“That is probably true. Very well. We’ll go to his camp, but if he cannot or will not, then he will not see me in his army’s front rank but standing before the Great Doors, kissing you good-bye.”
As the sun mounted in the sky, they turned onto a road that was little more than a rutted track running in the cathedral-like gloom beneath tall trees whose branches touched overhead. Clarice gazed out into the depth of the woods, her attention wandering. The landscape was beautiful but sad, the leaves a palely fluttering silver. She didn’t hear so much as a bird singing despite the warmth of the morning. Then a flicker at the corner of her eye made her turn.
She saw nothing then, but a moment later she saw another flicker as though someone or something had suddenly stepped behind a tree out of sight. More attentive, she began to search the woods in earnest. Fortunately, the horse was not going very fast.
“Dominic,” she said, “I thought I saw ...”
An instant later, she saw one plainly. It stood only a few feet off the road and did not seem in a hurry to seek concealment. It seemed almost to smile at her, peering under the bony ridge above its opaque silver eyes.
Clarice reached for the reins and slapped them down hard. Had she been glad the horse didn’t want to speed along? Stung by the reminder, it began to hurry.
“What is it?”
“Those things from the sky ...”
“Things?”
“I saw them flying around the Fortress. They’re horrible things, so gaunt you can see through their skin.. ..”
“Amungasters! Here? Get up, horse!”
But the mare needed no more encouragement than the thin whinny that sounded from deep in the woods. Clarice, watching, saw white flashing among the trees as a mounted corps of the starveling creatures came riding after them.
She hung on tight as the cart practically flew down the rutted road. Dominic said in a tight voice, “If we overturn, keep running for as long as you can. Better your heart should burst than one of them should catch you.”
Clarice’s curiosity did not extend to asking why. She’d been frightened enough when she’d seen them at La’al when they’d seemed reasonably well-disposed toward her. Now to be hunted by them—the hollow call of a ghostly horn sighed through the woods, freezing her heart. She looked behind her. The pale shapes seemed to be gaining.
“They’re just behind us!”
“Are they?”
“Look, you can see for yourself!”
“No, I can’t. Only females can see amungasters. They’re female themselves, or at least they were once. Get up, horse!”
Faster and faster they went, the cart rocking violently from side to side. Clarice was prey to the horrible idea that the creatures were flinging themselves aboard. Though she looked back every moment without seeing any, she couldn’t rid herself of the idea. She realized she was saying Dominic’s name over and over under her breath.
“Are they gaining?”
“No. Neither are they falling behind.”
“We’ll be out of these woods in a minute. The mare is almost done for.”
Clarice strained her eyes ahead and let out a scream. “They’re ahead of us! Look!”
To her shock and horror, Dominic pulled on the reins. Clarice wanted to plow straight through them, scattering them like ninepins, but Dominic pulled up. Then he leaped down and was greeting the white-robed figures who materialized out of the woods on either side of the road. It was only when they threw back their hoods that Clarice realized that these were mortal men.
She looked behind her. The emaciated figures of the amungasters and their bony horses were gone.
Clarice climbed down from the cart, feeling about ten thousand years old, and went to hold the mare by the cheek-strap. She too was quivering in her harness. “There, now,” Clarice said, smoothing the sweat-flecked neck. “There, now.”
Dominic looked as happy as a boy on the first morning of summer holiday. He talked with great animation to the three men who’d appeared out of the woods, grasping each one by the arm, and clapping them on the shoulders. Then he waved his hand toward Clarice. Each stranger bowed to her with great formality. The tallest of the three pointed up the road in answer to Dominic’s eager questions.
He came hurrying back, his stride free as though every step were a reminder than he no longer wore chains. He said, “Back in the cart, my sweet life. Forgall’s army isn’t half a mile away. By the way, the boys said they’re grateful to you for noticing the amungasters. They have nothing female with them at the moment and didn’t realize the danger.”
Clarice dismissed this as an irrelevancy. “We can’t go on yet. The poor mare is exhausted. Have they a horse we can use?”
“This is just a foot patrol, the farthest picket.” He ran his gaze over the mare. Her trembling had ceased but she still showed the whites of her eyes. “I can’t leave her here; she’s O’Hannon’s.”
“Did you promise to return her?”
He acted as though he hadn’t heard. Clarice stepped in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Dominic, what did he mean when he said I would soon know why he helped us?”
When he told her, she stared at him in wordless amazement. He spread his hands apologetically. “It was the only way, Clarice. He never would have helped us escape otherwise.”
“You’ll not do it!”
“I must. I gave my word.”
She would have had better luck trying to destroy the Fortress of La’al by kicking at the ramparts with her bare foot than trying to change Dominic’s mind when it came to points of military honor. She walked beside the cart in silence, watching him pull it while the mare followed, tied to the rear.
Forgall’s camp was orderly and silent. Silent until the soldiers realized who it was that came into their encampment dragging a cart like a gypsy peddler. Pandemonium erupted. Suddenly, the shafts were pulled out of his hands, and Dominic and Clarice both were lifted onto willing shoulders and paraded up to the White Pavilion.
It looked exactly the same as it had in the green meadow of Mag Mell. Forgall too looked just as before, except this time he was pleased to see Dominic, dropped down on one knee before him. “I hoped you would come safe home from the Fortress. Glad to see you are none the worse for a little more wear.”
He glanced incuriously at Clarice, who suddenly realized her habit was rumpled and soiled, her disordered hair crowned with wisps of hay. As always in the Living Lands, such things were easily remedied. This time, though, instead of a gown of stainless white, Forgall’s fancy had clothed her in scarlet. She wondered with a blush how much he knew of last night.
Dominic asked his king eagerly, “Am I too late?”
“No. Matilda’s troops are massing on the other side of Barren Tor.”
“Barren Tor?” Clarice asked, astonished. “You’re not going to fight in my world?”
“Is there such a place in your world? Here it is the site of the last great battle against the Worms, known to you as Dragons. It is a place of ill-omen, for we lost many good knights that day before a lasting peace was won. I can think of many places I’d rather make my final stand.”
Dominic said, “My king, I have a boon to ask of you.”
“Ask, my son.”
“Will you send Clarice of Hamdry back to her own place and time? I wish her to be safe out of the battleground when the clash comes.”
Forgall looked at her again, his eyes piercing. “Is this what you want?”
Without hesitation, Clarice said, “No.” She turned to Dominic, who caught his breath to start an argument. “No, I will stay until I know what happens to you.”
“Very well. You may wait in my Pavilion, my lady. Don’t open the silver chest, will you? Powerful magic there.” That was the last word Forgall spoke to her, for some of his officers came up then.
Dominic said, “Clarice, are you certain?”
“Yes. Don’t lose. Promise me.”
“I never lose. Clarice ... when this is all over, when we’r
e free of the threats that... well, will you ... ?”
Some of his friends came up to them, hardly noticing Clarice except not to step on her. They were boisterous in their welcome and roughly teasing as they talked about the battle to come. Dominic had time only to kiss her hand before he was carried off with them to accoutre himself for combat.
She watched him go, wondering if she’d ever see him again. He loved her with his whole soul, of that she had not the faintest shadow of a doubt, yet he could walk away from her now with hardly a thought for her. The night they’d spent together would be with her for always; was with her now. Her entire conception of the world had undergone a revolution. Now she understood many motivations and drives that had been closed books to her before. From what Dominic had let fall, she knew he’d never made love to anyone before either. Yet he could go back to the world he’d known before, a world of battles, comrades, good against evil, without feeling strange. She did not know if she ever could.
She knew he had no fears. He believed that he could not be defeated. Perhaps he needed that belief in order to face the battle.
Her faith was not so blind. Her fears were all for him. No one here could help her fight them. Could anyone? Clarice knew the answer. Ashamed that she’d never given religion a thought since her troubles had come upon her, she clasped her hands and sent a prayer directly to heaven. She had no doubt that God could hear her in this kingdom of magic as well as He could upon the floor of Westminster Cathedral. “Take care of him!”
Chapter Twenty
As if by prior arrangement—which for all Clarice knew it was—the rival armies gathered on Barren Tor as the sun rose to its zenith. Climbing up in the wake of a party of knights, Clarice found it hot, tiring work. Sometimes she used her hands to pull herself up by the long, rank grass that grew on the sides of the hill.
When she reached the top, she found herself standing on ground that looked very much like what would be left if a gigantic knife had sliced off the top of a pointed peak. The sides sloped sharply down toward the lower ground while the top was smooth as shaped clay. No grass or other plants grew there. The earth seemed baked hard, for even the hundreds of soldiers walking over it raised no dust.
In the center, just as on her own Barren Tor, were tumbled black stones, some broken, others leaning at drunken angles. It was the remains of a larger structure than the one she knew, but in its air of desolation it might have been a twin.
Forgall’s army ranged on one side of this monument. As the sun shone down upon them, they were brilliant in a dazzling array of clothing, with banners bearing a variety of strange devices fluttered overhead. Laughter and merriment seemed the order of the day. She heard minstrels, saw jugglers, and some of the People, dressed more simply than the others, moved in the crowd offering refreshments. It seemed most disorganized and she saw no somber faces, even among the cadres of humans clustered here and there.
She looked across to where her mother’s army had foregathered. A shadow like fog seemed to hang over them. They were standing in serried ranks, weapons at the ready. Teeth were bared but not in smiles. The silence in their ranks was so profound that the flapping of their empty gray banners could be heard clearly.
To her surprise, she saw her mother’s short, plump figure step out in front of her army. Entirely unattended, she walked toward the stones. Clarice pressed her palms together tightly, bringing the tips of her forefingers to her lips. She hoped with all her heart that her mother was offering to sue for peace. She started forward, determined to give Matilda whatever support she needed.
Walking behind Forgall’s merry troops, Clarice tried to hurry forward, her eyes fixed on her mother. It was only after tripping over the hem of her skirt that she saw the person coming down from Forgall’s lines. It was Forgall himself, his russet beard unmistakable even from a distant. Was this a parley?
A voice boomed out, from the sky, or perhaps from under the earth. “Let every voice be silenced!”
Some in Forgall’s army apparently believed this did not apply to them. Some Fay ladies laughed at a juggler, while some courtiers lying on silken blankets were singing catches.
“LET EVERY VOICE BE SILENCED!”
Now the only sound on the barren ground came from the pennons of both armies flapping in the breeze. Not even the hawks riding the thermal layers made a cry. Clarice continued to try moving forward through the crowd, determined to reach the stones. No one else seemed to be moving in that direction, though she passed one or two who were hurrying back to some prearranged spot with ribbons or other fairings in their hands.
“Let every eye attend!” the disembodied voice called. “Let every heart be at ease!”
“Impossible,” Clarice muttered.
“LET EVERY VOICE BE SILENT!” the voice admonished, apparently for her alone. Some of the ladies who had been laughing earlier gave her a haughty look.
“Sorry.”
“Attend well the word of Forgall!”
She hurried on and came to stand opposite the fort. There was a greater press of people there, eager for a quality view. Clarice wondered how she’d ever get through to see. Then the Fay directly in front of her glanced back and saw her. He paled and stepped aside, tapping the one before him on the shoulder. Everyone between Clarice and the front rank moved out of her way, some bowing, others sneering. They left her a wide-enough aisle to drive a horse and cart through for fear of her touch.
Forgall had just seated himself, gathering his heavy golden cloak about him. Clarice hadn’t heard a word he’d said, though several Fay standing around had given each other nods of approval. She didn’t dare risk the displeasure of the voice again by asking what had been said.
The voice seemed louder now but also deeper and colder. Was it coming from the stones themselves? “Heed the word of Matilda!”
Her mother stood up. Her voice carried. “I accept Forgall’s suggestion with this condition. If there is no decision after the fifth effort, the battle becomes general.”
Forgall nodded. “As my champion. I name Dominic Knight!”
At that announcement, a deafening cheer rose from Forgall’s ranks. It was like a thunderclap, yet was not quite loud enough to drown out the voice. ‘The King’s Champion! Dominic Knight, come forward.”
Clarice searched the crowd desperately. At first, she couldn’t see him anywhere. Had he decided not to fight?
She didn’t want him to fight and yet... She couldn’t have borne it if he was ever reduced in his own eyes.
Then he came forward from less than ten yards away. He wore no armor, beyond a vambrace on his left forearm. He wore no shirt or breastplate, nothing to turn a weapon but his naked flesh. In his right hand, he bore a scabbardless sword. It did not burn with blue flame as had the one he wielded at the Doors. This sword was unadorned by magic or gems. Clarice saw that the blade was battered and not terribly straight. Was he mad to contemplate battle attired like this?
In front of the two rival powers, Dominic bowed low. Forgall and Matilda in their turn bowed to him. Perhaps, she thought in wild relief, this is all ceremonial. No real fighting will take place. That’s why they all wear such a holiday air and why he isn’t wearing armor. No one will really die or be “sent back.”
Matilda stood to announce her champion. Before the words approached her lips, there arose a commotion in her army. Everyone pointed, though no one whispered, at this break with discipline in the stone-faced army.
A man came running out of the ranks, but there seemed to be something wrong with his feet. He fell, rolling over and over across the very slight downward slope to the stones. He raised himself up, his hands clasped in front of him. She saw with horror that he wore the crystal chains. Though his face was bruised and dirty, Clarice recognized O’Hannon.
“My queen, I ask the privilege of combat with this man. Let it prove my guilt or innocence of the suspicions you bear toward me.”
Matilda was seen to consult with Forgall for a few minutes that
seemed no less interminable to Clarice than it must have seemed to O’Hannon. Dominic stood facing the king, his sword’s point on the ground, his position easy. He gave no sign of having noticed O’Hannon, though the Irishman was kneeling within six feet of him.
“I accept!” Matilda said.
On the empty ground between the two armies, a huge circle appeared with a small group of stones in the center. Clarice had not noticed them before. They seemed to have risen up from the earth in the last moment. Two of these stones were upright, square and true, looking as though they’d been set into place only yesterday. The third was laid over the tops of the other two. There seemed to be deeply incised markings on the capstone, but Clarice couldn’t see them very well. Perhaps it was just the strong sunshine, but the pictures on the stone never seemed to stay the same from one moment to the next.
The two men stepped over the line and stood before the stones. O’Hannon’s chains had disappeared the moment Matilda had accepted him as her defender. Someone brought him a sword and a vambrace to encase his arm.
There was no signal given to start. The two men crouched low to keep from exposing any vulnerable flesh. They began to circle about each other with a kind of deadly patience.
“I wish I knew the rules,” Clarice sighed in the voice with which one speaks to one’s own soul.
“There’s only one rule.”
Clarice couldn’t bear to take her eyes off Dominic, now leaping back as O’Hannon tried a slash across the belly. She couldn’t look around for the kindly person who tried to alleviate both her anxiety and her ignorance.
“What is this rule?”
“Win.” Silence for a few long moments before the clash of steel on steel broke it. As the two men returned to circling each other, the voice spoke again. “There’s one more. Don’t fall through the portal. You return to where you came from and dreadfully savage it must be.”
At the same moment, Clarice realized that the “person” explaining all this was the voice she’d heard making the announcements. But this time it was only in her head.
Magic by Daylight Page 29
