by Andre Norton
The chill that gripped Ysa was pure ice now. Laherne was surely a bride of high blood, but not one entirely without a House. Certainly such would be the most desirable; had she not earlier sent out tendrils of power, reaching for that same solution, and striven with all her secret means to discover the result of such a search? In the turmoil of the past years, several of the lesser families allied with the four Great Houses had indeed been brought down, extinguished.
They were the ones whose heads had intrigued beyond their proper depths of guile. To unite with a daughter from any such, were any of pure breed left, would not avail the royal cause, only weaken it. One does not lean on a broken reed when one needs a wall for defense.
She forced herself to think. The Bale-Bog. Why had he mentioned that? There had never been any House with holdings there, not in the memory of even the oldest man. Many generations had seen the existence of that place. And yet… the
Bale-Bog. No. It couldn't be. Her hands clenched until the Rings bit into her flesh.
He must have read her sudden thought in some change of her expression.
"Yes—Ashenkin."
In spite of her fight for control, her hands jerked.
With an effort, she spoke, pausing between each word as if to impress the force of it. "Such is impossible. There is no Ashenkin."
He quirked an eyebrow in agreement. "Not resident in Rendel, to be sure. But was there not one who was possible, one unknown, one with high blood—"
"Dead!" She rose suddenly from her chair, forcing him to rise also. "The House of Ash is no more, and to think otherwise, my Lord Harous, is treason! This audience is finished."
She could no longer play the game of light-and-shadow. Her sole desire was to have him away, out of her sight. There was that which she must do, and quickly, if the fear he had aroused was to be laid.
He had slipped the pendant back into hiding in his doublet and now he bowed deeply. But he also dared to speak.
"Remember Zazar, Majesty. I am at your service, whether you believe it or not."
She longed to call for a guard and to have this possible enemy put under arrest and locked away. She did not dare, knowing him to be much too powerful, too dangerous. So she stood, her face once more a mask, as he backed out of her presence.
Once Harous was safely gone, she whirled and hurried to the slip panel in the wall. She had discovered it herself, and told no one. A labyrinth of hidden passageways afforded her the means of going unseen from one part of the castle to another, thus reinforcing her reputation as a powerful woman who could appear out of nowhere at any time. She closed the panel behind her and began to climb the steps, holding her full skirts tightly so as not to smudge them with ancient dust.
It was a long climb, narrower and steeper than the stairway she preferred to use, but more direct. Also, she did not care to be observed at this moment. She stopped twice, pressing her hand against her side to ease a twinge of pain. But finally she reached the tower room and lurched across the floor to her chair, where she nearly collapsed, her strength suddenly drained.
How much did Harous really know? His hints stirred up rage and fear. But if he had the power—and a messenger of his own—
No Ashenkin could possibly live, not one of pure blood. It was so well known that that Bog-folk by custom killed any Outlander—and hadn't her own guards found traces of what had happened there some sixteen years ago? She had never had cause to question it. Questions could only confirm that Alditha's child was half Outlander, half of the Bog. With a twist of her lips, Ysa thought about how some Rendelian men—and women— were said to seek liaisons with Bog-folk for the thrill of danger. And how, sometimes, there were untoward results.
Ysa willed it to be so. She would not abide the idea that her husband had lustfully sown that seed, even before she, his chosen Queen, carried his heir.
It had to have been someone else…
She refused to remember how much she had loved Bor-oth at one time, remembering only the hatred that had replaced it. She could not have abided even a flirtation— and that was all it had been, all it could ever have been, all Ysa had allowed time for it to have been—between King Boroth and Alditha of Ash.
To think that even as Boroth had been contemplating the betrayal of his new-wedded wife, so had Alditha placed horns on Boroth's head! The harlot's passion must have overcome her common sense and she gave in to it elsewhere. No wonder her flight into the Bog had been so precipitous. She fled the wrath of both King and Queen! Ysa stifled laughter that verged on the hysterical.
Still, one must be certain. With an effort, she composed herself and settled back in the chair. Her hands shook as she raised them slowly and emitted a shrill twittering, totally unnatural, from pursed lips. There was sudden weight in her hands, and warmth as she looked down at Visp.
Ashen ducked through the door-curtain after Zazar and looked around with near consuming curiosity. The area here was both wide and long—or had been once—and once might have been spacious enough to have engulfed the whole of the Bog village she knew. However, here as elsewhere, upper walls and part of the roof had collapsed to fill the cavity. She could also see indications that there had been an effort to preserve what was left.
Many unknown hands had been at work, setting some measure of order out of chaos.
Blocks of masonry had been dragged to one side and piled along the walls into a shoulder-high secondary barrier, leaving the center cleared of most debris. Nor was this bare. Shelf supports had been pounded into cracks between these blocks, and the shelves were burdened with woven reed bags and others of twisted lupper skin. From some of the shelves hung swollen net bags filled with unknown substances. A few cracked pots sat among the bags, and they were certainly not empty.
There was no hearth-hole in the center of this space. Rather, some of the stones that had fallen—in the far past, judging by the fire-marks painting them—had been set to screen a fire. Also, there were piles of mats, well-woven to fulfill either sitting or sleeping requirements.
Somewhat to her surprise, as awesome as the surroundings were, this was a room that welcomed one. Ashen felt quite at home as she allowed her pack to settle to the floor. Zazar was already at the fireplace, busy not only with kindling from a pile close to hand, but tending to chunks of black stuff that she placed carefully around the kindling. Fire answered her efforts and Ashen drew closer, grateful for the heat after their dank journey.
As she settled down and held her hands out as if to gather the heat closer to herself, Ashen realized that she and Zazar were not the sole life in this chamber. The Wysen-wyf had completed her labors and now she was chirping a series of small coaxing notes. The mat pile nearby stirred as if something had burrowed deeply there. Then out into the open wriggled a creature that faintly resembled one of the shy water- rats of the Bog.
This one, however, was larger than any the girl had glimpsed during her own prowling of the known Bog-ways. Also, once it was fully in the open, she could see that it was indeed like no rat. It was larger, rounder of head, pricked of ears, and its pelt looked much softer than the bristly fur of the pool- dwellers.
It padded to the Wysen-wyf, who held out a hand. It stood up and arched its head to rub against her pahn before it settled down on its haunches. It reached its slender forelimbs to grasp Zazar's hand and nuzzled it. Then it began licking
Zazar's fingers with an absurdly pink tongue.
Zazar's chirping became a croon, and the creature answered with a series of strange, small cries as it raised its head high enough to look up into the
Wysen-wyf's face.
Zazar beckoned, and Ashen obediently drew closer.
'This is Weyse. Weyse," Zazar said in turn to the small creature, "Ashen." She might have been introducing some kin from another Bog village. She touched
Ashen's shoulder, her other hand still being held by the little creature. "Reach out to Weyse, girl, that she may learn you."
Just what that meant, Ashen could n
ot guess, but she extended her hand to the furred one, who let go of Zazar to catch it in its forepaws. It leaned forward and sniffed at her flesh for a long moment, and then she could feel the rasp of its tongue on her skin. When it loosed its hold on her, she dared to smooth its head between the pointed ears as Zazar had done earlier.
"Weyse knows you now, Ashen Deathdaughter, and you will find that very useful.
But mere is more to be done. Listen well."
Zazar rose and passed the fireplace, heading toward a portion of the wall where instead of a shelf, holding cords had been tightly laced to support what Ashen saw to be a number of clay tablets. The Wysen- wyf did not remove any of them; she merely drew one finger along the side of that nested cache as gently as she had caressed Weyse.
"You are not of the Bog-blood, girl," she said. "Nor is this place of the
Bale-Bog known in this time to the ordinary folk. There have always been those among us who in blood and thought harked back to another time before the dissolution of the Clasp came." She hesitated for so long that Ashen dared a question.
"The Clasp?"
"Another world, another time," Zazar replied. There was a weary note in her voice. "There was greatness here in the long ago. This place in which we shelter was a place of Seekers of Knowledge. Then the Law that rules all living things spoke. There is a time of building, a time of abiding, and then comes the fall.
Only remnants of what was before remain in bits and pieces. So we seek ever for that which may lead upward once again. The Bog, which was part of a great and mighty empire in the ancient times, was sunken into the dark. Now another time of darkness nears us. You are of other blood, but you were born in the Bog; you know it, and that knowledge will be of importance in days to come. Remain here until you are called."
"Called? By whom?" Ashen bit her tongue, but she could not stifle the questions.
Zazar shook her head. "Ask that of the land, girl. It is not known to me and I cannot tell you. I must return to my own place now, for the Bog- kin are my people, though they have become even less than the underwater ones in what they desire and do. There will be trouble, but that cannot be guarded against, only foreseen. That much I know. Ashen Deathdaughter, do you watch while you wait, and watch well!"
She stooped and caught up Weyse in her arms as one would a nursing child. When she put the furred one down again, she nodded, first to Ashen and then toward the wall where hung the collection of tablets.
"Use your time well, girl. I do not know how long you will have free. I call for you the shielding wings of fortune."
She turned swiftly and Ashen hurried to follow her. It was apparent that the
Wysen-wyf was now determined to leave, and to go quickly. As Ashen followed, she tried to stammer out questions but they died on her lips as she realized there would be no more answers. There was a finality in what the Wysen-wyf had said.
Did she mean that their tie, loose as it had always been, was now severed? How to find the words? Finally, as she unfettered the rope mooring the boat that had brought them, Ashen dared to clutch Zazar's sleeve, and words tumbled out.
"Protector—" from some unknown source, that title came to her "—do you then wish to deny me?"
Zazar looked at her steadily, unblinking. "In this life, we do either what we desire or what is needful. This that I do is of the second sort. You have been all I could have asked for to nurture in my service. I can tell you that we shall meet again, only it will not be as one who teaches and one who leams. And so I wish you good fortune."
"B-b-best of fortune to you also, Wise One," Ashen said. She felt as if the strongest part of herself had been severely shaken, threatened, and yet she could not protest as she saw Zazar board the craft and start to pole herself away. Nor did the Wysen-wyf turn back to look at Ashen, who watched until the boat reached the inlet to the pond and disappeared from view.
Eleven
As the little Sea-Rover fleet sailed on, the watchers could find no great change in the cliff barrier of the Bog except that it stood lower now. Here and there, the cliffs were riven, as if inviting a voyager to a sheltered harbor. And there showed, when the wave-reader used his seeing-glass, more and more cavelike openings through which issued turgid and odorous water to sully the sea.
Provisions for the fleet were dangerously low. They had begun to despair, and even to consider invading that uninviting land in search of food. Then, on the third day after the attack of the amphibian, the lookout spotted a disturbance near to shore. As the steersman brought the GorGull as close in as he dared, they could identify the frothing water as a school of fish apparently tearing to pieces some bit of prey.
What it was, they could not determine, and to feast on the feasters was certainly a stomach-churning thought, if one allowed it to cross the mind.
However, there was little use in being fastidious when starvation loomed to weaken them all. Thus it was decided in council held on the GorGull, in communication with the other ships by means of signal flags, that a group from the lead vessel would make an attempt to get closer to that shoreline in spite of what might be spilling from it.
Still using the flags, the helmsman of Wave Ruler pointed out that there was also a number of birds to be noted now, and that they could see a pocking of the cliffs in which such might nest. Birds' nests, too, might contain a possible source of food. Or they could follow the inlet ahead, to see where it led.
They drew lots for the four-man crew of the small boat to make the scouting voyage. Stormbracer, the largest and slowest of the vessels in the fleet, undertook to sail on southward, leaving the more maneuverable vessels to follow.
Obern was not surprised when he drew the knotted rope from the choosing-basin that First Mate Hasse passed around to all. In spite of the uneasy awe that the monster he slew had aroused, he had been intrigued by trying to imagine what kind of world might lie behind those cliffs and wondering if indeed the creature had come from there. He welcomed the possibility of a chance to find out.
The four selected in the drawing settled to the oars of the small landing boat.
Two were seamen used to such maneuvering. Obern and the armsman, Dordan, a sergeant of archers, followed the directions of their seagoing companions and also swung to oars.
Around them, the water grew thick with fish that darted away at their approach.
There was a coil of net lying ready at their feet, and one of the seamen was a master at casting it. They headed toward the main disturbance with what speed they could muster.
However, before they reached their destination, a chance current carried a tangled, dull-green mass, nearly a third the size of their boat, across their course. Thorny, spiked branches protruded from it. The men agreed that it must have been torn away from a rooting on the side of the cliff. Dordan fended it off with a push of his oar. Then all aboard had to duck quickly, for out of nowhere, an enormous bird appeared and dived straight at them. For a moment,
Obern thought it was one such as had followed them the night of their escape, but this one was mere flesh and blood and brought with it only that measure of fear appropriate to those faced with such a predator.
"Should have known these was big 'uns," one of the sailors muttered. "Seeing them from so far away and all."
The wingspread of this one was wider than Obern could measure with both arms outstretched. Its wickedly hooked bill snapped open with a shriek as it wheeled above them. Thick, dirty-gray feathers covered all but its obscenely naked red head, which reminded Obern of a newly flayed skull.
The shriek was echoed by a second flyer nearby. A third flyer launched itself from the cliffs. Fighting the rocking of the boat, Dordan readied his short-bow.
The first flyer bared its talons, and the water reflected the beat of the great wings as it attacked one of the seamen. The man swung up his oar, only to lose it overboard, yanked out of his hands as the bird struck. Dordan let fly, and the thrum of the bowstring was nearly lost in the bird's scream of pain.<
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Neither sea-sword nor knife could serve well here, Obern knew. Now there were two birds circling overhead, and another was winging swiftly to join battle.
Obern held to his oar, though he nearly lost his balance as the first bird crashed into the boat, Dordan's arrow protruding from its breast. The craft rocked perilously and threatened to capsize.
The fate of its fellow served to make the second flyer swerve off. But the other had no such qualms and swooped on them from a great height. It targeted Dordan as if realizing he was the principal threat.
The archer had a second arrow nocked, but the dying flyer struck him a hard blow with its wing, nearly sending him overboard. The airborne attacker screamed, and
Ob-ern swung his oar with all his strength, barely taking time enough to aim the blow.
His desperate swing caught the outstretched, naked neck of the bird- He nearly dropped the oar as the impact jarred him through and through, but he fancied he had heard the crunch of breaking bones. The force of the blow, together with the flyer's own speed, sent the attacker out and away from them. However, they were shipping water and the seamen strove to steady the boat with the remaining oars.
