil. She could not make out even the shadow of Hylle.

  She felt about her and touched the smooth surface of that other pillar. If the serpent had freed the man, why not Yaal? She laid the wristlet to the casing of amber.

  This time Ysmay could not see the result, but she could feel the cracking, the crumbling. And the dust of it sprinkled her hands, puffed about her body. There was movement. Hands caught her, pulled her erect, steadied her for an instant against a firm body. Then both body and hands were gone.

  Ysmay wiped her eyes, blinked. Yaal was moving purposefully toward the table. Ysmay stumbled in her wake. Her eyes were clearing. She could see.

  The assault of blue flames continued. The monster was now within the first row of pillars, weaving back and forth, a wild slaver dripping from its jaws. Ysmay's hand tightened around Gunnora's amulet.

  Yaal reached the table, but Hylle was there, too. They fronted each other. His face was a mask of hate and malice, his lips flattened against his teeth as if he would show the same poisonous fangs the monster bore.

  His hand flashed out, finger closing about the hilt of the knife. He flicked the keen blade across his own palm, tried to spill the quickly welling blood into the encrusted cup. But Yaal raised her finger and pointed, and straightaway the cut was closed into a seam of an old scar. No. blood, save for a drop or two, entered the bowl.

  “Not so, Hylle.” Her voice was low, but it carried above the hissing of the monster and the crooning that kept it at bay. “Not even with your blood can you summon—”

  “Tell me not what I may do!” he cried. “I am Hylle, Master—”

  Yaal shook her head. “Only because of our lack of caution did you become Master. Your day is done, Hylle.”

  She did not turn her head to look to Ysmay, but she held out her right hand.

  “Let the serpent come,” she ordered.

  Ysmay, as if she understood perfectly what was to be done, raised her own hand. She felt the circlet come alive. It streaked across her flesh to leap through the air, fall into Yaal's palm, move so swiftly that it was a blur, to encircle Yaal's wrist.

  Hylle started forward as if to prevent the transfer. But he was too late.

  “Now.” Yaal held up her hand. The serpent, though in a hoop, was not inert. Its head swayed and its eyes glowed with yellow fire.

  Aphar and Stolla, Worum, awake!

  What was once drunk, must be tongued.

  What was wrought, you must unmake!

  In the Name of—

  But that final word was no name, only a roaring and a tumult in the room, which made Ysmay cry out and cover her tormented ears.

  The cup on the table began to whirl in a mad dance. Hylle, with a cry, tried to catch it. The knife fell from his grasp and leaped into the air, where it dangled enticingly as he strove to lay hand upon it, seeming to forget all else.

  It bobbed and dangled, always just a fraction beyond his reach. As he scrambled after it Ysmay saw there were no longer any flashes of blue fire, and that the crooning sounds had a note of triumph.

  The flying goblet brought Hylle well away from the table, close to where those shattered pillars had stood. Then he seemed to awake from whatever spell had held him. He whirled about, crouched like a swordsman about to leap at an enemy.

  “No!” he cried out defiantly. He threw out an arm as if to brush aside the cup and came soft-footed, with so deadly a look that Ysmay shrank back, toward the two tables. This time he did not try to reach those instruments of evil. Instead his hands clutched at the lumps of unworked amber.

  “Yet—yet—” he screamed. Holding the amber, he ran for the stairs. None tried to stop him. Instead Yaal went to the table of evil. There stood the cup as if it had never risen. The knife lay beside it

  Yaal gazed, her serpent-girdled hand extended. The head of the creature still swayed from side to side. It was as if she now memorized something of vast importance. Then, as if she had come to a decision, she turned again.

  There was less sound. Ysmay looked around. The grille of light was dimming. And the monster had withdrawn, snuffling and hissing, to the head of the stair. Yaal joined her fellow prisoner.

  “Let be. His mind is closed. There can be only one end, as we should have known long ago.”

  He dropped his hand from his lips and nodded. “He made the choice, abide by it now he shall!”

  But Yaal wore a look of faint perplexity. She glanced right and then left.

  “There is something else,” she said slowly. “Do you not feel it, Broc?”

  He lifted his head as if to a wind and his nos
trils expanded to breathe the air.

  “It is she!” For the first time he looked at Ysmay as if she were a presence.

  Now Yaal eyed her also.

  “She is no creature of his, she has worn the serpent. This is another power. Hylle deals in death, or life-in-death. This is a power of Me. What charm do you hold, girl?”

  Ysmay answered by holding out her hand so that Gunnora's amulet might be seen. Yaal studied it for a moment and then nodded.

  “It has been long and long again since that device has been seen at Quayth. The protection of Rathonna— Yes, to add to what he had, Hylle would want that indeed.”

  The girl found her tongue. “But he did not take it from me when he could have.”

  Yaal shook her head. “Such a thing of power must come only as a gift. Taken by force it will turn against its user. One does not deal lightly with Rathonna.”

  “I do not know the name. This is an amulet of Gunnora.”

  “What is a name?” Yaal asked. “Certain powers have always been known and given different names by different peoples. I recognize that as coming from Rathonna. Of old she did not turn her face from us, but was willing to lend her aid when the need arose. If Hylle thought to use Her-"

  Broc interrupted. “You know Hylle, he would think himself above any threat of reprisal, or else scheme how he could turn it to his own advantage. As he schemes now. Yaal—as he schemes now!”

  “The stars have come full turn, and the serpent is ready to strike. I do not think Hylle either schemes nor stirs his great pot to any purpose this night. Now is the hour for us to make an end.”

  Together they walked toward the stairhead, Ysmay trailing them. She would not stay alone in this haunted place.

  The monster hissed. It had flattened its body to the floor and its red eyes were fixed on them. Broc made a pass of hand through the air and between his fingers he now held a sword.

  No light reflected from any steel. The blade had no cutting edge, but was ruddy brown and carved as if from wood. However, seeing it, the monster slunk away. It hissed and spat, retreating steadily. Thus they came down to Hylle's workshop, where noxious fumes were heavy.