Gise nodded stolidly. "Aye, I can believe that! Their own damned hides are as milky as sothrans'."
"He's right!" said Ils. "I thought so before, and now I see more of them…"
"But not their hair," said Elof, considering. "No red or blond, little black…"
"Aye indeed," said Roc curiously, running his fingers through his own flame-red crown. "It's mostly that bronze shade, like 'twas a blend of all… I've seen but one head that shade, know it well, but on whom, now?" Then he caught sight of the others' faces, and together their eyes turned to Kermorvan, and the women who stood before him. A likeness deeper than the shade of their hair leaped to Elof's startled eyes, though he could not say whether it lay in some general thing such as the proud set of the lean faces, or some true semblance in the bones beneath.
Then a shout from Borhi distracted them. One tall Forest man had scooped up his pack, and was casually rummaging around in it with his long fingers. "Get your thievin' mitts out of there!" yelled Borhi, moving to snatch the long wrist away; he jerked his head back, choking, as two broad spears clashed at his throat.
"Easy, man," said Kermorvan reassuringly. "Let them look! Would you not search strangers loose in your lands? See, he steals nothing." And he reached out a foot, and tipped his pack toward one of the women. She flashed him a wary glance from under her thick eyebrows, then ducked down and twitched open the straps. Quickly but carefully she pulled out strips of dried meat, spare garments and some lesser oddments, sniffed at a box of salves and bandages. Then she hauled out a large and heavy parcel of oiled leather that Elof remembered well; Ils, too, by the anxious glance she shot him. He could only bite his lip and shrug; had Kermorvan meant her to paw at that? He saw his friend's fists clench hard as the woman idly peeled back the leather, and metal rang within. Unwrapping the dark helm and mail, she gave Kermorvan a sharp glance, but let them spill carelessly on the ground as she spied the gleam of gold within. Kermorvan's frown deepened. Then her gasp of astonishment was clear as the damascened breastplate spilled into her hand, its crest a flaming web of gold in the dying fires of day. Up to the watchful trees she brandished it, and the travelers heard a soft sighing cadence, a breeze like a low breath of awe, run through the foliage. "Margh-erren 'ac athail!" she said softly, and Elof gaped.
"Raven and Sun!" he breathed in astonishment. "Kermorvan, she knows your crest!"
Kermorvan nodded, looking slightly dazed. "So I see, though I cannot understand her words. How may you? Is it some arcane speech?"
"Arcane? Man, it is your own!"
"What?"
"Aye, listen! In ancient books I have seen it written thus. It is your tongue as they spoke it of old, the words the same, only their sound differs. Listen!" Elof turned to the woman, and spoke as slowly and clearly as he could. "Krythen'a margran ac eyhel, e'yn! Yn'a Kermorvan Ar-lath, kanveydhe?"
"You I understood!" barked Kermorvan. "The crest is mine, I am the lord Kermorvan… But did she?"
The woman looked at them both, cocked her head at Kermorvan, her mouth silently forming words. Then suddenly she darted forward, peering down into his face with an air of startled recognition. Abruptly she turned and shouted something. There was a flurry of movement, and Elof felt long hands seize him; he struggled to reach his sword, but fingers of steel wire clamped his hand crush-ingly to the hilt. He heard Ils cry out, had a brief glimpse of Roc and Borhi threshing and struggling in the grip of four tall woodsfolk, then he was plucked from the ground and hurled straight at the wall of foliage overhead.
Even though he knew now that he was being swept along by those elongated arms, swinging from bough to bough, it was a dizzying, sickening sensation; branch after branch hurtled crazily straight at his face, into his eyes, at such a speed it must dash out his brains, and he flinched in fright. Then at the last moment it would be whisked aside and the next one lash at him. The rush and sough of the wind around him rose to a shrieking gale, speeding cold droplets that stung his cheeks like hailstones. The mad rush of the air seemed to choke him, stifling breath and mind alike, though of falling he felt no fear, knowing too well the effortless strength of the hands and feet that held him. He could hardly cling to coherent thought enough to wonder or worry about his friends, or where they were being taken, or how long the journey was; only the failing light gave him any sense of passing time. He guessed they were moving downslope, but never for a moment could he be sure. Then, as abruptly as it began, it ended. He felt a sudden, jarring halt, swung for a moment in shadowy emptiness, then saw a greensward, as it seemed, rise up under his feet. Hard ground slapped them a crisp blow; unable to stand, he fell on all fours and clung to turf that heaved under him like a ship. Someone groaned beside him, and he saw Borhi sprawled there, staring at him with white-rimmed eyes, face bloodless, mouth working. On his other side was Roc, sprawled gasping upon his back, and beyond him Kermorvan clambering unsteadily to his feet. But suddenly the tall man rested on one knee, gazing upward, his thin lips parted, his stern features softened with the open wonder of a child. Behind him Arvhes staggered up, only to cry out, point and drop once more to his knees, his round face no less rapt. Swiftly Elof heaved himself up on one elbow and followed their gaze. Then he understood, and felt the same awe swell up in his own heart at this unlooked-for vision.
It was evening still, the sun hidden now by tree and cloud, yet shedding a last pale glimmer through the storm-cooled air. They lay on a broad space of level ground, for their mad journey had indeed borne them down into the eastern foothills of the Meneth Aithen. Those slopes arose above the travelers now, crested and carpeted with treetops tall and ancient, their foliage thick and shadowdark. Into the very rainclouds they mounted, that swept racing and boiling by, up to heights hidden behind the trailing veils of rain. A fine fast drizzle beat down upon them and from their whipping leaves a haze arose that scattered the pallid stormlight into a hoard of soft gleams and sudden sparkles, glowing droplets upon every shadowed leaf and bough. Solid they seemed, those tossing trees, as the stony soil they gripped, yet in their files there was a breach and their summits were overborne. For from the end of the greensward a way opened between them, a wide grassy way flanked by great cedars, curving up to the middle slopes of the hill. And there, wall upon wall, roof upon roof, all across the hill's wide flank a majestic hall arose out of the Forest.
Towers and turrets thrust up above the waving treetops, arched garrets and peaked gables; down upon them gazed windows uncounted in a multitude of walls, and between those windows ran many galleries and walks. Yet it was clear that all this was part of one great building which spread among the trees but did not sprawl, and seemed strangely suited to its situation. Noble and strong were those walls in the gathering twilight of storm and sunset, graceful those angled roofs as the treetops they crowned. And even as the last gold of day slipped from the walls, a thousand windows sprang alive with twinkling light and warmth behind the cool tossing of the trees. "A very town it might be, in one building," marveled Roc. "A mighty citadel…"
Kermorvan shook his head. "No," he answered ab-sently, "no citadel this, though as imposing. It was not made to withstand assault."
"Nor to confine?" asked Elof quietly.
"No more that!" answered Kermorvan decisively.
Ils nodded, her round eyes peering far into the gloom. "If it has defenses, that place, they are not in its walls. Yet my heart tells me that defenses it will have."
Elof glanced warily around. All the company were there, at least, and their baggage also; thankfully he snatched up his precious pack. He felt suddenly weak and famished, and found himself pining absurdly for the food left steaming in the little glade. But now their captors were helping them to their feet, gently enough, and urging them toward the grassy way. No gate barred it, but on either side were tall hummocks of green, like banks or thick hedges; only as he drew closer did Elof see patches of gray-white beneath. They were walls, stone walls, heavily overgrown with creepers and a kind of ivy; one even began in a st
one pedestal, such as he had seen flanking gates in Kerbryhaine, bearing statues or other ornaments. But opposite it there was only a half-formed heap of rough stone blocks, hardly visible through the weeds.
The cedars grew so close to the sides of the way that high above it their branches met and entwined, lightest and airiest of vaultings, but nowhere did their roots intrude upon the smooth grass. So strong was the feeling of order that in the gloom Elof could almost believe himself walking in duergar halls or the calm cloisters of Kerbryhaine, between pillars of stone, beneath arches of carven foliage. But ahead of him a sudden light spilled out along their trunks, outlining a tall gate opening, and out from it, in slow procession, came files of lesser lights, torch and twinkling lanthorn. Into the way they streamed, and by their shifting light he saw more clearly those who bore them. Very tall and stately they stood, grace and dignity in their bearing, and the torchlight flickered mellow over rich patterns and broideries in their garments, picked out rich jewels adorning the shadowed faces. Scant sound they made, save the soft sigh and rustle of gown and robe against the short grass, the murmur of fair voices lowered as at some solemn occasion; a woman's laughter bubbled up, light and clear as moonlight, and as swiftly vanished. Along the flanks of the walk they ranged themselves, as if the shabby travelers were a procession that must pass between and through the open gate.
The travelers stared wide-eyed; some might have hesitated, had Kermorvan not strode on so firmly, his keen eyes alive with wonder. Elof, dry-mouthed, fought down his own unease; what else, after all, could they do? At their backs loped the ones who brought them here, and all around them was the trackless Forest. But that thought only heightened the unreality of all he saw, this noble hall and lordly company before him; it was too much like a dream.
Suddenly Kermorvan halted, so sharply Elof almost barged into him. Out of the gathered ranks a tall figure had stepped, and advanced toward the company; he doffed the cap he wore, and bowed deep before the travelers. Elof studied him keenly, seeing a face longfeatured but wholly human, lined and weary, yet serene. Tall and slender he stood, unusually so for a man yet far less than the woodfolk; hand and limb were of human measure. He gazed at them for a moment; then he spoke, and his speech was warm and clear. "Korhemyn, arlathain! Er heroth devyes lysaiau 'an aithenl Korhemyn!"
The language was Sothran, and less archaic than that the woman had spoken. Elof swallowed his astonishment, and whispered urgently to Kermorvan, "He welcomes us as lords! And names himself—"
"I heard!" said Kermorvan crisply. "As chosen herald of these woodland halls! Chosen by whom, I wonder? But we must answer him, in all courtesy." And speaking as clearly as he could, he returned the greeting, and named one by one each member of the company, making as much of their qualities as he could, and last of all those who stood by him. To each the herald bowed, but when Kermorvan named Ils a great lady of the duergar, a ripple of excited comment ran through the ranks of watchers; many among them sank to one knee or made solemn obeisance.
Ils' eyes widened, and she hastily bowed in return; Elof saw how greatly such courtesies impressed her, she who had found scant honor among ordinary men. It was to Elof next that Kermorvan turned, naming him a smith of great lore and greater craft for all his youth, and a valiant fighter at need; that also seemed to impress the watchers. "For myself, I have led this company out of the distant West-lands, and Keryn, Lord Kermorvan, is my name." And as he spoke it the woman of the woodfolk darted forward, sank on one knee before the herald and held out the breastplate in her long arms, shining clear in the torchlight.
It seemed then that a single gasp, a single sigh, arose from the shadowy watchers, running like a rushing breeze among the torchflames. Even the herald stared as if bereft of words. Then they surged forward, torches held high, and some among the company laid hand to weapon, though they could never hope to fight such a throng.
But the press parted suddenly, and a man taller than most shouldered his way through. They fell silent and drew back; seizing a torch, he strode toward the travelers, looming up over them like a young tree, his mantle and hose flaring dark green in the yellowish light, and rich goldwork gleaming in his tunic. "Keryn!" he cried, "Keryn, is it truly you? Do I find you here at long, long last? Where I had long since lost hope of your coming?" His deep voice faltered as he looked upon their uncomprehending faces, Kermorvan's set grim as granite, "Keryn? Is aught amiss? Do you bear some grievance against me? Or are you ill, then, that you offer me no greeting? I, your own brother!"
Elof stared around at the few faces he could make out, seeking laughter or pity in them, as at some harmless dotard or madman. But nothing of that did he see in the long countenances, nothing but a deep interest, a tinge of concern. Kermorvan's gray eyes glinted wide in the torchlight, and his voice dripped a bitterness Elof had hardly believed the man could feel. "I can give you no other answer than this. My parents are dead, my mother in bearing me, her firstborn and her last. I never had a brother."
"But how is this?" demanded the newcomer. "Does some thrall of blindness lie upon you? Oh, this is bitter cruel, bitter as the very heart of the Ice! Do I not know your voice, your face, as well as my own? Look upon my own, and tell me I lie!" He held the torch high, and the first Elof saw by its light was the gray-flecked bronze of the man's hair, the tracks of tears upon his gaunt cheek. Kermorvan stared up into those long features, and slowly his stern mouth lost its set, his lips parted, seemed to tremble. Ils gasped aloud, almost a cry; a sudden deep chill sank into Elof s stomach. Distort either face, lengthen Kermorvan's or shorten the other, and they would mirror one another. It was as if each mocked the other, yet both were noble, proud, even fair in their way, inescapably akin.
But Kermorvan shook his head. "Sir, I have never set eyes upon you in my life."
"No!" stammered the man. "How may this be? You are Keryn as I remember you… But that should not be! As if no time had passed! As if you… he… had grown no older, while I, I who was younger… How? How?" His voice cracked in horror and confusion, and the torch shook violently in his hand. Deep lines were scored on his face, wrung as if by agony. Kermorvan, without thinking, reached out reassuringly. The sudden gesture startled them both, and they stared at each other again; it was almost an intuitive acknowledgment of their kinship.
"You… he… remained," murmured the stranger, and to Elof it seemed that a tension grew among the watching throng, the string of a tuned instrument wound slowly tighter. "Remained behind, when our last defense was overborne, when the Ice itself came finally against our very walls, and all along the shore the stout stones cracked and shattered like nutshells. There was a fearful sight indeed! Did we deem something so weighty would move slowly, as till then it had done, inching its way forward day by relentless day? No; not in this, its final assault; not after that night, clear and cold, without wind or cloud. So still the Waters lay, still as a mirror under the moon, on the far horizon reflecting those cruel white crags that reared over once-fair fields and woodlands. Yet even their turmoil, their storms and roaring avalanches, whole ice cliffs collapsing into the Waters to become great floating mountains, even that was stilled then awhile. Fair I thought it, and an omen of peace…" He shivered suddenly, violently. "Then… it was as if the moon breathed upon the Waters. For that whole great landlocked sea clouded as would a mirror. And in the very beat of my heart it turned all to silver, and thence to white! I knew then that our doom stood at our gate. Our very ships were crushed in their harbors, our islands overwhelmed; terrors flooded across the Ice, troll and dragon and other fell beasts and fell men and half-men behind them, that then laid siege to our very walls. And behind them, whom we might yet have withstood, the crags themselves advanced. No longer did they inch along; across that frozen sea they glided, as fast it seemed as a man might run, and a howling gale was their herald, their banners a vast wave of rubble and stone they bore before them. Its own creatures the Ice overwhelmed and cared not. It bore up against our shoreward walls, and the stones
, the strong stones, cracked like shells, shells… Then my brother bade flee all the followers that were left him, his loyal lords and counselors, his soldiers and his people, all their families who remained. And when we would not, he commanded us with all his force to fare, some eastward with tidings to my own realm, but most, myself among them, westward. For thither he had already sent his young son, in charge of our sister Ase and the great Lord Vayde. His son must grow up to build a new realm in the west, far beyond the reach of the Ice, and there reunite the sundered kindred; he had sent the high scepter with him, but he would have need of more tangible force if he was to assert his kingship and his power." The man stared at them now with eyes that burned. "We were to make our way west as best we could, and if we could come there, serve the holder of the scepter, his rightful heir. But my brother, he himself would not come, for in his city, he said, lay his destiny, to live or die with it. And he took the crown, and two old warriors of his guard, and went from among us. What could we give him then, but our last obedience? We took what we might gather and made a great sally from the landward gates, scattered the besiegers there and won free. But even as we ran free across the hills, we turned and looked back and saw the white crags grind across our walls, scrape them from sight as the edge of a hand wipes clean a slate. The tall towers, the bridges and battlements, the rows of rooftops, we saw them leap up in thunder and turmoil before the advancing walls, and topple or be crushed. Then all was ground down into silence. All that had come down to us across long centuries, that only days past had seemed to us mighty enough to withstand as many years more, strong enough to scorn the challenge of mere Ice, all that we saw crumble and vanish before us in a mere shred of time. All the mountains of the earth falling could not have obliterated it more completely; the very dust that escaped the Ice its gales took and scattered in mockery. Many among us slew themselves upon their own weapons at the sight, or cast themselves down from the heights. For it seemed to us that all the shielding Powers had forsaken us, and that the world's ending was come."
The Forge in the Forest Page 16
