“Go with all blessing,” Trigg whispered.
The cave of the bats was pitch dark, and the stench terrible. Hal whispered to the remaining bats as they entered: “Este selle, bissel arledas, al donn tha ne riste.” ["Be calm, little brothers, we mean you no harm."] So the small creatures were silent except for their usual rustlings and chirpings. But Hal and Alan did not dare to risk a light, not where eyes from the Tower might see, and their fingers grew foul and slimy as they felt their way along. Their feet slipped and squished across the uneven floor covered with dung.
After what seemed an eternity, they cautiously lighted their lantern. They moved more freely now, but Alan became sickeningly aware that the floor was one great writhing mass of maggots and insects feeding on the dung of the bats. His stomach turned, and he tried not to look at his feet.
Abruptly the realm of the bats ended, and gratefully the comrades made their way along bare, damp stone. The cave narrowed, turning into a crevice which descended at a steep angle into the depths of the earth. The two found themselves sliding down a crooked chimney of stone. Presently Hal felt his feet dangling in air. He lowered himself and dropped lightly to the floor below. Alan followed more slowly. These strait underground regions choked his heart. Grimly he steeled himself against whatever treacherous cavern might await him.
He landed beside Hal. But the lantern cast its light on a large domed passageway, and Alan realized at once that they stood in a work of man, not nature. The fissure through which they had entered showed as a dark flaw overhead. Alan stood gazing in amazement.
“Ancient people dug these,” Hal explained. “No one knows quite why. As mines, perhaps, or retreats in time of attack. My ancestor Herne, curse his name, very sensibly used one of them as the deepest dungeon of his despicable Tower. Let us go."
They padded along quietly but at a good pace until they came to a halt at a wall of rubble which blocked their way. Part of the tunnel had at some time fallen in.
“Confound it!” muttered Hal, poking about, then recklessly climbing up the huge crumbling mass. Near the top he stuck his head into a black hole and called down excitedly, “This goes through, Alan, I can feel it! Bring the light!"
Alan climbed gingerly up the sliding stones with the lantern. “Hal,” he asked in a low voice, “are you never frightened?"
Hal wheeled and looked at him sharply, then remorsefully took his hand. It was icy cold. Hal chafed it as he spoke. “Seldom. But you're far braver than I."
As Alan sputtered in protest he went on, sadly but without self-pity. “I have always held loosely to life. But you, who have the heart to embrace life, must brave the fear of losing it. The old fears that strike deepest, fear of dark, and depths, and heights—these I scarcely know, and I can only imagine the courage you spend to overcome them."
“Can you not imagine what it would be like to get stuck in a hole like that?” Alan broke in.
“Imagining doom! Why, Alan, that's not like you at all!” Hal chided, smiling. Then he sobered. “Do you really want to turn back?"
“Nay,” answered Alan ruefully, “go on, as ever. I will follow."
The next half hour might have been the worst in Alan's life if it were not for Hal's generous words. They wormed their way through the tiny tunnel, pushing their baggage before them. Sometimes they stuck fast, making their way through only by main force. Then rock fragments would shower them till, hearts frozen in terror, they were sure they would be buried alive. When they got through at last, it was tricky work not to go tumbling headfirst down the other side. But they reached the bottom and sat there for a few minutes, panting.
“How long have we been in here?” sighed Alan. “It seems like hours."
“Not so long, I hope,” murmured Hal, “but long enough. We had better be moving."
They had not walked too far when Alan felt the presence of the spirits of the dead, though only as a bodiless weight in the air. Within a few paces the dim lantern light began to reflect on jumbled human bones, many of them broken, intermingled with bits of hair and clothing. Through the darkness they sensed that the pile grew into a mountain, reaching far above their heads. This was the work of seven generations of oppression, thousands upon thousands dead. The stench struck them to the core, for it was the stench of death, of rotting flesh and the creatures which feed upon it. Hal and Alan could not face each other's eyes.
“You who died in pain and hatred,” Hal spoke to the waiting spirits, “we come not in idleness, but because we must."
The rustle like a breath of new air went through the still place. A deep voice rumbled, as if from afar: “We know you, Mireldeyn and Elwyndas, and we have waited long for your coming."
“We must ask your help,” Hal continued, “or we are not likely to live through the night."
“Wherever you move, you shall be the center of our circle of friendship and ringed with our Otherness.” As the voice spoke, Alan felt the heavy chill in the air turn to warmth and comfort. He raised his head and breathed deeply; the stench of death no longer troubled him.
“Many thanks,” said Hal. “But wait in this chamber until I call.” Businesslike, he began to climb up the latticework of skeletons. Alan's eyes widened in distress.
“Hal! Must we?"
“It is the only way to reach the door.” But Hal paused a moment, listening once again for the spirits. “Is it not, our friends?"
“The only way,” echoed the deep, distant voice. “Go, Elwyndas, with our blessing. We are proud that our shattered bodies can yet be of such use."
“It will cause you no pain?"
“None."
“Then, many thanks."
They toiled silently up the macabre slope. The light of their lantern fell sometimes on the half-rotted flesh of a more recent victim, or on the retreating forms of squeaking rats and scurrying beetles. Hal struggled along, eyes fixed on his footing, trying not to wonder whether they might find Roran and the others atop this grisly hill. From behind he heard a half-strangled gasp, and spun around just in time to save Alan from falling. Trembling, Alan sank to his knees, white as the bleached bones beneath him. From the tangled heap of remains protruded a skeletal hand, and on its chalky finger was a silver ring set with a deep black stone. Hal stared silently as Alan's shaky hand reached out as if to living flesh.
“Father,” Alan breathed, and he searched the darkness around him as if for a familiar face. Hal knelt beside him, gripped his shoulders.
“Alan,” he whispered, “even if he is here, you do him no service to call him."
“The dead can have no place in the lives of those they leave behind,” said the deep voice from its distance of Otherness. “Lover shall not speak to lover, nor father to son, but the Wheel shall spin out its seasons. So it is written in the Book.” Alan thought he heard tears in the voice.
“Alan,” urged Hal gently, “think of the living—if they are yet alive."
Alan raised his head and clenched his jaw a moment, and his trembling stopped. “May I take the ring?” he asked presently, in a voice he could not quite control.
“It belongs to the son of the one who wore it."
Alan removed the ring reverently and slipped it on his own finger. Then he rose, and they went on without looking back.
Streaks of dim light guided them to the door of the charnel chamber, over piles of fresh bodies which Hal examined hastily and turned from in relief. They extinguished their lantern and hid it among the gruesome contents of that cellar. On the threshold they listened a moment. The door was not barred; who would think to prevent the dead from escaping? So, hearing no voices or footsteps on the other side, they pushed it open.
Far above, Lord Roran lay in the darkness of his cell. The barred window overhead told him that it was night, but he did not sleep. He could not think. He had lost track of the days, for his head was light with hunger. Nothing but moldy bread and stale water had passed his lips. The first day he had been given a morsel of rotten meat, not fit for dogs,
and he had scorned it. The guards had jeered at him. “By this time next week,” they had laughed, “you will be ready to beg for such as that” They were right.
Since then they had paid him no unwelcome attention. His lump of bread and pannikin of water were wordlessly thrust at him each day. But now he heard the sound of harsh laughter approaching. The creaky door of his cell swung open and a body was thrown roughly on the stone floor just out of his reach. As the door crashed to and the men tramped noisily away, the still form on the stones stirred and moaned.
“Father?"
“Robin!” Roran sprang to the end of his fetters like a maddened dog on a chain, lunging and wrenching in his frenzy to reach his son. It was no use, and as he sank back in the straw, exhausted, he heard Robin whispering, “Father, don't..."
“Robbie,” sobbed Roran, “what have they done to you?"
“Father, pray stop. Your tears hurt me worse than the blows."
Roran lay still, collecting himself. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. He could tell from Robin's panting that his son struggled to suppress great pain.
“I am better now, Robin. Tell me the truth. What have they done to you?"
“They have tied my hands behind my back, and forced a spear through my legs behind the knees.” Robin could not quite steady his voice. “I cannot move without crippling myself. I cannot come closer to you.” There was a long silence. Finally Robin asked, “Have you seen Cory?"
“Nay.” How like him to ask for Cory, Roran thought with painful pride. Since that autumn day nearly two years before, the boys had been inseparable. Boys! No more. In that time they had grown to tall youths, skilled in the arts of war and peace, bold in body and mind, and as alike in their regard for each other as they were different in appearance. Trust each to think of the other before himself!
“I hope he has not been hurt,” Robin whispered. “Probably they do not realize how high he stands in our affections, or that he knows anything...."
Slowly the last phrase sank into Roran's mind. “Anything about what?"
“Hal. They kept asking me about him. I told them that I knew nothing of him, but it seems they do not believe me."
“Hal!” breathed Roran. “So that is what this coil is for!” Abruptly he shouted, “Guard!"
“Father! What are you doing?"
“If it will get that spear out of your legs, I will tell them an earful about Hal! Ay. I would lead them to his front door if he had one!"
“Father, nay! You must not betray him. Do you think it would make any difference, even if you did? They would kill us all the sooner, having had their purpose of us."
“Better even that than this,” grated Roran hoarsely. “Guard!” His mind was numb and fixed in his despair.
“Father.” There was a tone in Robin's voice that cut through the haze of Roran's wretchedness, a note of loving command that could not be ignored. “Let them slay me if they must, but do not let them torture my heart, Father! Do not let them change you."
Roran lay panting in his filthy straw. He was exhausted, too exhausted to feel or think, but suddenly the situation presented itself to him with a clarity that reached beyond hope or fear to the depths of his soul.
“So you want to fight them, Robbie.” His voice was as calm as if he were discussing a day's plans, but full of proud affection.
“Ay. They can have my body and welcome, so long as I keep my soul, and you yours."
“You have saved it for me, my marvelous son. We will fight them together."
When the key turned in the lock and the door swung open, Roran looked up with fortitude, expecting the torturers. But it was Hal and Alan who entered his cell. Between them walked a pallid guard, and the Tower keys dangled in Hal's hand.
In the copse beyond the walls, Trigg struggled against sleep as the night wore on. He sat on the ground between the horses and nodded. But suddenly his head snapped up, and he jumped to his feet. The night rang with the horrible shrieks of men in mortal terror. The black windows of the Tower came ablaze with torchlight. Trigg blinked in disbelief. Panic-stricken guards were leaping from the windows to an ugly death on the hard ground below.
Others ran out through the courtyard or atop the walls. The shrieking continued, and the windows of the keep beyond the Tower began to glow bright. Then the postern gate in the Tower wall swung open, and in the torchlight Trigg could see people streaming to freedom. They did not run or scream. Some tottered on maimed legs, supported by others almost as weak. Some had unbandaged stumps of fingers or arms. Some had blind sockets for eyes, and were led by others almost as blind from long darkness. All of them moved off quietly, turning pale, smiling faces to the night sky.
In the midst of this strange procession came Hal, carrying someone wrapped in his cloak. At first sight of him, Trigg crawled onto Arundel's back, gathered Alfie's reins in one hand, and sent the horses toward him.
He felt as if he were being pushed through a solid wall made of nothing but fear. He lay flat on Arundel's back and tried not to let the darkness crush his lungs. He thought that his head would burst with soundlessness, but he could not scream. He believed that he was slipping, falling to his death. With the last of his strength, he forced his arm around the warmth of Arundel's neck. Then, just as he felt his senses leaving him, he seemed to burst through.
He sat up, bewildered, smiling. The whole world was filled with friendship and praise. Just ahead was Hal, calling him proudly by name. Trigg slipped lightly to the ground and looked at the still form in Hal's arms. It was a dark-haired youth, his face deathly white, with ugly knots and cuts all over his head.
“Water,” directed Hal rapidly. “And any food that we have, give to those who need it most. Then go help Alan at the stable."
Trigg hastily handed out bread and dried meat. The people took it quietly, with wondering thanks. When it was all gone, he ran to find Alan deeply enmeshed in a welter of saddles and bridles. The stable was empty of its staff, the doors ajar, horses streaming out into the countryside like the prisoners. Alan held a dozen or so steeds clustered around him by the power of the Elder Tongue, and even Trigg's unpracticed eye could see that they were some of the finest in Isle. They slung gear on them as quickly as possible and trotted them around to the postern gate.
Hal was still working over the injured boy while Roran and his retainers stood by. Hurriedly Trigg and Alan helped them onto their horses. Hal carried Robin on Arundel before him. Trigg had a steed to himself. This made him anxious, for he was no horseman, but he need not have worried. The spirited creatures stood like statues while Hal and Alan bid their farewells to the spirits. When the deep voices came out of the night air, Trigg was surprised; but he was no longer afraid.
They rode hard for the remainder of the night. Before many miles had passed, Lord Roran dropped his reins and slumped in the saddle. Alan slung him across the horse and secured him as best he could; then they pressed on. One by one the retainers also toppled from the weakness of their starvation. By dawn, only a few were still upright.
At first light, Hal found a spring of clear water with trees growing around, and there they stopped. Alan and Trigg got the men off their horses and rolled in blankets on the ground. Then Trigg went to see if he could help Hal, who had Robin beside the spring, changing the hasty dressings he had put on in the Tower. Trigg had not realized how badly the youth was injured. Neither, apparently, had Cory, for he fainted at the sight. Trigg caught him as he fell, and carried him off to a blanket on the other side of the spring.
“No wonder,” muttered Hal as Trigg assisted him. “He's been starved for a week and a half. And he's one of the lucky ones, in the Tower. Did you see the others, Trigg? The tortured and maimed.... By blood, I'd forgotten how horrible...” Hal gulped and stopped, dabbing fiercely at Robin's wounds.
“But did ye see their faces?” Trigg exclaimed. “Full of peace ‘n’ wonder, despite their hurts. D'ye know what ye've done, Hal? Ye've breached the Tower! All of Isle will be ab
uzz with it."
“The Tower will be as full as ever in a week,” Hal answered in a low voice, “and most of those poor, crippled wretches recaptured. I released them to confuse the kingsmen.... I might have been more merciful to leave them in their cells."
“No whit!” Trigg protested. “Ye're too tired to think aright, Hal. Their faces—they smiled ‘s if they'd looked for midnight and found dawn."
But Hal had scarcely heard. “Robin, here, had a spear in his legs,” he panted in a kind of desperate monotone. “We took it out as gently as we could, but he shrieked and swooned. They all shrieked, when the spirits came. The prisoners would have run like the guards, except they were chained in their cells. The whole night has been full of screaming, and none of it mine. Alan took a ring from a dead and tortured hand. Horrible —"
“Ye're babbling,” Trigg said, and took the cloth away from him like a mother taking a toy from a cranky child, stretched him on the ground and covered him. Within a few moments, Hal was deeply asleep. Alan returned from puttering with the horses, lurching from tree to tree in his weariness. Trigg looked at him and sighed.
“Go get yer rest,” he told Alan. “I'll watch."
“You're a godsend, Trigg,” Alan mumbled, and fell asleep as he met the ground.
Hal awoke in late afternoon, still exhausted, but calm. Alan sat up groggily beside him. Two cheerful campfires gave them welcome; over one bubbled a pot of gruel, and the other licked at spits of roasting birds. Trigg, looking tired but content, was dishing gruel for Robin, crooning to himself. Hungrily turning the spits was a stranger, a burly peasant with a homely, open face, who could almost have been Trigg's twin. Beside him, rendering the air poetic with its aroma, sat a bag of fresh, hot bread.
“'At's Drew,” Trigg explained as Hal and Alan blinked. “Lives nearby, ‘n’ came for water. We got along fine; he's a cousin t'me that I ha’ not seen these many years. Bread ‘n’ gruel from his wife, in trade for one of my grouse."
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