Horn Crown (Witch World: High Hallack Series) (13 page)

“On your own head be it!” she snapped. Once more there lay silence between us until I broke it, since I had decided that this warring of words was of no service to either of us.

“It may be true that you shall find welcome here. Was it with one of the guardians of this way that you held speech with air only before you? Only I am pledged to find Iynne, since that is a kin debt. That I shall endeavor to do with every bit of strength I can summon. Perhaps a sword is no answer, I do not know. But I am only a warrior—”

Why had I said that? For nothing else had I ever chosen to be. Yet now I felt another need beginning to move in me. What had been said to me concerning a seed planted—which would grow? I was no Bard, that I knew. So, what did move in me to reach forward eagerly, longing to test the secrets of this green land ahead? More than just the search for Iynne spurred me, I realized. I had a desire, a thirst for learning what lay here—what I might of such people as I had seen during my vision in the lost keep.

“You are a man!” She made of that statement an accusation.

It was true that Wise Women had no dealings with marriage. They were known to hold to virginity lest some of their power be lost in coupling. Perhaps deep in them they harbored a contempt for all males, such as I read into her voice now.

I laughed. “That I am!” Again I remembered the rousing warmth of my amber lady’s kiss. But if this lean-flanked, sun-browned girl thought that I lusted after her, having seen Gunnora, she was very wrong. “In your learning you would deny everything to me because of that? You speak of the Horn-Crowned One and his sacrifice—how is it that I have heard nothing of
that
in all my years? If it was once the way of life, it certainly has not been for seasons uncounted now. Among the kin—”

“The kin!” she flashed. “We are not among them. Yes, much has been forgot. I did not begin to dream how much, until I passed the Gate. Then I was like one being let out of a tight prison into an open world. I have begun to learn, but I am only on the first part of the path—a path you cannot think of walking. Go back, kinless one—you cannot hope to stand—”

“We shall see what I can or cannot stand,” I returned, as sharply. She had flung that last insult at me knowingly, meaning to wound, reminding me once again of the need for restoring my own pride. More than ever I knew that I must continue or be damned in my own eyes.

I wanted to know what invisible presence she had met with on the mountain land. However, if she would not tell me I could not force it out of her. As I faced her squarely I saw the fierceness fade a little from her eyes, then she looked down at her wand, twirling what was left of that about in her hands.

“Why will you not let matters be—?” she asked in a low voice. “You push, you pry, your very presence here may lead to defeat. I could turn this on you—” The end of the wand flipped a fraction in my direction. “Only if I use my gift so, then the force would strike back at me. I cannot send you away, I only ask that you go. I have spoken ill of your Lady Iynne, but accept this: when I find her I shall do all in my power to free her from a tangle, which she invited in her foolishness, and return her to her own life. I can do this, being who and what I am. You cannot—”

“Because I am who and what I am?” I asked. “I may surprise you still. Shall we go?”

She shrugged and started the descent again, this time at a more sober pace to suit the roughness of the way. For on this side the peak was far more precipitous than had been the other. Here were places where it was necessary that we aid one another in finding hand-holds, or steadying over drops.

There was no more speech between us, but our hands met readily enough when it was needful. Finally we reached better and easier ways which brought us into that green land. Here there were a number of those same trees that had been in that wood which had seemed to harbor the spirit woman I had met. There was no brush growing beneath them, only patches of moss. In pockets of sun, flowers bloomed—mostly white, faintly touched on petal tip with either rose or a green-yellow, so perfect one might have thought them fashioned from gems.

Perfume hung in those sunlit glades which Gathea did not cross directly. Rather she passed about the edges, being careful not to touch or disturb any of the flowers. While I was content to copy her example.

However, I noticed that she made such detours hurriedly and never looked at the flowers directly. Once when I fell a little behind she turned and beckoned me on. Pointing to the flowers, she said:

“They are dangerous—to us. There is a sleep lying ready in their scent to drug the traveler, give him strange dreams.”

How she knew this I did not understand, for their like I had never seen. But a Wise Woman has much knowledge of growing things and perhaps Gathea could sense from her training what carried danger within, even though she had not seen them before.

Gruu had vanished, speeding well ahead of us after we had found our way down the last slope. We had not stopped for nooning meal and I knew that what lay left in my wallet was not enough to carry us far. I was hungry and I began to cast glances about us as we went for either game, or some growing thing which would fulfill our needs. Save that there were neither to be seen in that wood.

At length we came from among the tall trees and their attendant glades of flowers, into a forest more natural to me, for these trees seemed closely akin to those I had known on the other side of the Gate. We had not ventured far within that section before we chanced upon a game trail on which were the fresh hoof prints of deer.

Still Gathea made no move to halt, but I was heartened to think that when we did camp we might have fresh meat to roast over a fire. As she continued a pace as swift as the obstructions of the wood would allow, I became restive, and, at last, broke that silence which seemed to be of her choice.

“I have food of a sort,” I said abruptly. “It would be best to eat.”

I believed that she had been so busied with her own thoughts that my words came as a startling surprise. Now she did pause and her hand went to the latching on the wallet I had brought her. She looked around. Nearby lay a mossy trunk of a tree that she chose as a seat. I dropped beside her and brought out my bag of grain now three-fourths empty, and a small portion of smoked meat.

She had unlatched her own supply bag and had a handful of dried fruit, two very stale, dried journey cakes. How had she fared during those days we had been apart? Had Gruu hunted for her or had the trail she followed been better served with fruit?

“None of that,” she shook her head at the meat I offered. “I do not eat much flesh within this land. And if you are wise you will not either. In fact, it would be better by far for you to bury that,” she looked upon the meat with aversion. “Things—hunters—can be drawn by the very scent, old and dry as it is.”

I considered what she had said. It was true she must know far more of this country—perhaps through some report from her invisible friend—than I did. Thus it would be wise to be governed—up to a point—by her advice.

With a sigh, I grubbed a hole in the soft earth beside that log, dumped in my meat, and covered it over. I made do with part of a cake and some pieces of the fruit she had offered me, setting aside my coarse ground meal for the future. It was peaceful here and, now that we had settled and there was no longer the sound of our passing to act as a warning, I began to hear the small noises of the life which must inhabit this place.

Down one of those trees flashed a creature with a plumed tail to act as a balance. It had a long narrow head, and very keen eyes which kept upon us as it came. The thing squeaked in a high note and appeared to have no great fear of us.

Gathea made a small twittering noise. The animal retreated up the trunk for a short space, then halted, peering down at her with an intent stare. From the wealth of teeth it showed, I believed that it certainly had no fear of hunting and it must do well for itself as its body was plump, its fur shiny and soft.

Again it squeaked. I could not put aside a belief that it had answered, in its own way, my companion. Again it flitted down the tree trunk, leaped a last portion, to land on nearby, then ran fearlessly to the girl who held out a piece of dried fruit. The forepaw with which it reached was more like a hand than a paw, and it used that appendage with as much dexterity as a man might use his five lingers.

It chewed at the morsel, swallowed. Then it squatted, its tail flaring back and forth, snapping from side to side, and loosed a volume of squeaking. Plainly it was talking after its own fashion, and I rapidly changed my estimate of its intelligence.

Gathea twittered and then shook her head regretfully. Whatever news or message the creature had brought was plainly not to her understanding. At least she did not know
everything
about this land. Its squeaking ended in a squeal which held a note of alarm. Then it was gone, a red streak back up into the branches of its chosen tree.

The wood became still—too still. Gathea swept the remaining food back into her wallet, latched that. Then she leaned forward a little, plainly listening. I could catch nothing but the silence, but that in itself was a warning. I could have liked just then to see the silver head of Gruu rise above the bushes, being very willing to trust the cat’s sense concerning enemies. That some inimical force was now moving within the wood I had no doubt all.

I got to my feet as quietly as I could, then tensed. There came a loud call—and
that
I had heard before. It was the croaking of those evil-looking birds which had plagued us in Garn’s dale. They could not penetrate the cover of the trees which roofed us over; still I was very certain that they knew we were here. Also they did not come in to attack, but rather waited as might those hounds a hunter loosed on a trail. We had been discovered, we were about to be the prey of some force, and an evil one if those birds obeyed his, her, its commands!

13.

Gathea stood beside me, her head held high. I saw her nostrils expand as if, like Gruu, she depended upon sense of smell. If she picked up such a warning it was denied me. Rather I listened to the calling of those birds and then I gazed along the aisles between the trees. Of the great cat there was no sign, though I wished that he had remained with us.

Because I needed some hint for our possible defense I rounded on my companion, determined to get a straight answer from her.

“What do those call? Them I know and have seen before and they are surely evil.”

She met my demanding gaze and I could see she was shaken.

“The Wings of Ord.” Her voice reached me nearly overridden by the clamor from the skies.

“And this Ord?” I pressed her.

Gathea shook her head. “He is, I think, one of the great Old Ones—I—” Her eyes dropped to the wand which she still held, and then once more she looked at me. “There is that I can do—for my own safety—but whether it will also hold for you. . . . Bring forth that cup!”

So sharp was her order that I obeyed without stopping to think. The face of the Horned man looked up at me. Some trick of the light shifted in here by the leaves gave it a change of countenance, made it appear for a moment or two as if those silver eyes had come to life, regarded me measuringly.

“We should have wine—” She looked about her as if a cask might suddenly appear from the air itself in answer to her need. Then she scrabbled within her wallet, brought out several small pieces of fruit which I recognized for long dried grapes, hard and black.

“These—into the cup!” She held out her hand and I scooped up those dried balls (there were seven of them I noted) to drop into the hollow of the goblet. “Now water—no, it must come from
your
flask!”

Upon the dark balls I sloshed what might have measured three mouthfuls of water, wanting to save our supply since I did not know when I could replenish the bottle.

Some new sense arose abruptly within me. I was grasping the cup with both hands, near level with my chin. So holding it I also turned it, that the liquid it held washed back and forth across the long dried fruit. A poor substitute for wine, perhaps—only, maybe a firm desire in such straits would equal the lack.

“Look at
him!”
Gathea’s voice was taut. “Think of
him!
Think of wine, a toast to the Hunter. His pledge cup has passed to you. Perhaps that means that you have favor. But this is a sort which no magic raised by a woman can summon. Think of wine—the taste of it—pledge your service to
him.
Do it—and speedily!”

I did look at that face under the stag horn crown. There was that in it which was not human, yet here was enough of mankind to make me hope that perhaps whatever magic she believed might be woven by this
would
come to our aid. Though I had never tried to make my mind command my sight, I had learned enough to believe this might be done—whether or no I was taught in the mysteries of Power.

The silver face stared back at me, that alienness, which had at first appeared so marked, was growing less. There
was
power here. This represented a high lord, one who dealt justice to his people with one hand, and defended them against all ill with the other. To ride among the household of such a one would be enough for any man.

I raised the goblet yet higher, closed my eyes, and set in my mind that what washed within was not water and bits of dried fruit. No, rather I prepared to taste such a drink as had filled it on that night when I had sat at the feast board at Gunnora’s left hand. Setting the rim to my lips I drank.

And—I shall always swear by all I hold in my heart as right and strong—what I sipped was indeed wine, spiced, mellow, such a vintage as had not stood in the casks of any keep I knew. I pledged with those mouthfuls my service—I who was kinless, and had no honor among my own any more.

We of the clans swear our strongest oaths by blood and steel, and by the Flame. Though the latter is a faroff thing which only the Bards and a handful of believers ever mention. I swore rather by a wine which I drank, by that within me which drew me to this lost lord whose face I looked upon as I turned the goblet upside down as is our custom for honor pledge. There dripped from it (yes, this too I swore to) not water, not knotted ball of sun-dried grape, rather wine light as the sun, yellow and clear. Those drops fell into forest mould and were gone. I threw back my head and shouted aloud words which I did not know but which had come easily into my mind:

“Ha, Kurnous, Ha, Hie Wentur!”

My cry swelled, echoed among the trees, repeated over and over again. About us leaves shook as a wind rushed upon us, wrapping us around. We stood without hurt as branches snapped free and hurtled by us, pieces of the leaf mould underfoot were scuffed up and sent hurtling off.

An inflow of new strength swelled within me. I felt in that moment that I was greater than any man, filled with something I could not name but which made me more alive than I had ever felt before in my life. I could have drawn steel and stood against the open attack of a whole clan, laughing as I fought to victory. Or I might front such a cat as Gruu with none but my own two hands, and it would be the cat that would first give ground!

Above the rushing of the wind we could hear the hoarse cries of the birds. They were screaming, calling to whatever had sent them for aid. No help came to them. I saw the air toss branches of the trees which had sheltered us, and between those whipping limbs, that beat wildly here and there, began to fall bundles of ragged feathers, limp bodies of battered birds. Some still struggled feebly as they struck the ground. Their red eyes were glazed, but one or two still gazed toward us and their furious hatred was plain.

The wind swirled, appeared to gather itself together as if it had just formed a wide-flung net and was now being once more compacted into a bundle. Then it was gone. Only a scatter of torn leaves and the dead birds remained.

My exultation had swept with that wind. I drew a deep, ragged breath, looked once more at the Horned Hunter. The face on the goblet held no hint of any life now. In fact a dulling crept across the silver so that it looked both old and worn, as if a virtue had departed out of it. I held it gingerly. What I had wrought by its aid had left me shaken. Now I wanted to stow it away—to think out what I had done and why I had been able to do it.

However, as I placed it back in the wallet, I glanced at Gathea. She was farther apart from me, her back set against a tree, her eyes wide. Between us she held up the wand, as if to ward off blows she half expected I might aim at her.

“He
came
—” Her words were low, shaken. “He truly came—to your calling. But you are a
man
, a man of the clans, of the House of Garn, how could you do this thing?”

“I do not know—nor even what I did. But you expected it—you told me—”

She shook her head. “I only had some hope—because you possessed the cup. Now you have done what even a Bard would not dare to try—you summoned Him Who Hunts and have been answered! This is—I must think on this! Now, let us go before that which sent the Black Ones can seek us again!”

She began to run along one of the more open aisles of the wood, leaping over fallen branches here and there. I followed, catching up just as we came out into the open.

I expected that some of that vile flock might have survived the killing wind to spy on us. There was nothing to be seen there except one winged thing (too far to say whether it was bird or something far worse) flying at speed away from the wood. So, relieved of any need for immediate action, I turned to Gathea, caught her arm and held her by main strength. The time had come for answers to my questions.

“Who is He Who Hunts? The Black Ones? Ord? You will tell me now what you know!”

She twisted in my hold, and she was strong, stronger than I thought a woman might be. Still I held her and when she half raised the wand I promptly struck out at her wrist as I was only too wary of what she might do. I had never so roughly handled a woman before, nor did I like this trial of strengths between us. However I was through moving blindly when I believed that she had knowledge which might save us both from new and unknown perils.

Gathea glared at me, though she stopped her struggle. I saw her lips move, though they shaped no speech I could understand. So I swept her closer to me, clapped one hand over her mouth for I believed she might be summoning up some new aid—against me.

“You will talk!” I said into her ear as I held her prisoner against my body. “I have gone your way too long—you have drawn me into sorcery—and I will have answers!” She was like a bar of sword steel in my hold, though she no longer fought for freedom. What further steps I might take to make her answer I could not imagine.

“You are no fool,” I continued. “To go farther into this land without knowing how we may arm ourselves—that is folly past believing. I do not want your secrets—but I am a warrior as you know. I will not go blind if you can tell what will aid me. Do you understand?”

I thought that her stubbornness was going to continue. If so I did not know what I could do, for I could not hold her prisoner forever. When she would not speak, another idea came to me, even as had that invocation which had entered my mind. I spoke again and did so in a voice which demanded an answer:

“By Gunnora I ask it!” For I felt that to invoke whatever power had answered the cup ritual would not make her yield. She spoke so much of women’s knowledge and of things which were not of a man’s world at all—proud in the fact that this set her apart. Gunnora had been all woman and I was sure a person of no little power—in her own time and place.

I was certain that I had done rightly when Gathea made a last plunge for freedom without warning. However I was ready for such a ploy and gave her no chance. Only I repeated:

“By the power of Gunnora, I ask this!”

She as suddenly went limp in my hold, her head bobbing against the hand which gagged her. I released her then and stepped away, but I kept a wary eye on the wand. She was grasping it tightly, the burned part down, and she did not face me even now, only her voice, cold and hard, came:

“You meddle still. Once you shall go too far, and then you shall learn what comes to those who invoke what they do not understand. You are the fool!”

“I would rather be a live fool, than a dead one. And I think you know enough to let both of us walk this land with some weapons besides steel to hand. You know where we go—”

“Where
I
go!” Gathea corrected me. Even now she kept her face turned away as if she had been shamed by my handling and was thus lessened even in her own eyes. But I kept rein on any sympathy—I had treated with her fairly from the first, she could not say the same and be honest.

“Where we both go,” I corrected her calmly. “Also, you have a guide—one unseen—I saw you speak with such a one. Is she—or it—here?”

“These are Mysteries, not to be spoken of by those who stand outside,” she retorted.

“I have been involved in them. I have spoken to Gunnora. I have called upon the Hunter—and did he not answer me?”

She still would not look at me, rather her eyes went from side to side as a cornered animal might search for some hole of escape. “I have given oaths. You do not know what you ask—”

Again I was visited by inspiration. “Call upon that which cannot be seen—ask then of it whether I should be left blind among the sighted. I demand this in Gunnora’s name!”

The wand quivered. “
She
—why do you speak of
her
? She is no voice for a man’s hearing!”

“She is for this man. I sat at a feasting board at her left hand and she spoke to me with far better grace than you have ever known. The cup was her gift—”

“I cannot tell—”

“Then summon what can,” I pressed her. “Your invisible one.”

Now she did look at me and there was a flame which could be either rage or hatred in her eyes.

“On you then be the consequences!” She drove the wand butt down with a vicious push into the ground at her feet, stepped back a pace or two to settle herself beside the charred branch cross-legged, her gaze now concentrated on the half-burned wood.

My own hand fell to the wallet in which I had put the goblet and I pictured in my mind my amber lady as she had been, full of life, as ripe and bountiful as the symbol she wore.

There was a gathering chill, though the sun had been warm on my helmless head only moments earlier. I felt as if the breath of the Ice Dragon was spreading outward from the half-consumed rod which meant so much to my companion. Every passing moment I expected to see that light fan out to hide it. Only that did not happen. Just that cold grew greater, as if to banish me. I stood my ground and thought of Gunnora, and the cup I carried. Also I fumbled in my wallet and brought out that gem-leaf. Perhaps, as once it had been a growing thing, it would prove now a talisman.

Gathea spoke, in that other tongue which held a singsong cadence. She could be reciting some bardic invocation. The chill increased. I might have been encased in ice from head to foot, only under that hand which lay upon the wallet and within the hand which closed upon the leaf there was warmth which spread outward, fighting that chill which perhaps could be deadly. Whether Gathea deliberately summoned harm I had no way of telling. Perhaps what answered her had its defenses against the interference of an outsider.

I heard no voice out of the air. However Gathea stopped her chant, to speak directly to the source of that cold. Again I summoned to my own mind my most vivid memory of Gunnora. That began to fade in spite of my efforts. Another face took on substance in place of her amber and golden beauty. This was of a younger woman, one I had never looked upon. Her hair was held straight back by a band with the new moon in silver mounted over a brow which was austere, remote, where Gunnora had been well aware—and forgiving—of human frailties. The eyes beneath this other’s wide brow were gray as winter ice, holding no more warmth than that. Night black as any winter sky was her hair, and the robe which was girdled about the straight figure of a very young girl was white as the light of the burning wand.