Horn Crown (Witch World: High Hallack Series)

by Norton, Andre

  Somehow I found my way to that place where Tugness's wains had turned from our road. There I leaned against a rock and fought for a clear head. To go openly into the dale was to court disaster at once. Though he was no friend to Garn—or rather because he was no friend to Garn—he would take pleasure in offering me up to any who had followed me. It would be a sweet morsel to roll upon the tongue for Tugness, that one of Lord Garn's own close kin had played him false. An outlaw was fair Garne for any man, but I would be more valuable as a prisoner to be returned to shame those whose name I had once borne.

  Thus I must use what craft remained in my aching head, such skill as I had, to avoid any of Tugness's people and search out by stealth the Wise Woman. I could not even be sure whether she would give me aid, all I had was the knowledge that those of her calling did not always hold by kin and clan custom, and that she might, in her role of healer, take pity enough on me to point me in the direction whereby I might serve the lady of Garn's House as I had not done in truth.

  I do not know how I won into the dale. Some instinct stronger than my conscious self must have aided me. I was aware of fields, of a distant log-walled building or rather a cluster of three such—unless my eyes were again playing me false. I think that part of the day I lay within a cup of rocks unknowing, though I had a confused dream afterward of a black bird which swooped to peck sharply at my face so that the pain of his assault stung deep. But that may only have been a dream. It was deep dark of night when I awoke with a raging thirst, my skin as hot to the touch as if I were clothed in burning brands.

  I kept close to the edge of the cliff, where the ridge rise was steeper even than it was in Garn's land. A single thought held me to my path, that it was along here somewhere Gathea had found her way up, and perhaps so I might elude anyone on watch around the holding buildings and fields, and also come across some trace of a way to the Wise Woman's place. For, remembering how she had held apart during our journeying, I was firm in the belief that she would not have become one of Tugness's household.

  After a while in the dark when I fell and rose again more times than I could count, that fever which possessed me was victor; I took a last stumble which brought me down with such force that it not only drove the breath out of me but also sent me into a dark which was not sleep but something deeper and less easy for body and mind.

  Thus it was in the end that those whom I sought found me, for I awoke by unhappy degrees, seeming to fight that awakening, to look up into a low roofing of poles woven and tied together with dried vines so that the whole looked like a field which had been harvested and only the dead stalks left. From this dangled bunches of drying stems and leaves, fastened together to form a kind of upside down garden, autumn killed.

  My head still ached dully; however that fire which had burnt into me was gone, though when I tried to raise my hand it obeyed me only slowly and I felt such a weakness as sent a small thrill of fear through me. Now I strove to turn my head. The ache became a piercing throb but I was able to see, yet only one-eyed. What I saw was that the bed place I occupied was against the wall of a hut which was far removed from the stout building of Garn's keep. Nor were there more than stools to sit upon and the hearth, on which a small fire smouldered, was of stones dabbed with baked clay. More stones had been used to form standards for boards laid across to make shelves. There were crowded with more bundles of dried things, as well as a number of small clay jars and pots and boxes of wood.

  The air was filled with many scents, some spicy and good, some strange and distasteful. On the fire a large metal pot sat three-legged, bubbling and giving out still another odor, which made my stomach suddenly feel as empty and aching as my head.

  There was movement just beyond the range of my vision until I managed to turn my head a fraction again, to see, in the half gloom of the room (for the only light filtered through two very narrow slits in the walls and from a doorway), the Wise Woman. She glanced in my direction and then came directly to me, her hand touching my forehead where once more pain flashed and I must have flinched, though I tried to hold back all sign of what torment that lightest of contacts had caused me.

  “The fever is broke.” Her voice was low but it somehow held a note close to that of Garn's harshest voice. “That is good. Now—” She went to the fire, ladling out of the pot a dipper of dark liquid which she poured into a rudely fashioned clay cup, adding thereto some water from a bucket, then two or three pinches of dried stuff she took from her array of pots and boxes.

  I saw that, though during our journey she had worn the decent robes of any clan woman, now her kirtle had been shed for a smocklike garment which came no farther than her knees. Below that she had breeches and the same soft hunters’ footgear I had worn on patrol.

  She was back beside me, her arm beneath my head, lifting me up with an ease I had not thought a woman could manage, holding the still hot contents of the pannikin to my sore lips.

  “Drink!” She ordered and I obeyed, as any child would obey the head of the house.

  The stuff was bitter and hot, not what I might have chosen. Still I gulped it down, refusing to show any of my distaste for what I was sure was a healing brew. When I had the last of it and she would have risen, I managed to bring up my hand and tightened my fingers in the edge of her sleeve, keeping her by me while I spoke the truth, knowing that I must do this now that I was myself again in clearness of thought, for not to speak would be a second and perhaps worse betrayal.

  “I am not-kin—” My own voice surprised me, for the words which formed so easily in my mind came out with halts between as if my tongue and lips were weighted.

  She lowered me to the pallet, then reached up and loosened my hold.

  “You are ill,” she returned as if that fact could excuse a sin no matter how dark. “You will rest—”

  When I tried to speak again, to make her understand, she set her fingers firmly across my lips so that once again I flinched from the pain in my swollen and distorted flesh. Then she arose and paid no more attention to me, moving around her house place as she counted those bundles and boxes on her shelves, now and again pulling one out and placing it back in another place as if there were a need that all be in a certain order.

  Perhaps it was her brew which made me sleepy for I discovered that I could not keep my eyes open. Once more I fell into a state mercifully free of dreams.

  When I awoke the second time it was Gathea who stood by the fire. The pot still seethed there and she was stirring its contents with a long-handled spoon so that she could remain at a little distance. Which was well, I noted, for now and then that liquid sputtered, and a spatter of its contents flew out and down into the low fire which blazed in answer. I must have made some sound of which I was not aware, or else she was set to watch me, for my eyes had not opened for more than a few breaths before she looked to me, withdrew the spoon which she laid on one of the shelves and came over, having brought another cup with her.

  This time I levered myself up on one elbow, not wanting her help, and found that what she had to offer was clear water. I drained the full contents of the cup and never had anything tasted so good as that cold draft. When I was done I brought myself to make plain what her mistress had not seemed to understand:

  “They have made me non-kin—” I kept my chin up, my eyes on hers. The shame was mine, but also how I bore it was mine and I could do that well or ill. “Lord Tugness shall find profit in sending me back to Garn. He may hold your Wise Woman at fault if she does not reveal where I am—”

  The girl interrupted me and she was frowning. “Zabina is no kin-blood to Lord Tugness. What he will or will not do is no matter of hers. You are hurt, you need her help—that is according to her craft and let no one question her concerning that!”

  I felt that she still did not understand. Among our people one who is not-kin is cursed and those who give shelter to such can also raise trouble for themselves. Henceforth no man or woman would speak me fair. I was the undead walking, a
nd who would company with one who was nameless, clanless?

  “It is because of the Lady Iynne—” That which had brought me here—not to beg their tending—filled my mind. “She went to your Moon Shrine. I found her there several times but I did not tell Lord Garn. Now she is gone, perhaps drawn into some evil spell of this land.”

  “We know—” she nodded.

  “You know?” I struggled to sit up and managed that somehow, though my head felt as heavy as if helm of double iron now weighed it down. “You have seen her?” The thought that perhaps Iynne had encountered this girl and maybe even sheltered with her—though why she would do so—

  “You talked when the fever was in you.” Thus she dashed my first small hope. “Also Lord Garn came of himself to the dale in hunt. They rode westward afterward for there was no word of her here.”

  “West—” I echoed. Into that unknown country which even the Sword Brothers treated as a place to beware of—what would have taken Iynne there?

  “She may have been called—” Gathea said as if she lifted that question from out of my thoughts. “She went to the shrine at moon's full and she was one who had no shield or protection.”

  “Called—by whom and to where?” I demanded.

  “Perhaps it was not your right to know that. Zabina will decide. Now,” she had gone to another shelf and brought me a wafer of bread fresh baked, with it a bowl of fruit stewed into a soft mass which only caused me slight pain when I ate, “fill your stomach and grow strong. There is perhaps a road for you—and others.”

  Leaving the meal in my shaking hands, she left the hut and I had no one left to question save myself. And I had no answers.

  5.

  * * *

  * * *

  I fought against weakness, striving to make myself strong enough to leave this place. For I still knew that, Wise Woman or not, Zabina courted trouble by sheltering me. Lord Tugness, I was certain, was not one to be ruled by custom when it was to his advantage to move otherwise. Though all I knew of him came by rumor only, still in the core of such always lies a hard grain of truth.

  My head still ached with dull persistence but I could see now through the eye earlier puffed shut, and my fingers, touching my skull gingerly, found that tightly clothed by a bandage. I had, in spite of waves of dizziness, managed to draw on my breeches, slide my feet into the softer trail boots and was picking up my linen undershirt (which had been fresh washed and carefully folded over my other clothing) when the Wise Woman returned.

  She straightway crossed the small room to stand before me, frowning.

  “What would you do?”

  I pulled the shirt down over my head, tensed against the wince which came in answer to even such slight a touch on the bandage about my head. “Lady,” I could not dare to bow, but I gave her courtesy of address, “I would be out of your house with what speed I can. I am kin-less—” I got no further when she made an abrupt gesture to silence me before she asked a question of her own:

  “Do you know what ill tie lies between Tugness and Garn?”

  “Not between them.” She surprised the answer out of me. “It is an old feud between the Houses.”

  “Yes. Old indeed. . . . Why do foolish men cling to such matters?” Her tone was one of impatience. She made another abrupt motion with one hand as if she so swept away what she had deemed foolishness. “It was started long before Garn's father came from the womb—being marriage by capture.”

  I sat very still, making no more move to press the shirt under the belt of my breeches. Though my head still buzzed, I was not so lacking in wit that I could not guess what she meant.

  “Tugness's son?”

  That Iynne's. disappearance might be a simple—or simpler—matter of human contriving had not crossed my mind until that moment. Now it was far easier for me to accept that my cousin had vanished because of some stealthy act on the part of our old enemies than that she had been rift away through forces loosed in a forgotten shrine. But, this being so, how much more was I the guilty one! To achieve such an act Thorg must have spied long—lain in wait for the coming of Iynne—watched her movements until he could make sure of her. While I, who had been sent to patrol the heights, had not even suspected that we were under his eyes. I had been foolish, stupidly too interested in the strangeness of this land to take thought of old trouble.

  The idea she planted in my mind grew fast. Out of it was born strength so that I was on my feet now. I might not have been able to face with success a battle with the unknown (though that would not have kept me from trying), but I could bring down Thorg. Give me only steel in hand to do so!

  Now I said with authority that I might not have used moments earlier:

  “Your handmaiden spoke of the force of the Moon Shrine; now you push my mind toward Thorg and old struggles. Which is the right?”

  Her frown grew darker and I saw that she had caught her lower lip a little between her teeth as if to hold back some impatient or betraying words. Then she said:

  “Thorg has volunteered many times through these days to go hunting. He has passed by on his way to the heights, but it would seem that his skill fails at times, for two days out of three he returns with empty hands. Also, he is not trothed to any maid. There were none who would accept Tugness's offer on his behalf. I have had to give him warning when I found him looking too often after Gathea. He is one who is hot now for a woman. It is a quarrelsome family and few can say good of their house for three generations or more. Also, there was Kam-puhr—”

  “Kampuhr?” I could readily accept all that she said save that last allusion which held no meaning at all for me.

  She shrugged. “It is of no matter, save that it lies in the past. But it was enough to make men wonder where Lord Tugness truly stood on a certain concern that was of importance in its day—which is now past!”

  Her eyes caught and held mine as if by her very will she would now impress upon me that this was to be forgotten, that she had made a slip she regretted—or had she? Somehow I believed that Zabina was not given to such errors, that perhaps she had uttered that name as a test for me—though I could not understand why.

  “And Thorg?” I was willing to let the matter of her reasons be. It was far more important to think of the present than to delve into the past at this moment. “He now shelters in the Keep House?”

  She shook her head. “He went forth with yesterday's first sun; he has not returned. Before that he was gone for a full day also.”

  So he had had a good chance to do even as the Wise Woman suggested, either meet with Iynne and in some way win her favor, or else make sure that he knew her ways, lie in wait, and carry her into some hiding place of which there were far too many in this untracked land. Yes, that was all far easier to believe than that Garn's daughter had been spirited away by the unseen.

  Thorg was a man and, in spite of any hunter's cunning he might possess, I believed that I could match him. Though I knew nothing of his skills and had seen him only a few times during our trek north, still he was human only and therefore human wits could bring him down.

  What he had done was once the custom among our people and many were the feuds which grew out of it. So many, that, years past, before my own birth, there had been a solemn covenant made that the youths and maidens of the Keep-kin be early betrothed. Then any man seeking to break such a bond was at once kinless.

  Had Thorg believed that because we were in a new land and there were few maids (also Farkon's son being far away) he might do this thing without penalty? I knew very little of him but that could well be so. It would take days of riding for any of Lord Farkon's host to come, and Garn had only a handful of men, none of them knowing much of the broken lands to the west. Lord Tugness might make a show of joining with them just in order to set up subtle delays, insuring thus his son achieved his purpose. For, once Thorg lay with Iynne, then she was his by bed-right, though her kin would be considered sworn to Lord Farkon and he might levy on them any bride price he desired
.

  I could see two dales—perhaps three—locked in a bloody battle, and because of me. Had I not made it possible for Iynne to seek out that shrine, had I not gone blind myself while our enemy slunk and spied—then this would never have come to pass. Right indeed had been Garn's judgment of me.

  There was nothing for me now but to seek out Thorg's trail as best I could. He would not yet be aware I was kinless. Thus if I challenged he must answer. I could—I must—kill, washing out with his blood this insult to our—no, Garn's House.

  “Lord Tugness knew?” I had settled my shirt in place. Now I picked up the quilted under-jerkin which cushioned my shoulders against the weight of mail.

  She shrugged, saying: “You are kinless—”

  “Thorg does not know that,” I answered, schooling myself to accept my disgrace. “If I can reach him first—”

  The Wise Woman smiled but there was nothing pleasant in that strength of lips. I owed her much—the tending of my wounds, my return perhaps to health, weak though I felt. Still I did not believe she tended me because of a liking for a stranger. No, it was because of her craft, to which she was pledged, as all men knew. The sooner, perhaps, I was out from under her roof the better she would like it.

  “Your head needs fresh dressing—” She turned away to her many shelves, taking up a pot of salve here, some powdered stuff which lay within a box there. These she set on the lowest and widest shelf, and set to working the powder into a generous ladling of the salve, mixing them with her fingers before spreading the result across a strip of cloth in a thick smear.

  “You were lucky,” she commented as she came back, holding the bandage from which arose a scent of herbs, fresh and clean. “Your skull was cracked—Garn must have a heady fist indeed. But there is no damage within or you would not be sitting here.”

  “That knock was not my lord's doing—it came when I fell. This was of his hand.” I touched my swollen cheek with a cautious fingertip. I remembered my helm left back in the meadowland of Garn's dale. It was my only gain that he had not stripped my sword from me then, as he had every right to do. Perhaps his anger had made him forget the final degradation due me.