“Then you will go with all speed into disaster!” cried an unexpected voice. “What will you do when you come to Kantukal, indeed?” Trevyn and Emrist stared as Maeve entered their little circle of light, but she ignored their discomfiture in her concern. “If your father the King is of such stuff as you, it will be many days before Wael’s spell can have much effect. Perhaps it has not yet even begun. After you two come to Kantukal, there should still be time enough for Em to thwart Wael’s scheming.”
“Maeve,” her brother interposed mildly, “how do you come to be here?”
“Did you think I would sleep through this night? I heard Freca leave and followed as soon as I could. I was loath to interrupt, loath to spy, and yet loath to steal away; so I hovered near, like a moth at the lamp.”
Trevyn laughed shakily. “I know what you mean. I have been such a moth these many weeks past, afraid to singe my wings.… But Maeve, would you not rather have Emrist by you here and safe?”
“There was little safety for him here tonight.” She met his eyes quite candidly. “And though he is frail of body, Freca, his power is a giant in him.”
“His name is Trevyn,” Emrist corrected her. “He who shall rule as Alberic, son of Alan, of the line of Laueroo—”
“‘Freca’ will do well. If we are to go a-courting to Kantukal, you cannot be my-lording me.” Trevyn could not say what had changed his mind, unless it was the wisdom he had seen in Maeve’s eyes. But he felt assurance at once that what he did was right for Alan as well as for Emrist.
“—of Isle,” went on Emrist, unperturbed. “Heir also of Hal, of the line of Veran of Welas, King of the Setting Sun—”
“Spare me.” Trevyn got to his feet. “I’ll go fetch your things from the cave.”
“Leave them there till they rot,” Emrist replied bitterly. “I’ll use them no more.”
“The parchment? I would like to read it, if I may.”
The magician hesitated. “It is a very evil thing,” he answered slowly. “But it may yet be of use, I dare say.”
Trevyn made his way up to the cave in the dark, leaving them the candle. He found the entrance mostly by the smell of pungent smoke. The other candles had drowned in their wax, and the incense had subsided to ashes, but still there was light within the cave—a small, spectral light. It had been no trick of Trevyn’s mind that the emblem of the leaping wolf shone with the same warmthless shimmer as the death-lights flickering over a marsh. It almost seemed to move before his eyes, and the mouth gaped, glinting with ranked teeth. Trevyn stared at the thing awhile before he took hold of the parchment by a far corner. He rolled it so that the emblem disappeared inside, and, grateful for the darkness, made his way back to the others.
“What is her name?” Maeve asked as she and Trevyn worked in the kitchen later that night.
“Who?”
“Your sweetheart. The one you dreamed about sometimes as you lay with me.” There was no bitterness in her voice, and she glanced with some surprise at his burning face. “There is no need for shame!”
“Her name is Meg,” Trevyn replied slowly. “She is a little peasant who lives by the Forest near Lee.… I don’t know why she cozens my mind so.”
“There is no need for a reason.” She was packing food for their journey, and Emrist was asleep; his adventure had left him exhausted. On the morrow, he and Trevyn would start toward Kantukal. But Trevyn hardly knew how to take leave of Maeve.
“It is true, I have loved you in my way,” she remarked, reading his thoughts again. “But my way is only the way of the wild things that know their seasons. I am bound by nothing, and no one owns me, or is owned.… Go from here in all peace, Alberic.”
She had made him her king, now. So, since he had nothing to say, he nodded and left her there.
Chapter Four
With first light, Trevyn and Emrist took to the road. Trevyn wore the sword he had won from the robbers, and he carried the wolfish parchment in a fold of leather, gingerly, as if it might burn. As they walked, Emrist explained to him about the cult of the Wolf.
“Wael is chief priest; he speaks for the Wolf.” Trevyn nodded in understanding; Hal and Alan had banished such powerful sorcerers from Isle. “So folk raise idols in its honor in Kantukal, and the coffers of its temples grow rich. That is nothing new; there are many such gods. But this one is vile even in the reckoning of Tokarians; its rituals are unspeakable. Human sacrifice is not the worst of it. People live utterly in fear of the Wolf. I have known for months that I must try to—destroy it—”
Emrist faltered to a stop, conscious of the contrast between his slight physique and his brave talk. But Trevyn soberly waited for him to go on. He knew the power and stature of his master.
“So I went to buy a mute,” Emrist said at last, “I, who have never bought a slave. I needed someone to stand by me in case my body failed me, someone who could not ever utter the spells, for they are perilous.”
“And yet you did not use me?”
“Nay.… You had bled, Freca.…” Emrist grimaced, mocking himself. “Of course, Maeve offered to help. Truth is, I could not bear to risk either of you. And I wanted to face Wael myself.”
“Wael? But you summoned the Wolf.”
“Nay, I summoned Wael,” Emrist corrected grimly. “There is no Wolf without Wael.”
“But what was that black phantom—”
“A thing of smoke and fire. Your hand passed through it unharmed. Any sorcerer could make one as fine—though I confess I was not expecting it last night.” Emrist glanced at Trevyn, half laughing, half angry. “Wael has made a fool of me.”
“Wael was there?” Trevyn breathed.
“He was there. You felt the fear?”
“Ay, terrible fear.” He shuddered at the memory.
“That was the fear of his living spirit, which I summoned. Without its mask of flesh, the evil of his soul overwhelmed us. That and the shock of something not understood.” Emrist shook his head ruefully. “How stupid I was to be so taken in!”
“Well, you will have your chance for revenge,” Trevyn muttered. He tripped over a twisting root and scarcely noticed the bump, thinking. “Then that was Wael, too, in the laughing wolf in Isle,” he finally said.
“I thought teeth made the occasion for those brands!” Emrist exclaimed. “Ay, I do not doubt it.”
“How are we to get the brooch back from him, Emrist? What do you know of Wael?”
The magician sat down on a shady bank to answer. Trevyn sat beside him, restraining his impatience at their slow progress.
“I have often watched him by the power of my inner eye,” Emrist said when he was settled. “I have seen him with the king, or in court, or at his vile rites, or alone in his chamber. Rheged places much dependence on him, and his days are full of consultation.”
Trevyn peered. “And where does he keep the brooch during all this consultation?”
Emrist had to smile at his eagerness. “Why, on him, of course,” he answered gently. “Or else the spell would not take.”
“On him?” echoed Trevyn numbly.
“Ay, even when he sleeps. It must always touch his skin, you see, to draw. He wears it pinned inside his shirt, facing his stony heart. I saw him pin it there.”
“Mother of mercy!” Trevyn swore morosely. “I am likely to need this bloody hacking sword.”
“Unless it is a magical sword, it will be of small avail against Wael. Nay, we can only face him with our own poor powers.… And what an ass he has made of me!” Emrist sighed hugely. “I might have been slain by sheer, foolish fright last night if it had not been for you. I owe you my thanks, Freca.” He spoke the name with warm affection.
Trevyn reddened at the words. “You owe me nothing,” he said roughly. “The debt is all mine. What about the gold you gave for me?”
Emrist smiled sheepishly. “That was only sorcerer’s gold. I would not use it with honest folk.…”
“Why, what becomes of such gold?”
; “It vanishes after a little while.…” Trevyn threw back his head and laughed, and Emrist joined in, a laugh from the heart that shook his small frame. “Ay, I would like to have seen those slave merchants drubbing each other for the theft of it!” he gasped.
“Is there any chance you could conjure up some horses for us?” Trevyn asked wistfully. “Or even a donkey for yourself?”
“Nay, that would be dishonor.” Emrist rose to his feet with dignity. “I can do what I must without such devices. Come, let us be moving.”
They traveled more east than south for the time, working their way through a maze of small valleys between wooded slopes. Eventually, following that direction, they would find the broad Way that ran due south to Kantukal. It would make traveling easier, if no less dangerous. Trevyn carried a quarterstaff of green oak as well as his sword, in case they were beset. Though he distrusted these wilds, he knew they must sleep that night, for they had scarcely rested the night before. At dusk he found them a camp within a thicket of cypress, and they watched by turns.
Nothing happened that night. But the next day Emrist’s pace was slower, and pain clenched his face. Trevyn gave him the staff to lean on, but he grew weaker hour by hour. Trevyn rubbed his legs for him that evening and prepared him a draught to ease his rest. Sunk in a haze of weariness, Emrist drank what Trevyn gave him without thought or question. In a few minutes he was deeply asleep. Trevyn slung their packs onto his waist, then carefully lifted Emrist, blanket and all, to his back. The moon, nearly at the full, lit his way. Trevyn went softly, hearkening to every sound, for he would have been hard put to protect himself and Emrist if he had been taken unawares. Still, he made good speed, and by morning he found himself in a tamer country, with cottages and garden plots to be seen from time to time.
The sun was high before Emrist stiffened on his back and spoke. “By thunder, what is happening here?” Trevyn set him down and grinned at him.
“Did you rest well?”
“Like a babe in the cradle, being rocked.” Emrist looked around in bewilderment. “We must be nearly to the Way! Did you not sleep at all?”
“I’ll sleep tonight. Come, let us eat!” They had reached a deserted stretch, where the path wound between dirt banks topped by beech and oak; homesteads showed only in the distance. Trevyn swiftly settled himself on the ground. He was very hungry after his night’s journey, already breaking the last of their bread as Emrist sat, but his hand stopped midway to his mouth as he saw the shadow on Emrist’s face. “What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Emrist forced a smile. “Eat.”
Trevyn put the bread down. “Not until you tell me what is wrong.”
Emrist gestured irritably. “A foolish thing. It vexes me that once again you bear my weight for me. A fine adventurer I make, who must be carried to the fray!”
“You are man enough, Emrist,” Trevyn replied quietly. “You do not need strength of the body for that. I thought you knew.”
“Most of me knows.” Emrist smiled, warmly this time. “But there is no such thing as a man without foolish pride.… Never mind me, Freca. You did what you must.”
“Just as you shall, when the time comes.”
Trevyn gulped his portion of food. Emrist ate more slowly, picking his way through the meager meal as if it were a puzzle he had to solve. Trevyn watched him, brooding. He couldn’t really carry Emrist to Kantukal; he knew he was going to have to find him a horse somehow or they would never reach the court city in time. They were out of food now, and they had no money to buy any with. The journey seemed impossible, the quest itself impossible. He wondered if Emrist dreaded the confrontation with Wael as much as he did.
“Emrist,” he asked suddenly, “can you teach me magic to face Wael with?”
Emrist looked up with thoughtful amber eyes. “You can learn magic, perhaps,” he said slowly, “but I cannot teach you. Magic cannot be taught. It must always be learned anew.”
“But why?” Trevyn raised his brows in bewilderment. “Are there not schools for magic, where spells are taught, and rituals, and symbols—”
“Schools!” Emrist’s scorn burst from him. “Schools where the riches of the whole world and beyond are boxed into tidy charts—‘a’ is for alembic, and ten is the perfect number. Bah! Don’t they know that an emerald is not just the stone of the Lady? Everything of here or Other connects, and not in neat little boxes, either—or circles, or spirals, or any design a man can understand. Not even the mighty mandorla.” Emrist subsided a bit. “Really, more than two circles must join.… Nay, it’s only Wael’s kind of magic that you’ll learn in such schools, Freca. Even a villain can memorize certain ancient words, the puissant words of the Elder Tongue, and if power of self-will is in him.…”
“So that is how a man such as Wael comes to be a sorcerer.” Trevyn glanced at Emrist mischievously, prodding him toward further asperity. “I dare say he has a black-handled sword—”
“Ay, an athane, and robes of every color, gloriously embroidered, and gongs and censers without number. All that is good for show. But I have always scorned even to make the ceremonial circle; why should I need to protect myself? And to do any magic, either good or ill, only one thing is necessary: to call upon the dusky goddess of the Sable Moon.”
“The great goddess?” Trevyn yelped, shocked. He had expected Emrist to call on Aene.
“Nay, nay, only Menwy of the Sable Moon. She is only one phase of the moon, and one of the Many Names, though all are in her, nevertheless. But if one knew the true-name of the goddess, that power would encompass every pattern and power and peril.”
“But someone has told me that name,” Trevyn protested. “It is Alys—”
A tremendous crash and rending noise engulfed them with its vibrations, washed over them from every side. Earth moved under them and split around them; rocks slid from the slopes above and mighty trees toppled with a roar. Trevyn crouched over Emrist, shielding him with his arms, as stones and branches hailed around. A huge oak thundered to rest beside them, lifting a canopy over them with its trembling, upraised limbs. Then gradually the clamor subsided, and earth trickled to a standstill. Utter silence fell.
Trevyn and Emrist got cautiously to their feet, gazing wide-eyed at the destruction all around them. Only the little plot of land on which they sat was untouched, as if they had been at the vortex of a mighty storm.
“Where did you ever hear that name?” Emrist gasped. “Don’t say it!” he added frantically.
“Gwern told me,” Trevyn murmured. “But he said it without any such scene as this.”
“Then he, whoever he is, must himself be of godly sort,” Emrist declared.
It took them the rest of the day to fight their way out of the devastated patch of woodland. They wondered, at times, whether the wreckage stopped with the woods. But they got clear of it at last, and Trevyn was relieved to see that no households had been touched. He and Emrist went hungry that night, for they had found nothing to forage and, oddly, no animals killed by the uproar they had weathered. Trevyn’s snares, set in the underbrush around their camp, netted them nothing. The situation put Emrist in a bad humor.
“You knew that name,” he grumbled, “a name of incomparable power, and you let yourself by flogged half to death.… And played at being mute, forsooth! Who is your enemy, Prince of Isle?”
Trevyn creased his brow at him. “Why, Wael, of course!”
“Wael is just a silly old man,” Emrist snapped. “He could have slain you in Isle or on shipboard, but he plays at power as some people play at dice, reluctant to consummate the game. Who is your more worthy enemy?”
“Fate, then. The goddess, if you will.”
“She is friend or enemy to no man; she is above such dalliance. Guess again.”
“Gwern,” Trevyn hazarded.
Emrist snorted. “You want to face Wael with magic, and you do not yet even know your own enemy! Prince, what did this—Gwern—tell you about that name?”
“To u
se it when I had need.”
“And when could you have more need than when you were enslaved? You had only to make a proper appeal, and the whips would have turned against their wielders. It is because you mentioned her so offhandedly that she threw things at us earlier. And that is but a taste of her power. We might feel more.”
“So she is sending us to bed without our supper,” Trevyn retorted. “I’ll say ‘please’ to no such goddess. We Lauerocs call only on the One, and not to turn weapons at our command.”
“You are your own enemy, Prince,” stated Emrist softly. “Do you really think Aene is not the goddess?”
Trevyn sputtered. “Indeed, ay! Aene can have no name—”
“But all things you can name are in Aene, and Aene is in them. How can you set yourself against any of them? They are part of you as well.” Emrist sighed, having vented his spleen, and lapsed into a gentler tone. “Nay, Freca, you are like a mighty castle for endurance, but you will never do true magic until you have learned the wisdom of surrender, the joy of swimming with the tides of your selfhood and your life. Women, many of them, come by that knowledge instinctively, and do not feel the need of chants and charms; they have their own spells. No wonder Wael hates and fears them so.”
“Does he call on the goddess to do his kind of magic?” Trevyn asked curiously.
“Only to make her a whore for his own lusts’ sake.… Nay, Freca, no such thing!” Emrist made startled protest against Trevyn’s thought, which he had heard like speech. “You cannot use that name against him. You could bring the castle down on top of us, but, what is worse, if Wael learned that name and survived to use it, he would become invincible. Do not even think of it in his presence.” Emrist quirked a wry smile. “I know you are practiced at hiding your thoughts.”
“Then how are we to face him?” Trevyn demanded.
“That is as it comes. For your part, I hope that endurance is all that will be necessary, for the time.”
The White Hart Page 57
