Elof rose and bowed, to relieve his question of any sting. "Then you are a prince indeed, my lord," he said, for he was deeply impressed by the sincerity of the man, much as he had been by Kermorvan's at their first meeting. But next to this man, Kermorvan might have seemed young and callow had Elof not known better.
When all had finished their meal, Korentyn and some of the alfar led them out of the gallery and across a covered bridge which joined the hall to a high slender tower some way upslope. The moonlight was so bright now that Elof could follow his rippling shadow across the treetops below. He looked around, hoping to see further from this height, but there was only the for side of the vale, and above it the stars. He felt then that he might as well hope to reach them as the Eastlands.
"Tonight you will all lie like princes," said Korentyn, his good humor restored, "for this tower is my home. And yours, if you will, until such time as you choose dwellings to your taste." He brought them up many winding stairs to a balcony set with chairs, and behind it a long broad corridor, paneled in some light wood and lined with lou-vered doors. Behind each was a small bedchamber, the beds well strewn with furs and bright dyed blankets, so inviting that many began to yawn. A silver bowl and pitcher in an aumbry of fragrant cedar were all the other furnishings of Elof's alloted bedchamber, but these, though old and much used, were of work so rare it almost distracted his attention from Korentyn's parting words. "Sleep or wake as you wish, come and go as you will. We gather for our meals in the galleries of the court, but if you wish food here or anywhere, you have only to ask the alfar. They may understand your northern speech better, for it seems less altered. For now, your time is your own; but some weeks hence we have one of our great festivals, to mark the height of summer. Many now absent with the Guardians will be returning for that; there will be feasting, songs, dancing to beguile many a long hour. I bid you attend as our guests."
Kermorvan seemed slightly dazed. "You do us every honor already, lord," he said, and bowed.
"On the contrary," said Korentyn. "You honor us, and, in truth, you will add new zest to our revels; it is rarely now we have newcomers to welcome. It will recall to us a little of what is no more. And for you also, perhaps, it will cast some faint shadow of the glories that dwelt in Morvan of old. But you shall see. A fair night to you, my brave guests, and sleep you well."
With many polite good wishes the travelers watched him stride off across the tower, heard a door open and his footsteps mount a stair. Then they were surrounding Kermorvan and Elof, deluging them with questions that Tenvar summed up in demanding, "What is this place? Are we safe to sleep here, or should we seek to flee? Who are these folk?"
Kermorvan sat leaning on the balcony rail, gazing out over the trees below; he shook his head ruefully, and a strange slight smile played across his thin lips. "Do you ask me, of all men? When ancient heroism and tragedy, signs and symbols that all my life have inspired me, that have shaped my will to this very venture, stand living before me? When old tales I was raised on have taken my hand and spoken with me? When names a thousand years dead are given to the young and hale? How could I dare trust such a place?" Suddenly his fist pounded the rail. "And yet I do! I must! Against all reason! My heart leaves me no choice, it will not let me gainsay them. These are the heroes and legends of old, come alive."
"The legends?" asked Elof quietly. "Or the people?"
Kermorvan stared at him, then nodded. "A shrewd stab. All I can tell you is this, that there were once such folk as we have met or heard of tonight; they lived, all of them. Almayn the Wise, Svethan the Mariner, Merau Ladan, that bard Morhuen, Torve, many others, and Korentyn himself not the least; Korentyn Rhudri they called him, the Redhead, or the Firebrand. In the realm and city of Morvan they dwelt, and perished with it; so the annals of Kerbryhaine record. Their deeds and works have passed into legend, into folktale; they themselves should have been dead and dust these thousand years gone. Those who confront us now are not ideal figures, not legends. But the cause that legends are, that I could believe. And whoever they may be, they breathe humanity."
Borhi shivered. "We've only seen 'em by night," he muttered, and his meaning was clear.
"But we've met these Guardians or Children or whatever by day," said Ils firmly. "And drawn live blood from them in fight. And in all reason, do they seem like phantoms?"
"Yet they are no ordinary folk," objected Bure. "So tall, so… drawn…"
"But so fair!" said Arvhes reverently. "I could well believe we had shrunk in stature since their day!"
Kermorvan shook his head. "Not by such armor as survives."
Gise nodded. "They say we of the north have grown taller by the mingling of our blood with the men from oversea."
"But do you not see…" began Elof, and then checked himself. Ideas turned in his mind as flotsam in a whirlpool, too fast to grasp completely.
"What?" challenged Tenvar sharply.
Elof shook his head. "It is nothing, perhaps. I… will take counsel upon it. One matter, though… Kermorvan, are all those you recognized from the same time? Do the annals say they all lived in Morvan in the same years?"
The warrior glanced keenly back at him. "I know not what led you to ask that question, but it struck full in the gold. That fair lady, Dirayel, if she is the same… and after her the name was deemed unfortunate, and rarely if ever given… she is well remembered, as one of the great ladies of southern Morvan. She was lost on the first flight westward, that led to the founding of Bryhaine, a good two centuries before Korentyn and the others were born! She should be as dead to them, as they to us."
A long silence fell, broken only by the rustling of the trees and the living sounds of night, bird cries and the croak of frogs, bats shrilling, insects humming, small things scuttling and scrubbing among the leaves. So recently such sounds had seemed alien, even sinister, but within this fastness of walls they spread a sense of serenity and peace. This was the voice of the Forest, the soft insistent murmur of its myriad lives busy about their own intense concerns, and it spoke to them now, steady and untroubled. Before it, fears and tensions seemed to recede. Once more the full weight of weariness settled upon Elof, but as a calmer, kinder sensation, something fitted to hour and circumstance. In the end it was Kermorvan himself who spoke. "Tenvar, you asked if we will be safe to sleep here tonight. That at least I can answer; we may not safely do aught else. We do not know enough."
Gise snorted scornfully. "One thing we know, that they could have left us carrion on the Forest floor, if they wished us ill. Why offend them now?" Others voiced agreement, and Elof was surprised to hear Roc, normally most suspicious of new things, among them.
"That is what I meant," agreed Kermorvan calmly. "We cannot judge; we must know more, and for that await the morrow. But what the mind cannot unravel, the heart may measure. And mine tells me that here we have found a haven of peace, a bastion of living might against what would ravage the world. I shall sleep as I have not for many a night." He rose and turned regretfully away from the view. "In peace."
Elof looked at him in some surprise; peaceful or not, was the mighty mystery at the heart of this place to be dismissed so lightly? But the others were of Kermorvan's mind, turning toward the bedchambers, yawning and stretching as happily as in their own homes. Elof held his peace then, but sat obdurate till only he and Ils remained. "A haven…" he grated. "At almost any other time I would trust Kermorvan's judgment, whether it sprang from heart or mind. But not here. He is too deeply wrapped in ancient glories, he desires them true!"
She answered him softly. "And may they not be, after all? Slow I should be to remind any human of this save you, Elof, but we duergar may live three times your short span, and more. Andvar was little short of his three hundredth year. Yet we are close kin. Is it then so impossible that…"
He turned on her, and the concern he read in her dark eyes angered him further. "Longer, yes! Not forever! And not unaged, unchanged! Andvar was ancient, not hale as these. Can you see no differ
ence between three hundred years and a thousand?" Impatience drove him from his chair. He glared at the hillside beyond, carpeted so thoroughly in trees that its contours could be seen only in their summits; in just the same way must this place reveal the mystery at its foundations, if only he could trace the shape. "Kermorvan says we do not know enough, and I agree. But in such a mood what will he learn? And you others are as bad!" Ils put a plump hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. "Go, sleep then! Dream your dreams with the rest! I'd sooner be sure when I am awake!" He repented his discourtesy even as he spoke, but as he turned with an apology on his lips a door closed softly, and he was alone.
That night there were no dreams for him; no sleep would come, though weariness burned in his limbs and his eyes grew sore outstaring the darkness. At last, as faint grayness glowed in the door louvers, he slipped from his bed and pulled on his breeches. A thought struck him, and he looped his sword belt over his shoulder before padding out barefoot onto the balcony and down the stairs, keeping to their margins lest they creak. But they did not, so solid was their making; he felt the polish of the wood under his bare feet, and wondered how it was maintained. All un-
bidden, there arose in his mind a vision of feet passing back and forth, the bare feet of the Guardians, the light court shoes of the others, back and forth, back and forth, while in the world beyond the Forest centuries paced by… He bit his lip in irritation. He had come to the galleries round the great court; better he should stay alert. But when he peered down into its shadows, he saw nothing stirring save the foliage of the vast oak, and he made his way very carefully down onto the cold flagstones beneath. He eyed the branches as he tiptoed over the stone and into their deeper shadow; he could imagine alfar asleep in them. But he saw nothing. Still he hesitated; was he not being precipitate, risking offense to seek what might be shown him in due course? Should he not wait? But he dared not abide that risk, to himself or his friends; he was bound to try. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed both palms to the ancient trunk before him.
He felt nothing, save the gnarled bark beneath. He waited, and there was still nothing, not even the sensation he remembered, as of a window closed upon him. With slow care he shaped within his thoughts a clear memory, a voice immense and commanding that seemed to be borne from vast distances upon a gusty wind, yet fell upon his mind rather than his ear. He shaped that voice a name, a name of power and meaning. But still no answer came. At last, impatient at the graying sky, he shrugged and turned away. Just then a sudden flurry broke out within the tree, and he snatched for his sword. Then he had to stop himself laughing aloud, for a very small green bird bounced out onto a limb level with his face, and peered at him with bright fearless eyes. Two more fluttered down from above and sat ruffling their feathers and preening. Another hung upside down from a lower bough, peering at him dubiously, cocking its head with such an absurd air of wisdom that he had to grin. He whistled to them softly, and in an instant he had a whole flock of them bouncing and shrilling their cries around his head. He laughed and cursed all at once; their row might alert somebody. He glared impatiently at the graying sky. He must needs wait, and try again when he could; he fought down the urge to beat on the trunk with his sword hilt.
That will not be necessary.
Elof jumped in fright, and whirled round. That voice came from no human throat. Nor was it in the least like that immense windblown voice, or any other he could imagine; it was weird, at once fluting and sharp, musical yet incisive, cold and clear as spring water. "Who are you?" he gasped. "How do you know my thoughts?"
Do you not know me, One Alone? Truly, men forget too soon, without my aid. Yet once I used you well when you were within my power, and gave you aid. I hear it served you.
"T-Tapiau?" whispered Elof. "It served me well, yes, and I have not forgotten. But I… your voice has changed…"
It has not. I have no voice, or I have all voices within my domain. When last we met I spoke in that which is nearest to me, the secret voice of trees. But there are many others, and not all can hear them, or understand. But you have tasted the blood of the worm. Look up.
Mutely Elof obeyed, squinting into the high branches. He found himself meeting the beady gaze of one of the little green birds, bobbing and twittering among the leaves just above his face. Elof returned the look incredulously; one tiny bird could hardly produce that vast voice. Then another chirruped, and another, and in the shifting harmony and discord of their voices he heard a higher music take shape, a clear ringing line, expressive as a song, that grew more distinct as more and more of the little flock took up the song. Then, like a chorus in sudden unison, they were forming words. You touched the tree, as before, and your thoughts are strong. Well, would you know more?
Elof felt the shiver of apprehension once again. Roc's sleeping giant had awoken, and turned a cold eye hither. It might be better if he appeared not unduly curious. "Whatever you see fit to tell, Lord of the Forest…"
There is nothing to conceal. Did you doubt the folk of Lys Arvalen? Yet as they name themselves, so in veriest
truth they are. You see and speak with the very men and women of the ancient realm of Morvan, who fled it at its fall, a thousand winters past.
Elof felt coolness pass over him, a breath of great wonder and great fear. "Then, Lord of Trees, since it is you who says this, my doubts are at an end. But how came this marvel to be?"
Through my will. In bitter distress I found them astray in my realms, and I gave them shelter. They honor me as the Preserver, and well they may. For all but alone among the ancient Powers am I, in holding true to my primal trust. I take the part of all that lives, of life itself To the wasting Ice, to the renegade Powers whose domain and weapon it is, I am sworn and bitter foe. So long ago I gave thought to the survival of men, and set aside this land as a haven for them. Here they find a safe refuge not only from the Ice, but from disorder, from disease, even from death. And from all else that the fleeting years may bring. Here they may live wholly as they wish, free to do as they will, save where it would injure or endanger another. Though few would wish to, when they are relieved of their own needs and fears. What more could men wish for, than that?
Elof shook his head, barely able to take in what he was being told. "Lord of the Forest, it is hard to imagine…"
Very well, then. I charge you, tell all I have told you to your companions, to your lord. You came seeking a new home for yourselves and your folk, a harbor and a refuge against the menaces the Powers of the Ice unleash in the world. Tell them they have found it! Tell them that they need search no further, least of all into the east, long dead and decayed. Within the wide realms of the Forest, greater even than your own lands, there will be room for all. I bid you stay among us, and in due time, when plans have been laid and preparations made, all your folk also. Tell the lord Kermorvan!
And with that, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. The little birds bounced and chirped no less eagerly than before, hopping and squabbling like living emeralds among the leaves, shrill heralds of the growing dawn. But the unison note, the chime of meaning, had vanished from their cries. Elof, his head still ringing with what he had heard, sat down on a bench beneath the tree and watched them a moment, enjoying their antics. He was rising to return to his bed when he heard light footsteps come into the hall, and became acutely conscious of himself, half-naked, armed like some lurking outlaw; he did not want these proud lordlings to find him thus. He stepped over the bench and crouched down.
Two figures crossed the hall, but close entwined, a tall man and a woman speaking in soft voices. He recognized neither, though they might well have been among the crowd he had met. Gray forms in the gray light, they stopped before a door and there embraced and kissed, briefly, almost passionately. The woman leaned back in the man's embrace, and raised her arms above her head. He touched her fingertips with his own, and ran them very lightly down her arms to the shoulders of her robe. That he parted, laying bare her breasts, tracing their conto
urs with his fingers which cupped and caressed in a smooth, slow gesture. She turned then, a door opened, golden light spilled out across the gray stones and they were gone.
So love still endured among immortals! Elof smiled. He had it in him to feel embarrassed at his intrusion, and yet he could not. In the embrace, in the caress, there had been something so detached, so formal, that it seemed almost ritual, symbolic, far removed from the intricacies of passion. It was beautiful, as a dance was beautiful; yet it held as little involvement. He could not caress any fair woman so dispassionately, let alone one he truly loved. To touch Kara thus… The idea ran molten silver through him, quickened his breath; it disturbed him bitterly as he clambered the weary stairs back to his room. But at least his mind was no longer churning over the marvels he had been told. And from the moment he cast himself down on his bed he slept long and deeply, and dreamed, so far as he remembered, not at all.
Chapter Six - The Snow on the Forest
Kermorvan took what Elof had to tell him with great calm. "It could not have been otherwise. I should have trusted what my heart told me. They are too real, too alive, these great folk of old." His eyes shone bright as a child's. "And it is given to me to walk among them, to speak with them, to dwell with them…"He shook his head in sheer wonder.
"To dwell with them…" Elof echoed him, his voice even and quiet. "You trust Tapiau, then? You are determined to do as he wishes?"
"Hardly!" said Kermorvan hastily. "Not so soon! Many questions must yet be answered. But how will I do that, save by staying here awhile? I dare not neglect such a chance, I would be failing my folk if I did. And on the face of it, this place is truly fair."
Looking around, Elof had to agree. It was late afternoon, for all the travelers had slept far into the day, himself longest of all. The warm sun shone golden on the walls of stone and wood, and even he found himself admiring their noble symmetry, the graceful sweep of the shingled roofs above them, and the richly colored carvings and reliefs that covered so many of them, hitherto hidden by the darkness. High about the outer walls coursed carven tangles of foliage like petrified creepers, delicate yet strong, their intricate coils ensnaring graceful harts whose lifted heads strained forever after leaves that would never bend. All around this tower's winding stair a dragon wound its coils and clasping wings, only to throw back its head in agony near the summit, where a warrior's sword had pierced it through; by contrast, about the balcony crowning the tower the heavenly bodies danced a graceful sara-bande. Round the inner walls of the great court itself immense sweeps of painted waves arose in low relief. Across them silhouettes of proud ships glided, a fleet of great majesty with the sunrise behind their sails. But on the rear wall a gale seemed to sweep through the grain of the wood; the waters were storm-tossed, breaking against the very eaves, the sky dark with clouds. On all the angry ocean one shape alone was seen, a tall dark figure battling with the ragged sail of a small boat.
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