Golden Trillium

by Andre Norton

The cloaked figure became clearer.

  “Haramis!” Kadiya projected a mind call with all her strength plus that added energy Salin fed her.

  Her sister turned to face her squarely. Haramis had her staff in hand, that potent source of Power which was aligned to the sword across Kadiya’s knee. However, there was no welcome on Haramis’s face, no answer. Instead she showed a questioning which became uneasiness. Haramis’s hooded head turned from right to left, her eyes seeming to peer in search.

  “Haramis!” If mind send could shout perhaps Kadiya’s call reached that point. This time her sister’s lips moved as if she spoke.

  “Haramis!” For the third time Kadiya put all the strength she could summon into that call.

  A mere whisper came, so faint she could hardly distinguish a few words.

  “Sister … evil … barrier … have not yet knowledge—”

  The rod in Haramis’s hand lifted from the snow bank on which she stood. As if she held some pen suitable for only a giant’s hand, the sorceress drew symbols in the air. They were in the form of whirling snowflakes but Kadiya could see them, could even feel their effect. They were warding Powers, Haramis’s own—both warding and warning.

  The airborne patterns blurred. Then all was gone.

  “She is right.” Kadiya started from her half trance, roused by that voice at her side. Lamaril knelt, gazing into the now unrewarding bowl.

  “There is a barrier,” he continued slowly. “That which we go up against was very strong in its day. We defeated it, yes, but we could not wipe it from the earth. For it is of the earth—even as is that we can command.”

  Kadiya shivered—those whirling flakes from afar might have cloaked her for a moment. Haramis, who had taken on Binah’s age-old powers, had been thwarted—and Kadiya’s belief in the might of the Sindona was shaken by their leader’s admission.

  “If we can keep the seeker from the sleepers—then we are victors in the here and now. He is armed, certainly well armed, with the best Varm could give him. He must not awaken them!”

  Now he addressed Salin. “Wisewoman, how far can you range this night? Can his trail be picked by your scrying?”

  The Uisgu did not answer for what seemed to Kadiya a very long moment. Instead her long thin fingers wove air patterns back and forth.

  “Noble One,” she replied at last, “once we tried—when that one was going for the aid he needed—and he felt us! There have been times—of these I have had warning through all my use of this talent—that death itself can strike the viewer when those spied upon are strong and knowing.”

  “True—yet that one is alone at present, and we are more than he would want to face. That which he carries to renew the sleepers he will not waste. He dare not—his master will have made sure of that. But we must discover his path. The closer he draws to that which he seeks the narrower our margin of victory becomes.”

  Salin’s hands once more fell to the sides of the bowl. Her large eyes were still on Lamaril as he turned to Kadiya.

  “King’s Daughter, old links are stronger than new in this. You have worked with Salin before; you have seen this one we search for. Will you focus for us?”

  Kadiya remembered the fear of her dream, of the Power she had felt released into the one they would spy upon. There was warmth on her breast: the amulet was alive. She glanced down at the sword. Now it seemed that those eyes were all seeing, and what they fastened upon was her.

  “Yes,” she said—one small word to bring within her a cold wavering. Let him sense that, she would still hold by her word.

  He moved until his hands fell on her shoulders, and behind him she sensed others moving—the Sindona were linking touch, one to another.

  Kadiya’s tongue tip swept over lips suddenly dry as she said to Salin:

  “Now!”

  The Uisgu woman began a hoarse chant, her head bowed as if some great weight pressed her. Kadiya felt the pull, far greater than it had ever been before. There was another movement. Someone had come to stand behind Salin, but Kadiya dared not let her concentration be broken. In her mind she strove to set the picture of the man on the throne of fire.

  The liquid in the bowl bubbled this time instead of swirling as it had always done before. The vessel could have rested on open fire. Fire—there was heat in that basin, spreading to her hands and Salin’s as they once more clasped.

  That which bubbled thickened. It was not like a mirror of dark glass now, but more a scoop of something viscid and vile. The surface smoothed and there was a picture. It wavered for a moment and then sharp enough for her to see indeed that one who served Varm.

  He stood on a hillock and before him blazed a fire of sullen flames, each of which were edged with black. Around that fire massed Skritek. Even as Kadiya watched they raised a bound captive who struggled frantically, piteously, to fling it into the heart of the fire.

  She was sickened; bile rose in her throat. Now the swamp monsters were dragging forward a second captive—an Uisgu girl hardly out of childhood. They played with her as they did so, leaving her unbound, flinging her from one to another. Now they held her directly before the man of Varm. His face—Kadiya fought to shut her eyes against that face, but this was inner sight as well as outer and she could not.

  Almost delicately he lowered the rod tip of the weapon he held and from it shot a thread of flames. Back and forth across that trembling body, arching it in agony, he drew that trickle of dark Power as he might use the lash of a whip.

  The Skritek let the charred body fall forward, this time into the full of the flames. Somehow the picture in the bowl grew larger, the leader ever more its center. There was a moment when his face appeared to fill the whole of the mirror they had created.

  His eyes narrowed, he was aware!

  Then they were away from him. They looked upon the Skriteks, upon the outer fringes of that mob sweeping about. Kadiya, even as she was pressured to do this, realized what the Sindona needed: some landmark, some hint of where lay this place of destruction and pain.

  She was given very little time. The picture twisted, began to darken around the edges as if eaten by fire. Sudden, searing heat on her own hands was too much to bear.

  Lamaril’s hold on her tightened, dragging her away so she broke contact with Salin and the scrying bowl. She was able to raise her eyes from the liquid turbulence which was now beginning to subside. But every small movement brought an answering ache from her body.

  The leader did not release his grip on her. Rather she was drawn closer to his body. Into her flooded new strength from that contact. But nothing could wipe from her mind what she had seen.

  “That place I know.” Smail of the few words spoke. Kadiya had not even been aware that he and Jagun had returned from their scouting. “They are at the Fangs of Rapan. It is near the Nothar.”

  Lamaril gently released her. “Rest, Kadiya.” His words came softly. “This night you have wrought as a battle hero. You also,” he spoke to Salin.

  Lalan had knelt beside the wisewoman, her hands on either side of the Uisgu’s bent head. Kadiya guessed that she was doing for Salin what Lamaril had done for her—giving renewal.

  Now the leader of the Guardians was already smoothing a space of earth and on either side of that had set two of the glow-grub lights. With dagger tip he drew lines on the ground.

  “It has been long; there are many changes,” he commented as he worked. “Young warrior, can you show us where stand these Fangs of yours?”

  “The Nothar runs so, down from the heights where Mt. Gidris holds caves of ice, or so they say.” Smail knelt beside the drawing and was now pointing with one long finger.

  “Yes, there are caves to the north of the Nothar; that is where we seek. But the Fangs?”

  “Stand so!” Smail stabbed a point to the west of the river. “Noble One, the plague has eaten far thereabouts. Those of the clans have fled southward. It is death to hunt that trail. We have spoken to scouts, who say safety can only be sought so.”
Now he trailed a finger farther east. “That which was Noth, the hold of the Archimage, is ruins now, yet there is still some virtue about it as the plague has stopped and spreads no farther toward it.”

  “And the one we hunt is there.” Lamaril considered the markings. “Does the plague-sown land hinder him?”

  He might have been asking the question of himself. For he did not wait for an answer but instead asked:

  “The mire, is it solid ground for our road?”

  “Not much, Noble One, but we have spoken to the scouts. There will be those who join us at sunrise who know hunters’ paths. Also it is the custom for clans to keep their river and pond crafts concealed near any needed crossing and those who come will know much of that.”

  Kadiya wondered they could see by so dim a light, but they spoke positively of distances and possible ways which might well delay them too long. He who they sought had the Skritek as well, and those skulkers in swampland were a formidable enemy.

  “We do what must be done.” Nuers joined the group about the crude map. Next to him was one of the Hassitti. The little creature had squatted close, even as if it would sniff out the lines with its long nose.

  Then it straightened to its full height and pointed, not to the map but westward voicing its eerie chatter in some state of excitement. Lamaril listened to that rapid click-clack of speech and then said:

  “This is Quave of the dreamer line. He asks that we let him farsee for us tonight. Wisewoman,” he added to Salin, “there seems to be a need for certain herbs. This one, the healer Tostlet”—the other Hassitti had appeared from the shadows—“has not a full supply. Will you share with her?”

  At Salin’s quick nod, the Hassitti joined the Uisgu woman and together they burrowed into the pack. Tostlet held at last a hand cupped about a bundle of twisted leaves while Salin watched with attention.

  However, Kadiya wanted no more of farseeing. Inside, the nausea which had been born of what she had witnessed grew stronger. She could not raise her share of a ration trail cake to her mouth, though she made a pretense of doing so. When she curled on her sleep mat, she held the sword unsheathed and tight to her breast, its eyes pointed outward as if to stand guard.

  Mercifully she was not visited by any dreams that night. And with the precautions the Sindona had taken to fortify and guard their camp, she felt no responsibility. Sleep came swiftly and was not troubled.

  There was a chittering, and Kadiya felt a touch on her hunched shoulder. She opened her eyes upon the gray, mist-veiled dawn of the day. Tostlet was beside her and even as Kadiya looked up the Hassitti’s hand stroked the girl’s face.

  Coolness spread in the path of those claws. The Hassitti was holding in her other hand a cup of thick greasy stuff. Unlike that with which the swamp dwellers usually anointed themselves against insect attack, this smelled fragrant and imparted invigorating freshness to the skin it covered.

  “Healer,” Kadiya shook off the last bewilderment of sleep, “my thanks to you.” She sat up smiling at Tostlet.

  “The wise one, she had some things; I had others. Together we make the winged biters fly away,” the Hassitti explained with some complacency. “Also it does not insult the nose with bad smells.”

  Kadiya laughed. “True, Tostlet, and that is a comfort in this place.”

  She had awakened for the first time with a feeling of confidence. They had much on their side in this battle. For all of Lamaril’s warning, she was certain that the Sindona could summon such Power as her own kind had not dreamed of—perhaps far more than even the potent talisman of the Three could command.

  As she rolled up her sleep mat to stow in her pack she saw that she was one of the last to do so. Most of their company were eating, not only of the trail rations, but also of gorba which had been freshly grilled. She saw Lamaril licking his fingers, a sight which would banish much of the awe in which his race was held were it to be witnessed by those from the Citadel.

  Having roped her pack Kadiya moved toward the fire which was now smoldering and accepted the last remaining gorba impaled on the twig which had supported it over the flames.

  “Bright the day, fair the journey.” Lamaril’s greeting was formal and she made answer as best she could.

  “Let it be so for all here!” She waited for the fish to cool a little as she asked:

  “The dreamer?”

  “Dreamed,” Lamaril returned. There was no lightness in him, and Kadiya’s earlier feeling of good fortune was somewhat quenched by that. “We must travel fast and far.”

  Jagun and Smail were not to be seen. The girl guessed that again they were scouting ahead. Their packs she did see, slung on two of the Sindona’s shoulders along with those the guardians already carried. Lalan flanked Salin as they started out, though she was watchful only, not giving any physical aid to the wisewoman whose staff did not seem this morning to be so much of a crutch as a badge of office.

  They were soon off the hard ridge of earth which had supported them for so long, and the pace slowed as they wove a way through bogs. Twice that morning they faced stretches of water and each time they discovered one of the swampland’s craft waiting. There were no rimoriks to draw these; rather the Sindona stood to the punting poles and ferried the party across.

  They moved now through the tall golden growth which had given this part of the mire its name. Although the monsoon had beaten off the seed tops, it was thickened by new blades from below. The Sindona took turns, the Hassitti often beside them, in swishing spear lengths through this thick matting and sending the dwellers within scuttling away. Twice Kadiya saw Hassitti bend forward with outstretched hand-paws and arise holding writhing vipers which they spine-cracked with precision and tossed away from the path.

  The party could not stop at noon—though they had slowed their pace—for there was no stretch of ground firm enough on which to rest. Salin was using her staff now, and Kadiya kept beside her, ready with a hand wherever the footing was suspect.

  There had always been rumors that there were lost ruins in this wilderness of golden bog; certainly the Uisgu had brought treasure to trade at Trevista which had come from this land. But they had not encountered any such sites through the day’s travel.

  Jagun appeared in late afternoon when they had come at last to a rise of ground on which they could crowd for a rest after battling the mud banks and drifts. He was accompanied by three Uisgu, their faces heavily painted with designs Kadiya recognized as those of the war trail.

  The news he brought sent their party angling westward, the newcomers as guides. Before sunset they reached a stretch of island land. There were even some trees standing and their coming sent spiraling upward six droski—those birds whose rainbow hued feathers were greatly sought by traders. The shimmer of the iridescent peach-orange against the sky was eye catching. But there was no sweet singing to match that beauty, only the birds’ hoarse croaking. Beautiful as they might appear droski were carrion eaters upon occasion and had habits which belied their appearance.

  On the other hand they were extremely shy of any large ground moving creatures, so to find them nesting here meant that the travelers had reached a camping place which was not in use by anything large enough to be an enemy—certainly none of their own kind.

  The Uisgu were mustering, was the message the newcomers brought. The plague seemed to have halted its continued sweep across the land, though it had infected a good quarter of their territory. Their healers and wisewomen had been working hard to find a remedy—something to clear the leprous land once more—so far to no purpose.

  There were Skritek loose, invading brazenly as they had in Voltrik’s day. A skirmish had already been fought, resulting in a draw with Uisgu deaths. But the Drowners seemed eager to go west—mountainward—and though trailed now by Uisgu warriors they did not attempt to turn aside from the path they had chosen to wreak any more damage on the already suffering land and people.

  Also, the Uisgu had noted that now they could travel even acro
ss the diseased land without apparent danger, though they detoured when they could to clean territory. Perhaps whatever granted them safety did not hold for long.

  “We cross the Nothar,” Lamaril announced. “Then turn west. The land is better there and we can move faster.”

  “The one of Varm?” Kadiya asked.

  “He moves on this side of the river, or so it was dreamed.”

  “How swiftly?” the girl demanded.

  He did not have time to answer that. There was a squalling cry which seemed to split the sky above them. Kadiya had never heard such a noise before. It was menace given voice, hunger, rage—

  They were on their feet, the Hassitti huddled in around them, weapons swung up and out.

  The screech tormented their ears for a second time. Kadiya had been looking skyward since it seemed to come from that direction. Now there was a wavering of the brush on the far side of the island on which they were camped, vigorous enough to be clearly seen through the dusk.

  21

  The thing sprang out of hiding with a leap. It did not tower over them but the width of its body made it a monster such as Kadiya had never heard described by hunters, and the mouth which gaped wide to give vent to another screech was nearly as vast as a doorway.

  Rolls of warty hide almost hid the red eyes, which were well to the top of its vast head. And there gushed forth from it such a stench as was an assault in itself.

  The two forelegs were bowed outward and it plopped to a stand, its gray paunch barreling out between them. Those forelegs ended in huge webbed paws.

  This was a nightmare—the more so because Kadiya now recognized its origin. There were dwellers in the water rooted reeds, no larger than her hand, which resembled this monster.

  Out of that cavern of a mouth snapped a rope of tongue, thick and patched with slime. It shot straight for one of the Hassitti and would have trapped that little one, save that Lamaril moved with the speed of a trained swordsman and swung his rod so that it struck full against that menace of a tongue.

  There was a flash. The tongue jerked high. Down its length ran a fiery ribbon of green-blue.