Authors: Andre Norton
There had been a camp there right enough. A drowned fire still gave off a strong odor.
And there were horse droppings along one side. I could see tracks crossing and recrossing
each other, though the sand and gravel did not hold them clearly. But plainest of
all was what had been painted on one massive rock which jutted forth from the wall.
And that was no work of years before; the symbols must have been freshly drawn, for
they were hardly weathered or scoured by sand.
One was a crudely drawn head of some animal—a wolf or hound—it could have been either.
It interlaced the edge of the other, a far more complex and better executed symbol.
I found myself standing before that, my forefinger almost of itself following its
curves by tracing the air.
When I realized what I was doing I snatched my hand back to my side, my fingers balled
into a fist. This was not of my learning, though it was a potent thing. And dangerous
. . . There was an unpleasant
otherness
about the symbol which aroused wariness. However, I believed,
though I did not understand its complete meaning, I did pick up the reason for those
mated drawings. For among the Dales there was an old custom that, when a lasting truce
or alliance was made, the lords of both parties chose a place on the boundaries of
their domains and there carved the Signs of their two Houses so twined in just the
same fashion.
So here I had come upon a notice that the outlaws I hunted had indeed made common
cause with some dweller of the Waste who was not of their blood or kind. And, though
I had suspected no less, having trailed them through the haunted valley, yet I could
wish it otherwise.
To have some knowledge but not enough is a thing which eats upon one. If I might have
read that other symbol I could be warned as to what—or who—I had to face. As I began
a careful search about the deserted camp I alerted the Talent to sniff out any clue
to the nonhuman. But the impressions my mind gathered were only of the same wolfish
breed as we had hunted—desperate and dangerous enough.
Jervon had been there and he still lived. I had half steeled my mind to find him dead,
for the Waste wolves did not take captives. What did they want with him? Or were they
but the servants and hands of another force? The impression grew on me that the latter
was so. That they had some purpose in bringing him hither could not be denied.
My years with Aufrica had taught me well that there are two kinds of what the untalented
term “magic” or “witchery.” It was contagious magic which I used to track Jervon,
for about my throat I wore the amulet of a strange stone shaped not unlike an eye,
which he had found and carried for a luck piece since he was a boy, and then had put
into my keeping upon our handfasting, having in those years of war no other bride-jewel
to offer.
But there was also sympathic magic which works according to the laws of correspondence
and now I prepared
to call upon that. From my healer’s bag I brought forth a length of ash stick, peeled,
blessed by the moon, bound with a small ring of silver wire, which is moon metal.
Now I faced that symbol on the rock, pointed to it with ash rod which was no longer
than my palm and fingers together.
Immediately the wand came to life in my hold, not to trace the characters, rather
turning and twisting in a manner to suggest it would leap from my grasp rather than
face what was so carven there. So I knew what I suspected was true and that this was
a thing of the Dark from which the Light recoiled.
Now I touched the wand with the eye-stone which I drew forth from beneath my mail,
rubbing the stone down one side and up the other. Then I held out my hand with the
lightest hold upon the ash. Again it twisted, pointing ahead.
My battle with fear in the mist had drawn too heavily upon my inner resources; I could
no longer depend upon mind search to follow those whom I sought. However, with the
wand I had a sure pointer, in which I could trust. So I continued to hold it as I
mounted Fallon and rode out of that camp, turning my back upon the entwined symbols
of an unholy alliance.
The valley widened even farther, as if it had been but a narrow throat to open country
beyond. I saw trees now, as misshapen as the brush, and monoliths, as well as tumbles
of stone, which suggested ruins so old they could not be dated by my own species.
There were tracks again. But within a very short time we came to a place where those
turned to the right at an abrupt swing. Only, in my hand, the wand did not alter course,
but still pointed straight ahead. There was only one solution to accept: Jervon was
no longer with the wolf pack which had pulled him down.
Had there been some monstrous meeting beneath
those symbols and he whom I sought been given to that Other whose sign was set boldly
on the rock? I dismounted to search the ground with a scout’s patience. And was rewarded
with faint traces at last. The main body I hunted had indeed turned here. But two
mounts had kept to the straight track. One of those must carry Jervon.
If he rode with only one outlaw as guard—I drew a sharp swift breath . . . This might
well herald a chance for rescue with the odds much in my favor. I mounted again and
urged Fallon to a faster pace than he had kept during that day’s travel, watching
keenly the country ahead.
3
The Frozen Flame
H
ERE
in the open the mist was tattered by the wind and one could see farther. So my eyes
caught a flash of light. Yet it was plain that this did not rise from any fire but
rather sparked into the sky, perhaps as a beacon.
Now the stones of the forgotten ruins drew together, formed tumbled walls, with here
or there some uprise of worked rock which might have once been a stele, or even a
statue. But these were now so worn away by erosion that such shapes remained only
vaguely unpleasant ones, hinting of ancient monstrous beings. Gods or guardians? What
man now living could say?
The sun broke through, yet here it had not even the pallid light of mid-winter, rather
a drained, bespoiled radiance, with nothing to warm either body or heart. And still
shadows clung to the rocks, though I resolutely refused more than to glance at them.
I knew the power of illusion, for much of that lies within the Talent.
Before me rose a wall, massive in its blocks, some larger than myself, even when mounted
on Fallon. This time had not used so harshly. The pale sun struck points of
icy fire from gray-white crystals embedded in its surface. The way I followed led
to the single break in that wall, a gateway so narrow that it would seem no more than
one had ever been meant to pass therein at a time.
Now the wand in my hand flipped so that I barely prevented it from slipping through
my fingers. Its silver-bound tip pointed to a dark stain smeared on that wall near
the height of my thigh, riding as I was. Blood—and that of him whom I now sought!
I could only draw hope because the smear was so small a one. That Jervon had not been
overborne without a fight, that I was already sure of. He was too seasoned in war
to be easily taken, and the bodies I had found at our last camp had testified to his
skill in defense. Yet this was the first sign I had seen that he had been wounded.
Now I glanced at the pavement under foot, expecting to sight more splotches thereon.
The wall was the first of three such. And they varied in color, for the outer one,
in spite of its clusters of crystals, was a gray as the rest of this Waste. The second,
some twenty places beyond, was dull green. Yet it was not any growing thing which
had clothed it, but part of the blocks themselves.
While the third was the rusty-brown-red of dried blood and in it the stones were smaller.
The entrance through to it was still narrower; so that, despite my misgivings, I was
forced to dismount, and essay that on foot.
If there were any blood smears here to mark Jervon’s passing, those were cloaked by
the natural coloring of the stone. Before me stood a squat building, only a fraction
higher than the wall, windowless and dour, the stone of its making a lustreless, thick
black, as if it had been fashioned from shadows themselves. From the roof of this
issued, straight up to defy the sullen sun, the beam of light that had shone across
the land.
Now that I drew nearer I could see that beam pulsated
in waves, almost like the ever-changing and moving flames of a fire. Yet I was sure
it was not born from any honest burning of wood.
Windowless the place might be, but there existed a deeply recessed doorway; so deep
and dark a portal I could not be sure if any barrier stood within. I paused, using
my senses to test what lay about me, for to go blindly into danger would not serve
either Jervon’s cause or my own.
Hearing? There was no sound, not even the sigh of wind across twisted shrub and sliding
sand. Smell? I could not pick up any of the faint rottenness which had alerted me
to the coming of the phantom in the valley. Sight? The deep door, the pulsing flame,
unmarked ground between me and that doorway. Touch . . .?
I held up my hand, the wand lying across the palm. That moved again, wavering from
side to side with a growing speed until it had switched around and the wire-wound
tip pointed to me, or back of me to the wall entrance through what I had just squeezed.
There was warning enough in that. What lay ahead was highly inimical to such forces
as I dared call upon. And I was somehow certain if I took these last few strides,
passed within that portal, I would be facing danger worse than any wolf blade or phantom
hunter.
If only I knew more! Once before I had gone to battle with one of the evil Old Ones,
in ignorance and using only my few poor weapons. And Jervon, at that hour (having
far more to fear than I, for he possessed none of the safeguards of the Talent), had
come with me, trusting only in the power of cold iron and his own courage.
Could I do less now? As I stood there, the fluttering wand in my hand, I thought of
what Jervon was to me. First an unwanted road companion through a hostile land, one
who made me impatient for I feared that he might in some way turn me from my purpose.
Then—
My life was bound to Jervon’s. I could not deny that. Whatever force had brought him
here, it was for no purpose except his destruction—and perhaps also mine. Yet I accepted
that and walked toward the doorway.
There was no door to face me. Only, once I had stepped under the shadow of that overhang,
there was a cloud of darkness so thick it might seem one might gather together folds
of it in one’s fingers as one could a curtain woven on a Dale loom. I raised the hand
I could no longer see until I thought the wand was level with my lips. Then I breathed
upon that and spoke three words.
So tiny a light, as if a candle no thicker than my own little finger, shone feebly.
But as that sparked into being I drew a deep breath. There was not yet any pressure
on me. In so little had I won a token victory.
That other time I had had an advantage because what dwelt anciently in such a place
had been all-powerful for so long that it had not seen in me a worthy opponent. Therefore
it had not unleashed its full strength against me until too late. I did not know that
lay ahead, nor could I hold any hope that it would be the same here.
Time is often distorted and altered in those places of the Old Ones. All human memory
is filled with legends of men who consorted with Those of Power for what seemed a
day or year, and returned to find that their own world had swept on far faster. Now
it appeared otherwise to me.
The very darkness, which was hardly troubled by the light on which my spirit fed,
was like a flood of sticky clay or quicksand catching at my feet, so that it was a
physical effort to fight against that in order to advance. As yet there had been no
other assault upon me. Slowly, I gained the impression that what intelligence had
raised this place for its shell of protection was otherwise occupied, so intent upon
that concentration that it was not yet aware of me.
Even as the pinpoint of flame I held before me, that thought strengthened my courage.
Yet I dared not depend
upon such concentration holding. At any moment it might be broken, by some unknown,
unseen system of alarm, to turn the force of Its interest in my direction.
I fought against the sticky dark, one step, two. It seemed to me that this journey
had consumed hours of time. My body ached once more with the effort I must exert in
order to advance. One more stride—
Thus I passed from complete dark into light so suddenly that, for two breaths, three,
I was blinded. Then, blinking, I was able to see. The space in which I stood was round,
with two great chairs, by their dimensions made for bodies larger than humankind,
facing each other across a dazzling pillar which formed the innermost core.
Then I saw that it was not really a pillar, but rather a rounded shaft of ceaseless
rolling radiance. No heat radiated from it, only an inner flickering suggested the
flames it mimicked.
My inner warning sounded an alarm. Instantly I averted my eyes. There stood the force
and purpose of this place. I had come out behind the nearer chair, its back a barrier,
but I could see the other. Something had fallen from its wide seat to lie like a pile
of wrung out rags on the floor.
Jervon—?
But even as I took a step towards that body, for dead that man must be by the very
limpness of his form, I saw more clearly the face turned towards the light, the eyes
wide in horror. And a stubby beard pointed outward from the chin. One of the outlaws!
Then Jervon—?
Carefully averting my gaze from that challenging, beckoning fire, I edged around the
chair before me. Yes, he whom I sought sat there. There were bonds about his arms,
loops bringing together his booted ankles. His helm was gone and there was a gash
on his forehead which had been only roughly bandaged so that congealed red drops lay
on the cheek beneath.