Three Against the Witch World
A Witch World Novel by Andre Norton
Version 1.0


I

I AM NO song-smith to forge a blade of chant to
send men roaring into battle, as the bards of the
Sulcar ships do when those sea-serpents nose into
enemy ports. Nor can I use words with care as men
carve out stones for the building of a strong,
years-standing keep wall, that those generations
following many wonder at their industry and skill.
Yet when a man passes through great times, or
faces action such as few dream on, there awakes
within him the desire to set down, even limpingly,
his part in those acts so that those who come after
him to warm his high seat, lift his sword, light the
fire on his hearth, may better understand what he
and his fellows wrought that they might do these
same things after the passing of time.

Thus do I write out the truth of the Three against
Estcarp, and what chanced when they ventured to
break a spell which had lain more than a thousand
years on the Old Race, to darken minds and blot
out the past. Three of us in the beginning, only
three, Kyllan, Kemoc, and Kaththea. We were not
fully of the Old Race, and in that lay both our
sorrow and our salvation. From the hours of our
birth we were set apart, for we were the House of
Tregarth.

Our mother was the Lady Jaelithe who had been
a Woman of Power, one of the Witches, able to
summon, send and use forces beyond common
reckoning. But it was also true that, contrary to all
former knowledge, though she lay with our father,
the Lord Warder Simon, and brought forth us three
in a single birth, yet she lost not that gift which
cannot be measured by sight nor touch.

And, though the Council never returned to her
her Jewel, forfeited at the hour of her marriage, yet
they were also forced to admit that she was still a
Witch, though not one of their fellowship.

And he who was our father was also not to be
measured by any of the age-old laws and customs.
For he was out of another age and time, entering
into Estcarp by one of the Gates. In his world he
had been a warrior, one giving orders to be obeyed
by other men. But he fell into a trap of ill fortune,
and those who were his enemies sniffed at his heels
in such numbers that he could not stand and meet
them blade to blade. Thus he was hunted until he
found the Gate and came into Estcarp, and so also
into the war against the Kolder.

But by him and my mother there came also the
end of Kolder. And the House of Tregarth thereaf-

ter had no little honor. For Simon and the Lady
Jaelithe went up against the Kolder in their own
secret place, and closed their Gate through which
the scourge had come upon us. And of this there
has already been sung many songs.

But though the Kolder evil was gone, the stain
lingered and Estcarp continued to gasp for life as
her enemies, ringing her about, nibbled eternally
at her tattered borders. This was a twilight world,
for which would come no morning, and we were
born into the dusk of life.

Our triple birth was without precedent among
the Old Race. When our mother was brought to
bed on the last day of the dying year, she sang
warrior spells, determined that that one who
would enter into life would be a fighter such as was
needed in this dark hour. Thus came I, crying as if
already all the sorrows of a dim and forbidding
future shadowed me.

Yet my mother's labor was not at an end. And
there was such concern for her that I was hurriedly
tended and put to one side. Her travail continued
through the hours, until it would seem that she and
that other life, still within her, would depart
through the last gate of all.

Then there came a stranger of the Ward Keep, a
woman walking on her own two dusty feet. In the
courtyard she lifted up her voice, saying she was
one sent and that her mission lay with the Lady
Jaelithe. By that time so great was my father's fear
that he ordered her brought in.

From under her cloak she drew a sword, the
blade of it bright in the light, a glittering, icy thing,
cold with the burden of killing metal. Holding this
before my mother's eyes, she began to chant, and

from that moment it was as if all the anxious ones
gathered in that chamber were bound with ties
they could not break. But the Lady Jaelithe rose
out of the sea of pain and haunted dreams which
held her, and she too gave voice. Wild raving they
thought those words of hers as she said:

"Warrior, sage, witch—three—one—I will
this! Each a gift. Together—one and great—apart
far less!"

And in the second hour of the new year there
came forth my brother, and then my sister, close
together as if they were linked by a tie. But so great
was my mother's exhaustion that her life was
feared for. The woman who had made the birth
magic put aside the sword quickly and took up the
children as if that was her full right—and, because
of my mother's collapse, none disputed her.

Thus Anghart of the Falconer village became
our nurse and foster mother and had the first shap-
ing of us in this world. She was an exile from her
people, since she had revolted against their harsh
code and departed by night from their woman vil-
lage. For the Falconers, those strange fighting
men, had their own customs, unnatural in the eyes
of the Old Race whose women hold great power
and authority. So repugnant were these customs to
the Witches of Estcarp that they had refused the
Falconers settlement land when they had come,
centuries earlier, from over seas. Thus now the
Hold of the Falconers was in the high mountains, a
no-man's land border country between Estcarp
and Karsten.

Among this people the males dwelt apart, living
only for war and raiding, having more affection
and kinship with their scout hawks then they did

with their women. The latter were quartered in
valley villages, to which certain selected men went
at seasons to establish that their race did not die
out. But upon the birth of children there was a
ruthless judging, and Anghart's newly born son
had been slain, since he had a crippled foot. So she
came to the South Keep, but why she chose that
day and hour, and seemed to have foreknowledge
of our mother's need, she never said. Nor did any
choose to ask her, for to most in the Keep she
turned a grim, closed face.

But to us she was warmth, and love, and the
mother the Lady Jaelithe could not be. Since from
the hour of the last birth my mother sank into a
trance of sorts and thus she lay day after day,
eating when food was put in her mouth, aware of
nothing about her. And this passed for several
months. My father appealed to the Witches, but in
return he received only a cold message—that
Jaelithe had seen fit to follow her own path always,
and that they did not meddle in the matters of fate,
nor could they reach one who had gone long and
far down an alien way.

Upon this saying my father grew silent and grim
in his turn. He led his Borderers out on wild
forays, showing a love of steel play and bloodlet-
ting new to him. And they said to him that he was
willfully seeking yet another road and that led to
the Black Gate. Of us he took no note, save to ask
from time to time how we fared—absently, as if
our welfare was that of strangers, no real concern
to him.

It was heading into another year when the Lady
Jaelithe at last roused. Then she was still weak and
slipped easily into sleep when overtired. Also she

seemed shadowed, as if some unhappiness she
could not name haunted her mind. At length this
wore away and there was a lightsome time, if brief,
when the Seneschal Koris and his wife, the Lady
Loyse, came to South Keep at the waning of the
year to make merry, since the almost ceaseless
war had been brought to an uneasy truce and for
the first time in years there was no flame nor fast
riding along either border, neither north to face the
wolves of Alizon nor south where the anarchy in
Karsten was a constant boil and bubble of raid and
counter-raid.

But that was only a short breathing space. For it
was four months into the new year when the threat
of Pagar came into being. Karsten had been a wide
battle field for many lords and would-be rulers
since Duke Yvian had been killed during the Kol-
der war. To that wracked duchy the Lady Loyse
had a claim. Wedded by force—axe marriage—to
the Duke, she had never ruled. But on his death
she might have raised his standard. However,
there was no tie between her and a country in
which she had suffered much. Loving Koris, she
had thankfully tossed away any rights over
Karsten. And the policy of Estcarp, to hold and
maintain the old kingdom, not to carry war to its
neighbors, suited her well. Also Koris and Simon,
both bolstering as well as they could the dwindling
might of the Old Race, saw no advantage in em-
broilment aboard, but much gain in the anarchy
which would keep one of their enemies employed
elsewhere.

Now what they had forseen came to pass. Start-
ing as a small holder in the far south, Pagar of Geen
began to gather followers and establish himself,

first as a lord of two southern provinces, then
acclaimed by the men of the city of Kars of their
own free will, the ruined merchants there willing to
declare for any one likely to reestablish peace. By
the end of our birth year Pagar was strong enough
to risk battle against a confederation of rivals. And
four months later he was proclaimed Duke, even
along the border.

He came to rule in a country devastated by the
worst sort of war, a civil struggle. His followers
were a motley and hard-to-control crew. Many
were mercenaries, and the loot which had drawn
them under his banner must now be replaced by
wages or they would go elsewhere to plunder.

Thus Pagar did as my father and Koris had ex-
pected: he looked outside his borders for a cause
to unite his followers and provide the means for
rebuilding his duchy. And where he looked was
north. Estcarp had always been feared. Yvian,
under the suggestion of the Kolder, had outlawed
and massacred those of the Old Race who had
founded Karsten in days so far distant that no man
could name the date. They had died—hard—or
they had fled, across the mountains to their kin. And
behind they left a burden of guilt and fear. None in
Karsten ever really believed that Estcarp would
not some day move to avenge those deaths. Now
Pagar need only play slightly on that emotion and
he had a crusade to occupy his fighters and unite
the duchy firmly behind him.

Still, Estcarp was a formidable foe and one
Pagar desired to test somewhat before he com-
mitted himself. Not only were the Old Race dour
and respected fighting men, but the Witches of
Estcarp used the Power in ways no outsider could

understand, and which were the more dreaded for
that very reason. In addition there was a firm and
unbreakable alliance between Estcarp and the
Sulcarmen—those dreaded sea rovers who al-
ready had raided Alizon into a truce and a sullen
licking of sore wounds. They were as ready to turn
their serpent ships southward and bite along
Karsten's open coast line, and that would arouse
the merchants of Kars to rebellion.

So Pagar had to prepare his holy war quietly.
Border raiding began that summer, but never in
such strength that the Falconers and the Borderers
my father commanded could not easily control.
Yet many small raids, even though easily beaten
back, can gnaw at the warding forces. A few men
lost here, one or two there—the sum mounts and is
a steady drain. As my father early knew.

Estcarp's answer was loosing of the Sulcar
fleets. And that did give Pagar to think. Hostovrul
gathered twenty ships, rode out a storm by spec-
tacular seamanship, and broke the river patrol, to
raid into Kars itself, with such success that he left
the new Duke unsteady for another full year. And
then there was an insurrection in the south from
whence Pagar had come, led by his own half-
brother, to keep the Duke further engaged. Thus
three years, maybe more, were won from the
threat of chaos, and the twilight of Estcarp did not
slide into night as quickly as the Old Race had
feared.

During these years of maneuvering the three of
us were taken from the fortress of our birth—but
not to Es, for both our father and mother held aloof
from the city where the Council reigned. The Lady
Loyse established a home in a small manor-garth

of Etsford, and welcomed us into her household.
Anghart was still the center of our lives, and she
made an acceptable alliance with the mistress of
Etsford based on mutual regard and respect. For
the Lady Loyse had adventured, disguised as a
blank shield mercenary, into the heart of enemy
territory when she and my mother had been ranged
against all the might of Kars and Duke Yvian.

Upon her long delayed recovery the Lady
Jaelithe assumed once more her duties with my
father as vice-warder. Together they had control of
the Power, not after the same fashion as the
Witches, but in another way. And I know now that
the Witches were both jealous and suspicious of
the gift so shared, though it was used only for the
good of the Old Race and Estcarp. The Wise Ones
found such talent unnatural in a man and secretly
always reckoned my mother the less because of
her uniting with Simon. At this time the Council
appeared to have no interest in us children. In fact
their attitude might be more termed a deliberate
ignoring of our existence. Kaththea was not sub-
jected to examination for inherited Power talent as
were all girls of the Old Race before they were six.

I do not remember my mother much from those
years. She would descend upon the manor, trailed
by fighters from the Border forces—of much
greater interest to me, for my first crawl across the
floor took me to lay a baby's hand on the polished
hilt of a sword. Her visits were very few, my
father's even less; they could not often be spared
from the patrol along the south border. We turned
to Anghart for all answers to childish problems,
and held the Lady Loyse in affection. To our
mother was given respect and awe, and our father

had much the same recognition. He was not a man
who was easy with children, I believe, and perhaps
he unconsciously held against us the suffering our
birth had caused his wife who was the one person
he held extremely dear.

If we did not have a closeknit relationship with
our parents, we made up for that with a tight bond
among the three of us. Yet in nature we were dif-
ferent. As my mother had wished, I was first a
warrior, that being my approach to life. Kemoc
was a thinker—presented with any problem his
was not the response of outright and immediate
action, but rather a considered examination and
inquiry into its nature. Very early he began his
questions, and when he found no one could give
him all the answers he wished, he strove to dis-
cover the learning which would.

Kaththea felt the deeper. She had a great one-
ness, not the countryside. Oftentimes her instinct
topped my force of action or Kemoc's considered
reasoning.

I cannot remember the first time we realized that
we, too, possessed a gift of the Power. We need not
be together, or even miles close, to be in com-
munication. And when the need was we seemed a
single person—I the arms for action, Kemoc the
brain, Kaththea the heart and controlled emotion.
But some wariness kept us from revealing this to
those about us. Though I do not doubt that Ang-
hart was well aware of our so-knitted strength.

We were about six when Kemoc and I were
given small, specially forged swords, dart guns
suited to our child hands, and began the profession
of arms which all of the Old Race must follow
during this eventide. Our tutor was a Sulcarman,

crippled in a sea fight, sent by our father to give us
the best training possible. He was a master of most
weapons, was Otkell, having been one of Hostov-
rul's officers during the raid on Kars. Though
neither of us took to the use of the axe, to Otkell's
disappointment, both Kemoc and I learned other
weapon play with a rapidity which pleased our
instructor; and he was not in any way easy with us.

It was during the summer of our twelfth year
that we rode on our first foray. By that time Pagar
had reduced his unruly duchy to order and was
prepared once more to try his luck north. The
Sulcar fleet was raiding Alizon, his agents must
have reported that. So he sent flying columns
north through the mountains, in simultaneous
clawing attacks at five different places.

The Falconers took out one of these, the Bor-
derers two more. But the remaining two bands
made their way into valley land which the enemy
had never reached before. Cut off from any retreat
they fought like wild beasts, intent on inflicting all
the damage they could before they were dragged
down.

So it was that a handful of these madmen
reached Es River and captured a boat, putting her
crew to the sword. They came downstream with
some cunning, perhaps in a very vain hope of
reaching the sea. But the hunt was up and a war-
ship was in position at the river's mouth to cut then
off.

They beached their stolen boat not five miles
from Etsford and the whole of the manpower from
the farms around turned out in a hunt. Otkell re-
fused to take us along, an order we took in ill part.
But the small force he led was not an hour gone

when Kaththea intercepted a message. It came so
sharply into her mind that she held her head and
cried out as she stood between us on the watch
walk of the center tower. It was a Witch sending,
not aimed at a girl child a few miles away, but for
one of the trained Old Race. And a portion of its
demand for speedy aid reached us in turn through
our sister.

We did not question the rightness of our answer
as we rode forth, having to take our horses by
stealth. And there was no leaving Kaththea
behind—not only was she our directional guide,
but we three had become a larger one in that mo-
ment on the tower walk.

Three children rode out of Etsford. But we were
not ordinary children as we worked our way
across country and approached a place where the
wild wolves from Karsten had holed up with a
captive for bargaining. Battle fortune does exist.
We say this captain or that is a "lucky" man, for he
loses few men, and is to be found at the right place
at the right moment. Some of this is strategy and
skill, intelligence and training serving as extra
weapons. But other men equally well trained and
endowed are never so favored by seeming chance.
Battle fortune rode with us that day. For we found
the wolves' den, and we picked off the guards
there—five of them, all trained and desperate
fighters—so that a woman, bloodstained, bound,
yet proud and unbending, came out alive.

Her gray robe we knew. But her searching stare,
her compelling measurement made us uneasy, and
in some manner broke the oneness of our tie. Then
I realized that she had dismissed Kemoc and me,
and her attention was focused on Kaththea, and

by that direct study we were all threatened. And,
young as I was, I knew we had no defense against
this peril.

Otkell did not allow our breech of discipline to
pass, in spite of our success. Kemoc and I bore
body smarts which lasted a few days. But we were
glad because the Witch was swiftly gone out of our
lives again, having spent but a single night at
Etsford.

It was only much later, when we had lost the first
battle of our personal struggle, that we learned
what had followed upon that visit—that the
Witches had ordered Kaththea to their testing and
that our parents had refused, and that the Council
had had to accept that refusal for a time. Though
they were not in any way defeated by it. For the
Witches never believed in hasty action and were
willing to make time their ally.

Time was to serve them so. Simon Tregarth put
to sea two years later on a Sulcar ship, his purpose
an inspection of certain islands reported newly
fortified in a strange way by Alizon. There was a
hint of possible Kolder revival there. Neither he
nor his ship were heard from again.

Since we had known so little of our father, his
loss made small change in our lives—until our
mother came to Etsford. This time it was not for a
short visit: she came with her personal escort to
stay.

She spoke little, looked out overmuch—not on
the country, but to that which we could not see.
For some months she shut herself up for hours at a
time in one of the tower rooms, accompanied by
the Lady Loyse. And from such periods the Lady
Loyse would emerge whitefaced and stumbling, as

if she had been drained of vital energy, while my
mother grew thinner, her features sharper, her
gaze more abstracted.

Then one day she summoned the three of us into
the tower room. There was a gloom in that place,
even though three windows were open on a fine
summer day. She gestured with a fingertip and
curtains fell over two of those windows, as if the
fabric obeyed her will, leaving open only that to
the north. With a fingertip again she traced certain
dimly-seen lines on the floor and they flared into
flickering life, making a design. Then, without a
word, she motioned us to stand on portions of that
pattern while she tossed dried herbs on a small
brazier. Smoke curled up and around to hide us
each from the other. But in that moment we were
instantly one again, as we had ever been when
threatened.

Then—it is hard to set this into words that can
be understood by those who have not experienced
it—we were aimed, sent, as one might shoot a dart
or strike with a sword. And in that shooting I lost
all sense of time, or distance, or identity. There
was a purpose and a will and in that I was swal-
lowed up beyond any protesting.

Afterwards we stood again in that room, facing
our mother—no longer a woman abstracted and
remote, but alive. She held out her hands to us,
and there were tears running down her sunken
cheeks.

"As we gave you life," she said, "so have you
returned that gift, oh, my children!"

She took a small vial from the table and threw its
contents upon the now dying coals in the brazier.

There was a flash of fire and in that moved

things. But the nature of them, or what they did, I
could not say. They were gone again and I was
blinking, no longer a part, but myself alone.

Now my mother no longer smiled, but was in-
tent. And that intentness was no longer concen-
trated upon her own concerns, but upon the three
of us.

"Thus it must be: I go my way, and you take
another road. What I can do, I shall—believe that,
my children! It is not the fault of any of us that our
destiny is so riven apart. I am going to seek your
father—for he still lives—elsewhere. You have
another fate before you. Use what is bred in you
and it shall be a sword which never breaks nor
fails, a shield which will ever cover you. Perhaps,
in the end, we shall find our separate roads are one
after all. Which would be good fortune past all
telling!"

II

IT WAS THUS that our mother rode out of our lives
on a hot midsummer morning when the dust rose in
yellow puffs under the hooves of the mounts and
the sky was cloudless. We watched her go from the
walk on the tower. Twice she looked back and up,
and the last time she raised her hand in a warrior's
salute—to which Kemoc and I made fitting return
in formal fashion, the brilliant sun mirroring on the
blades of our drawn swords. But Kaththea, be-
tween us, shivered as if chill fingers of an out-
season wind touched her. And Kemoc's left hand
sought hers, to cover it where fingers gripped the
parapet.

"I saw him," she said, "when she drew upon us
in the search—I saw him—all alone—there were

rocks, tall rocks and curling water—" This time
her shudder shook her whole thin frame.

"Where?" Kemoc demanded.

Our sister shook her head. "I cannot tell, but it
was far—and more than distance of land and sea
lies between."

"Not enough to keep her from the searching," I
said as I sheathed my sword. There was a sense of
loss in me, but who can measure the loss of what
one has never had? My mother and father dwelt
inwardly together in a world they had made their
own, unlike most other husbands and wives I had
noted. To them that world was complete and all
others were interlopers. There was no Power,
good or evil, which could hold the Lady Jaelithe
from her present quest as long as breath was in her.
And had we offered aid in her search, she would
have put us aside.

"We are together." Kemoc had picked my
thought out of my skull, as was common with us.

"For how long?" Again Kaththea shivered and
we turned quickly to her, my hand again to weapon
hilt, Kemoc's on her shoulder.

"You mean?" he asked, but I thought that I had
the answer.

"Seeresses ride with warriors. You need not
remain here when Otkell allows us to join the
Borderers!"

"Seeresses!" she repeated with emphasis.
Kemoc's hold on her grew tighter, and then I, too,
understood.

"The Witches will not take you for training! Our
parents forbade it."

"Our parents are no longer here to speak!"
Kemoc flung at me.

Then fear claimed us. For the training of a Witch
was not like a warrior's daily use of sword, dart
gun, or axe. She went away from all those of her
blood, to a distant place of mysteries, there to
abide for years. When she returned she no longer
recognized kin of blood, only kinship with those of
her calling. If they took Kaththea from us to be-
come one of their gray robed ranks she might be
lost forever. And what Kemoc had said was very
true—with Simon and the Lady Jaelithe gone,
who remained who could put a strong barrier be-
tween our sister and the desires of the Council?

Thus from that hour our life lay under a shadow.
And the fear strengthened the bond between us
into a tight ring. We knew each other's feelings,
though I had less skill than Kemoc and Kaththea.
But days passed, and life continued as it always
had. Since no fear remains sharp unless it is fed by
new alarms, we relaxed.

We did not know then that our mother had
wrought for us as best she could before she de-
parted from Estcarp. For she went to Koris and
had him swear on the Axe of Volt—that super-
natural weapon only he could wield and which had
come to him directly from the dead hand of one
who might be less than a god but who had certainly
been more than human—swear that he would pro-
tect us from the wiles of the Council. Thus he took
oath and we lived at Etsford as always.

Years passed and now the raids from Karsten
grew more continuous. Pagar returned to his old
policy of wearing us down. He met a flat defeat in
the spring of the year we counted seventeen win-
ters behind us, the larger force he had sent going to

their deaths in a pass. And in that battle Kemoc
and I had a part, being numbered among the scouts
who combed the ridges to harry fugitives. We
found war to be a dark and ugly business, but our
breed continued to survive so, and when one has
no choice one turns to the sword.

It was mid-afternoon as we cantered along a trail
when the summons came. Kaththea might have
stood before me, crying out in terror. For though
my eyes did not see her, yet her voice rang not only
in my ears, but through my body. And I heard
Kemoc shout, then his mount jostled mine as I also
used spurs.

Our commander was Dermont, an exile from
Karsten who had joined the Borderers when my
father first organized that force. He reined around
to front us. There was no expression on his dark
face, but so efficiently did he block passage that
even our determination was stayed.

"What do you?" he asked.

"We ride," I answered, and I knew that I would
cut down even him, should he hold that barrier of
man and horse against us. "It is a sending—our
sister is in danger!"

His gaze searched my eyes, and he read the
truth in what I said. Then he reined to the left,
opening the way to us.

"Ride!" It was both permission and an order.

How much did he know of what chanced? If he
was aware, he did not agree with it. And perchance
he was willing to let us make our try, for, young as
we were, we had not been the least of those who
had followed him uncomplaining through hard
days and weary nights.

Ride we did, twice swapping mounts in camps

where we left the impression we rode on orders.
Gallop, walk, gallop, doze in the saddle in turns
during the walking. A haze of time passed—too
much time. Then Etsford was a shadow in a wide
expanse of fields where grain had been lately har-
vested. What we had feared most was not to be
seen—there was no sign of raiders. Fire and sword
had not bitten here. Yet we had no lightening of our
burden.

Dimly, through the ringing in my ears, I heard
the horn alert of the tower watchman as we
spurred down the road, urging our weary mounts
to a last burst of speed. We were white with dust
but the House badge on the breasts of our surcoats
could be read, and we had passed the spell barrier
with no hurt, so they would know we were friends.

My horse stumbled as we came into the court
and I struggled to free my stiff feet from the stir-
rups and dismount before he went to his knees.
Kemoc was a little before me, already staggering
on his two feet to the door of the Hall.

She was standing there, her two hands bracing
her strong body so that she met us on her feet by
one last effort of will. Not Kaththea, but Anghart.
And at the look in her eyes Kemoc wavered to a
halt, so that I charged into him, and we held to one
another. My brother spoke first:

"She is gone—they have taken her!"

Anghart nodded—very slowly, as if the motion
of her head was almost too hard an effort. Her long
braids fell forward, their brown now heavily
streaked with white. And her face!—she was an
old woman, and a broken one, from whom all will
to live had been torn. For torn it had been. This
was a stroke of the Power; in that instant we both

recognized it. Anghart had stood between her
nursling and the will of a Witch, pitting her unaided
human strength and energy against a force greater
than any material weapon.

"She—is—gone—" Her words were without
inflection, gray ghosts of speech from the mouth of
death. "They have set a wall about her. To ride
after—is—death."

We did not want to believe, but belief was forced
upon us. The Witches had taken our sister and shut
her off from us by a force which would kill spirit
and body together, should we follow. Our deaths
could avail Kaththea nothing. Kemoc clutched at
my arm until his nails bit into my skin. I wanted to
beat back at him, smash flesh and bone—tear—
rend— Perhaps the physical weakness left from
our long ride was our salvation at that moment.
For when Kemoc flung his arm across his face with
a terrible cry and collapsed against me, his weight
bore us both to the ground.

Anghart died within the hour. I think that she
had held on to life with her two hands because she
waited for us. But before her spirit went forth, she
spoke to us again, and, the first shock being past,
those words had meaning and a certain small com-
fort to us.

"You are warriors." Her eyes went from Kemoc
to me and then back to my brother's white and
misery-ravaged face. "Those Wise Ones think of
warriors only as force of action. They disdain them
at heart. Now they will expect a storming of their
gates for our dear one. But—give them outward
acceptance now and they will, in time, believe in
it."

"And in the meantime," Kemoc said bitterly,

"they will work upon her, fashioning from
Kaththea one of their nameless Women of
Power!"

Anghart frowned. "Do you hold your sister so
low, then? She is no small maid to be molded easily
into their pattern. I think that these Witches shall
find her far more than they expect, perhaps to their
undoing. But this is not the hour—when they are
expecting trouble—to give it to them."

There is this about warrior training: it gives one
a measure of control. And since we had always
looked to Anghart for wisdom from our childhood,
we accepted what she told us now. But, though we
accepted, we neither forgot nor forgave. In those
hours we cut the remaining bonds which tied us in
personal allegiance to the Council.

If at that moment it seemed lesser, there was
more ill news. Koris of Gorm, he who had been all
these years to most of Estcarp an indestructible
buttress and support, lay in the south sorely
wounded. To him had gone the Lady Loyse, thus
opening the door for Kaththea's taking. So all the
safe supports which had based our small world
were at once swept away.

"What do we now?" Kemoc asked of me in the
night hours when we had taken Anghart to her last
bed of all, and then sat together in a shadow-
cornered room, eating of food which had no taste.

"We go back—"

"To the troop? To defend those who have done
this thing?"

"Something of that, but more of this, in the eyes
of all we are green youths. As Anghart said, they
will expect us to engage in some rash action and
that they will be prepared to counter. But—"

His eyes were now agleam. "Do not say of
yourself again, brother, that you do not think
deeply. You are right, very right! We are but children
in their eyes, and good children accept the dictates
of their elders. So we play that role. Also—" He
hesitated and then continued, "There is this—we
can learn more of this trade they have bred us
to—this use of arms against a pressing enemy—
and in addition seek learning in other directions—"

"If you mean the Power, we are men, and they
hold it is for the use of women only."

"True enough. But there is more than one kind
of Power. Did our father not have his own version
of it? The Witches could not deny that, though
they would have liked to. All knowledge is not
bound up in their own tight little package. Have
you not heard of Lormt?"

At first the name meant nothing to me. And then
I recalled a half-heard conversation between Der-
mont and one of the men who had been with him
since he had fled Karsten. Lormt—a repository of
records, ancient chronicles.

"But what have we to learn from the records of
old families?"

Kemoc smiled. "There may be other material
there of service to us. Kyllan," he spoke sharply,
as one giving an order, "think of the east!"

I blinked. His command was foolish. East—
what was east?—why should I think of the east?
East—east—I hunched my shoulders, alerted by
an odd tingle along the nerves. East— There was
the north where lay Alizon ready to spring at our
throats, and south where Karsten now worried our
flanks, and west where lay the ocean roamed by
Sulcar ships, with any number of islands and un-

known lands beyond the horizon's rim, such as the
land where Simon and Jaelithe had found the true
Kolder nest. But to the east there was only a
blank—nothing at all—

"And tell me the why of that!" Kemoc de-
manded. "This land has an eastern border too, but
have you ever heard any speech of it? Think,
now—what lies to the east?"

I closed my eyes to picture a map of Estcarp as I
had seen it many times in use in the field.
Mountains—?

"Mountains?" I repeated hesitantly.

"And beyond those?"

"Only mountains, on every map nothing else!"
I was certain now.

"Why?"

Why? He was very right. He had maps showing
far north, far south, beyond our boundaries, in
every detail. We had ocean charts drawn by the
Sulcar. We had nothing—nothing at all for the
east. And that very absence of fact was notewor-
thy.

"They cannot even think of the east," Kemoc
continued.

"What!"

"It is very true. Question anyone, over a map,
of the east. They cannot discuss it."

"Will not, maybe, but—"

"No." Kemoc was definite. "Cannot. They are
mind-blocked against the east. I am ready to swear
to that."

"Then—but why?"

"That we must learn. Do you not see, Kyllan,
we cannot stay in Estcarp—not if we free
Kaththea. The Witches will never allow her out of

their hold willingly. And where could we go? Ali-
zon or Karsten would welcome us—as prisoners.
The House of Tregarth is too well known. And the
Sulcarmen would not aid us when the Witches
were our enemies. But suppose we vanish into a
country or place they refuse to admit has
existence—"

"Yes!"

But it was so perfect an answer that I mistrusted
it. Behind the smiling face of fortune often hides
the cracked countenance of ill luck.

"If there is a block in their minds, there is a
reason for it, a very good one."

"Which I do not deny. It is up to us to discover
what it is, and why, and if it can be turned to our
purpose."

"But if them, why not us—?" I began, and then
answered my question with another: "Because of
our half-blood?"

"I think so. Let us go to Lormt and perhaps
we'll have more than one explanation."

I got to my feet. Suddenly the need to do some-
thing, for positive action, was plain to me. "And
how do we manage that? Do you suppose that the
Council will allow us to roam about Estcarp under
the circumstances? I thought you had agreed that
we should be obedient, return to the company, act
as if we acknowledged defeat."

Kemoc sighed. "Do you not find it hard to be
young, brother?" he asked. "Of course we shall
be watched. We do not know how much they sus-
pect that we are bound to Kaththea in thought
contact. Surely our bolting here at her message
will tell them something of that. I—I have not
reached her since." He did not look to me to see if

I could give a different report. It had never been
put into words with us but we all knew that be-
tween Kemoc and Kaththea the communication
ties were far more secure; it was as if the time gap
between our births had set me a little apart from
the other two.

"Kemoc—the tower room! Where our
mother—" Remembrance of that time when I had
been a part of a questing was not good, but I would
will myself into that joyfully if it would avail us
now. Only he was already shaking his head.

"Our mother was an adept, with years of use of
the full Power behind her. We have not the skill,
the knowledge, the strength for that road, not now.
But what we have we shall build upon. As for
Lormt—well, I believe that willing can also open
gates. Perhaps not yet—but there will be a road to
Lormt for us."

Was it a flash of foreknowledge which made me
correct him?

"For you. Lormt is yours, I am sure, Kemoc."

We did not tarry at Etsford; there was nothing
any longer to hold us. Otkell had commanded the
small force to escort the Lady Loyse to South
Keep. And not one among the handful of retainers
left there had the authority or reason to stay us
when we announced our return to our company.
But as we rode the next day we were at work
inwardly—striving to communicate, to speak by
thought, with a determination we had never really
given to such exercises before. Without guidance
or training we struggled to strengthen what talent
we had.

And during the months which followed we kept
at that task which was hidden from our camp fel-

lows. But hide it we were sure we must. No effort
on our part ever awoke a response from Kaththea,
though we were informed that she had entered the
completely cloistered dwelling of the novices of
the Power.

Some side issues of our talent did manifest
themselves. Kemoc discovered that his will,
applied to learning, could implant much in his
memory from a single listening, or sighting, and
that he might pick out of other minds such informa-
tion. The questioning of prisoners was increas-
ingly left to him. Dermont may have guessed the
reason for Kemoc's success in that direction, but
he did not comment upon it.

While I had no such contribution to make to our
mountain missions, I was aware, slowly, of
another reach of whatever lay within me that was
an inheritance from my parents. And this took the
form of kinship with animals. Horses I knew prob-
ably as no other warrior of the forces. The wild
things of the wilderness I could draw to me or send
on their way merely by concentrating upon them.
The mastery of horses I put to good use, but the
other was not a matter of much moment.

As to Kemoc's desire to get to Lormt, there
seemed to be no way to achieve that. The scrim-
mages along the border grew in intensity and we
were absorbed into the guerrilla tactics. As the
outlook for Estcarp grew darker we were all aware
that it was only a matter of time before we would
be fugitives in an overrun land. Koris did not re-
cover swiftly from his wounding, and when he did,
he was a maimed man, unable to again raise Valt's
Axe. We heard the story of how he made a mys-
terious trip into the sea cliffs of the south and
returned thereafter without his super weapon.

From that moment his luck was left behind also,
and his men suffered one defeat upon the heels of
another.

For months Pagar played with us, as if he did not
want to quite deliver the finishing blow, but
amused himself in this feinting. There was talk of
Sulcar ships departing with some of the Old Race
aboard. Yet I am sure that what really delayed the
final push of our enemies was their age-old fear of
the Power and what might chance should the
Witches loose on them all that might be so aimed.
For no one, even among us, knew exactly what the
Power might do if a whole nation of Witches willed
it into action. It might burn out Estcarp, but it
could also take with it the rest of our world.

It was at the beginning of the second year after
Kaththea was taken that the road to Lormt opened
for Kemoc, but not in a fashion we would have
wished. He was trapped in an ambush and his right
hand and arm so mangled that it would be long
before he could freely use them, if ever he did
again. As we sat together before they took him
away for treatment we had our last words to-
gether:

"Healing is fast, if willed. And add your will to
mine, Brother," he told me briskly, though his
eyes were pain shadowed. "I shall heal as swiftly
as I can, and then—"

He need put no more into words.

"Time may turn against us," I warned him.
"Karsten can press home at any time. Do we have
even hours left?"

"I will not think of that. What I do, you shall
know! I cannot believe that this chance shall be
denied us!"

I was not alone as I had feared I might be when

Kemoc was borne off slung in a horse litter. We
had wrought well, for he was in my mind, even as I
was in his. And the distance between us only thin-
ned that bond a little, making us expend more
effort. I knew when he went to Lormt. Then he
warned me that we must cut contact, unless the
need was great, for at Lormt he found or detected
influences which tasted of the Power and these he
thought perhaps a danger.

Then—for months—silence.

Still I rode with the Borderers, and now, young
as I was, I headed my own small command. Unit-
ing us was a comradeship forged of danger, and I
had my friends. But still I always knew that that
other bond was the stronger, and, should either
Kaththea or Kemoc summon, I would be ahorse
and gone, uncaring. Fearing just that, I began to
train my own replacement and did not allow my-
self to become too involved in any matter beyond
my regular duties. I fought, skulked, waited . . .
and it seemed that the waiting was sometimes
longer than my endurance.

III

WE WERE AS lean and vicious as those hounds the
Riders of Alizon trained for the hunting of men,
and, like those fleet beasts, we coursed through
the narrow valleys and over mountains, faintly
surprised each night that we still sat the saddle or
tramped the narrow trails of the heights, and again
in the morning when we awoke in our concealed
camps, able to greet the dawn alive.

If Alizon and Karsten had made common cause,
as all these years we had looked to them to do,
Estcarp would have been cracked, crunched, and
swallowed up. But it would seem that Pagar had no
wish to drink cup-brotherhood with Facellian of
Alizon—the why might stem from many causes.
Perhaps the heart of those was some use of the

Power which we did not detect. For we did know
that the Witches of the Council had their own way
of dealing with a few men, whereas the Power
weakened and lost control when it was spread too
thin, or when it was put to a prolonged use. For
such an effort needed the life force of many adepts
working together, and would leave them drained
for a perilous space thereafter.

However, it was that very act which they de-
termined upon in the late summer of the second
year after Kemoc left us. Orders came by sending
to every post, no matter how remote, or how
mobile the men who held it. And rumor followed
directly behind, as is the way in armies. We were to
withdraw, out of the mountains, down from the
foothills, gather onto the plains of Estcarp, leaving
the ground we had defended so long bare of all who
wore Estcarp's badge.

To the outer eye it was the folly of one wit-
struck, but rumor had it that we were setting a
trap, such a trap as our world had not seen—that
the Witches, alarmed at the constant drain of our
manpower in these endless engagements, were to
concentrate their forces in a gamble which would
either teach Pagar a lesson he would never forget,
or let us all go down to a single defeat in place of
this slow bloodletting.

But we were also ordered to retreat with
skulker's skill so that it would be a little time before
their raiders would discover that the mountains
were empty, the passes free. Thus we flitted back,
company by company, squad by squad, with a
screen of rear guard behind us. And it was a week
or more of redeployment before the Old Race were
all in the low lands.

Pagar's men were cautious at first. Too many
times had they been slashed in ambushes and at-
tacks. But they scouted, they explored, and then
they began to come. A Sulcar fleet gathered in the
great bay into which emptied the Es River, some of
the ships anchoring even at haunted Gorm, where
no man lived unless under orders because of the
terror that the Kolders had wrought there, others
in the very river mouth. And the tale was that
should our present plan fail, the remnants of the
Old Race, those who could make it, would be
taken aboard that fleet for a last escape by sea.

But that story, we thought, was only for the ears
of any spies Alizon and Karsten might have among
us. For this move was one born of extreme desper-
ation, and we did not believe the Council were
fools. Perhaps the story did bring the Karsten
Army at a faster trot via the cleared passes, for
they began to pour up into the hills and mountains
in an unending river of fighting men.

Chance led my own company to within a few
miles of Etsford, and we built our fire and set up a
picket line in the later afternoon. The horses were
restless, and as I walked among them, striving to
sense the reason for their nervousness, I felt it
also—a hovering feeling, perhaps not of doom, but
of gathering pressure, of a juggling of the balance
of nature. So that which was right and proper was
now askew, and growing more so by the second, a
sucking out of the land and those on it, man and
animal, of some inner strength—

An ingathering! Out of nowhere came that
thought and I knew it for the truth. That which was
the life of Estcarp itself was being drawn in upon
some central core—readied—

I reached the horses with what quieting influ-
ence I had, but I was very aware now of that
sucking. No bird sound broke the oppressive si-
lence, not a leaf or blade of grass moved under any
touch of wind, and the heat was a heavy, sullen
cover over us. Through that dead calm of waiting,
perhaps the more acute because of it, flashed an
alert to strike me like a Karstenian dart.

—Kyllan—Etsford—now!

That unspoken summons was the same forceful
call for help as the cry from Kaththea had been
years earlier. I swung bareback on the horse I held
lightly by the mane, jerked free his picket rope.
Then I was riding, at a gallop, to the manor which
had been our home. There was shouting behind,
but I did not look back. I sent a thought ahead:

Kemoc—what is it?

Come! Imperative, no explanation.

The sense of deadening, of withdrawal, held
about me as we pounded down the road. Nothing
moved in all that land save ourselves, and it was
wrong. Yet that wrongness was outside my private
concern and I would not yield to it.

There was the watch tower of the manor, but no
flag hung limp in the stifling air. I could sight no
sentry manning the walk, nor any sign of life about
the walls. Then I faced a gate ajar enough to make
entrance for a single rider.

Kemoc awaited me in the door of the hall as
Anghart had done on the other day. But he was not
Power blasted, half dying; he was vividly alive. So
much so that his life force was fire, battling against
the strangeness of the day and hour, so that just
looking upon him I was a man who, facing his
enemy alone, hears the battle cry of a comrade

coming swiftly to share shields. There was no need
for speech either of lip or mind. We—how shall I
say it?—flowed together in a way past describing,
and that which had been cut apart was partially
healed. But only partially—for there was that third
portion still lacking.

"In time—" He motioned towards the interior
of the hall.

I loosed the horse and it trotted for the stable as
if a groom were leading it by the reins. Then we
were under the roof of Etsford once more. It was
now an empty place, all those small things which
marked daily living gone. I knew that the Lady
Loyse now shared quarters with Koris in a border
keep. Yet I looked about me, somehow seeking all
that had once been ours.

There was a bench by the end of the great table
and there Kemoc had put our food, traveler's
cakes, and fruit from manor trees. But I did not
hunger for that, and for my other hunger I had
some appeasement.

"It has been a long time," my brother spoke
aloud. "To find a key for such a lock takes search-
ing."

I did not need to ask had he been successful: his
triumph shone in his eyes.

"Tonight the Witches make their move against
Karsten." Kemoc strode back and forth as if he
could not sit still, though I dropped upon the
bench, the oppression of the air making me feel
even more drained.

"And in three days"—he spun around to face
me—"they would set the Witch oath on
Kaththea!"

My breath came out in a hiss, not unlike the first

battle challenge of one of the high snow cats. This
was the point of no return. Either she was brought
forth from whatever bonds they had laid upon her
before that hour, or she would be absorbed into
their whole and lost to us.

"You have a plan." I did not make a question of
that.

He shrugged. "As good a one as we shall ever
have, or so I think. We shall take her forth from the
Place of Wisdom and ride—east!"

Simple words, but the action they evoked was
another thing. To get a selected one out of the Place
of Wisdom was as great a feat as the walking into
Kars to bring out Pagar.

As I thought that, Kemoc smiled. He brought up
his hand between us. There was a ridge of scar red
and rough across its surface and when he tried to
flex his fingers, two of them remained stiff and
outthrust.

"This was my key to Lormt; I used it well. Also
I have used what lies here—to some purpose." He
tapped those stiffened fingers against his forehead
where the black hair we three shared fell in an
unruly curling lock. "There was knowledge at
Lormt, very old, veiled in much legend, but I
scraped it bare. We shall have such a bolt hole for
escape as they will not dream we dare use. As for
the Place of Wisdom—"

I smiled then, without humor. "Yes? What is
your answer to the safeguards set about that? It
will not matter who or what we are, if we are taken
within a mile of that without authorization. And it
is said that the guards employed are not men to be
countered with any weapon we know."

"Do not be too sure of that, brother. The guards

may not be men—in that, I believe you speak the
truth. But neither are we weaponless. And tomor-
row those guards may not be as great as they have
been in all other years. You know what will happen
in the hours of dark tonight?"

"The Council will move to war—"

"Yes, but how? I tell you, they attempt now the
greatest use of the Power that has been tried in
generations. They return to what they did once
before—in the east!"

"In the east? And that?"

"They will make the mountains to walk, and the
land itself answer their will. It is their final throw in
the battle against extinction."

"But—can they do that?" The Power could
create illusions; it could further communications;
it could kill—within narrow range. But that it
could accomplish what Kemoc suggested, as if he
were assured of its success, I did not quite believe.

"They did it once, and they will try again. But to
do so they must build up such a reserve of energy
as will sap their resources for some time. I would
not wonder if some of them die. Perhaps few may
live past the in-gathering and channeling of such
force. Thus all the guards they have put on their
secret places will be drained and we can win past
them."

"You say they did this once in the east?"

"Yes." He had gone back to his striding. "The
Old Race were not born in Estcarp—they came
across the mountains, or from that direction, so
many lifetimes ago that there is no true reckoning.
They fled some danger there, and behind them the
Power raised mountains, altered the land, walled
them away. Then there was a block in their minds,

nurtured for some generations until it became an
integral part of the race. Tell me, have you found
anyone who can speak of the east?"

I had never dared.

Since Kemoc's first uncovering of the puzzle, I
had never dared press that too strongly among the
Borderers, for fear of arousing suspicion. But it
was true, no one ever spoke of the east and should
I in devious ways lead to that subject they were as
blank of thoughts as if that point of the compass
had no existence.

"If what they fled was so terrible that they must
take such precautions—" I began.

"Dare we face it now? A thousand years or
more lies between that time and now. The Old
Race are not what they were then. Any fire burns
very low and finally to extinction. I know this, that
the three of us will be hunted with greater fury than
any Karstenian spy or Alizon Rider, more than
any Kolder, if any such still live in this time and
world. But not one of them will follow us east."

"We are half of the Old Race—can we break this
block to take the trail?"

"That we shall not know until we try. But we
can think of it and talk of it, as they cannot. Why, I
discovered at Lormt that even the keeper of the
old archives did not believe those significant
legends which existed. He was not aware of scrolls
I consulted, even when I had them spread in plain
sight."

Kemoc was convincing. And reckless as the
plan was, it was the only one. But there were miles
between us and the Place of Wisdom; we had
better be on our way. I said as much.

"I have five mounts of the Torgian breed," he

replied. "Two here and ready, three others hidden
for our last lap of the escape."

He mind-read my astonishment and respect,
and laughed. "Oh, it took some doing. They were
bought separately over a year's time under other
names."

"But how could you know this chance would
come?"

"I did not. But I believed that we would have
some chance, and I was to be ready for it. You are
right, brother: it is time to mount and ride—before
the lash of the fury the Wise Women raise may
snap back at us."

Torgian horses are from the high moors border-
ing on the secret marshes of Tor. They are noted
for both speed and endurance, a coupling of qual-
ities not always found in the same animal. And
they are so highly prized that to gather five of them
was a feat I had not thought possible for any indi-
vidual. For most of them were kept under the
control of the Seneschal himself. They were not
much to look at, being usually dun colored, with
dark manes and coats which did not take a gloss no
matter how carefully they were groomed. But for
heart, stamina and speed they had no match.

Kemoc had them both saddled with those light
saddles used by anti-raider patrols along the
seashore. But they were affected by the general
eeriness of this night, dancing a little as we swung
up, which was not their usual manner. We walked
them out across the courtyard and beyond the
wall. The sun was almost down, but the sky it
bannered held a gathering of purple-black clouds
in odd shapes, and these solidified into a threaten-
ing band of duskiness . . . while the land beneath

lay in the same frightening silence.

My brother had left nothing to chance, which
included his having scouted the fastest route. Yet
this night even Torgian horses could not keep a
swift pace. It was as if we rode through knee deep,
ever-shifting sand which sucked each hoof as it
was placed, keeping us to a bare trot when every
nerve demanded a full gallop. The clouds which
had overshadowed the sunset thickened into a
cover through which neither star nor moon shone.

And now a weird embellishment was added to
the landscape. I had once ridden along the Tor
marsh and seen those eerie lights native to that
forbidden country glow and dim over its mist-
ridden surface. Now such wan gleams began to
touch here and there about us—on the tip of a tree
branch, the crown of a bush, along a vine wreath-
ing a wall. The very alienness heightened the gen-
eral apprehension which strove to overwhelm us.

Our sense of anticipation grew moment by mo-
ment. And the Torgians reacted to it, snorting and
rearing. I called to Kemoc:

"If we force them on now, they will panic!"

I had been trying to hold them under mental
control for the past half mile, but I could do it no
longer. We dropped out of our saddles, and I stood
between the two mounts, one hand on each strong
neck, striving with all I possessed to keep them
from bolting. Then Kemoc's mind joined with
mine, giving me added assistance, and the horses,
still snorting, their eyes rolling, foam in sticky
strings about their jaws, trembled but stood firm.

While I was so concentrating upon that task I
had not seen beyond, and now I was shocked by a
sharp flash of fire across the sky. There was, in

answer, an ominous grumbling unlike any natural
thunder I had ever heard before. And it was not
born in the sky above, but out of the ground under
us, for that shuddered. The horses screamed, but
they did not try to bolt. They crowded under my
hold even as I clung to them, dimly feeling in that
contact an anchor in a world gone mad.

Those wan lights sprinkled here and there
flamed higher, sent sharp points of pallid radiance
skyward. Again the crack of lightning, a reply from
the earth under us. A long moment of utter silence,
then fury such as no man could imagine broke over
and around us.

The earth heaved in long rolls, as if under its
once stable surface waves moved towards the
southern highlands. Wind which had been missing
all day burst into frantic life, whipping the candled
trees and bushes, tearing the air from our nostrils.
One could not fight this—one lost his very identity
in such an alien storm. We could only endure and
hope, very faintly hope, that we could outlast the
raving elements of earth, fire, air, and then water.
For there was rain—or could you truly name such
stinging lashes of water rain?

If the force of that storm drove us nearly witless,
what must it have been like in those heights where
it was brought to a climax? Mountains walked that
night, lost themselves in vast waves of earth which
ate away their sides, changed lowlands to high-
lands, and reversed the process by quake, slide,
every violent action that could be evoked. The
barrier formed by nature between Estcarp and
Karsten, which we had kept fortified for years,
was wrung, squeezed, wrought by a force which
was initiated by human will, and once begun there

was no altering of that destructive pattern.

Mind to mind, hand to hand, Kemoc and I made
one during that terror. Afterwards we could piece
together but a little of the night. Truly it was the
end of a world—hearing and sight were soon torn
from us, touch only remained and we clung to that
sense with a fierce intensity, lest, losing it, we
might lose all else, including that which made us
what we were.

There was an end—though we had not dared to
hope there could ever be. Dark as the matted
clouds were over us, still there was light, gray as
the tree candles, yet it was a light of the day rather
than the weird glow of the storm. We still stood on
the road, Kemoc and I and the horses, as if we had
been frozen so amid the wild breakage of nature.
The ground was solid under our feet, and a meas-
ure of sanity had returned, so that our minds might
crawl slowly out of the hiding holes we had bur-
rowed within ourselves.

Surprisingly, there was little storm wrack about
us. A few branches down, the surface of the road
wet and shining. As one we looked to the south.
There the clouds were still thick, no gray relieved
their night black, and now and again I thought I
still saw the spark of lightning.

"What—?" Kemoc began, and then shook his
head.

We did not question that the Council had used
the Power as never before had it been done in
Estcarp. I had very little doubt that Pagar was at
last stopped. To be caught in the mountains during
that!

I smoothed the wet, tangled mane of my mount.
He snorted, stamped, waking out of some ill
dream. As I got to saddle I could only marvel at our

survival, which still seemed like a miracle.

Kemoc had also mounted.

This is our hour!

Mind contact seemed proper, as if whatever we
attempted now might awaken some of the force
not yet exhausted. We gave the Torgians light rein
and this time they broke into their normal,
country-covering pace. The day lightened and
suddenly a bird broke the cloak of silence with a
questioning note. All the pressure and drain had
vanished; we were freed and the road was before
us, with time now our worst enemy.

From the main highway Kemoc swung off along
a lesser way, and here the debris of the storm
slowed our pace. But we kept going, speeding up
wherever we had an open space.

Whether we went by obscure paths, or whether
the whole of Estcarp lay exhausted from shock
that day, we did not know. But we saw no one, not
even in the fields about the isolated farms. We
might have ridden through a deserted country.
And thus fortune favored us.

At nightfall we reached the farmstead with signs
of long neglect where we could eat. Turning the
Torgians into pasture, we saddled their three fel-
lows Kemoc had left in waiting there. Then we
took turns at a quick snatch of sleep. The moon
was well up, not blanketed this time, when
Kemoc's touch awakened me.

"This is the hour," he half-whispered.

And later, as we slid from the saddles and
looked down into a hollow where a grove sur-
rounded an age darkened building, he did not have
to add:

"This is the Place!"

IV

THE LONGER I studied the building in the cup and
its surroundings, the more I was conscious of a
strange shifting, a rippling—as if between it and us
hung a nearly invisible curtain. Distortion of
shadow and light, of which I could not quite be
certain, blurred a tree, elongated a bush, made
even stone waver and move. Yet in another instant
all was clear again.

Kemoc held out his maimed hand and my fingers
closed about it. Instantly I was drawn into his
mind, with an intensity I had not before known. He
launched a probe, straight through all that moon
and night-cloaked scene, down into the heart of
the Place itself.

There was resistance, a wall as defensive to our

attack as might be the stronghold of Es to the prick
of a single dart gun. Kemoc withdrew speedily,
only to launch for a second time his invisible spear,
this time with more force, enough to make me gasp
as it drained energy from me in one great gulp.

This time we hit that wall, yes, but we went
through it, straight on. And then— It was like
throwing a very dry branch on a fire—a blaze,
fierce, welcoming, rejoicing, feeding—Kaththea!
If I had ever faintly believed during the hours we
had been riding that she might be changed, that
perhaps she would not welcome our
interference—I need not have. This was recogni-
tion, welcome, a wild desire to be free, all in one.
Then, after that first moment of reply, swift ap-
prehension and warning.

She could not give us any accurate idea of which
lay between us, other than what we could see for
ourselves. But that there were guards, and not
human warriors, she knew. Also she dared not
move to meet us, and warned off any contact by
mind, lest those warders be alarmed. Thus she
abruptly broke our thread of communication.

"So be it," Kemoc said softly.

I broke his hold, my hand reaching for sword
hilt. Yet I knew that steel would have no part in any
fight we faced this night.

"To the left, passing under the trees, then a
quick run for the wall at that point—" My scouting
knowledge took over, seeing each feature of that
oddly fluid ground which could be put to our use.

"Yes. . . ."

Kemoc allowed me the lead, deferring to my
scout craft. But he was no tyro at this game either,
and we flitted down the slope with all the skill we

could summon. I discovered that to glance ahead
quickly and then away after a single second or so
of regard cleared my sight, made that wavering
less distracting.

We reached the edge of the wood and the outer
defense of the Place fronted us. It was as if we had
run full face into a rampart of glass. To the sight
there was nothing, not even anything to touch
when I struck out—but we could not stir a step
ahead.

"Mind—think it away!" Kemoc said, not as if
to me, but in self-encouragement.

It was hard to make that switch, from action of
body to that of mind. But I willed myself forward,
told myself that there was no wall, nothing but the
earth, the trees growing out of it, the night—even
if that night was nowhere as empty as it seemed.

Slowly we advanced, shoving with our wills
against the barrier. I shall always believe that
Kemoc was right about the effort of mountain
turning exhausting the Power. For suddenly that
invisible wall gave way, as a dam might suddenly
burst agape before the pressure of a flood force.
We went forward a few paces at a stumbling run.

"Only the first—"

I did not need that warning from Kemoc. Any
defenses set about this heart center of Power
would be the most intricate and best known to the
Witches. To cheer when one has made a first small
assault into a minor victory would be folly indeed.

There was movement among the trees. Again
my hand went to weapon hilt. This was tangible—I
could see the glint of moonlight on metal, and hear
the footsteps of those who came.

Borderers! Here—? The hawk-crested helmet

of a Falconer, the winged one of a Sulcarman, our
own smooth caps—And then, where faces showed
at all beneath that varied headgear they began to
glow palely, making plain the features.

Dermont, Jorth, Nikon—I knew these every
one, had ridden with them, shared shields in hot,
quick attacks, lain beside them at countless camp
fires. Yet now they all turned to me grim faces set
with aversion, loathing, and from them came a
wave of hatred and disgust, naming me traitor,
back fighter. In me flowered the belief that they
were right, that it was fit duty for them to cut me
down as I stood, so vile a thing had I become. My
hand dropped from my sword and I wanted to
kneel before them in the dust and—

Kyllan!

Through the wave of guilt and shame rising to
drown me that cry cut as might the bow of a ser-
pent ship. Logic and reason battled emotion. They
were not there, all these comrades-in-arms, judg-
ing me to my death. And I was not what they
judged me. Though the belief was a smothering
weight, I fought it, again willing it away with the
same determination as that with which I had
fought the invisible wall.

Dermont was before me. The glitter in his eyes
was righteous rage, and his dart gun was aimed
straight at my throat. But—Dermont was not
there—he had no place—he was rightfully a tree, a
bush, distorted by my own mind which the Power
turned against me. I saw the small jerk of his gun as
he fired. He was not there!

There was no prick of dart—no line of men—no
shine of moon on metal! I heard a small, smothered
sound from Kemoc.

"So passes their second defense." But his voice
was as shaken as I felt.

We went on. I wondered how those guardians
had known enough of us to front me with the
phantoms of just those men. Then Kemoc
laughed, startling me to hear it in that time and
place.

"Do you not see, brother?" He had picked the
question out of my mind to answer in words.
"They merely supply the impulse, you the actors
for its carrying out."

I was irritated that I had not realized that as
quickly as he. Hallucinations were the stock in
trade of the Witches, and hallucinations grow from
seed in a man's own brain.

We were under the real walls, honest stone; we
could touch and feel the darkness. I wondered at
the fact that there had been no more assaults
against us.

"They cannot be so easily conquered."

Again Kemoc laughed. "I knew you would not
underrate them, Kyllan. The worst should still lie
before us."

I stood face against the wall while Kemoc
mounted my shoulder and climbed to the top.
Then with a hand hold and a pull from his cloak I
joined him. We crouched there, looking down into
the garden. One side was the wall on which we
balanced, the other three sides the building. There
was a stillness there, too, a waiting. Yet in the
moonlight we could see that the garden was a very
fair one.

A fountain played, with small musical sounds,
to feed an oval pool, and the fragrance of flowers
and scented herbs arose about us. Scent--my

mind caught at that: there were herbs the aroma of
which could stupefy or drug a man, leaving him
open to control by another's desire. I was wary of
those flowers.

"I do not think so." Again Kemoc answered my
thought. "This is their own dwelling, where they
train for the Power. They dare not, for their own
safety, play such tricks here." Deliberately he
bent his head, drawing in deep breaths, as if test-
ing.

"No—that we do not have to fear." He dropped
to the ground and I followed, willing at this time to
take such reassurance. But where in that dark bulk
of building could we find Kaththea, without arous-
ing all who dwelt there?

"Could we summon her?"

"No!" Kemoc's voice crackled with anger. "No
summonings here—they would know of it in-
stantly. That, too, is one of their tools, and they
would react to it."

But he seemed as uncertain of the next move as
was I. There was the building, utterly dark. And it
held rooms we could not number, nor dared we
explore them. Now—

Movement again, a shadow which was lighter
than the pool of dark marking a door across from
which we stood. I froze in an old night fighting
trick, using immobility for a type of concealment.
Someone was coming into the garden, walking
with quiet assurance, obviously not expecting any
trouble.

Only great good fortune kept me from speech as
she moved into the open moonlight. Dark hair,
lying in long, loose strands about her shoulders,
her face upraised to the light as if she wished her

features clearly seen. A girl's face, yet older,
marked now by experience such as she had not
known when last I had seen her. Kaththea had
solved our riddle—she was coming to meet us!

Kemoc started forward, his hands outstretched.
It was my turn to know—to guess— I caught him
back. All my scout's instincts rebelled against his
smooth solution. Dermont I had seen, and now
Kaththea—and she might be no more true than
that other. Was she not in our minds, to be easily
summoned out?

She smiled and her beauty was such as to catch a
man's heart. Slender, tall, her silken black hair in
vivid contrast to her pale skin, her body moving
with the grace of one who makes walking a formal
dance. She held out her hands, her eyes alight, her
welcome so plain and warm.

Kemoc pushed at my hold. He did not look at
me; his attention was all hers.

"Kemoc!" Her voice was very low, hardly
more than a whisper, singing in welcome, longing,
joy. . . .

Yet still I held him fast, and he swung in my hold,
his eyes angry.

"Kaththea! Let me go, Kyllan!"

"Kaththea—perhaps." I do not know what
guiding prudence held me to that small particle of
disbelief. But either he did not hear, or did not
wish to understand.

She was close now, and flowers bent their heads
as the hem of her gray robe brushed them. But so
had I heard the jingle of metal and the sound of
footsteps that were not back in the woods. How
could I provide a test which would prove this
mirage or truth?

"Kemoc—" Again that half whisper. Yet I was
here also. Always there had been that tighter bond
between the two of them, yet now her eyes were
only for him, she spoke only his name—she did
not seem to see me. Why?

"Kaththea?" Suiting my own voice to her low
tone, I made her name into a question.

Her eyes did not falter; she never looked to me
nor seemed to know I was there. At that moment
Kemoc twisted out of my grip, and his went out to
catch hers, pulling her to him in a quick embrace.
Over his shoulder her eyes looked into mine, still
unseeing, and her lips curved in the same set smile.

My questioning had become certainty. If this
was a woman and not hallucination, she was play-
ing a game. Yet when we had sought my sister by
mind she had been welcoming. And I could not
believe that the emotion we had met in that brief
contact had been a lie. Could one lie with
thoughts? I was sure I could not, though what the
Witches might be able to accomplish I had no idea.

"Come!" His arm about her waist Kemoc was
pushing her before him toward the wall. I
moved—this might be a mistake, but better to
learn now when we could retrieve our errors.

"Kemoc, listen!" My grip on his shoulder was
no light one this time, and I had the greater
strength, which I was willing to use.

He struggled for his freedom, dropping his hold
on the girl. And his anger was growing with a
rapidity which was not normal.

"I do not think this is Kaththea." I said slowly,
with all the emphasis I could give to my words.
And she just stood there, still smiling, her atten-
tion on him as if I were invisible.

"Kemoc—" His name with the same inflection,
no word of protest to me.

"You are mad!" my brother's face was white
with anger. He was a man bewitched.

Bewitched! Could I reach him with sense
now—in time? I brought his arm up behind his
back in a lock and held him so, then pulled him
around to face the smiling girl. So holding him in
spite of his struggles, I spoke again into his ear.

"Look at her, man! Look at her very well!"

He could not free himself, and look he did.
Slowly he stopped struggling, and I hoped my fight
won. Kaththea, smiling, undisturbed, now and
again uttering his name as if she had only that one
word to speak.

"What—what is she?"

I loosed him when he asked that. He knew now,
was ready to accept the truth. But what was the
truth? At our discovery she had not vanished away
as had the warriors. I touched her arm—that was
flesh beneath my fingers, warm, apparently living.
So real a hallucination was beyond any I had
seen before.

"I do not know what she is—save she is not who
we seek here."

"If we had taken her and gone—" Kemoc
paused.

"Yes. That would have served their purposes
very well. But if this is counterfeit; where is the
real?"

It was as if Kemoc had been shocked into in-
spired thinking by the closeness of his error.

"This—this one came from there." He pointed
to the doorway. "Thus in the opposite direction
lies, I think, what we seek."

He sounded too sure, yet I had no better reason
or direction in which to look.

"Kemoc—" Her hands were out again. She was
watching him and edging to the wall, subtly urging
him to that way of escape.

He shivered, drew away. "Kyllan, hurry—we
have to hurry!"

Turning his back on her, my brother ran towards
the building, and I followed, fearing that any mo-
ment a cry of alarm would be voiced behind us,
that the surrogate for our sister would utter a warn-
ing.

There was another door, and Kemoc, a little
before me, put his hand to it. I expected bolts or
bars and wondered how we could deal with such.
But the panel swung inward readily enough and
Kemoc peered into the dark.

"Hold to my belt," he ordered. And there was
such certainty in his voice that I obeyed. So
linked, we moved into a dark which was complete.

Yet Kemoc walked with quick sure steps, as if he
could see every foot of the way. My shoulder
brushed against the side of another doorway.
Kemoc turned to the left. I felt about with my other
hand, touched a surface not too far away, and ran
fingertips along it as we moved. A hallway, I
thought.

Then Kemoc halted, turned sharply to the right,
and there was the sound of another door opening.
Sudden light, gray and dim, but light. We stood on
the threshold of a small, cell-like room, I looking
over Kemoc's shoulder. On the edge of a narrow
bed she sat, waiting for us.

There was none of the serene, smiling, untrou-
bled beauty that the girl in the garden had worn.

Experience showed on this girl's face also, but
with it anxiety, strain, a wearing down of the body
by the spirit. Beauty, too, but a beauty which was
worn unconsciously and not as a weapon. Her lips
parted, formed two names silently. Then Kaththea
was on her feet, running to us, a hand for each.

"Haste, oh, haste!" Her voice was the thinnest
of whispers. "We have so little time!"

This time there was no need for warning. I had
Kaththea in my arms, no simulacrum of my sister.
Then she crowded past us and took the lead back
through the dark, drawing us with her at a run. We
burst into the free night of the garden. I half ex-
pected Kaththea to meet her double, but there was
no one there.

Back over the wall and into the wood we went,
her frantic haste now spurring us. She held the
long skirts of her robe high, dragging them with
sharp jerks from the bushes where they appeared
to catch and hold unnaturally. We strove not to use
care now, only speed. And we were all gasping as
we came out of the hollow to where our Torgians
waited.

Just as we reached the saddles a deep boom
welled from the building in the cup. It held a little
of the earth-thunder we had heard during the
mountain moving. Our horses screamed shrilly, as
if they feared another such upheaval of their nor-
mal world. As we started off at a wild gallop I
listened for any other sounds—shouts of some
pursuit, another thunder roar. But there was
nothing.

Not in the least reassured, I called to Kaththea:

"What will they send after us?"

Her hair whipped back, her face a white oval,

she turned to answer me. "Not—warriors—" she
gasped. "They have other servants—but
tonight—they are limited."

Even Torgians could not stand the pace we had
set in fleeing the valley of the Place. I was aware
that the horses were disturbed, and that this uneas-
iness was fast approaching panic. Yet the reason
for that was not plain since we should be out of the
influence of the Place by now. With all the talent I
had I strove to quiet their minds, to bring them
again to sane balance.

"Rein in!" I ordered. "They will run them-
selves blind—rein in!"

I had no fears for Kemoc's horsemanship. But of
Kaththea's I was not so sure. While the Witches did
not ignore the body in their training and explora-
tion of the mind, I did not know how cloistered my
sister had been during these past years, how able
to control her mount.

The Torgians fought for the bits, strove to con-
tinue their headlong run, but between our strength
on the reins, and my own efforts, they began to
yield and we were slowing our pace when there
was an ear-splitting squawl from before us. The
cry of a snow cat, once heard, is never to be
mistaken. They are the undisputed kings of the
high valleys and the peaks. Though what one could
be doing this far from its native hunting grounds. I
did not understand. Unless the orders which had
brought us from the border lands had been accom-
panied by some unknown commands which had
moved the animals also, spreading them into terri-
tory they had not known before.

My mount reared and screamed, lashing out
with front hooves as if the cat had materialized

beneath its nose. And Kemoc fought a like battle.
But the Torgian my sister rode swung about and
bolted the way we had come, at the same break-
neck pace which had started us off on this wild
ride. I spurred after her, striving to reach the mind
of her mount, with no effect, since it was now filled
with witless terror. All I could read there was that
it imagined the snow cat behind it preparing for a
fatal leap to bring it down.

My horse fought me, but I drove savagely into
its brain and did what I had never presumed to do
before—I took over, pressing my wishes so deeply
that nothing was left of its own identity for the
present. We caught up with Kaththea and I
stretched my control to the other horse—not with
such success, since I also had to hold my own, but
enough to eject from its brain the fear of imminent
cat attack.

We turned to see Kemoc pounding up through
the moonlight. I spoke between set teeth:
"We may not be able to keep the horses!"
"Was that an attack?" Kemoc demanded.
"I think so. Let us ride while we can."
Ride we did through the waning hours of the
night, Kemoc in the lead over the trail he had long
ago marked. I brought up the rear, trying to keep
ever alert to any new onslaught against our mounts
or us. I ached with the weariness of the double
strain, I who had believed myself fine trained to
the peak of endurance, such as only the fighting
men of these later days of Estcarp were called
upon to face. Kaththea rode in silence, yet she was
ever a source of sustenance to us both.

V

THERE WAS LIGHT ahead—could that mark dawn?
But dawn was not red and yellow, did not flicker
and reach—

Fire! A line of fire across our path. Kemoc drew
rein and Kaththea pulled level with him, and a
moment later I brought up beside them. That omi-
nous line ahead stretched across our way as far as
the eye could see. Under us the horses were res-
tive again, snorting, flinging up their heads. To
force them into that would not be possible.

Kaththea's head turned slowly from left to right,
her eyes surveying the fire as if seeking some gate.
Then she made a small sound, close to laughter.

"Do they deem me so poor a thing?" she de-
manded, not of us, but of the night shadows before
her. "I cannot believe that—or this."

"Illusion?" asked Kemoc.

If it were an illusion it was a very realistic one. I
could smell the smoke, hear the crackle of flames.
But my sister nodded. Now she looked to me.

"You have a fire striker—make me a torch."

I dared not dismount, lest my Torgian break and
run. It was hard to hold him to a stand, but I urged
him to the left and leaned in the saddle to jerk at a
spindly bush, which luckily yielded to my pull.
Thrusting this into Kemoc's hold, I fumbled one-
handedly at my belt pouch, dragging forth the
snapper to give a fire-starting spark.

The vegetation did not want to catch, but persist-
ence won and finally a line of flame smoldered
sullenly. Kaththea took the bunch of burning twigs
and whirled it through the air until the fire was well
alight. Then she put her horse forward. Again it
was my will which sent the animals in. Kaththea's
strange weapon was flung out and away, falling
well ahead of us, to catch, so that a second fire
spread from it.

They were burning towards each other, as if
some magnetism existed pulling them into union.
But as the first line reached the one my sister had
kindled—it was gone! There remained only the
now smoldering swath from the torch lighting.
Kaththea laughed again, and this time there was
real amusement in the sound.

"Play of children!" she called. "Can you not
bring better to front us, ones of great wisdom?"

Kemoc gave a quick exclamation and rode to
her, his crooked hand out.

"Do not provoke!" he ordered. "We have been
very lucky."

As she looked to him, and beyond to me, her

eyes were shining. She had an otherness in her
face which put a curtain between us.

"You do not understand," she replied almost
coldly. "It is best that we face—now—the worst
they can summon up against us, rather than later
when their power has strengthened and we are
wearied. Thus it is well to challenge them, and not
wait to do battle when they wish!"

Her words made sense to me. But I think that
Kemoc still thought this unnecessary reckless-
ness. And for that reason, I, too, began to wonder.
For it could well be that our sister, out of her
prison, might find freedom so fine a draft that she
was not steady in her thinking.

She turned her head a small space farther, giving
me her full attention.

"No, Kyllan, I am not drunk with freedom as a
six-months Sulcar sailor greets wine the first hour
off ship's decking! Though I could well be. Give me
this much credit: I know well those I have lived
among. We could not have done this thing tonight
had they not lost much of their strength through
the sending to the mountains. I could meet their
worst before they recover—lest they crush us
later. So—"

She began to chant, dropping the reins to free
her hands for the making of gestures. And oddly
enough the Torgian stood rock still under her as if
no longer a creature of flesh and bone. The words
were very old. Now and again I caught one which
had some meaning, a far-off ancestor of one in
daily use, but the majority of them were as a
tongue foreign to me.

Her words might be foreign but the sense behind
them had meaning. I have waited out the suspense

of ambush, the lurking fore-terror of a stealthy
advance into enemy-held territory, wherein each
rock can give hiding place to death. I knew of old
that prickle along the spine, that chill of nerve.
Where I had met that with action, now I had to sit,
waiting only for the doing—of what, I did not
know. And I found this much harder than any such
wait before.

Kaththea was challenging the Power itself,
summoning up some counter-force of her own to
draw it like a magnet, as her real fire had drawn
that of illusion. But could she triumph now? All my
respect and awe of the Witches' abilities argued
that she could not. I waited, tense, for the very
world to erupt around us.

But what came in answer to my sister's chant
was no ground-twisting blow, no hallucination or
illusion. It had no visible presence, no outward
manifestation. It was—anger. Black, terrible
anger—an emotion which was in itself a weapon to
batter the mind, crush all identity beneath its icy
weight.

Kyllan—Kemoc!

Sluggishly I answered that call to contact. We
were not one, but three that had become one.
Clumsily perhaps, not too smooth-fitting in our
union, yet we were one—to stand against how
many? But with that uniting came also Kaththea's
assurance. We did not need to attack; our only
purpose was defense. If we could hold, and hold,
and continue to hold, we had a chance of winning.
It was like one of the wrestling bouts in the camps
wherein a man sets the whole of his strength
against that of another.

I lost all knowledge of myself, Kyllan Tregarth,

Captain of Scouts, seated ahorse in the night in a
fire scorched clearing. I was no one—only some-
thing. Then, through that which was iron endur-
ance, came a message:
Relax.

Without question I obeyed. The answering
pressure came down—flat, hard, crushing—

Unite—hold!

We almost failed. But as a wrestler could use an
unorthodox move to unsteady his opponent, so
had my sister chosen the time and the maneuver.
We threw the enemy off balance, even as she had
hoped. The crushing descent met once more a
sturdy resistance. Its steady push broke a little,
wavered. Then came battering blows, one after
another, but even I could sense that each one was
slower, less strong. At last they came no more.

We glanced from one to the other, again our-
selves, three in three bodies, not one in a place
where bodies were naught.

Kemoc spoke first: "For a space—"

Kaththea nodded. "For a space—and how long
I do not know. But perhaps we have won enough
time."

True morning was graying the sky as we rode.
But the Torgians were no longer fresh, and we
dared not push the pace. We ate in the saddle, the
journey bread of the army. And we did not talk
much, saving all energy for what might lie ahead.

There were the eastern mountains making a
great ridge against the sky, dark and threatening.
And I knew that, miles distant though they were,
these were the final wall between Estcarp and the
unknown. What lay behind them? From all that
Kemoc had learned in Lormt, there had once been

some danger past all our present reckoning. Was
he right—had the toll of years lessened that
danger? Or were we riding from a peril we did
know into danger we did not, and which would be
even greater?

The day wore on. We kept to the cover of waste-
land when we could. In our favor was the fact that
here the farms were very few and far apart. Most
of the ground was abandoned to second growth
woodlands. Fewer and fewer were the signs that
man had ever planted his rule here.

Still the mountains loomed. Even though we
plodded ever towards foothills we seemed to ap-
proach no closer. They might have been fixed on
some huge platform which moved at a speed equal
to ours always ahead. I waited throughout that
whole day for another contest of wills, or some
sign the hunt was up behind us. For I did not really
believe that the Power was so exhausted they
could not bring us up short and hold us captive
while they sent their ministers to take us bodily
prisoner.

Yet we rode untroubled. We halted to rest the
horses, to take short naps with one always on
watch, and we rode again. And we saw nothing
save now and then a curious animal peering
through some screen of bush. It was wrong, all
wrong; every scout instinct belabored me with
that. We would have trouble, we must have trou-
ble—

"There may be this," Kemoc cut into my
thoughts, "—they do not realize that we are not
blocked against the east, so they believe that we
ride now into a trap without an exit—save back
into their hands."

That made sense. Yet I dared not wholly accept

it. And, as we camped that night, without fire, on
the bank of a rock strewn, mountain born stream, I
still kept watch with the feeling that I would be
easier in my mind if an attack did come.

"To think so, Kyllan" —that was Kaththea,
gazing up at me from where she knelt at the
streamside washing her face— "is to open you to
attack. A man's uncertainty is a lever they may use
to overset him."

"We cannot go without taking precautions," I
countered.

"Yes. And thus always they will have a small
door open. But it is a door which we may not
close—you are most right, brother. Tell me, where
do you look for any true hiding place?"

With that she surprised me. What had she
thought—that we had taken her from the Place
only to ride blindly about the countryside with no
foreplan?

Kaththea laughed. "No, Kyllan, I do not think
so meanly of your intelligence. That you have a
plan, I knew from the moment you called to me
from outside the walls of the Place. I know it has
something to do with these mountains we seek so
wearily. But now is the time to tell the what and the
why."

"Kemoc has planned it, let him—"

She shook drops of water from her hands and
wiped them on sun dried grass from the stream
bank. "Then Kemoc must tell me the whole."

As we sat together, chewing on the sustaining
but insipid food, he laid before her the whole story
of what he had discovered at Lormt. She listened
without question until had done, and then she
nodded.

"I can give you this further proof of your mys-

tery, brother. For the past hour, before we
reached this spot, I was riding blind—"

"What do you mean?"

She met my eyes gravely. "Just what I said,
Kyllan. I rode through a mist. Oh, it was broken
now and then—I could make out a tree, a bush,
rocks. But for the most part it was a fog."

"But you said nothing!"

"No, because watching the two of you, I knew it
must be some form of illusion which did not trou-
ble you." She wrapped the part of cake she still
held in its protecting napkin and restored it to
saddle bag. "And it was also not born of anything
they had unleashed against us. You say we do not
have this block about the east because we are of
mixed heritage. That is good sense. But it would
also seem that my witch training mayhap has pro-
duced a measure of it to confuse me. Perhaps had I
taken the oath and become wholly one of them I
could not pierce it at all."

"What if it gets worse for you?" I blurted out
my growing concern.

"Then you shall lead me," she returned tran-
quilly. "If it is some long ago induced blank-out, I
do not believe it will last—except over the barrier
itself, through the mountains. But now I also agree
with you, Kemoc. They will relax their hunt, for
they will confidently believe that we shall be
turned back. They do not realize that at least two
of us can go clearsighted into their nothingness!"

I could not share her confidence completely, but
also I had learned as a Borderer that worry over
what might be never added a single second to a
man's life, nor changed his future for well or ill. I
had not encountered Kaththea's mist, nor had

Kemoc. And her explanation for that was reason-
able. But could we continue to be so free? Trailing
over mountain tracks with impaired vision was a
desperate thing.

Kemoc asked a question forming in my own
mind. "This mist—of what manner is it? And you
say . . . not complete?"

Kaththea shook her head. "No, and sometimes
I think it is a matter of will. If I fasten on something
which is only a shadow and sharpen my will, I see
it the clearer. But that requires a concentration
which might work against us."

"How so?" I demanded.

"Because I must listen—"

"Listen?" My head came up and now I strained
to hear too.

"Not with ears," she replied quickly, "but with
the inner hearing. They are not moving against us
now; they are content to wait. But will they remain
so the farther we go eastward, when they at last
know that we are not contained by their long set
boundaries? Do not think they will ever give up."

"Has there ever before been one who refused
witchhood, I wonder?" Kemoc asked musingly.
"The Council must be as startled by your flight as
if one of the stones of Es City spoke out against
them. But why should they wish to keep you
against your will?"

"It is simple enough—I am not of their same
pattern. At first they did not push too hard to have
me because of that very thing. There were those in
the Council who believed I would be a disrupting
influence should they strive to make me one with
them. Then, as the menace of Karsten grew worse,
they were ready to grasp at any promise, no matter

how small, of adding in some way to the sum total
of the Power. Thus, they would have me to study,
to see if through me any new gates might be
opened, that the basic amount of their long treas-
ured force be increased. But as long as I would not
take the oath, become one with them in a surren-
dering of self, they could not use me as they
wished. Yet I could not delay such a step too long.
There was this—" She paused, her eyes dropped
to the hands which had rested lazily in her lap.
Now those long fingers curled, came together as if
protecting something in their cupped palms. "I
wanted—some of what they had to offer, that I
wanted! Every part of me thirsted for their knowl-
edge, for I knew that I could work wonders also.
Then would come to me the thought that if I chose
their path, so must I cut away part of my life. Do
you think that one who has been three can happily
be alone? Thus I turned and dodged, would not
answer when they asked of me this thing. And at
last came the time when they would risk all against
Karsten.

"They spoke plainly to me—to use the Power in
a unification of all their selves meant an ending for
some. Many would die, did die, burnt out by mak-
ing of themselves vessels to hold the energy until it
could be aimed and loosed. They had to have
replacements and no longer would the choice be
left to me. And now, with their ranks so depleted,
neither will they allow me to go, if they can prevent
it. Also—" Now she raised her eyes to look at us
directly. "They will deal with you, the both of you,
ruthlessly. They always secretly mistrusted and
feared our father; I learned that when I was first
among them. It is not natural, according to their

belief, that a man should hold even a small portion
of the Power. And they more than mistrusted our
mother for the talent that she built with our father's
aid when by all rights she should have lost her
witchship in lying with a man. This they con-
sidered an abomination, a thing against all nature.
They know you have some gift. After this past
night and day, they will be even more certain of
that—with good cause to dislike what they have
learned. No normal man could have entered the
Place, and he certainly could not have won free of
it again. Of course, their safeguards there were
depleted, yet they were such as would have been
death to any male fully of the Old Race. Thus—
you are not to be trusted, you are a menace, to be
removed!"

"Kaththea, who was the girl, the one in the
garden?" Kemoc asked suddenly.

"Girl?"

"You and yet not you," he answered. "I be-
lieved in her—would have taken her and gone.
Kyllan would not let me. Why?" He turned now to
me. "What was it that made you suspect her?"

"No more than a feeling at first. Then—she was
like one made for a purpose. She fastened upon
you, as if she wished to hold you—"

"She looked like me?" Kaththea asked.

"Very much, save she was too serene. She
smiled always. She lacked" —and I knew I had hit
upon the truth—"she lacked humanity."

"A simulacrum! Then they did expect you, or
some attempt to reach me! But it takes long and
long to make one of those. I wonder which one of
the novices it really was?"

"Shape changing?" Kemoc said.

"Yes. But more intricate, since she was de-
signed to deceive such as you, who had mind
contact—or did they know that much of us? Yes,
they must have! Oh, that proves it—they must be
very sure now that you are the enemy. And I
wonder how much longer we have before they
realize we are not in any trap, and so move after
us?"

To that question we had no answer. But it left us
with little peace of mind. The stream tinkled and
burbled through the dark, and we could hear the
sound of the hobbled Torgians at graze. And we set
up watches turn and turn about.

The morning came and this one was clear and
bright for Kemoc and me—though Kaththea ad-
mitted that the fog was heavy for her, and that she
had a disturbing disorientation when we began our
ride into the foothills. At last she begged us to tie
her to her saddle and lead her mount as the over-
whelming desire to turn back was growing so
strong she feared she could not control it.

We, too, had a measure of unease. There was a
distortion of sight at times which was like that we
had experienced looking down into the valley of
the Place. And the sensation of moving into some
dark and unpleasant surprise was haunting, but
not to the point that it had any effect upon our
determination.

But we did as Kaththea asked and at intervals
she struggled against the ties we put on her, once
crying out that directly before us was sudden death
in the form of a deep chasm—though that was not
true. Finally she shut her eyes and had us lay a
bandage over them, saying that once shut into her
own mind in that fashion, she was better able to
combat the waves of panic.

The faint trace of road had long since vanished.
We went by the easiest riding we could pick
through true wilderness. I had lived much among
mountains, but the weirdly broken ways we now
followed were strange to nature, and I thought I
knew the reason. Just as the mountains of the
south had been toppled and turned, so, too, had
these heights.

It was evening of the second day since we had
left the streamside when we reached the end of
open ways. Before us now lay heights a deter-
mined man might climb on foot, but not on horse-
back. We faced that fact bleakly.

"Why do you stop?" Kaththea wanted to know.

"The way runs out; there is only climbing
ahead."

"Wait!" She leaned down from her saddle.
"Loose my hands!"

There was such urgency in that that Kemoc
hastened to obey. As if she could see in spite of the
blindfold, her fingers moved surely out, touched
his brows, slid down to the eyes he blinked shut.
For a long moment she held them so before she
spoke:

"Turn, face where we must go."

With her touch still on his closed eyes, my
brother moved his head slowly to the left, facing
the cliff face.

"Yes, oh, yes! Thus I can see it!" There was
excitement and relief in Kaththea's voice. "This is
the way we must go, then?"

But how could we? Kemoc and I could have
done it, though I wondered about his maimed
hand. But to take Kaththea bound and
blindfolded—that was impossible.

"I do not think you need to take me so," she

answered my silent doubts. "Leave me thus for
tonight, let me gather all my powers, and then,
with the dawn—let us try. There will be an end to
the block, of that I am sure."

But her certainty was not mine. Perhaps with
the dawn, instead of climbing, we would have to
backtrack, to seek out another way up through the
tortured debris of this ancient battlefield.

VI

I COULD NOT sleep, though there was need for it in
my body—to which my mind would not yield.
Finally I slipped from my blanket and went to
where Kemoc sat sentry.

"Nothing," he answered my question before it
was voiced. "Perhaps we are so far into the debat-
able land we need not fear pursuit."

"I wish I knew at whose boundary we are," I
said. And my eyes were for the heights that we
must dare tomorrow.

"Friend or enemy?" In the moonlight his hand
moved so there was a glint of light from the grip of
the dart gun lying unholstered on his knee.

"And that—" I gestured to the weapon. "We
have but two extra belts of darts. Steel may have to
serve us in the end."

Kemoc flexed his hand and those stiff fingers did
not curl with their fellows. "If you are thinking of
this, brother, do not underrate me. I have learned
other things besides the lore of Lormt. If a man
determines enough he can change one hand for the
other. Tomorrow I will belt on a blade for the left
hand."

"I have the feeling that what we win beyond will
be sword-taken."

"In that you may be very right. But better land
sword-taken than what lies behind us now."

I gazed about. The moon was bright, so bright it
seemed uncannily so. We were in a valley between
two ridges. And Kemoc had his post on a ledge a
little more than a man's height above the valley
floor. Yet here our sight was restricted as to what
lay above us, or farther down the cut of our back
trail. And this blindness worried me.

"I want to see from up there," I told him.

In the brightness of the moon I did not fear
trouble, the slope being rough enough to afford
good hand and toe holds. Once on the crest I
looked to the west. We had been climbing all day as
we worked our way through the foothills. The tree
growth was sparse now and I had a clear sight.
With the long seeing lenses from my service belt I
searched our back trail.

They were distant, those pricks of light in the
night. No effort had been taken to conceal them;
rather they had been lit to let us know we were
awaited. I counted some twenty fires and smiled
wryly. So much did those who sent those waiting
sentries respect the three of us. Judging by Bor-
derer practices there must be well over a hundred
men so encamped, waiting. How many of them

were those with whom Kemoc and I had ridden?
Were any drawn from my own small command?
Freed from the necessity of southward patrols
they could be used thus.

But we were not yet in a trap. I pivoted to study
the cliff wall which now fronted us. As far as the
glass advanced my own sight north and south there
appeared no easier way up. And would those
others, back there, remain at the line they had
drawn, or come after us?

I dropped to Kemoc's perch.

"So they are there. ..."

Mind contact passed news swiftly.

"I make it at least a full field company, if we go
by fire count. Maybe more."

"It would seem there is a vow we shall be taken.
But I doubt if they will sniff this far in after us."

"I could sight no better climbing place."

There was no need to put the rest of my worry
into words: he shared it fully already. But now he
gave me a short reply.

"Do not believe that she will not climb, Kyl-
lan."

"But if she does so blind?"

"Two of us, the saddle ropes, and mind contact
which will give her sight? We may be slow, but we
shall go. And you shall fuzz the back trail, Kyllan,
even as it has just crossed your mind to do."

I laughed. "Why do we bother with speech? You
know my thoughts as I think them—"

He interrupted, his words sober: "Do I? Do you
know mine?"

I considered. He was right, at least as far as I
was concerned. I had contact, could communicate
with him and with Kaththea, but it was a come and

go matter and, as I knew, mostly when we were
intent upon a mutual problem. Unless he willed it,
Kemoc's personal thoughts were not mine.

"Nor yours mine," he replied promptly. "We
may be one in will when necessary, but still we are
three individuals with separate thoughts, separate
needs, and perhaps separate fates also."

"That is good!" I said without thinking.

"It could not be otherwise, or we would be as
the non-men the Kolder used to do their labor and
their fighting—those bodies who obeyed, though
mind and spirit were dead. It is enough to open one
surface of our thoughts to one another when we
must, but for the test—it is our own."

"Tomorrow, if I blaze our trail up there and keep
my mind open, can Kaththea see thus, even if she
goes blinded?"

"So is my hope. But this is also the truth,
brother, that such an open mind must be held so by
will, and this will add to the strain of the climb. I do
not think you can do this for long; we shall have to
divide it between us. And"—again he flexed his
scarred hand in the moonlight—"do not believe
that in this either shall I be found wanting.
Crooked and stiff as these fingers are, yet my bone
and flesh have learned to obey me!"

That I did not doubt either. Kemoc got to his
feet, holstering his gun, and I took his place so that
he might rest. We had already agreed that
Kaththea would not be one of this night's sentries,
since it was her task to wrestle with the block her
witch training had set upon her.

As I watched, the very brilliance of the vale
began to have its effect. There was a kind of daz-
zlement about the pallid light, akin to the subtle

distortion we had noticed earlier, and I was so
inwardly warned against any long study. There
was that here which could evoke glamourie—the
visionary state into which the half-learned in any
magic could easily slip, to be lost in their own
visions. And I wanted no such ensorcelment.

At length I dropped from Kemoc's ledge and
took to active sentry patrol, keeping on my feet,
taking care not to look too long at any rock, bush
or stretch of ground. Thus I came to where the
Torgians browsed. They moved slowly, and a
quick reading of their minds showed me a dulling
of their kind of thought. Yet undue fatigue would
not normally have brought them to such a state.
Perhaps the same block which acted upon the Old
Race held in small part for their animals also.

We could not take them with us. And still there
was a way they could continue to serve us. It did
not take me long to strip off their hobbles. Then I
saddled them and set on bridle and bit, looping the
reins about the saddle horns. As I worked they
became more alert.

As I was about to set on them my last com-
mands, there was a stir behind me. I turned, hand
going to my gun. Kaththea was in the open, her
hands tugging at the band she herself had fastened
to blind her eyes after we had eaten our meal. At a
last tug that gave way and she stared in my direc-
tion as a short-sighted person might peer.

"What—?" I began, then her hand came up in
an impatient gesture.

"There is more which can be done to carry
through your scheme, brother," she said softly.
"Horses should have riders."

"Dummies? Yes, I had thought of that, but the

materials for the making of such are lacking."

"For materials there is not much needed to in-
duce illusion."

"But you have no Jewel of Power," I protested.
"How can you build one of the strong illusions?"

She was frowning a little. "It may well be that I
cannot, but I shall not be sure until I try. Our
mother surrendered her Jewel upon her marriage
day, yet thereafter she accomplished much with-
out it. Mayhap the Jewel is not quite as much the
focus of the Power as the Wise Women will have us
believe. Oh, I am very young in their learning as
they count such things, but also am I certain that
there has been no proper measurement of what
can be wrought by wish, will and the Power. If one
is content to use a tool then one shall never know
what one can do without it. Now, here—" She
plucked a curled, silvery leaf from a nearby bush.
"Lay upon this some hairs from your head,
Kyllan—and pluck them from the roots, for they
must be living hairs. Also, moisten them with spit-
tle from your mouth."

Her tone summoned obedience. I took off my
helm, and my forehead and throat, about which its
mail veil had been wreathed, felt naked and chill in
the night breeze. I plucked the hair she wished,
and the separate threads curled about my fingers,
for it had gone undipped for some time. Then I
spat upon the leaf and laid the hair therein, even as
Kaththea was doing in another such improvised
carrier.

She crossed to Kemoc and awakened him to do
likewise. Then she held the three leaves on her
palm and walked to the horses. With her right hand
she rolled the first leaf and its strange burden into a

spill, all the time her lips murmuring sounds I
could not make into any real word. The spill she
tucked between the knotted reins and the saddle
horn, taking great care as to its wedging. And this
she did also with the others. Then she stood aside
and raised her hands to her mouth as half open
fists. Through these trumpets of flesh and bone she
sang, first in a low semi-whisper, then louder and
louder. And the rhythm of those sounds became a
part of me, until I felt them in the beat of my heart,
the throb of my pulses. While the brilliance of the
moonlight was a flashing glare, its light condensed
to where we stood.

Kaththea's song ended abruptly, on a broken
note. "Now! Give your commands, brother—
send them forth!"

The orders I set in the Torgians' befogged brains
sent them moving down the vale, away from us, in
the direction of that fire line. And as they so left us
I will always believe that I saw the misty forms in
those saddles, a swirl of something to form three
riders, nor did I wonder who those riders would
seem to be.

"It would appear, sister, that the half has not
been told concerning the powers of Witches,"
Kemoc commented.

Kaththea swayed and caught at his arm, so that
he gave her his support.

"Witchery has its prices." She smiled upon us
wanly. "But I believe that this has bought us
time—more than just a night. And now we may
rest in peace."

We half-carried her between us to the blanket-
branch bed we had earlier made her, and, as she
lay with closed eyes, Kemoc looked to me. There

was no need for a reading of minds between us—to
attempt the mountain climb tomorrow was beyond
the borders of reasonable risk. If those who tended
those watchfires did not advance and Kaththea's
magic bought us more time, we need not push.

Dawn found me back on the lookout ridge. The
fires still burned, more difficult to see with the
coming of light. I searched for the horses. It was a
long and anxious moment before my lenses picked
them up, moving across an open glade. And I was
startled. There were riders in those saddles, and
they would truly have deceived me had I been on
scout. They would be watching, those others, and
they would see their prey returning. How good the
illusion would be at close quarters, I could not
guess. But for the time we were covered.

Kemoc joined me and we took turns watching
the horses, until a fold in the earth concealed them
from us. Then we went down to inspect the cliff
wall. It was rough enough to promise adequate
holds, and not far from the top was a ledge of some
depth to afford a resting place. As to what lay
beyond its crests we did not know, but neither
could we say that we would be faced by something
we could not surmount.

For that day we rested in camp, sleeping so
deeply in turn that no dreams troubled us. And
Kaththea recovered that strength which had been
drawn from her in the weaving of illusion. At the
first shadow of night I climbed the ridge again. This
time there was no sparkle of watch-fires, nor did
we sight any later in the night. What this could
mean might be either of two things: Kaththea's
painfully wrought illusions might have provided
the waiting company with prisoners for a space—

or they had speedily discovered the trickery,
struck camp, and were moving on. Yet a most
painstaking use of the lenses, studying each bit of
cover which might attract a stalking hunt, showed
nothing amiss.

"I think they are truly gone," Kaththea said
with a confidence I did not altogether share. "But
it does not matter. In the morning we shall go also,
up and back—there." She pointed to the moun-
tain.

And in the morning we did go. Our provisions,
weapons and blankets were made into packs
which Kemoc and I shouldered. And roped be-
tween us both was Kaththea, her hands free, no
weight upon her. She had discarded the eye ban-
dage, but still kept her eyes closed, striving to
"see" through mind contact, since she was still in
the confusing fog.

It was slow work, that upward pull, and I found
it doubly hard when I had to concentrate not only
on my own efforts, but as an aid for Kaththea. She
showed a surprising dexterity in spite of her self-
imposed blindness, never fumbling or missing a
hold I pictured in my mind. But when we reached
the ledge I was so weak with fatigue I feared it was
not in me to pull up the last short way. Kemoc
reached across Kaththea as she crouched between
us, his hand falling on my shaking knee.

"The rest to me," he stated as one who would
not be denied.

Nor could I have fought him for that danger. I
was too spent to risk their safety on my own fast
failing strength. So from the rest we reversed and
my brother took the lead, his face as rigid with
concentration as mine must have been. For I dis-

covered my chin stiff, my jaw aching with pressure
when I had come to those moments of relaxation.

It was lucky that I had given way to Kemoc, for
the last part of that climb was a nightmare. I forced
my trembling body to the effort, knowing well the
danger of pulling back upon the rope and distract-
ing Kaththea. But there came an end and we were
on a space almost wide enough to be a plateau.

There was a cold wind here which dried our
sweat, chilled us. So we pressed on hurriedly to
where two peaks jutted skyward, a shadowed cleft
between them. And when we entered that slash
Kaththea suddenly flung back her head and
opened her eyes, giving a small but joyful cry. We
did not need any words to know that her blindness
was gone.

The cleft we entered intensified the cold of those
heights. Kemoc scuffed a boot toe through a patch
of white and I saw that he had kicked up snow. Yet
this was summer and the heat of the year had
weighed heavily on us below. We stopped to undo
our packs and bring out the blankets, pulling them
cloakwise about our shoulders. That helped in a
small measure as we came to the end of the cleft
and looked down—into the world of the unknown.

Our first impression was one of stark disbelief.
There was a kind of wrongness about the broken
land which receded down and down from our
present perch, into a misty lowland so hidden we
could not tell whether land or water, or both, lay
far below. All I could think of was a piece of cloth
which had been soaked in thin mud and then
twisted by hand before being allowed to dry, so
that a thousand wrinkles ran this way and that
without sane purpose. I had thought that I knew

mountain country, but this cut up land was worse
than the foothills we had passed.

Kaththea was breathing deeply, not just as one
who would fill her lungs, but as if she could sepa-
rate some one scent from many, and identify it, as
a hound or a snow cat could identify a hunting
trace.

"There is that here—" she began, and then
hesitated. "No, I make no judgments. But this
land has felt the lash of a fury which was man-born
and not the stroke of nature. Only that was long
and long ago, and the destruction is under mend.
Let us get from this place; I do not like my winds
ice-tipped."

In one way the broken nature of the descent
served us well—for while the finding of the way
was time consuming, yet the terrain was so rough
here there were natural stairways of rock to be
discovered. Since Kaththea was now sure of her
sight, we made far better time than we had on the
other side of the mountain.

However, the mist which choked the lower
lands still curtained them from us, and that did not
inspire confidence. There was this also: on the
other side of the mountain, broken as the way had
been, there had been life. I had seen fresh tracks of
animals, and we had noted birds, even though their
number had been few. But here were no such signs
of life. We were down from the bare rock and into
the first circle of vegetation to find that this had a
strange look. The green of the narrow bush leaves
was lighter in shade than that we had always
known, and the very shape of the leaves had a
shriveled appearance as if they had been born from
blighted seeds.

It was when we came out at the head of a valley
that I called a halt. The territory below was even
more unbelievable than that we had sighted from
the pass. At first I could not really tell the nature of
what I looked upon. Then, glancing about me, the
sight of seedlings spreading from that growth gave
me the answer to that choked gap. They must be
trees, for no bush grew to such a height, but they
were no normal tree. And they must have grown so
for centuries of time, for they completely filled the
valley, their tips reaching only a few feet below the
rocky point on which we now stood.

Sometime in the distant past they had begun as
might any normal tree, but when their boles had
reached perhaps ten feet above the ground surface
they had taken a sharp bend left or right. After
proceeding in that new direction for some feet,
they again pointed skyward, to repeat the process
again and again, lacing a vast criss-cross of such
branched levels, with the true ground of the valley
far below. To cross this we would have to walk the
branches, for the woven growth gave no chance of
penetration any lower, which meant balancing
from limb to limb, with fear that a slip meant either
a bone breaking fall or even impalement on one of
those shooting uptips.

I edged back from our vantage point. "For this I
want a full day."

Kaththea shaded her eyes from the last sun rays,
reflected glitteringly from some quartz in the
rocks. "That is truth. But it is cold here—where
can we shelter?"

Kemoc found protection, a crevice about which
we piled other stones until the three of us, huddling
closely into that crack, could endure the chill.

There was wood, but none of us suggested a fire.
Who knew what eyes might pick up a spark on a
mountain side where no spark should rightly be, or
what might be drawn to investigate such a
phenomena? Kemoc and I had lain rough before,
and Kaththea made no complaint, we putting her
between us and bringing the blankets about us all.

If the mountain had seemed dead, a lifeless
world in daytime, that was not true at night. There
was the wail of a snow cat that had missed its kill,
and a hooting from the air over the choked valley.

But nothing came near us as we dozed, awoke to
listen, and then slept again through a night which
also was different this side of the mountain—one
far too long.

VII

IN THE EARLY morning we ate the last crumbs of
journey bread, and discovered there were only a
few sips of water left in the saddle bottles we had
filled at the streamside. Kemoc shook his bag over
his hand.

"It would seem we now have another very good
reason to push on," he remarked.

I ran my tongue over my lip and tried to think
back to the last really filling meal I had eaten. That
was hard doing, for I had lived more or less on
emergency rations since Kemoc's summons had
taken me from camp. We had seen no trace of
game—yet a snow cat had yowled in the night and
one of those hunters would not be prowling a prey-
less land. I visualized a prong-buck steak or even a

grass burrower, sizzling on a spit over a fire. And
that provided me impetus to approach the verge
and survey the springy bough road we must travel.

We made what precautions we could, using the
rope once again to unite us, so that a slip need not
be fatal. But it was not with any great confidence
that any of us faced that crossing. We could not
aim straight for the other rim, but had to angle
down the length of the branch filled cut in order to
keep moving east to the presumed lowlands. The
mist still clung there and we could only hope that
there were lowlands to be found.

I had always held that I had a good head for
heights, but in my mountaineering I had trod on
solid stone and earth, not on a footing which
swayed and dipped, giving to my weight with
every step. And I was almost a few feet out on that
surface when I discovered, almost to my undoing,
that this weird valley had inhabitants.

There was a sharp chattering cry; and from the
upthrust branch tip, to which I had just reached a
hand for a supporting grip, burst a thing which
swooped on skin wings and skittered ahead to
disappear again into the masking foliage.

Kaththea gave a startled cry and I found my hold
on the branch very necessary, for I was almost
unbalanced by my start. So our advance became
even more slow.

Three times more we sent flitters flying from our
path. Once we needed to make an exhausting de-
tour when we sighted another and more frighten-
ing inhabitant of this tree top maze, a scaled thing
which watched us unblinkingly, a narrow forked
tongue flickering from its green lips—for it was
colored much like the silver-green of the leaves

among which it lay. It was not a serpent, for it had
small limbs and clawed feet with which to cling,
yet it was elongated of body, and its whole appear-
ance was malefic. Nor did it fear us in the least.

All time has an end. Sweating, weary from ten-
sion to the point of swimming heads and shaking
bodies, we made the last step from the quivering
boughs to the solid rock of the valley rim.
Kaththea dropped to the ground, panting. All of us
bore raw scratches and the red marks left by lash-
ing branches. While our field uniforms were sturdy
enough to withstand hard usage, Kaththea's robe
was torn in many places, and there were bits of
broken twig snarled in hair ends which had es-
caped from the kerchief into which she had knot-
ted them before beginning that journey.

"I would seem to be one of the Moss Ones," she
commented with a small slightly uncertain smile.

I looked back at the way we had come. "This is
proper country for such," I said idly. Then silence
drew my attention back to my companions. Both
of them were staring at me with an intensity which
had no connection with what I had just said, or so I
thought, but as if I had uttered some profound fact.

"Moss Ones," Kaththea repeated.

"The Krogan, the Thas, the People of Green
Silences, the Flannan," Kemoc added.

"But those are legend—tales to amuse children,
to frighten the naughty, or to amuse," I protested.

"They are those who are foreign to Estcarp,"
Kaththea pointed out "What of Volt? He, too, was
dismissed as legend until Koris and our father
found his Hole and him waiting. And did not Koris
bring forth from there that great axe, which was
only legend too? And the sea serpent of Sulcar

song—not even the most learned ever said that
that was only fantasy."

"But women of moss who seek a human mother
to nurse their children and who pay in pale gold
and good fortune, beings who fly on wings and
torment those who strive to learn their secrets,
creatures who dwell blindly underground and are
to be feared lest they draw a man after them into
eternal darkness, and people akin to trees with
powers over all growth ..." I recalled scraps and
bits of those tales, told to amuse with laughter, or
bring delightful shivers up the back of those who
listened to terror while sitting snug and secure by a
winter fire in a strongly held manor.

"Those stories are as old as Estcarp," Kemoc
said, "and perhaps they reach beyond Estcarp ...
to some other place."

"We have enough to face without evoking phan-
toms," I snapped. "Do not put one behind each
bush for us now."

Yet one could not stifle the working of imagina-
tion and this was the type of land which could give
rise to such legends. Always, too, there was the
reality of Volt which my father had helped to
prove. And, as we advanced, my mind kept return-
ing to shift old memories for descriptions of those
fantastic beings in the stories.

We were definitely on a down slope, though the
broken character of the land continued. Now our
greatest need was for water. Though the vegeta-
tion grew heavily hereabouts, we came across no
stream nor spring, and the growing heat of the day
added to our discomfort. The mist still clung, and
thus at times we could see only a short distance
ahead. And that mist had a steamy quality, making

us long to throw aside our helms and mail which
weighed so heavy.

I do not know just when I became aware that we
were not alone in that steam wreathed wildness.
Perhaps fatigue and the need for water had dulled
my scouting sense. But it grew on me that we were
under observation. And so sure was I of that, that I
waved my companions to cover in the thicket and
drew my dart gun as I studied the half concealed
landscape.

"It is there . . . somewhere." Kemoc had his
weapon in hand also.

Kaththea sat with closed eyes, her lips parted a
little, her whole attitude one of listening, perhaps
not with the ears, but with a deeper sense.

"I cannot touch it," she said in a whisper.
"There is not contact—"

"Now it is gone!" I was as sure of that as if I had
seen the lurker flitting away as the skinned flapped
things had done in the tree valley. I beckoned them
on, having now only the desire to put distance
between us and whatever had skulked in our wake.

As we moved into yet lower land the mist disap-
peared. Here the trees and high brush gave way to
wide, open glades. Many of these were carpeted
by thick, springy growth of gray moss. And I had a
faint distaste for walking on it, though it cushioned
the step and made the going more comfortable.

Bird calls sounded, and we saw small creatures
in the moss lands. There was a chance for hunting
now, but water remained our major desire. Then
we came upon our first trace of man—a crum-
bling wall, more than half buried or tumbled from
its estate as boundary for a field. The growth it
guarded was tall grass, but here and there showed

the yellow-ripe head of a grain stalk, wizened and
small, reverting to the wild grass from which it had
evolved. Once this had been a farm.

We took one side of that wall for a guide and so
came into the open. The heat of the sun added to
our distress but a farm meant water somewhere
near. Kaththea stumbled and caught at the wall.

"I am sorry," her voice was low and strained.
"I do not think I can go much farther."

She was right. Yet to separate in this place of
danger . . .

Kemoc supported her. "Over there." He
pointed to where a stand of trees grew to offer a
patch of shade. When we reached those we dis-
covered another piece of good fortune, for there
was a fruit laden vine on the wall. The red globes it
bore I recognized as a species of grape, tart and
mouth-puckering even when ripe as these were,
but to be welcomed now for the moisture they
held. Kemoc began to pick all within reach, pass-
ing his harvest to Kaththea.

"There is water somewhere, and we must have
it." I dropped my pack, checked again the loading
of my dart gun, then slung the straps of two of the
saddle bottles over my shoulder.

"Kyllan!" Kaththea swallowed a mouthful of
pulp hurriedly. "Keep in mind touch!"

But Kemoc shook his head. "I think not—
unless you need us. There is no need to arouse
anything."

So he felt it too, the sensation that we did not
walk through an empty world, that there was here
that which was aware of us, waiting, measuring,
studying. . . .

"I will think of water, and water only." I do not

know just why that assertion seemed important.
But I did walk away from them concentrating on a
spring, a stream, building up in my mind a vivid
mental picture of what I sought.

The walled field was separated from another of
its kind; perhaps the gap between them marked
some roadway long since overgrown. I caught
sight, in the second enclosure, of a prong-horn
family group at graze. The buck was larger than
any of his species I had known in Estcarp, standing
some four feet at the shoulder, his horns a ruddy
pair of intricate spirals in the sunlight. He had
three does, their lesser horns glistening black,
lacking the ringing of the male's. And there were
four fawns and an almost grown yearling. The
latter was my prize.

Darts are noiseless save for the faint hiss of their
ejection. The yearling gave a convulsive leap and
fell. For a second or two its companions lifted their
heads to regard the fallen with round-eyed stares.
Then they took fright and headed in great bounds
for the far end of the ancient field, while I leaped
the wall and went to my kill.

It was while I was butchering that the sound of
water reached my ears, the steady, rippling gurgle
of what could only be a swiftly flowing stream.
Having made a bundle of meat inside the green
hide, I shouldered the package and followed that
sound.

Not a stream, but a river, was what I slid down a
high bank to find. There was a good current, and a
scattering of large rocks around which the water
washed with some force.

I ran forward and knelt to drink from my cupped
hands. The flood was mountain born, for it was

cold, and it was good to fill my mouth and then
splash it over my bared head, upon my sweating
face. For a long moment or two I was content
merely to revel in the touch of water, the wonder-
ful taste of water. Then I rinsed out the saddle
bottles, filled each to the brim and hammered in
their stoppers, making certain not to lose a drop.

Food and drink—and Kaththea and Kemoc
waiting for both. With the heavy bottles dragging
at my side, and the prong-horn meat on my shoul-
der, I started to retrace my trail. But to climb the
bank at this point, so burdened, would not be easy.
I needed two hands—thus I moved to the right,
seeking a gap in the earth barrier.

What I came upon in rounding a stream curve
was another reminder that this land had once been
peopled. But this was no ruins of a house, nor any
building I could recognize. There was a platform of
massive blocks, now over-grown in parts with
grass and moss. And rising from the sturdy base a
series of pillars—not set in aisles, but in concen-
tric circles. I doubted, after surveying them,
whether they had ever supported any roofing. And
the reason for such an erection was baffling. It was
plain curiosity which betrayed me, for I stepped
from raw earth onto the platform, and walked be-
tween two of the nearest pillars.

Then ... I was marching at a slow, set pace
around the circle, and I could not break free.
Round and round, spiraling ever to the middle of
the maze. From that core came forth—not a
greeting—but a kind of gloating recognition that
prey was advancing to its maw, a lapping tongue
from which my whole nature revolted. A complete
and loathsome evil as if I had been licked by a

black foulness whose traces still befouled my
shrinking skin.

The attack was so utterly racking that I think I
cried out, shaken past the point of courage. And if
I screamed with throat and tongue, so did I scream
with mind, reaching for any help which might
exist, in a blindly terrified call for aid.

That came—I was not alone. Strength flowed in,
made union with me, tightened to hold against the
licking of what dwelt in this stone web. There was
another contact and that touch snapped. Satisfac-
tion and desire became anger. I set my hand to the
pillar, pulled myself backward, broke the pattern
of my steady march.

Pillar hold by pillar hold I retreated, and in me
held that defense against the raging entity I could
not see. Rage fed upon frustration and bafflement.
And then the confidence began to fray. The thing
that lurked here had been bloated with constant
success; it had not met any counter to its power.
And that fact that it could not sweep me in easily
for its feeding now worried it.

I had clawed my way to the outer row of the
pillar circle when it launched one last attack.
Black—I could see the wave of black foulness
flowing towards me. I think I cried out again, as I
threw myself on with a last surge of energy. My
foot caught, and I was falling—into the dark, the
black, the very opposite of all that life meant to
me.

I was vilely ill—of that I was conscious first, as
if there were some substance in my body now
being violently rejected by my flesh. And I was
retching miserably as I opened my eyes, to find
Kemoc supporting me through those wrenching

spasms. For the time, only my illness was real.
Then, as my brother lowered me to the ground, I
levered myself up, to stare wildly about, fearful
that I still lay within the pillar way.

But around me was open field, clean and wide
under a late afternoon sun which held no hint of
any threatening shadows. As Kaththea leaned
over me to hold one of the water bottles to my lips I
tried to raise my hand to her and found that gesture
was beyond my power.

Her face had a strange, closed look; her mouth
was set. Beyond her Kemoc was on one knee, his
eyes roving, as if he feared attack.

"Evil—" Kaththea cradled my heavy head on
her arm. "But thank the Power it was tied to its
own sink hole! There is indeed peril in this land.
The stench of it hangs to warn us. . . ."

"How did I get here?" I whispered.

"When it took you—or strove to take you—you
summoned. And we came. When you reeled out of
that trap we brought you away, lest it have greater
range than its own cold web—but it did not." She
raised her head, looked from side to side; her
nostrils expanded as she drew in deep breaths of
the warm air. "This is sweet and clean, and wishes
hurt to nothing—empty of all threat. Yet there you
stumbled on a pocket of evil, very ancient evil, and
where there is one we are likely to find another."

"What kind of evil?" I asked. "Kolder—?"
Even as I gave the name of that old arch enemy, I
was sure it did not answer what I had stumbled
upon by the river.

"I never knew Kolder, but I do not think this is
of that ilk. This is evil, as of... the Power!" She
gazed down at me as if she herself could not be-
lieve in what she said.

Kemoc broke in sharply: "That is a contradic-
tion which cannot stand!"

"So would I have said before today. Yet, I tell
you, this was born not from any alien force, but in
a twisted way from what we have known all our
lives. Can I not recognize my learning, my
weapons, even when distorted and debased? Dis-
torted and debased is this thing, and for that reason
perhaps the greater menace to us, as it carries in it
a minute particle of the familiar. What happened
here to turn all we know utterly vile?"

But there was no reply for her. She rested the
palm of her hand flat against my forehead, and
stooped far over me so that her eyes looked di-
rectly into mine. Again from her lips came a low
chant, and her actions drew out of me, mind and
body, the rest of the wrenching nausea and terrible
revulsion, leaving only the warning memory of
what had happened and must never happen so
again.

A measure of my energy restored, we went on.
The open field had been security of a kind, but with
night so close upon us we wanted shelter. Thus we
followed the walls until we came to a small rise
with on it a mound of stones, some of which still
held together in an angle of what once might have
been the corner of a building.

Together Kemoc and I worked to loosen more
and build up a barricade before that triangular
space while Kaththea roamed about the rise
gathering sticks, and now and then breaking off a
bit of growing thing. When she returned she was
lighter of countenance.

"There is no rank smell here—rather, once
there must have dwelt nearby one who followed
the healing arts. Herbs will grow without tending,

once they are well rooted. And look what I have
found." She spread out her harvest on top of a
squared block of stone,

"This"—one finger touched a slip of what could
be fern—"is saxfage, which gives sweet sleep to
the fevered. And this"—a stem with four trifid
leaves—"langlorn, which brightens the mind and
clears the senses. Best of all, which may be the
reason that the other fair herbs have continued to
grow—Illbane—Spirit Flower."

That I knew of, since it was the old, old custom
even in Estcarp to plant such about a doorway in
spring, harvest its white flowers in the fall and dry
them, to wreath above the main entrance to any
house and stable. Such action brought good luck,
prevented the entrance of ill fortune, and also had
an older meaning—that any power of evil be
baffled by its scent. For it was the nature of the
plant that, picked or broken, its aromatic odor
lingered for a long time.

Kaththea built a fire, laying her pieces with the
care of one constructing a work of significance.
When I would have protested such revealment of
our presence, Kemoc shook his head, laying fin-
gertip to lips in warning. Then, when she had her
sticks laid, she crushed between her palms the
saxfage and langlorn, working the mass into the
midst of the wood. Last of all she carefully broke
two blossoms from her spray of Illbane and added
those also. Taking up the stem with its remaining
tip cluster of flowers, she began to walk back and
forth along our small barricade, brushing the
stones we had set there with it, then planting the
bruised spray among the rocks as a small banner.

"Light the fire," she bade us. "It will not be-

tray; rather, it will guard this night. For nothing
which is truly of the dark will find in it, smoke and
flame, that which it can face."

So I set spark and the flames arose. The smoke
was spiced with the smell of herbs. And shortly
thereafter came another fine aroma as we toasted
fresh meat on spits of wood. Perhaps Kaththea had
indeed wrought strong magic, for I no longer felt
that eyes saw, ears listened, that we were over-
watched in this strange land.

VIII

WE SLEPT WELL that night, too deep for the trou-
bling of dreams, to awake rested and clear-eyed,
with only memory's warning against what must
walk here. But Kaththea must have awakened the
first, for when I roused she knelt, her crossed arms
on our barrier, gazing out into the morning land.
There was no sun, only clouds prolonging the
half-light of the early hours into the day.

She turned her head as I stirred. "Kyllan, what
do you make of that?"

My gaze followed her pointing finger. There was
a copse of trees some distance away and from
beyond that a glow reached the sky. Not the red of
fire flame, but a greenish radiance, which clearly
was from no natural cause.

"It remains always the same, neither waning
nor waxing."

"A beacon of sorts?" I hazarded.

"Perhaps. But to summon—or to guide—what?
I do not remember that we saw it last night. But I
have listened and there is naught to hear."

I knew that she had not listened with her ears,
but with her seer-trained inner sense.

"Kaththea—"

She turned her head to look at me.

"This land may be full of such traps as I blun-
dered into. There may be good reason why it was
closed and is closed to those of our mother's
blood."

"All that is true. Yet it has come to me that there
was a purpose beyond our own wills guiding us
here, Kyllan. Save for such plague spots as you
found, this is a fair land. Look about you. Even
under the shadow of the clouds, do you not find it
in you to have a liking for these fields?"

She was right. There was an odd drawing in me,
a desire to walk those ancient, overgrown fields,
even to thrust my hands deep into their waiting
soil. I wanted to fling off the heaviness of helm and
mail, to run joyously free and unburdened, with
the wind about me and a fresh land under my feet. I
had not felt so since I had been a small boy already
under the hammer of Otkell's discipline.

Kaththea nodded. "You see? Can you turn your
back on all this merely because it suffers from
some disease? We can beware of the places of evil,
and make the best of those of good. I tell you such
herbs as I harvested last night cannot grow where
all is befouled by the Powers of the Dark."

"No matter how fair a land," Kemoc said from

behind us, "a man must have two things—a shel-
ter and a supply of food. I do not believe this is
what we want for a home roof-tree or hall. And for
awhile we must turn hunters for food. Also, I
would like to know a little more of our neighbors."

With that I agreed. It is always best to be sure
that any shadow pooled behind a tree is only
shadow and not sheltering some unpleasant sur-
prise.

We ate more of the meat and drank the tart vine
fruit, and then we prepared to journey on. Though
before Kaththea left the hill she again plucked a
selection of herbs, bagging them in a strip torn
from the hem of her robe, which she now pro-
ceeded to shorten to only slightly below knee
length.

The gleam, still faintly visible because of the
clouds, drew us. But we went warily, taking to the
cover of the woods. Kaththea reported no trouble-
some scents and the small copse seemed normal
with birds and other wild life. This woods was not
too wide and finally we reached a fringe of brush
on its far side. Here again was open country and
through it wound the river. In a curve of that
stream stood the first real structure we had seen
this side of the mountains. And it was familiar in
shape—one of the watch-tower-guard-keeps,
such as we had been housed in many times in
Estcarp. From the slit windows of the third and
fourth levels issued the light, and more was dif-
fused from the crown, where were the only evi-
dence of age, a few stones missing from parapet
gaps.

Looking upon it I had not the slightest desire to
explore further. It had not met us with an active

slap of evil such as I had met in the stone web . ..
but there was an eerie sense of withdrawal, a
signpost without words to ward off the coming of
men. Whatever walked there might not be actively
antagonistic to our species, but neither would we
be welcomed by it. As to how I knew this, I cannot
explain. But Kemoc agreed with me.

Kaththea centered upon it her "seeing," then
shook her head. "There is no penetration of mind,
and I would not try in body. Let be what lies there,
if anything does. There are and have always been
forces which are not actively good or evil—they
can kill or cure. But to meddle with them is risky; it
is best not to awaken them."

Still I had a distaste for being observed by any-
thing or anyone manning that post. The others
agreed to slip back into the wood and circle under
its cover to the river. We kept downstream from
the site of the pillar web, Kaththea sniffing the
wind for any warning of ill.

Though it did not rain, yet the gloom of the
clouds continued as we followed the stream for a
guide. And this country was more wooded and
therefore dark. Then I sighted the fresh tracks of
one of the large, flightless birds which are es-
teemed excellent eating in Estcarp. They being
most wary, I thought it best to hunt alone, promis-
ing faithfully that I would not fall under any en-
ticement because of curiosity. I stripped off pack
and water bottle, and even my helm, lest its chain
mail throat scarf give forth some small clink of
noise.

It was plain that the birds fed in beds of riverside
wild grain, but tall reeds arose nearby, promising
cover. However, I was not to reach my quarry.

Warning came in a movement across the stream.

Drift from past high water had gathered on a
sand bank there, piling up a causeway. In and
among that tangle were slinking shadows—black,
agile, so swift of movement that I could not truly
make out what manner of creature they were. Yet
the very stealth of their approach, the concentra-
tion of their numbers, was a warning. As if they
knew or sensed my uneasiness, they came the
faster, more and more of them. The first plunged
into the water, its narrow snout cutting a V across
the current.

Only the swiftness of the current delayed their
determination, carrying them well downstream.
Yet I was certain they would make a landing there
somewhere. And they were not hunting the birds,
but me!

Trouble—head for the open—the nearest field.

As I thought that alarm I got to my feet and ran
for the open. The slinking advance of these things
needed cover; in the open they could be met more
effectively.

Kemoc acknowledged and signaled me to the
right. Now I slowed my retreat, walking back-
wards, having no wish to be rushed from behind.
And my precautions proved to be well taken when
the first of that black pack darted from a bush to
the massive roots of a fallen tree in my sight a few
moments later.

I was moving through shoulder high bush, and
this was unpleasant country through which to be
so stalked. There were too many excellent sites for
ambush. Animals! Perhaps I had been too shocked
from my experience with the web thing. I had been
able to control animals before, so there was no

reason why I might not again. I sent an exploring
thought to what lurked behind the tree roots.

No animal—no normal animal! What? A red
madness of kill, kill, tear and devour—an insanity
which was not animal, but raw fury combined with
cunning on another level. There was no control for
this, only revulsion and the fear that the sane can
feel for the chaotic depths of complete unbalance!
Again I had erred, for my contact aroused them
even more, flamed their hunger to a higher pitch.
Also there were many—too many—

I wanted to run, to burst through the brush
which was now a prison restraining me to be pulled
down and slain at their pleasure. But I forced
myself to move slowly, dart gun ready, watching
for any slinker that came within range.

The bushes became smaller .. . then I was free,
out in a wide stretch of open. Some distance away
Kemoc and Kaththea moved, heading for the very
center of that space. But with the pack coming . . .
How could we stand them all off?

In my eagerness to reach the others I stumbled
and went down. I heard Kaththea cry out, and
flung myself over, to see the black creatures flow
eagerly toward me. They ran silently, not as
hounds that give tongue in the hunt, and that si-
lence added to their uncanniness.

They were short of leg, though that did not im-
pair their speed, and their bodies were sleekly
furred, very lithe and agile. Their heads were nar-
row, pointing sharply to muzzles where yellow
fangs showed against their dark hides. Their eyes
were small specks of red fire.

Since I dared not take time to get to my feet I
fired as I lay. The leader of that pack curled up,

biting savagely at a dart in its shoulder. Yet even in
pain and rage the thing made no outcry. However,
the mishap of their leader gave the rest of the pack
pause. They scattered back into cover, leaving the
writhing wounded one behind until its struggles
were stilled.

I ran for where Kaththea and Kemoc stood.

Kemoc was waiting with ready gun. "Hunters,"
he said. "Where did they come from?"

"They crossed the river," I panted. "I have
never seen their kind before—"

"Haven't you?" Kaththea held her bundle of
herbs pressed tight against her breast as if in those
withering bits of twig, leaf and stem she had a
shield to withstand all danger. "They are rasti."

"Rasti?" How could one associate a rodent
perhaps as long as a mid-finger with these three-
foot, insane hunters? Yet, when I considered the
appearance of the creatures, perhaps not true
rasti, but of the same family, grown to gigantic
proportions for their species and with even worse
ferocity than their midget brethren displayed. To
so identify them removed some of the fear of the
unknown that had been part of their impact upon
me.

"And rasti are not so easily turned from any
prey," Kemoc pointed out. "Have you never seen
them drag down a fowl in a hill-protected farm-
yard?"

I had once, and that memory made me flinch.
Circling—yes, they were beginning to circle us
now, as they had that doomed fowl on that long
past day. More and more of them squirmed out of
the wood, bellies flat to earth as if they were
snakes rather than warm-blooded furred things.

No need to warn Kemoc—he was firing. Three
black things leaped in the air, beat at and clawed
the ground. But a gun can continue to fire only as
long as it is loaded. How long could our limited
supply of darts last? We had our swords, but to
wait until rasti came into range for cutting work
was to open our defense to only one probable end.

"I cannot—the Power will not work against
them!" Kaththea's voice was shrill. "They have
nothing I can reach!"

"These will reach them!" I fired again, striving
to pick the best shot possible. But it seemed that
nature was ranged against us now in more than one
fashion. For the darkness of the clouds ap-
proached night and suddenly a downpour of rain
burst upon us, with force enough to buffet our
bodies. However, it did not make our enemy re-
treat.

"Wait—look there!"

I missed my shot at Kemoc's cry and snarled at
him as a snow cat might after an aborted hunting
leap. Then I saw what was coming. A horse—at
least in this gloom it seemed to be a horse—
pounded on at a gallop. And on it was a rider. The
figure came up between us and the rasti pack. Then
my eyes were dazzled by a burst of white, searing
light. It seemed that that rider called down light-
ning to serve as a lash with which to beat the earth
about the skulking hunters.

Three times that lash fell, blinding us. Then I
caught a dim sight of mount and rider galloping on,
lost in the wood once again, while from the earth
where that strange weapon had smote arose smok-
ing trails of vapor. Nothing else moved.

Without a word Kemoc and I caught Kaththea

between us and ran—away from that place, out of
the open and the pouring rain. We gained the shel-
ter of a tree and crouched together as if we were all
one.

I heard Kaththea speak close to my ear.
"That—that was of the Power—and for good, not
ill. But it did not answer me!" Her bewilderment
held a note of hurt. "Listen"—her fingers gripped
both of us— "I have remembered something.
Running water—if we can find the place in the
midst of running water, and bless it, then we are
safe."

"Those rasti swam the river," I protested.

"True. But we were not in the midst of running
water on a blessed place. We must find such."

I had no wish to return to the river; as far as I
could see most of the evil we had met with so far
had been connected with that stretch of water. It
would be better to try and follow the rider—

"Come!" Kaththea urged us out into the fury of
the storm. "I tell you, this dark, together with
wind and water, may release other things—we
must find a safe place."

I was unconvinced, but I also knew that no
argument of mine would make any impression on
her. And Kemoc advanced no protest. We went
on, the rain beating us, as that rider had lashed the
ground which now showed great slashes of seared
black vegetation and earth. At least I was able to
convince Kaththea to head in the direction where
the rider had disappeared.

Here the wooded land was less densely grown. I
thought we had stumbled on some track or road,
for we found the footing easier. And that track did
bring us to the river. Kaththea could have claimed

foresight, for there, in the midst of the rain-pitted
and rising river, was an islet of rock. Drift had
caught at one end, and a point in the center made a
natural watchtower.

"We had better get over before the water is any
higher," Kemoc said.

Whether we might or not, burdened with packs
and weapons, I was not sure. Kaththea broke from
us, was already wading through the shallows. She
was waist deep and battling the pull of the current
before we reached her. The fact that we entered
the stream above the narrow tip of the island was
in our favor, as the current bore us down upon it
and we crawled out on the tip very little wetter
than the rain had already left us.

Nature had fashioned an easily-defended keep,
with a rock walled space for a hall and the watch
point above. A short survey proved we had come
ashore on the only place possible for a landing.
Elsewhere the rocks gave no foothold, but reared
up small cliffs from the water's foaming edge.
Should the rasti come after us, we would have only
a narrow strip to defend, so they could not possi-
bly draw their fatal ring.

"This is a free place, not touched by any ill,"
Kaththea told us. "Now I shall seal it so." From
her packet of herbs she brought out a stalk of
Illbane, crushing it tightly in her fist, then holding
her hand to her lips while she alternately breathed
upon and chanted over what she held. At length
she went forward on hands and knees, scrubbing
the mass of vegetation into the rocky way up
which we had come from the water. Then she was
back with us, leaning against a stone, limp as one
spent after hours of hard labor.

The violence of the rain did not long continue,

though the river water continued to boil about our
refuge. Storm gusts receded into a drizzle, which
at length pattered into silence.

Speculation concerning the rider who had saved
us continued to excise most of my thought.
Kaththea had declared the stranger to be one who
used the Power rightly, if not in her way. That
other had not replied to my sister's attempt for
communication, but that did not mean enmity. The
fact that such service had been rendered spoke of
good will. Thus far we had come across no other
sign of any natives. Unless one could count the
horror of the web, and that which might have
garrisoned the watch-keep as inhabitants.

My glimpse of the rider had been so limited by
the gloom and the storm that I was sure only that
he had a reasonably human shape, that he was a
horseman of no mean ability, and that he had
known exactly how to put rasti to rout. Beyond
that was ignorance.

But the thought of horses in this land also gave
me material to chew upon. Since I had bestrode
my first pony when I had had no more than four
summers behind me, I have never willingly gone
afoot. After we had left the Torgians on the other
side of the range a kind of loss had plagued me.
Now—if there were mounts to be had in this land
the sooner we obtained them the better! Mounted,
we need not have feared the rasti.

Tomorrow we must hunt in our turn, trace that
galloping rescuer, and learn what manner of men
shared this wilderness. . . .

Look! Be quiet—

Two orders, one beamed over the other in
Kemoc's haste.

Out over the surface of the turbulent stream, a

bird wheeled, dipped and soared. There was a
shimmer to its wings, a glint which I had never
seen reflected from feathers before, as it ap-
proached our refuge.

Food. ...

Kemoc's suggestion made me aware of hunger.
We did not lack water this time, but we did
food—our packet of prong-horn meat having been
lost in the rasti hunt. Unless we could hook some
stream dweller out of the flood, we would fast this
night. The bird was large enough to provide a
scanty meal. But to shoot it unless directly over-
head would send it down to be swept away by the
current.

My brother drew his gun, then Kaththea's hand
shot forward, slapping down his.

"No!" she cried aloud.

Closer the bird swung; then, after a downward
plunge, it settled on the rocks of our refuge and
began to sidle around that rough way in our direc-
tion.

The shimmering quality of its plumage was even
more pronounced at close range, white and pure,
yet overlaid with radiant sheen. Bill and feet were
a clear, bright red, the eyes dark and large. It
halted and folded its wings, sat watching us as if
awaiting some meaningful move on our part. All
idea of feeding on the creature faded rapidly from
my mind.

Kaththea studied it as intently as the bird ap-
peared to be observing us. Then, lifting her right
hand, our sister tossed a small crumpled leaf at the
winged visitor. The long neck twisted and the head
darted forward; bright eyes inspected her offering.

The shimmering became even brighter. My sis-

ter uttered some words in a tone of command,
brought her hands together with a sharp clap.
There was a shimmer of mist, then it cleared be-
fore us. The bird was gone—what teetered on a
rock perch was still winged but no bird.

IX

"FLANNAN!" I WHISPERED, unable to believe that
my eyes were not bedazzled by some sorcery.

The creature might not be the ethereal thing
legend has reported in tales, but it was not a bird
and it did have characteristics which were akin—
outwardly—to the human.

The feet were still clawed and red, yet they were
not the stick-proportions of a true bird; the body
had taken on a humanoid shape with arms showing
beneath the half spread wings, and tiny hands at
the end of those arms. The neck might still be long
and supple, but the head it supported, though cen-
tered by a jutting beak, held a recognizable face.
The white shimmering feathers clothed it, save for
feet, arms and hands.

It was blinking rapidly and those tiny hands
lifted in a gesture toward Kaththea as if warding
off some blow it feared.

Flannan, the air-borne race. . . . My memory
presented gleanings from half a hundred old
stories, and I thought fleetingly that perhaps it was
well for us now that we had all had a liking in
childhood for listening to old legends. The Flannan
were friendly to man after a somewhat skittish
fashion, for they quickly lost interest in any pro-
ject, had small powers of concentration, and were
very apt to leave any undertaking far from fin-
ished. The heroes and heroines of many stories
had come to grief by depending upon a Flannan
past its desire to render aid. However, never had it
made any alliance with dark forces.

Kaththea began a crooning sing-song, close to a
bird's trill. The Flannan sidled a little closer, its
long neck twisting. Then its beak opened and it
trilled back. My sister frowned, was silent a mo-
ment before she replied—to be interrupted by a
trill in higher note. A pause, then it sang longer,
and this time I was sure that sound held the rasp of
impatience.

"It responds," Kaththea told us, "to the invo-
cation of shared power, but I cannot read its an-
swer. And I do not believe that it practices shape
changing of its own accord."

"Sent to spy on us?" Kemoc wondered.

"Perhaps."

"Then it could guide us to the one who sent it!" I
was still thinking of the rider.

Kaththea laughed. "Only if it wishes, unless
you can grow wings and take to the air in its
wake."

She brought out her packet of herbs and picked
free Illbane. On the palm of her hand she held it
towards the Flannan. The creature looked from
the withered herb to Kaththea, plainly in question.
A little of my sister's frown lightened.

"At least legend holds true so far. This is not the
messenger of any ill force. So—" Once again she
broke into song, this time slowly, with space be-
tween notes.

The Flannan cocked its head in a bird-like pose.
When it trilled in reply, its answer, too, was
slower, so that I was able to detect individual
notes. Once or twice Kaththea nodded as if she
had caught one she could translate.

"It was sent to watch us. This is a land where
evil interlocks with good, and the pools of evil may
overflow from time to time. Its message is for us to
retreat, to return whence we came."

"Who sent it?" My demand was blunt.

Kaththea trilled. The Flannan's long neck
curved, it looked to me, and I could read nothing,
not even interest, in that regard. It made no an-
swer. Kaththea repeated her query, this time
sharply. When it remained silent, she traced a
symbol by fingertip in the air between them.

The reaction to this was startling. There was a
squawk, and the half-human aspect of the Flannan
vanished. We saw a bird once more. It spread
wings and took off flying three times coun-
terclockwise about the islet, while each time it
passed us it shrieked. My sister's eyes were ablaze
and her hands moved in a series of sharp gestures
as she chanted some words in the seer
tongue. The bird faltered and squawked again,
then flew straight as a dart's flight north.

"So—well, that will not work!" Kaththea broke
out. "I may not be a sworn witch, but I have more
Power than a thrice-circle set by such as that can
confine!"

"What was it trying to do?" I asked.

"A piece of very elementary magic." My sister
made a sound close to a snort of contempt. "It was
laying a thrice-circle to keep us pinned on this
spot. If that is the best the one who sent it can do,
then we can beat it on all points."

"When it went north, could it have been return-
ing to the one who sent it?" Kemoc put my own
question aloud.

"I think so. It is the nature of the Flannan not to
be able to hold any purpose long in mind. And the
fact that I defeated it could send it back to the
source in panic."

"Then north lies what what we seek."

"Northward went the rider also," I added.

"And north would take us once more past the
web, and the silent keep, and perhaps other pit-
falls. There must come a time when we have clear
sight..." There was an odd note of hesitation in
her voice, drawing our attention to her.

Kaththea stared down at her hands, as I had
seen her sit before, cupping in their apparent emp-
tiness something in which she could read the fu-
ture, and it would seem that was not a bright one.

"To be only half of a thing is never easy," she
continued. "This we have always known. I did not
take the oath and I have never worn the Jewel of
the sisterhood. Yet, save for those two things, I am
a witch. There is one other step I did not take,
which was forbidden to one not sworn and bound
by seer oaths. Yet now this might serve, even save
us."

"No!" Kemoc knew, though I did not, what she
hinted. His hands went to cup her chin, bringing up
her head so that he might look straight into her
eyes. "No!" he repeated, with such force that his
cry might have been a battle shout.

"So we continue to walk into hidden peril, when
by so much we may be able to guard, and guide?"
she asked.

"And you would do this thing, knowing all the
danger which lies in it? We have no time for rank
folly either, Kaththea. Think—how many even of
the sisterhood have taken this grave step? And
when it is done they must have the aid of the Power
to the highest degree. And—"

"And, and, and!" she interrupted him. "Do not
believe all you have heard, Kemoc. It is the nature
of any organization of Wise Ones that they make
mysteries to awe those who have not their gifts.
Yes, it is true that few Witches now have this aid,
but in Estcarp there was little reason for it. What
need had they to explore? They knew their coun-
try intimately, both as it was and as it had been for
countless years. They have not ventured for cen-
turies into territory so strange they must have a
delegate. It was our father and mother, not the
Witches, who went up against the Kolder. And in
their time the Kolder sealed off Gorm. But here is
no alien force, only that which we know in part.
Though it may be warped or changed in some
particulars. Thus no better aid could we
summon—"

"What does she mean?" I appealed to
Kemoc.

"A Familiar's birth," he replied. His face was as
set as it had been on that ride to bring Kaththea
forth from the Place.

"A Familiar?" I did not yet know what he
meant. What was a Familiar?

Kaththea raised her hands and took Kemoc's
wrists so that she could set aside his grasp on her
chin. She did not look at me when she answered,
but at him as if she would impose her will so that he
could not deny her desire.

"I must make a servant, Kyllan. One which will
explore not this country as we see it, walk it, sense
it, but who can return to the past and witness what
chanced here and what can be done in the present
for our preservation."

"And how must she do this?" Kemoc burst out
hotly. "As a woman gives birth to a child, so must
she in a measure create a being, though this will be
born of her mind and spirit, not her flesh! It can be
a deadly thing!"

"All birth lays a risk on someone," Kaththea's
quiet tone was in such contrast to his anger that it
carried more emphasis. "And—if you are both
willing—I shall have more than myself to call
upon. Never before in Estcarp have there been
three like us—is that not so? We can be one after a
fashion when there is need. What if we now unite
so and will with me—will not the risk be so much
the lessened? I would not try this alone, that I
swear to you in all truth. Only if you will consent
freely and willingly to my aid will this be my path."

"And you think that there is a true need for such
an act?" I asked.

"It is a choice between walking into a pit as
blindly as I crossed the mountains, or going clear-
eyed. The seeds of all perils which lurk here were
sown in the past, and time has both nourished and
mutated them. But should we dig up those seeds

and understand the reason for their sowing, then
we can also take guard against the fruit they have
borne through the years."

"I will not!" Kemoc was vehement.

" Kemoc ..." She had not loosed her hold on his
hands, and now she spread out the scarred and
stiff-fingered one, smoothing its ridged flesh. "Did
you say 'I will not' when you went into the fight
wherein you got this?"

"But that was far different! I was a man, a
warrior—it was my strength against that of those I
faced—"

"Why count me as less than yourself?" she
countered. "Perhaps my battles may not be fought
with dart gun and sword blade, but I have been
under as severe a discipline these six years as any
warrior could ever know. And I have in that time
been set against such enemies as perhaps you can-
not even conceive. Nor am I saying now in false
confidence that I can do this thing alone—I know
that is not the truth. I am bidding you to a fight, to
stand with me, which is an easier thing than willing
you to stand aside and do nothing while watching
another take risks."

His set lips did not relax, but he did not protest
again, and I knew that she had won. Perhaps I had
not fought on his side because I did not know the
danger into which she would venture, but my ig-
norance was also trust in her. At moments such as
these she was no young girl: instead she put on
such a robe of authority that the matter of years did
not mean much and she was our elder.

"When?" Kemoc surrendered with that word.

"What better time than here and now? Though
first we must eat and drink. Strength of body

means backing for strength of mind and will."

"The drinking is easy, but the eating . . ."
Kemoc looked a little brighter, as if he had discov-
ered in this mundane need an argument for aban-
doning the whole project.

"Kyllan will provide." Again she did not look at
me. But I knew what must be done. And this I had
never tried before, save when I had approached it
with the Torgians.

When one has even a small share of talent or
reflection of the Power, one also knows that there
are bounds set upon its use. And to willfully break
one such for one's own benefit exacts a price in
return. Never since the time I had first learned I
could control the minds of beasts had I ever used
that to facilitate hunting. I had not sent the Tor-
gians away in peril when I had dispatched them
from our camp. Several times I had deterred wild
things from attacking or trailing men. But to sum-
mon a creature to death for my profit. I sensed,
was one of the forbidden things.

But now that was just what I must do, for the
good Kaththea would accomplish. Silently I took
upon myself the full responsibility for my act, lest
the backlash of this perversion of the Power fall
upon my sister's sorcery. Then I set myself, in-
tently, to seek and draw the food we must have.

Fish and reptiles, as I had long ago learned, had
minds so apart from human kind that they could
not be compelled to action—though, in the case of
some reptiles, a withdrawing could be urged. But
a mammal could be so brought to us. Prong-horns
could swim. . . . Mentally I built up as vivid a
picture of a prong-horn as memory and imagina-
tion combined could create. Holding such a pic-

ture then, I cast out my thin line, seeking contact.
Never before I tried to do this thing, for I had dealt
with beasts directly under eye, or knew, from
other evidence, were nearby. This seeking for no
particular animal, but only one of a species, might
fall.

But it did not. My spinning thought made
contact—and instantly I impressed will, needing
to move swiftly to control the animal. Moments
later a young prong-horn leaped down the river
bank in full sight. I brought it out into the flood at
the same angle we had used so that the current
would bear it to the islet.

"No!" I forbade Kemoc's use of his gun. The
kill was my responsibility in all ways; none of the
guilt must go to another. I awaited the animal I had
forced to swim to its death, and all I could offer it
was a quick, clean end.

Kaththea watched me closely as I dragged up
the body. Out of my troubled mind I asked her:

"Will this in any way lessen the Power?"

She shook her head, but there was a shadow in
her eyes. "We need only strength of body, Kyllan.
But yet... you have taken upon yourself a burden.
And how great will be your payment, I cannot
reckon."

A lessening of my talent, I thought, and put it to
mind that I must not trust that in any crisis until I
was sure of the extent of my loss. Nor did I take
into consideration that this was not Estcarp, that
those rules which conditioned witchery in that
land might not hold here where the Power had
been set adrift into other ways.

We made a fire of drift and ate, forcing ourselves
past the first satisfying of hunger, as flames must

consume fuel for some necessary degree of heat.

"It is near to night." Kemoc thrust a stick which
had spitted meat into the heart of the fire. "Should
this not wait upon daybreak? Ours is a force fed by
light. Such summoning at the wrong time might
bring instead a Power of the dark."

"This is a thing which, begun at sunset, is well
begun. If a Familiar be sent forth by the mid-hour
of the night, it may rove the farther. Not always
are light and dark so opposed, one to the other,"
Kaththea returned. "Now listen well, for once I
have begun this I cannot tell you aught, or explain.
We shall clasp hands, and you must join minds as
well. Pay no heed to anything my body may do,
save do not loose our hand clasp. Above all, no
matter what may come, stay with me!"

We needed to make no promises as to that. I
feared now for her, as Kemoc did. She was very
young for all her seeress training. And, though she
seemed very sure of her powers, yet she might also
have the overconfidence of the warrior who has
not yet been tried in his first ambush.

The clouds which had overhung the day lifted at
sunset, and my sister drew us around to face those
brilliant flags in the sky, so that we could also see
the mountains over which we had come into this
haunted land. We joined hands and then minds.

For me it was like that time when our mother
had so drawn upon the three of us in her search for
our father. There was first the loss of identity, with
the knowledge that I must not fight that loss though
it went against every instinct of self-preservation.
After that—a kind of flowing back and forth, in
and out ... a weaving ... of what?

I do not know how long that period lasted, but I

emerged suddenly, my hand jerking wildly.
Kaththea was gasping, moaning, her body moved
now and again in convulsive shudders. I caught at
her shoulder with my free hand, trying to steady
her. Then I heard a cry from Kemoc as he came to
my aid.

She gave small, sharp ejaculations of pain. And
at intervals she writhed so that we could hardly
keep the hold we had promised her we would not
break. To make it more difficult, I was tired and
drained of strength, so that I had to forced myself
to every movement.

Her eyes were shut. I thought that she must be
elsewhere, her body remaining to fight against
what she willed it to do. In the light of the now
dying fire her face was not only pale, but faintly
luminescent, so that we missed no outward sign of
her torment.

The end came with a last sharp outcry and arch-
ing of her body. From her sprang a dart of—was it
flame? Perhaps the size of my hand, it stood up-
right, sharply brilliant. Then it swayed a little, as
might a candle flame in a breeze. Kaththea shud-
dered again and opened her eyes to look upon what
she had brought forth. The flame shape changed,
put forth small pinions of light, and became a slen-
der wand between those wings. Kaththea sighed
and then said weakly:

"It is not like—"

"Evil?" Kemoc demanded sharply.

"No. But the form is different. That which is
here has had a hand in its making. Form does not
matter, though. Now—"

With our arms about her in support, she leaned
forward to address the winged wand as she had

spoken to the Flannan. In our minds we read the
meaning of those unknown words. She was repeat-
ing ancient formulae, putting this child, or more-
than-child, of hers under obedience, setting it to
the task it must do.

Back and forth it swayed as she spoke. Her
words might have been wind bending it to and fro.
Then she finished and it stood still and upright. Her
last command came dart-swift:

"Go!"

It was gone and we sat in the dark. Kaththea
withdrew her hands from ours and pressed them
down upon her body as if striving to soothe an
ache.

I threw wood on the fire. As the flames climbed,
her face showed in their light sunken, old, with a
cast of suffering I had seen on men sore wounded.
Kemoc cried out and drew her to him, so that her
head rested on his shoulder, and his cheeks were
wet with more than the sweat called forth by our
efforts to feed her energy.

She raised her hand slowly and touched his face.
"It is over and we have wrought together very
well, my brothers! Our child searches time and
space, being bound by neither, and what it learns
will serve us well. I do not guess this; I know it.
Now, let us sleep. . . ."

Kaththea slept, and Kemoc also. But though I
was weary yet still there was a restlessness within
me. Fear for Kaththea, no—her travail was over,
and anything which could have been perilous for
her must already have struck during that struggle.
Wariness of attack now? I thought not: we were on
safe ground for this night. My own guilt? Perhaps.
But for that I would not disturb the others. In due

time I would pay for what I had done; for the
present it would be best to put it out of mind.

I settled down on my blanket, shut my eyes, and
strove to invite sleep. Then I started up on one
elbow, awake—to listen to a long familiar sound
through the night. Not too far away a horse had
neighed!

X

I HEARD THE sound of hooves pounding turf. And
did I or did I not sight the flash of lightning whip on
the far shore of the river, that from which the rasti
had swun for their attack? But lastly I fixed my
mind on the thought of horses and what those
might mean to us. In me grew the determination
that with the coming of morning light I would go
exploring. . . .

As if that decision were an answer to allay my
uneasiness, I slept. For the sounds of the hunt, if
hunt it could be, died away, while the murmur of
the river made a sound to soothe overwrought
nerves.

Though I was the last to sleep, I was the first to
wake. Our fire had smoldered into dead ash and

the dawn was cold, with damp eddying from the
water to touch us with moist fingers. I pulled the
rest of the bleached wood we had gathered and
coaxed a new blaze into life. It was while I knelt so
that I saw him—coming down to the water to
drink.

Torgians were the finest steeds of Estcarp, but
they were not beautiful. Their coats never
gleamed, for all the grooming a man could give,
nor were they large in frame. But here, raising a
dripping muzzle from the water's edge, was such a
mount as a man may dream of all his days, yet
never see save in those dreams. Big of frame, yet
slender of leg, arched of neck, with a black coat
which shone like a polished sword blade, a mane
and tail rippling as might a maiden's hair—

And once I looked upon that stallion I knew
such a longing as I could not stifle. Head raised he
faced me across that current. There was no fear in
him; curiosity, yes, but no fear. He was of the
wild, and I thought he had never had reason to
believe that his will could be subordinated to that
of any creature.

For a long moment he stood so, studying me as I
moved to the narrow end of the islet. And then,
dismissing me as harmless, he drank again, before
moving a little into the river, as if he enjoyed the
feel of the water about his legs. Looking upon him,
his beauty and his proud freedom, I was lost.

Without thought I tried contact, striving to win
him so to wait for me, to listen to my desire. Head
flung up, he snorted, retreated a step or two for the
bank from which he had come. He was curious,
yet a little wary. Then I touched what could only
be a dim memory—of a rider he had once had . . .

On the shore he waited, watched, as I plunged
into the stream, helmless, without the mail or
weapons I had laid aside. I swam for the shore and
still the stallion stood to watch me, now and then
pawing the earth a little impatiently, tossing his
head so that the silky mane fluttered out, or flick-
ing his long tail.

He would stand for me! I exulted in my
triumph—he was mine! My fears of losing my gift
had been foolish; never had my ability to contact
an animal mind been so sharp and so quickly suc-
cessful. With such a horse as this the world was
mine! There was only the stallion and me in the
early morning—

I waded ashore, unheeding water-soaked gar-
ments and the chill of the wind, intent only on the
great and wonderful animal waiting for me—for
me! He lowered his noble head to blow into the
palm I held out to him. Then he allowed me to run
my hands along his shoulders. He was mine as
securely as if I had followed the ancient craft of
training wherein a cake of oats and honey carried
against my skin for three days and then moistened
with my spittle had been given him to eat. Between
us there was a bond of no breaking. That was so
clear to me that I had no hesitation in mounting
him bareback, and he suffered me to do so.

He began to trot and I gloried in the strong
motion of his body, the even pacing. In all my
years I had never bestrode such force, dignity,
beauty, authority. It carried with it an intoxication
greater than any wine a man might savor. This—
this was being a king, a godling out of early mists of
forgotten time.

Behind us was the river, before us an open

world. Just the two of us, free and alone. A faint
questioning rose somewhere deep within me. Two
of us?—away from the river? But there was some-
thing back there, something of importance. Under
me that mighty body tensed, began to gallop. I
twined my fingers deep in the flowing mane which
whipped at my face, and knew a wonderful exulta-
tion as we pounded on across a plain.

There was sunlight now, and still the stallion ran
effortlessly, as if those muscles could know no
fatigue. I believed he could keep to that flight for
hours. But my first exultation paled as the light
brightened. The river ... I glanced over my
shoulder—than dim line far behind marked it. The
river . . . and on it ...

In my mind there was a click. Kaththea! Kemoc!
How, why had I come to do this? Back—I must
head back there. Without bit or rein I should use
my mind to control the stallion, return him to the
river. I set my wish upon him—

No effect. Under me that powerful body still
galloped away from the river, into the unknown. I
thrust again, harder now as my faint discomfort
became active alarm. Yet there was no lessening of
speed, no turning. Then I strove to take entire
control wholly, as I had with the Torgians and the
prong-horn I had brought to its death.

It was as if I walked across a crust beneath
which bubbled afar different substance. If one did
not test the crust it served for a footing, but to
strike hard upon it carried one to what lay below.
And in those seconds I learned the truth. If what I
rode carried to my eyes and my surface probing
the form of a stallion, it was in reality a very
different creature. What it was I could not tell,

save that it was wholly alien to all I knew or wished
to know.

And also I believed that I had as much chance of
controlling it by my will as I had of containing the
full flood of the river in my two hands. I had not
mastered a free running horse; I had been taken in
as clever a net as had ever been laid for a half
bewitched man, for that I must have been from my
first sighting of this beast.

Perhaps I could throw myself from its back,
though its pace, now certainly swifter than any set
by a real horse, could mean injury, even death, to
follow such a try at escape. Where was it taking
me, and for what purpose? I strove frantically to
pierce below the horse level of its mind. There was
a strong compulsion, yes. I was to be entrapped
and then delivered—where and to whom?

Through my own folly this had come upon me.
But the peril at the end could be more than mine
alone, for what if the other two could then be
reached through me? That enchantment which had
held from my sighting of the horse was breaking
fast, cracked by shock and fear.

With me they would possess a lever to use
against Kaththea and Kemoc. They—who or what
were they? Who were the rulers of this land, and
what did they want with us? That the force had
taken me so was not beneficent I was well aware.
This was merely another part of that which had
tried to trap me in the stone web. And this time I
must not summon any aid, lest that recoil upon
those I wanted least to harm.

The plain over which we sped did have an end. A
dark line of trees appeared to spring out of the
ground, so fast was our pace. They were oddly

pallid trees, their green bleached, their trunks and
limbs gray, as if life had somehow been slowly
sucked out of them. And from this gaunt forest
came an effluvium of ancient evil, worn and very
old, but still abiding as a stench.

There was a road through that wood, and the
stallion's hooves rang on its pavement as if he were
shod with steel. It did not run straight, but wove in
and out. And now I had no desire to leap from my
seat, for I believed that more than just clean death
awaited any who touched this leached ground.

On and on pounded my mount. I no longer
strove to contact its mind; rather did I husband
what strength I possessed in perhaps a vain hope
that there would be some second allowed me in
which I could use every bit of my talent in a last
stroke for freedom. And I tried to develop a crust
of my own, an outer covering of despair, so that
whatever intelligence might be in command would
believe I was indeed now its full captive.

Always I had been one who depended upon
action of body more than of mind, and this new
form of warfare did not come easily. For some men
fear ignites and enrages, it does not dampen nor
subdue, and so it is with me. I must now curb my
burning desire to strike out, and instead harbor all
my ability to do so against a time when I might
have at least the smallest of chances.

We came through the wood, but still we kept to
the road. Now before us was a city, towers, walls.
. . . Yet it was not a city of the living as I knew life.
From it spread an aura of cold, of utter negation of
my kind of living and being. As I stared at it I knew
that once I was borne within those gray walls
Kyllan Tregarth as he now was would cease to be.

Not only did my inborn rejection of death arm
me then, but also the remembrance of those I had
betrayed by my yielding to this enchantment. I
must make my move—now!

I struck, deep down, through the vanishing
crust, into the will of the thing which had captured
me. My will now, not to turn, to reach safety for
myself, but to avoid what lay before me as the final
end. If I would die it would be a death of my
choosing.

Perhaps I had played my part so well I had
deceived that which would compel me to its own
ends, or perhaps it had no real knowledge of my
species. It must have relaxed its strongest force,
for I succeeded in part. That steady stride faltered,
and the stallion turned from the city road. I held to
my purpose, despite a boiling up of that other will.
Then came a petulant flash of anger which reached
me almost as if I understood words shouted at me
from the walls now to my left. Very well, if I would
have it so, then it would let me choose—

And in that was a hint of the wearing of age on
the force in command. For, angered by defiance, it
was willing to sacrifice a pawn that might be of
greater value alive.

The stallion ran smoothly and I had no doubts at
all that I rode to my death. But no man dies tamely
and I would not yield where any chance of a fight
remained. There was a flash in the sky as a bird
flapped overhead. The shimmer about it—
Flannan! That same one that had visited us on the
islet? What was its purpose?

It made a sudden dart and the stallion veered,
voicing at the same time a scream of rage, though
he did not abate his pace. Again and again the bird

dived, to change the path of the animal, until we
headed north, away from the city, on ground
which climbed to heights forest cloaked and dark
against the sky, but green and good, with some of
the withered evil of that other wood.

Once the stallion was headed in this direction
the Flannan flew above us, keeping a watchful eye
upon our going. And in me a small, very small hope
was kindled, a fire which a breath could have
puffed into nothingness. The Flannan served
good, or at least was an ally, and by so much had it
challenged that other Power in this land. Thus by a
fraction had I the aid of something which might be
well disposed to me.

In my need I strove to communicate with any
such unknown friend, using the link sense I shared
with those of my tripe birth. But I was not seer
trained; I had no hope of contact. Then I feared
lest I endanger those who I hoped were still safe.
Only one short cast did I make before I busied
myself with thoughts of what I could do for myself.

We were running into broken ground, not quite
as twisted and torn as the foothills of the western
range, but still cut by sharp bitten ravines and
craggy outcroppings. It was no country into which
one should penetrate at a wild run. When I tried to
reach the stallion's consciousness I found nothing
now, only the command to run and run which I
could not break.

The end came as we reached the top of a rise,
where our path was a narrow one between cliffside
wall and a drop into nothingness. In that moment
my hope was extinguished, for the Flannan made
another of those darts, the stallion leaped, and we
were falling—

All men speculate sometime during their lives
on the nature of death. Perhaps this is not so com-
mon while we are young, but if a man is a warrior
there is always the prospect of ending at the point
of every sword he must face. Thus he cannot push
from him the wonder of what will become of that
which is truly him, once that sword may open the
final gate.

There are believers who hold to them the prom-
ise of another world beyond that gate, in which
there is a reckoning and payment on both sides of
the scale, for the good and the ill they have
wrought in their lifetimes. And others select end-
less sleep and nothingness as their portion.

But I had not thought that pain, torment so
racking that it filled the entire world, was what ate
on one when life was passed. For I was pain—all
pain—a shrieking madness of it in which I no
longer had a body, was only fire ever burning,
never quenched. Then that passed and I knew that
I had a body, and that body was the fuel of the
flame which burned.

Later, I could see . . . and there was sky over
me, blue as ever the sky of life had been. A broken
branch showed a freshly-splintered end against the
sky. But always the abiding pain was a cover over
and about me, shutting off the reality of branch and
sky.

Pain—and then a small thought creeping
through the pain, a dim feeling that this was not the
mercy of death, that that was yet to come and I had
life still to suffer. I closed my eyes against the sky
and the branch and willed with all left in me, in that
small place yet free from the crowding pain, that
death would come and soon.

After awhile there was a little dulling of the pain
and I opened my eyes, hoping this meant death
was indeed close, for I knew that sometimes there
was an end to agony when a man neared his
departure. On the branch now perched a bird—not
the Flannan, but a true bird with brilliantly blue-
green feathers. It peered down at me and then
raised its head and gave out a clear call. And I
wondered dully if so fair a thing could be an eater
of carrion, akin to those black ill-omened gleaners
of the battlefields.

The pain was still a part of me, yet between it
and me there was a cushioning cloud. I tried to turn
my head, but no nerve nor muscle obeyed my will.
The sky, the branch, the peering bird: that was
what my world had become. But the sky was very
blue, the bird was beautiful, and the pain less. .. .

As I had heard the bird call, so now I heard
another sound. Hooves! The stallion! But I could
not be charmed onto his back now; in that much
had I escaped the trap. The pound of hooves on
earth stopped. Now came another noise. . . . But
that did not matter; nothing mattered—save that
the pain was less.

I looked up into a face which came between me
and the branch.

How can I describe a dream in clumsy words?
Are there ever creatures fashioned of mist and
cloud, lacking the solid harshness of our own
species? A wraith from beyond that gate now
opening for me—?

Pain, sudden and sharp, bore me once more into
torment. I screamed and heard that cry ring in my
own ears. There was a cool touch on my head and
from that spread a measure of curtain once more

between me and red agony. I gasped and spun out
into darkness.

But I was not to have that respite for long. Once
more I came into consciousness. This time neither
branch nor bird nor wraith face was over me,
though the sky was still blue. But pain was with
me. And it exploded in hot darts as there was
movement over and about me where someone sub-
jected my broken body to further torment.

I whimpered and begged, my voice a quavering
ghost which was not heeded by my torturer. My
head was raised, propped so, and forcing my eyes
open I strove to see who wished me such ill.

Perhaps it was the pain which made that whole
picture wavery and indistinct. I lay bare of body,
and what I saw of that body my mind flinched from
recording—broken bones must have been the
least of the injuries. But much was hidden beneath
red mud and the rest was being speedily covered in
the same fashion.

It was hard in my dizzy state to see the workers.
At least two of them were animals, bringing up the
mud with front paws, patting it down in mounds
over my helpless and broken limbs. Another had a
scaled skin which gave off sparkling glints in the
sunlight. But the fourth, she who put on the first
layer with infinite care . . .

My wraith? Just as the Flannan's feathered
wings had shimmered, so did her body outline fade
and melt. Sometimes she was a shadow, then sub-
stance. And whether that was because of my own
condition or an aspect of her nature I did not know.
But that she would do me well instead of ill I dimly
guessed.

They worked with a swift concentration and

deftness, covering from sight the ruin of torn flesh
and broken bones. Not as one would bury a
spirit-discarded body, but as those who labor on a
task of some delicacy and much need.

Yet none of them looked into my eyes, nor
showed in any way that they knew I was aware of
what they did. After a time this came to disturb
me, leading me to wonder if I were indeed seeing
this, or whether it was all born of some pain rooted
hallucination.

It was not until she who led that strange com-
pany reached the last packing of mud under my
chin and smoothed it over with her hands that she
did at last look into my eyes. And even so close a
view between us brought no lasting certainty of
her true countenance. Always did it seem to flow
or change, so that sometimes her hair was dark,
her face of one shape, her eyes of one color, and
the next she was light of hair, different of eye,
changed as to chin line—as if, in one woman,
many faces had been blended, with the power of
changing from one to another at her will or the
onlooker's fancy. And this was so bewildering a
thing that I closed my eyes.

But I felt a cool touch on my cheek and then the
pressure of fingertips on my forehead growing
stronger. There was a soft singing which was like
my sister's voice when weaving a spell, and yet
again unlike, in that it held a trilling like a bird's
note, rising and falling. But from that touch spread
a cooling, a soothing throughout my head and then
down into my body, putting up a barrier against the
pain which was now a dim, far-off thing, no longer
really a part of me. And as the singing continued it
seemed that I did not lay buried in mud for some

unknown reason, but that I floated in a place which
had no relation to time or space as I knew those to
exist.

There were powers and forces in that place be-
yond measurement by human means, and they
moved about on incomprehensible duties. But that
it all had meaning I also knew. Twice did I return to
my body, open my eyes and gaze into that face
which was never the same. And once behind it was
night sky and moonlight, and once again blue, with
drifting white clouds.

Both times did the touch and the singing send me
out once more into the other places beyond the
boundaries of our world. Dimly I knew that this
was not the death I had sought during the time of
my agony, but rather a renewing of life.

Then for the third time I awoke, and this time I
was alone. And my mind was clear as it had not
been since that dawn when I had looked at the
stallion by the river. My head was still supported
so that I could look down my body mounded by
clay. It had hardened and baked, with here and
there a crack in its surface. But there were no
fingers on my flesh, no voice singing. And this
bothered me, first dimly and then with growing
unease. I strove to turn my head, to see more of
where I lay, imprisoned in the earth.

XI

THERE WAS A curving wall to my left, and, a little
way from that saucer-like slope, a pool which bub-
bled lazily, a pool of the same red mud hardened
upon my body. I turned my head slowly to the left:
again there was the wall and farther beyond
another pool, its thick substance churning. It was
day—light enough, though there were clouds veil-
ing the sun. I could hear the soft plop-plop as the
pool blew bubbles and they broke.

Then came another sound, a plaintive mewling
which held in it such a burden of pain that it awoke
my own memories, hazy though they now tended
to be. On the rim of the saucer something stirred
and pulled itself laboriously along. It gathered in a
back-arched hump and each movement was so
constrained and awkward that I knew the creature
was sorely injured.

It slid over the concave slope, uttering a sharp
yowl of hurt. A snow cat! The beautiful gray-white
of its thick fur was dabbled with blood. There was

an oozing rent in its side, so deep I thought I could
see the white of bone laid bare. But still the cat
crawled, its eyes fixed on the nearest pool, uttering
its plaint. With a last effort of what must have been
dying energy it rolled into the soft mud, plastering
its hurt and most of its body. Then it lay still, now
facing me, panting, its tongue lolling from its jaws,
and it no longer cried.

I might have believed the cat dead, save that the
heavy panting continued. It did not move again,
lying half in the pool of mud as if utterly spent.

My range of vision was very limited; whatever
braced my head to give it to me was not high. But I
could see other pools in this depression. And by
some of them were mounds which could mark
other sufferers who had dragged their hurts hither.

Then I realized that all my pain was gone. I had
no desire to move, to break the dried covering
which immobilized me. For I felt languidly at ease,
soothed, a kind of well being flowing through my
body.

There were a number of tracks in the dried mud
about me, even prints left in that mounded over my
body. I tried to see them more clearly. Had it been
truth and not a dream, that half-memory of lying
here torn and broken while two furred and one
scaled creature had worked to pack me under the
direction of an ever-changing wrath? But all trace
of the latter were missing, save for a hand print
which was left impressed, sharp and clear, over
the region of my heart.

Slender fingers, narrow palm—yes it was hu-
man, no animal pad nor reptile foot. And I tried to
remember more clearly the wraith who had been
one woman and then another in a bewildering med-
ley of shimmering forms.

The snow cat's eyes were closed, but it still
breathed. Along its body the mud was already
hardening into a protective crust. How long—for
the first time the idea of time itself returned to me.
Kaththea—Kemoc! How long had it been since I
had ridden away from them on that devil's lure?

My languid acceptance broke as the need for
action worked in me. I strove to move. There was
no yielding of the dried mud. I was a helpless
prisoner, encased in stone hard material! And that
discovery banished all my waking content.

I do not know why I did not call aloud, but it
never occurred to me to do so. Instead I used the
mind call, not to those I had deserted during my
bewitchment, but to the wraith, she who might not
have any existence at all save in my pain world.

What would you do with me?

There was a scurry. A thing which glinted with
rainbow colors skittered across the basin, reared
up on hind legs to survey me with bright beads of
eyes. It was not any creature I had known in
Estcarp, nor was it from one of the legends.
Lizard, yes, but more than a mere green-gold
reptile. Beautiful in its way. It had paused at my
buried feet; now it gave a little leap to the mound
which encased me and ran, on its hind legs, up to
my head. There it stopped to examine me search-
ingly. And I knew there was intelligence of a sort in
its narrow, pike crested head.
 "Greeting, sword brother." The words came
out of me unthinkingly.

It whistled back, an odd noise to issue from that
scaled throat. Then it was gone, a green-gold
streak heading up and over the rim of the saucer.

Oddly enough its coming and going allayed my
first dismay at finding myself a prisoner. The lizard

had certainly not meant me harm and neither, I
was certain, had those who had left me here. That
was apparent by my own present feeling of well
being, and by the actions of the sorely hurt snow
cat. This was a place of healing to which an animal
would drag itself if it could. And those virtues had
been applied to me ... by whom? The lizard, the
furred ones . . . the wraith. . . . yes, surely the
wraith!

Though I could not smell sorcery as Kaththea
could, I was sure no evil abode here—that it was
an oasis of some Power. And I was alive only
because I had been brought into its beneficent
influence. Now I knew by a tingling of my skin, a
prickling of my scalp, a little like that excitement
which eats one before the order to advance comes,
that there was something on the way.

Several of the lizards sped down the saucer side,
and behind them, at a less frantic pace, came two
of the furred beasts, their hides also of a blue-green
shade. Their narrow heads and plumed tails were
those of a tree dwelling animal I knew, but they
were much larger than their brothers of Estcarp.

Behind this advance guard and out-scouts she
came, walking with a lithesome stride. Her dark
hair hung loose about her shoulders—but was it
dark? Did it glint with a red hue? Or was it light and
fair? To me it seemed all that at one and the same
time. She wore a tunic of green-blue close-fitting
her body, leaving arms and legs bare. And this
garment was girdled by a broad belt of green-blue
gems set thickly in pale gold, flexible to her move-
ments. About each slender wrist was a wide band
of the same gems, and she carried by a shoulder
strap a quiver of arrows, all tipped with blue-green
feathers, and a bow of the pale gold color.

One could be far more certain of her garments
than of her, since, though I struggled to focus on
her face and that floating cloud of hair, I could not
be sure of what I saw, that some haze of change did
not ever hold between us. Even as she knelt beside
me that disorientation held.

"Who are you?" I asked that baldly, for my
inability to see her clearly irked me.

Amazingly, I heard her laugh. Her hand touched
my cheek, moved to my forehead, and under that
touch my vision cleared. I saw her face—or one
face—sharply and distinctly.

The features of the Old Race are never to be
mistaken: the delicate bones, the pointed chin, the
small mouth, larger eyes, arched brows. And she
possessed these, making such beauty as to awe a
man. But there was also about her a modification
which hinted at the unhuman as I knew human.
That did not matter—not in the least did it matter.

A warrior knows women. I was no Falconer to
foreswear such companionship. But it is also true
that some appetites run less deeply with the Old
Race. Perhaps the very ancientness of their blood
and the fact that the witch gift has set a wedge
between male and female makes this so. I had
never looked upon any woman whom I wanted for
more than a passing hour of pleasure such as the
Free Companions of the Sulcar give, finding equal
enjoyment of such play. But it was no passing
desire which awoke in me as I gazed at that face.
No, this was something different, a heightening of
the excitement which had built in me as I had
sensed her coming, a thing I had never known
before.

She laughed and then fell sober once again, her
eyes holding mine in a lock which was not quite the

communication I wished.

"Rather—who are you?" Her demand was
swift, almost roughly spoken.

"Kyllan of the House of Tregarth, out of
Estcarp," I replied formally, as I might on deliver-
ing a challenge. What was it between us? I could
not quite understand. "And you?" For the second
time I asked, and now my tone pressed for her
reply.

"I have many names, Kyllan of the House of
Tregarth, out of Estcarp." She was mocking me,
but I did not accept that mockery.

"Tell me one, or two, or all."

"You are a brave man," her silken mockery
continued. "In my own time and place. I am not
one to be lightly named."

"Nor will I do it lightly." From whence had
come this word play new to me?

She was silent. Her fingers twitched as if she
would lift them from my forehead. And that I
feared, lest my clear sight of her be so spoiled.

"I am Dahaun, also am I Morquant, and,some
say Lady of the Green—"

"—Silences," I finished for her as she paused.
Legend—no! She was alive; I felt the pressure and
coolness of her flesh against mine.

"So you know me after all, Kyllan of the House
of Tregarth."

"I have heard the old legends—"

"Legends?" Laughter bubbled once again from
her. "But a legend is a tale which may or may not
hold a core of truth. I dwell in the here and now.
Estcarp—and where is Estcarp, bold warrior, that
you know of Dahaun as a legend?"

"To the west, over the mountains—"

She snatched her hand away, as if the touch

burnt her fingertips. Once more distortion made
her waver in my sight.

"Am I suddenly made so into a monster?" I
asked of the silence fallen between us.

"I do not know—are you?" Then her hand was
back, and once more she was clear to see. "No,
you are not—though what you are I do not know
either. That Which Dwells Apart strove to take
you with the Keplian, but you were not swallowed
up. You fought in a way new to me, stranger. And
then I read you for a force of good, not ill. Yet the
mountains and what lie behind them are a barrier
through which only ill may seep—or so say our
legends. Why did you come, Kyllan of the House
of Tregarth, out of Estcarp?"

I had no wish to dissemble with her: between us
must be only the truth as well as I could give it.

"For refuge."

"And what do you flee, stranger? What ill have
you wrought behind you that you must run from
wrath?"

"The ill of not being as our fellows—"

"Yes, you are not one but three—and yet, also
one. ..."

Her words aroused memory. "Kaththea!
Kemoc? What—?"

"What has happened to them since you would
go ariding the Keplian, thus foolishly surrendering
yourself to the very power you would fight? They
have taken their own road, Kyllan. This sister of
yours has done that which has troubled the land.
We do not easily take Witches to our bosoms here,
warrior. In the past that served us ill. Were she
older in magic, then she would not have been so
eager to trouble dark pools which should be left
undisturbed in the shadows. So far she has not met

that which she cannot face with her own shield and
armor. But that state of affairs will not last long—
not here in Escore."

"But you are a Wise One." I was as certain of
that as if I saw the Witch Jewel on her breast, yet I
also knew that she was not of the same breed as the
rulers of Estcarp.

"There are many kinds of wisdom, as you well
know already. Long ago, roads branched here in
Escore, and we Green People chose to walk in
different ways. Some led us very far apart from
one another. But also through the years we learned
to balance good against ill, so that there was no
inequality to draw new witchcraft in. To do so,
even on the side of good, will evoke change, and
change may awaken things which have long slum-
bered, to the ill of all. This has your sister done—
as an unthinking child might smite the surface of a
pool with a stick, sending ripples running, annoy-
ing some monster at ease in the depths. Yet. . ."
She pursed her lips as if about to give judgment,
and in that small movement lost more of the
strangeness which separated us, so that I saw her
as a girl, like Kaththea. "Yet, we can not deny to
her the right of what she has done; we only wish
she had done it elsewhere!" Again Dahaun smiled.
"Now, Kyllan of Tregarth, we have immediate
things to see to."

Her hand went from my head to the baked clay
over my chest. Down the center of that she
scratched a line with the nail of her forefinger,
again marking such along my arms and legs.

The creatures that had accompanied her there-
upon set to work, clawing away along those lines,
working with a speed and diligence which
suggested this was a task they had performed

many times before. Dahaun got to her feet and
crossed to the snow cat, stooping to examine the
drying mud, stroking the head of the creature be-
tween the eyes and up behind the ears.

Speedy as her servants were, it took them some
time to chip me out of my covering. But finally I
was able to rise out of the depression which was
the shape of my body. My limbs were whole, al-
though scarred with marks of almost healed hurts I
would have thought no man could survive.

"Death is powerless here, if you can reach this
place," said Dahaun.

"And how did I reach this place, lady?"

"By the aid of many strengths, to which you are
now beholden, warrior."

"I acknowledge all debts," I said, giving the
formal reply. But I spoke a little absently, since I
looked down upon my nakedness and wondered if
I was to go so bare.

"Another debt also I lay upon you." Amuse-
ment became a small trill of laughter. "What you
seek now, stranger, you shall find up there."

She had not moved to leave the wounded cat,
merely waved me to the saucer's rim. The ground
was soft underfoot as I hurried up the slope, a
couple of the lizards flashing along.

There was grass here, tall as my knees, soft and
green, and by two rock pillars a bundle of nearly
the same color. I pulled at a belt which held it
together and inspected my new wardrobe. The
outer wrapping was a green cloak, within garments
which seemed at first well tanned and very supple
leather, and which I then decided were some un-
known material. There were breeches, with at-
tached leggings and booted feet sections, the soles
soft and earth-feeling. Above the waist I donned a

sleeveless jerkin which latched halfway down my
chest by a metal clasp set with one of the blue-
green gems Dahaun favored. The belt supported
not a sword, but a metal rod about as long as my
forearm and a finger span thick. If it was a weapon,
it was like none I had seen before.

The clothing fitted as if it had been cut and sewn
for me alone, and gave a marvelous freedom to my
body, such as was lacking in the mail and leather of
Estcarp. Yet I found my hands were going ever to
feel for the arms I did not wear: the sword and dart
gun which had been my tools for so long.

With the cloak over my arm I strode back to the
edge of the saucer. Now that I could look down
upon it I saw that the area was larger than I had
thought. A dozen or more of the mud pools were
scattered haphazardly about it, and more than one
had a patient immobilized—though all of these
were animals or birds.

Dahaun still knelt, stroking the snow cat's head.
But now she looked up and waved with her other
hand and a moment later arose and came to join
me, surveying me with a frankly appraising stare.

"You are a proper Green Man, Kyllan of the
House of Tregarth."

"A Green Man?"

It did not seem so difficult now for me to read her
features, though I still could not have given a posi-
tive name to the color of her hair or eyes.

"The Green People." She pointed to the cloak I
held. "Though this is only their outer skin that you
wear, and not our true semblance. However, it will
serve you for what needs be done." She put her
half closed fist to her mouth as had my sister when
engaged in sorcery, but the sound she uttered was
a clear call, not unlike the high note of a verge
horn.

A drumming of hooves brought me around, my
hand seeking a weapon I no longer had. Sense told
me this was not the stallion that had been my
undoing, yet that sound now made my flesh creep.

They came out of the green shadow of a copse,
shoulder to shoulder, cantering easily and match-
ing their paces. They were bare of saddle or bridle,
but only in that were they like the stallion. For they
had not the appearance of true horses at all. More
closely allied to the prong-horns, yet not them
either, they were as large as a normal mount, but
their tails were brushes of fluff they kept clipped
tight against their haunches as they moved. There
was no mane, but a topknot of fluffy longer hair on
the crest of each skull, right above a horn which
curved gracefully in a gleaming red arc. In color
they were a sleek, roan red, with a creamy under-
body. And for all their strangeness I found them
most beautiful.

Coming to a stop before Dahaun, they swung
their heads about to regard me with large yellow
eyes. As with the lizard, they shared a spark of
what I realized was intelligence.

"Shabra, Shabrina," Dahaun said gravely in
introduction, and those proud horned heads in-
clined to me in dignified recognition of their nam-
ing.

Out of the grass burst one of the lizards, running
to Dahaun, who stopped to catch it up. It sped
up her arm to her shoulder, settling there in her
hair.

"Shabra will bear you." One of the horned ones
moved to me. "You need have no fears of this
mount."

"He will take me to the river?"

"To those who seek you," she replied obliquely.
"Fortune attend you—good, not ill."

I do not know why I had expected her to come
with me, but I was startled at the suggestion she
would not. So abrupt a parting was like the slicing
of a rope upon which one's safety depended.

"You—you do not ride with me?"

She was already astride her mount. Now she
favored me with one of those long, measuring
stares.

"Why?"

To that I had no answer but the simple truth.
"Because I cannot leave you so—"

"You feel you debt weighing heavily?"

"If owing one's life is a debt, yes—but there is
more. Also, even if there was no debt, still I would
seek your road."

"To do this you are not free."

I nodded. "In this I am not free—you need not
remind me of that, lady. You owe me no debt—the
choice is yours."

She played with one of the long tresses of hair
hanging so long as to brush the gems on her belt.

"Well said." Plainly something amused her and
I was not altogether sure I cared for her laughter
now. "Also, I begin to think that having seen one
out of Estcarp, I would see more—this sister of
yours who may have stirred up too much for all of
us. So I choose your road .. . for this time. HO!"
She gave a cry and her mount leaped with a great
bound.

I scrambled up on Shabra and fought to keep my
seat as he lunged to catch up with his mate. Sun
broke through clouds to light us, and as it touched
Dahaun she was no longer dusky. The hair stream-
ing behind her in the wind was the same pale gold
of her belt and wristlets, and she blazed with a
great surge of light and life.

XII

THERE WAS A thing loping awkwardly in a parallel
course towards us. Sometimes it ran limpingly on
three legs, a forelimb held upcurved; again,
stumbling and bent over, on two. Dahaun checked
her mount and waited for the creature to approach.
It lifted a narrow head, showed fangs in a snarl.
There were patches of foam at the corners of its
black lips, matting the brindle fur on its neck and
shoulders, while the forelimb it upheld ended in a
red blob of mangled flesh.

It growled, walked stiff-legged, striving to pass
Dahaun at a distance. As I rode to join her, my hair
stirred a little at skull base. For this was not ani-
mal, but something which was an unholy mingling
of species—wolf and man.

"By the pact." Its words were a coughing growl
and it made a half gesture with its wounded paw-
hand.

"By the pact," Dahaun acknowledged.
"Strange, Fikkold, for you to seek what lies here.
Have matters gone so badly that the dark must

seek the light for succor?"

The creature snarled again, its eyes gleaming,
yellow-red pits of that evil against which all clean
human flesh and spirit revolts.

"There will come a time—" it spat.

"Yes, there will come a time, Fikkold, when we
shall test Powers, not in small strikes against each
other, but in open battle. But it would appear that
you have already done battle, and not to benefit for
you."

Those yellow-red eyes shifted away from Da-
haun, as if they could not bear to look too long at
the golden glory she had become. Now they fas-
tened on me. The twisted snarl was more acute.
Fikkold hunched his shoulders as if he wished to
spring to bring me down. My hand sought the
blade I did not wear.

Dahaun spoke sharply. "You have claimed the
right, Fikkold; do you now step beyond that
right?"

The wolf-man relaxed. A red tongue licked be-
tween those fanged jaws.

"So you make one with these, Morquant?" he
asked in return. "That will be pleasant hearing for
the Gray Ones, and That Which Is Apart. No, I do
not step beyond the right, but perchance you have
crossed another barrier. And if you make common
cause with these, ride swift, Green Lady, for they
need all the aid possible."

With a last snarl in my direction, Fikkold went
on, staggering, weaving toward the mud pools, his
blood-streaming paw pressed tight to his furred
breast.

But what he had hinted at, that Kaththea and
Kemoc might be in active danger, sent me pound-
ing along his back trail.

"No!" Dahaun pulled up beside me. "No!
Never ride so along a were-trail. To follow it
straightly leaves your own track open for them.
Cross it, thus. ..."

She cantered in a criss-cross pattern, back and
forth across the blood-spotted track the wounded
Fikkold had left. And, though I grudged the time
such a complicated maneuver cost us, I did
likewise.

"Did he speak the truth?" I asked as I drew
level with her again.

"Yes, for in this case the truth would please
Fikkold." She frowned. "And if they felt strong
enough to meet in an open fight with Power such as
your sister can shape and mould, then the balance
is surely upset and things move here which have
not stirred in years upon long years! It is time we
knew what or who is aligned. ..."

She set her hand to her mouth again as she had
when she had summoned the horned ones to our
service. But no audible sound issued between her
fingers. In my head was that sound, shrill, painful.
Both our mounts flung high their heads and gave
voice to coughing grunts.

I was not too surprised at the shimmer of a
Flannan in its bird shape appearing before us. It
flapped about Dahaun as she rode. A moment later
she looked to me, her face troubled.

"Fikkold spoke the truth, but it is a worse truth
than I thought, Kyllan. Those of your blood have
been trapped in one of the Silent Places and the
thrice circle laid upon them, such as no witch, lest
she be more powerful than your sister, may break.
Thus can they be held until the death of their
bodies—and even beyond—"

I had faced death for myself, and had come to

accept the fact that perhaps I had taken the last
sword blow. But for Kaththea and Kemoc I would
not accept this—not while I still breathed, walked,
had hands to hold weapons or to use bare. Of this I
did not speak, but the resolution filled me in a hot
surge of rage and determination. And more
strongly was I pledged to this because of my folly
and desertion by the river.

"I knew you would feel so," she said. "But
more than strength of body, will of mind, desire of
heart, will you need for this. Where are your
weapons?"

"I shall find such!" I told her between set teeth.

"There is one." Dahaun pointed to the rod

which hung as a sword from my borrowed belt.

"Whether it will answer you. I know not. It was

forged for another hand and mind. Try it. It is a

force whip—use it as you would a lash."

I remembered the crackling fire with which the
unknown rider had beaten off the rasti and I jerked
the rod from its sling, to use it as she suggested, as
if a thong depended from its tip.

There was a flash of fire crackling against the
ground to sear and blacken. I shouted in triumph.
Dahaun smiled at me across that burned strip.

"It would seem that we are not so different after
all, Kyllan of the House of Tregarth, out of
Estcarp. So you do not ride barehanded, nor,
perhaps, will you fight alone. For that, we must
see. But to summon aid will take time, and that
runs fast for those you would succor. Also, it will
need persuasion such as you can not provide. Thus
we part here warrior. Follow the blood trail, to do
what you must do. I go to other labors."

She was at a gallop before I could speak, her

horned one keeping a speed I do not believe even
the stallion could have equaled. Before me lay the
back trail of the werewolf for my guide.

I followed Dahaun's instructions and continued
to crisscross those tracks, but at a steady,
ground-eating pace. We descended from that high
ground into which the stallion had carried me,
away from the healthy country. I did not sight that
bleached wood, nor the city, unless a distant gray
shadow to my left was a glimpse of that, but there
were other places Shabra avoided, sometimes
leaving the trail to detour about them—a setting of
rocks, an off color splotch of vegetation and the
like. I trusted to my mount's decision in such mat-
ters, for it was plain this part of the country was a
stronghold of those forces against which my kind
were eternally arrayed.

Shabra slowed pace. I marveled at how far Fik-
kold had come with his spouting wound. A flock of
black winged things arose from a tangle of brush
and twisted trees, circled above us, crying rau-
cously.

"Whip!"

Out of nowhere came that warning. Then I saw
Shabra turn his head, and knew that the alarm
came from the one who carried me. I gave a sharp
jerk to the weapon, A light flash snapped out. One
of the black things screeched, somersaulted in
the air and fell. The rest broke, flew for a distance,
and then reformed with the cunning of an advance
guard, to try once more to complete their circle.
Three times they attempted that, and each time the
lash drove them off, broke their pattern. From the
last attack they flew before us, as if determining
somewhere on ahead to lay an ambush.

We were still going down slope. Here the grass
in the open spaces was coarser and darker than
that of the upper country. And in places it was
broken and stamped flat as if a host had gone this
way. My scout training asserted control. To ride
face on into impossible odds was no way to pro-
vide help for those I sought. Tentatively I thought
this at Shabra.

They know you come. You cannot hide from
those who hold this land.

The answer came clearly and promptly. I was
ready to accept any help from my mount which he
had ready to offer.

His pace had dropped to a walk. He held his
head high, his wide nostrils drawing in and expell-
ing the air in audible sniffs, as if by this sense he
could detect what lay ahead. Abandoning the
blood trail which had guided us to this point, he
swung to the right on a course which angled
sharply from the one we had followed.

Along the pillar way. Peace holds there in part.

Shabra's explanation meant nothing to me, but
that he was willing to risk this route did. I could not
scent anything in the air, though I strove to. But
there was something else—a weight upon the
spirit, a darkening of the mind, which grew as we
advanced, until it was a burden on me.

We came out on the rim of another slope and
below lay open country with, not too far away, the
line of the river. In that plains land was a circle of
menhirs, not concentric rings as had been the
stone web, but a single line of rough pillars, two of
which had fallen and lay pointing outward. They
encircled or guarded a platform of stone of a
slate-blue color. And on that platform were the

two I sought. While outside the ring of menhirs, a
motley pack of creatures crawled, prowled,
sniffed. Black blots of rasti slithered in and out,
visible where the grass was well trampled. Several
werewolves paced, sometimes on four feet, other
times erect. The black birds wheeled and dipped.
An armorplated thing raised a ghastly head and
clawed forefeet now and then. And white blobs of
mist gathered, drifted, thickened and thinned. But
all these moved outside the ring of stones, and they
avoided the two which had fallen outward, leaving
a goodly space free about those as they continued
their siege.

From the circle led two paths of pillars, one from
the direction of the river, one marching up the hill
to my right. Of these, many had fallen, some were
broken, even blackened, as if they had been light-
ning struck.

Shabra trotted to the line near us. Again he
began an in and out advance. Those broken and
blackened stones he leaped or passed with speed;
by the others he modified his pace. But back and
forth, in and out, he worked down to the besieged
circle.

Kyllan! Greeting, recognition from the two I
sought.

Then: Take care! To your left—

There was an upheaval among the watchers, and
one of the armored monsters came at a clumsy run.
It opened its mouth to puff foul and stinking breath
at us. I swished the whip and the lightning curled
about the scaled barrel just behind the head. But
that did not slow the thing. Next I laid the lash of
energy across its head and eyes. It gave an explo-
sive grunt and plowed ahead.

Hold! Not Kemoc nor Kaththea, but Shabra,
warning.

Under me the horned one bunched muscle,
leaped, plowed to a halt by a standing stone. The
armored thing came on, to be hurled back as if it
had run headfirst into a wall that even its bulk
could not breach. Its coughing roar grew louder as
it kept on stupidly attempting to reach us. Now
some of the other attackers gathered to join it. A
wolf-man, striding on two feet, yellow-red eyes
cunning and intelligent, rasti a-boil, a drifting blob
of mist—

Hold!

I gripped Shabra as tightly with my knees as I
could, and kept a left-handed hold on the curve of
his neck while I held ready the whip with my right.
He made a dart past one of the shattered pillars
while I lashed at the mist curling in at us. There
was a burst of brilliant fire. The thing, whatever it
might have been, ignited from the whip's force.
Rasti squalled as it puffed out to catch two of them
in its throes.

We were in another of the pools of safety by a
standing stone. The space ahead was not too wide,
but midpoint there was a fallen pillar, and there
gathered rasti and wolfmen. The mist drifted back
from any contact with the weapon I carried.

Come—now!

That was Kaththea. She stood on the blue block,
her hands to her mouth as she chanted. Though the
meaning of what she sang did not reach me. I felt a
response in my body, a rising surge of strength.
The horned one sprang, breaking into a run. I
lashed out on either side, not with any aim, but to
clear our path.

I heard growling from a hairy wolf throat. One of
the were-things sprang, striving to drag me from
Shabra's back. I stiff-armed it, my blow striking,
by good fortune alone, beneath its jaw. But it left a
dripping slash along my arm. Somehow I managed
to cling to both my seat on the horned one and the
whip. Then we were within the circle. And out-
side, the howls of that weird pack arose in a dis-
cordant chorus.

Shabra trotted to the blue stone. Kemoc half
lay, half sat there, with his back supported by a
shrunken pack. His helm was gone, his arm ban-
daged. And in his hand was the hilt of a sword, its
blade broken into a narrow sliver. Kaththea still
stood on the stone, her hands now at her breast.
She was gaunt, as if from months of ill foraging,
her beauty worn to a dying shadow, her spirit so
outgoing through its sheath of flesh that I was
frightened to look upon her. I slid from Shabra's
back and came to them, dropping the whip un-
knowingly, my hands out to give them all that I
had, of my own strength, comfort—whatever they
could draw from me.

Kemoc greeted me with a faint, very faint
stretch of lips, the merest shadow of his one-time
smile.

"Welcome back, brother. I might have known
that a fight would draw you when all else failed."

Kaththea came to the edge of the rock and half
jumped, half fell into my arms. For a long moment
she clung to me, no Wise Woman, no Witch, but
only my sister, who had been sorely frightened and
yet found the need to put aside that fear. She raised
her head, her eyes closed.

"Power." Her lips shaped the word rather than

spoke it clearly aloud. "You have lain in the
shadow of Power. When—where?" Eagerness
overrode her fatigue.

Kemoc stirred and pulled himself up. He was
studying me, intently from head to foot, his gaze
lingering on my chest where the tunic gaped and
the just healed scars from my hurts were still plain
to read.

"It would seem that this is not your first battle,
brother. But—now it would be well to tend to
this—" He gestured to the gash the werewolf had
opened on my arm. Kaththea pushed away from
me with a little cry of concern.

I felt no pain. Perhaps whatever virtue lay in the
healing mud held for a while in the bodies of those
so treated. For when Kaththea examined the hurt
the edges of the wound were closed and I bled no
longer.

"Who has been your aid, my brother?" she
asked as she worked.

"The Lady of Green Silence."

My sister raised her head and stared at me as one
who seeks for signs of jesting.

"She also calls herself Dahaun and Morquant,"
I added.

"Morquant!" Kaththea seized upon the second
of those names. "Of the Green Ones, the forest
born! We must know more, we must!" She moved
her hands as if wringing speech from silence.

"You have learned nothing?" Far ago now was
that night we had wrought magic that Kaththea's
spirit messenger might cross time. "What hap-
pened? How and why have you come here?"

Kemoc answered first. "As to your first ques-
tion, we have learned that trouble arises swiftly

hereabouts. We left the islet because—" He hesi-
tated, his eyes avoiding mine.

I gave him the rest: "Because you sought one
whose folly had made him easy prey for the
enemy? Is that not the right of it?"

And he respected me enough not to give any
comforting lie.

"Yes. Kaththea—when we awoke, she knew,
and through her did I also, that evil had come to
you."

Kaththea asked softly. "Had you not thrown
open the gate to it when you used your gift in an ill
fashion, even if the result was for our good? We
knew not how you had been taken from us, only
that this was so. And that we must find you."

"But the Familiar—you needed to await its re-
turn."

She smiled at my protest. "Not so. Where I am,
there it will come—though that has not yet hap-
pened. We found your trail—or at least a trail of
active evil. But where it led"—she shivered—
"there we dared not follow—not without such
safeguards for our inner selves that I did not have
the knowledge to weave. Then those came
a-hunting, and we ran before them. But this is a
holy place in which that kind can not venture. So
we took refuge here, only to discover that we had
trapped ourselves, for they have woven their net
outside and we are within two walls, one built by
the enemy."

Then she sighed and swayed so that I threw out
an arm to support her. Her eyes closed and she
leaned back against me as Kemoc made plain the
rest of their plight.

"I do not suppose, brother, that you carry any

food? It has been three days since we have eaten.
There was dew on the stone this morning, enough
to quench our thirst a little. But water in such small
amounts does little for the filling of an empty
belly!"

"I won in with this," I touched the whip with my
toe. "It can cut us a passage out—"

Kemoc shook his head. "We have not the
strength nor the quickness for such a fight now.
Also, they have a counterspell to strip Kaththea of
all Power if she ventures forth."

But I refused to accept that. "With Kaththea on
Shabra, and you and I running—it is worth the
try!" But I knew that he was right. Outside the
protection of the circle stones we could not out-
run and out-fight that pack, now padding, trotting,
drifting about, waiting for us to try such desperate
measures. In addition both Kemoc and Kaththea
had said they were immured here by magic.

"Oh!" In my grasp Kaththea shuddered, shak-
ing as she had on the night she had brought forth
the Familiar. She opened her eyes and looked
before her with a wide, unseeing stare.

"To the stone with her!" Kemoc cried. "It holds
the most virtue in this place."

There was a blanket on the stone, as if perhaps
during the night they had rested there together. I
swung her pitifully light body up to lie on that, and
then scrambled to her side, pulling Kemoc after
me. She still moaned a little, her hands moving
restlessly back and forth, sometimes lifting up as if
she sought to pluck something from the air.

The din which had followed my entrance into
the circle had died away. Those creatures paraded
in utter silence now, so that Kaththea's small
plaints could be heard.

One of those reaching hands caught at Kemoc's
scarred fingers, clasped and tightened. His
thought sped to me and I took her other hand. We
were linked now as we had been on that night.

Expectancy awoke in me. There was a glow in
the air above the blue block. The glow grew
brighter, formed an image, a winged wand, looking
solid and distinct.

For a moment we saw it so, and then, as a dart, it
dropped in a streak of white fire. Kaththea's back
arched and she gave a great cry, as her messenger
returned to that which had given it birth. She was
quiet but not silent—not to our minds—for as she
learned so did we also, and for us rock, day and
world vanished as that knowledge unfolded.

XIII

IT WAS A strange sight we had, operating on two
levels. First it was as if we hung in the sky above
this land as it had once been, all its fields, woods,
streams and mountains spread below us. And it
was a fair land then, holding no shadows, no spots
of corruption. Also it was a well peopled land, with
garths and manors serene and safe. There were
three cities—no, four . . . for in the foothills of the
mountains was a collection of tall towers apart in
use and spirit from the rest. Men and women of the
Old Race went about, content and untroubled.

Also there were others, partly of the Old Race,
partly of a yet older stock. And these had gifts
which led them to be revered. There was a golden
light on this land and it drew us as if we rode at
twilight through the wind and dark of a coming
storm, to see before us the guest lights of a manor
wherein dwelt the best of friends. Yes, it drew us,
yet we could not accept what it promised, for
between us lay the barrier of time.

Then that all encompassing vision narrowed,

and we watched the coming of change. There were
Wise Women here, but they did not rule so auto-
cratically as they did in Estcarp. For not only did
the women of this land have the gift of Power—
among them were men who could also walk with
spirits.

How did the ill begin? With good intentions, not
by any active evil. A handful of seekers after
knowledge experimented with Powers they
thought they understood. And their discoveries,
feeding upon them in turn, altered subtly spirit,
mind, and sometimes even body. Power for its
results was what first they sought, but then, inevi-
tably, it was Power for the sake of power alone.
They did not accept gradual changes; they began
to force them.

Years sped as might the moments of an hour.
There was the rise of the brother-sisterhood, first
secretly, then in the open, dedicated to experimen-
tation, with volunteers, then with those forced to
their purposes. Children, animals, things were
born which were not as their parents had been.
Some were harmless, even of great beauty and an
aid to all. But that kind became fewer and fewer.
At first those that were distorted, ill-conceived,
were destroyed. Then it was proposed that they be
kept, studied, examined. Later yet their markers
released them, that they might be observed in
freedom.

And, as the corruption spread and befouled those
who dabbled in it, these monstrosities were used!
Nor did the users and the makers any longer place
bonds on the fashioning of such dark servants and
weapons.

So began a struggle, to eclipse the fast fading
brightness of the land. There was a party of the Old

Race, as yet unshadowed by the evil flowering
among their kind. At first they sounded war horns,
gathering a host to put down the enemy. But they
had waited far too long; they were as a dipper of
water against the ocean. War brought them bitter
defeat and the prospect of being utterly lost in the
ocean of defilement which was turning their home-
land into a morass wherein no decent thing might
find existence.

There were leaders who argued that it was better
to perish in war than to live under the hand of the
enemy, taking with them all that they held dear, so
that death would in fact be safety from that which
threatened more than the body. And there were
many who supported them in that. We watched
households go into their manors, take comfort to-
gether, and then bring down upon themselves a
blotting out by raw forces they deliberately sum-
moned and did not try to control.

But others held to a faith that the end was not yet
for them and their kind. Against the array of the
Enemy they were a pitifully few in number. But
among them were some wielders of the Power
such as even their opponents might well fear. And
these ordered an ingathering of those willing to try
another road.

There was this about the Old Race: they were
deeply rooted in their own country, drawing from
the land a recharging of energy and life force.
Never had they been wanderers, rovers, seekers
of the physical unknown—though they moved
afar in mind and spirit. And to leave the land was
almost as hard as death. Still they were minded to
try this. And they set out for the west and what
might lie across the bordering mountains there.

They did not go without trouble. The crooked

servants of the Enemy harassed their train, harried
them by night and day. They lost men, women,
families—some to death, some otherwise. Yet
they held to their purpose. Through the mountains
they fought their way. And once beyond those
barriers, they turned and wrought such havoc
against the land that it closed the road behind them
for century upon century.

Left to itself, evil boiled and spread out in
greedy freedom. But it was not entire master in the
land, even though what challenged it lay very low,
making no move in those first years to betray its
presence. The Old Race had not taken with it any
of the creatures that had been born of experimen-
tation, not even those attuned to good rather than
ill. A few of these were strong, and they withdrew
to the waste spaces and there disguised them-
selves against detection. There were also those
who were not of the Old Race in whole, but part
more ancient yet. And these were so united to
the land that it was their life base.

There were only a handful of these, yet they
were held in awe and shunned by the new rulers.
For, though they had not stirred against evil, nor
actively aided good, yet they had such forces
under their command as could not be reckoned by
evil. These too withdrew to the wild, and in time
they attracted to them the created ones in loose
alliance. But evil ruled totally except in these
wastes.

Time flowed as the river current. Those who
were drunk with power arose to greater and
greater extravagances in its use. Quarreling, they
turned upon one another, so that the countryside
was wracked with strange and terrible wars,
fought with energies and inhuman, demonic

things. Struggles lasted so for centuries, but there
were drastic defeats, completely wiping out one
force or the other. Thus the more outwardly ag-
gressive ate up each other. Then there were those
who turned their backs upon the world as it was
and ventured farther and farther into weird realms
they broke open for exploration. Of these few ever
returned. So did the long toll of years bring a
measure of quietude to the riven land.

There were still powers of evil, but the majority
of them, satiated by countless tastings and explor-
ations, were lulled into a kind of abstracted exist-
ence in which they floated unmoved and unmov-
ing. Now those in the wastes ventured forth, a
creeping at first, wary, ready to retreat. For they
only tested evil in small ways, not battles.

In time they held again half the land, always
taking cautiously, never offering direct opposition
when one of the evil ones was aroused to active
retaliation. And this had gone on so long it was the
accepted way of life.

Then—into this balanced land we had come,
and we saw in part what our coming had done.
Magic summoned magic, aroused more than one
of the dreaming evils into languid action. Yet
against the least of these, alone, we were as help-
less as the dust the wind whirls before it. As for
now the evil was old, withdrawn, yet still a little
rooted to this plane. Were we greater than we
were—only a little greater—it could be utterly
driven forth into that world, or worlds, which it
now roved, doors sealed behind it, the land free
and golden, and open for our kind once again.
I opened my eyes to meet Kemoc's.
"So now we know," he said quietly. "And are
no better for that knowing. The Council, in our

position, could overcome this. We have not a
single chance! And it was—is—so fair a land!"

I shared that nostalgic longing for the country
we had seen at the beginning of that tune flight. All
my life I had lived under the cloud of war and
trouble. And I had faced from a child the knowl-
edge that I was living in the end days of a civiliza-
tion which had no hope. Therefore to have seen
what we had been shown was doubly bitter. And to
realize there was nothing we could do—not even
to save ourselves—was more than bitter.

Kaththea stirred in our hold. Her eyes opened.
Tears gathered, flowed to her thin cheeks.

"So beautiful! So warm, so good!" she whis-
pered. "And if—if we only had the Power—we
could bring it back!"

"If we had wings," I said harshly, "we could fly
out of here!" I gazed over my shoulder at what lay
beyond our protecting ring of stones.

The creatures of the dark still prowled there.
And I knew, without needing the telling, they
would continue to do so, until there came an end to
us and all the slight danger to their overlords which
we represented.

It was growing dark and, while I knew that the
pillars would keep them at a distance, yet I was
also haunted by the knowledge that with the night
their true world began, that they would be
strengthened by so much. I was hungry and if I felt
thus, how much more must Kaththea and Kemoc
be in need of food. To stay here, waiting for
death—that could not be my way!

Again I thought of Shabra. He had brought me
safely in—could be get out again? And doing so,
might he serve as a messenger? Could or would

Dahaun do aught to aid us now? She had said she
was going for help, but hours had passed since
then and none had come. It could well be that she
had failed in the persuasion she had said she must
use. Once more the thought of Kaththea on the
horned one, Kemoc and I to flank her in a break
out crossed my mind . . . only to be answered by
my sister's weak voice:

"Have you forgotten? They have set a witch
bar. But you and Kemoc—perhaps that will not
encompass you—"

Our combined dissent was quick and hot. As
three we would escape or not at all.

"There is no way left to fight them with the
Power?"

She shook her head. "Already I have done too
much. My acts troubled the quiet here and aroused
that which hunts us now. A child playing with a
sword cuts itself because it had neither the skill nor
strength to use such a weapon properly. There is
only this, my brothers: that which sits out there
cannot take us. For which we should give thanks,
for if it could we would not face clean death of
body, but that which is far worse!"

Remembering what I had learned as the stallion
bore me towards that city of dread silence, I un-
derstood. Yet I was not meant to await death, clean
or otherwise, without a struggle. And all I had now
was a very faint hope that a wraith girl, who had
saved my life and then ridden from me, would
redeem a half promise she had made.

I covered my eyes with my hands and strove
with every bit of any small power I had to fix upon
her face, to somehow reach her, to learn if I could in
any way find hope. For if I could not, then I must

turn to some desperate and doubtless fatal move of
my own.

But those features of many changes could not be
so pinned in mind for a real picture. All the vision
faces she had shown me spun elusively, some-
times singly for an instant, sometimes superim-
posed one on the other. Dahaun was not one of the
created ones, produced by a whim of the Old Race;
she was one of those who had stood apart, being of
yet more ancient blood, and in her the human
portion was the lesser.

There was a snort from Shabra. With the coming
of evening a pale luminescence fingered up the
menhirs. About them swirled threads of light,
twining about them as planted vines might seek
support on such rough stone. Also the blue plat-
form on which we now rested had its measure of
such spectral radiance. By the light I saw the
horned one face about, head up, nostrils ex-
panded. Then, with a toss of head so that his red
horn caught the light, he voiced a cry, not unlike
the challenge of a fighting stallion.

I almost expected to see that black thing which
had entrapped me come pacing along with the
other besiegers. But Shabra's answer came in
another form—a crackle of fire on the crest of the
slope down which the line of pillars marched.
There was no mistaking its source—the lash of an
energy whip!

Dahaun! I put into that silent call all my need.

No answer, save once more the whip cracked an
arc of raw lightning in the sky. A bush flamed
where its tip must have stuck the ground. And
from outside the circle arose a concentrated,
growling roar from the things who kept sentry duty
there.

Shabra—I reached for contact. Who rides
there?

Be still! Would you have the Dark Ones know? It
was a sharp rebuke.

I was startled. This was no contact with any
animal; this was equal chiding equal, or perhaps
even an adult rebuking a child. I might have rid-
den Shabra to this place, but his function was not
only that of mount. And now I caught a flash of
amusement at my surprise. Then his mind was
closed to me as a door might be locked and barred
to any entrance.

Kaththea grasped my arm and Kemoc's and
pulled herself up.

"There are forces on the move," she said. But
something in the curling light about the pillars
bedazzled our eyes to anything which lay beyond.
We could hear the evil host but we could no longer
see it. No more whip cracks broke the night.

"Can you reach—have any contact at all?"
Kemoc demanded.

"No, I must not. I could disturb, awaken—Our
power is a mixture. Ceremonial magic comes from
ritual, from study, used by those who learn as
scholars and priestesses. True witchcraft is older,
more primitive, allied with nature, not truly bound
by our standards of good and evil. In Estcarp we
have united the two, but always give the greater
weight to magic, not witchcraft. Here magic went
utterly wrong and crooked, becoming a twisted,
wicked thing. But witchcraft stepped aside and
walks in its earlier guise. Thus when I strove to use
what I knew I drew magic, yes, but I used a force
which had been distorted. What may work in our
favor is witchcraft, and of that I have no mastery.
Tell me, quickly, Kyllan, of this Lady of Green

Silences and how you met with her!"

With my attention half for anything which might
move outside the lights of the menhirs, I told my
story—and more slowly of what had happened
after my awaking in the mud basin.

"Natural forces," Kaththea broke in. "Shape
changing—because she has Power which
adapts—"

"How do you mean?" I had not guessed that my
sister, never having seen Dahaun, could yet ex-
plain some of her mystery.

"The Green Silences—the woodlands—have
always had their guardians and inhabitants. And
their magic is of wind, water, earth and sky—
literally of those. Not as we witches use them,
imposing our will for a space, either in illusion or
for destruction, but with the rhythm and flow of
nature. They will use a storm, yes, but they do not
summon one. They can use the rushing current of a
river, but within its boundaries. All animals and
birds, even plants, will obey them—unless such
are already in the service of evil, and thus corrupt.
They take on the coloring of their surroundings. If
they wish, you can not see them among trees, in
water, nor even in the open. And they cannot live
among stone walls, nor in places wherein only men
dwell, or they wither and die. Because they are of
the very stuff of life, so they are feared by the
forces of destruction. But also they will be wary of
the risking of life. In some ways they are indeed
more powerful than we, in spite of all our centuries
of magic; yet in others they are more vulnerable.
Their like does not exist in Estcarp; they could not
make the break to leave this land in which they are
rooted. But still we had our legends of their
kind—"

"Legends centuries old," I interrupted.
"Dahaun—she can not be that Lady of those—"

"Perhaps an office descending in some ancient
line, the name with it. Morquant is one of the
names by which we evoke wind magic, yet you say
she gave it as her own. Also, note that unlike a
sworn witch she gives you her name freely, prov-
ing that she has no fear of so delivering herself
into your hands. Only her kind are so above the
threat of counter-spell."

There was a trill overhead. Startled, we looked
up at a blue-green bird such as had been with me
during my hours of pain. Three times it circled us,
trilling in short bursts of clear, sweet notes.
Kaththea gasped, her grip tightening to dig nails
into my shoulder, her face becoming even more
pale. She whispered:

"They—they are indeed great! I have been—
silenced!"

"Silenced?" Kemoc echoed.

"I cannot use spells. Should I strive to use an
incantation it would not make sense! Kyllan—
why? Why would they do this thing? I am now
open to what lies out there. Kyllan, they wish us
ill, not well! They have chosen this time to stand
with evil!"

She pulled away from me and clung to Kemoc.
Over her bowed shoulders he gazed hostilely at
me, as he had never done before.

Nor could I deny that he might have some cause
for such judgment. I had returned to them through
the agency of this force which now acted against
Kaththea, to take from her what might be her only
defense. And I had come charging in blindly, not to
bring them any real succor, perhaps merely to
direct a final blow. Yet a large part of me would not

accept that measurement of what was happening
here, even though I could not give any reason for
still believing that we had hope for aid.

The prowlers were growing bolder. A lean wolf
head was clearly outlined in the light from a
menhir; a vast armored paw, talons outspread,
waved in another direction. Kaththea raised her
head from Kemoc's shoulder. There was now fear
in her eyes.

"The lights—look to the lights!"

Until her cry I had not noted the change. When
we had awakened from the time spell those wreath-
ing threads had been of a blue shade, akin in
color to the rock platform they ringed. Now they
were smoky, yellowish, giving one an unpleasant
sensation when looked at too closely. That change
in them appeared to summon the attackers. More
and more faces and paws were visible by their
glare. Our besiegers were drawing in closely.

Shabra stamped a forehoof, and the impact on
the ground had the thud of hand against war drum,
booming unnaturally in the air. Kaththea's throat
worked convulsively, as if she were trying to
speak; her head turned from side to side, and her
hands arose before her by visible effort, as if she
struggled against bonds. They jerked, twitched,
rebels against her will. And I knew that she was
fighting to use her own craft—without avail.

The horned one began to trot around with the
blue stone the core of his circle. His trot became a
canter, then sped to a gallop. Now he gave voice in
a series of sharp barking cries. Still more faces of
evil were plain in the yellow light.

Then I sighted something else, something I had
to stare at a long second before I could believe in
what my eyes reported. Shabra might not be run-

ning on trampled grass, but hock high in a flowing,
deep green stream of water. There was a rippling
out and away from his circling, gathering impetus
as he passed. Not light, nor mist, but a flowing—of
what, I could not say. And, under us, the blue
stone was growing warm. From its four corners
spiraled tendrils of blue which arched over to
touch that flowing green, and were swallowed,
blue to green. And the green swept on, a little
faster, towards the smoky yellow of the pillars.
Round and round Shabra galloped.

I dared not watch him, for his circling made me
light-headed. The edge of the green flow lapped at
the roots of the menhirs. There followed an explo-
sion of light, as had when my whip had cut at the
mist thing. Eyes dazzled, I blinked and rubbed,
striving to clear my sight.

Before me the menhirs were no longer a smoky
yellow, but each a towering green candle, so lost in
light that their rugged outlines vanished. No more
did the sentries stare hungrily at us from between
them.

The columns began to pulse in waves, as the
light mounted higher and higher. But it proved a
barrier to Our sight of all that lay beyond. We did
not see; we heard—a crying, the sound of running.
... It was the breaking of the siege! I got to my
feet, jumped from the platform, sought for the
whip I had dropped hours earlier.

Magic, perhaps not that which we knew, but still
magic, had come to our aid. Whip in hand I
strained to see beyond the pillar light.

"Dahaun!" I did not shout, I whispered, but
that I would be answered I was almost sure.

XIV

THEY APPEARED SUDDENLY between two of the
candled menhirs—not as if they had ridden into
view, but flashed from the air itself. No longer was
Dahaun blonde or dusky; her hair flowed as green
as the flood about Shabra's hooves, her skin had a
verdant caste, and the others with her were of a
like coloring.

They swung whip stocks idly, the flashing lashes
not in evidence. But Dahaun carried her bow,
strung and ready for action. Now she fitted arrow
to string, aimed skyward and shot.

We did not see the passing of that, but we heard
sound, for it sang, almost as had the bird earlier, up
and up, over our heads, its call growing fainter as if
vanishing into the immensity of the night sky,
never to return. Then, from some lofty point, there
burst a rain of fire, splashing in green glitter widely
between us and the real stars, and these flakes
drifted down, glimmering as they fell. Still those
three sat their mounts, gazing soberly at us.

Those who accompanied Dahaun were both
men, human to the most part, save that among the
loose curls on their temples showed curved horns,
not as long or as arching as those on their mounts,
and of an ivory shade. They wore the same cloth-
ing as she had brought to me at the mud basin, but
their cloaks were hooked on their shoulders and
swung out behind them.

There was none of that flickering instability
about their features which Dahaun possessed, but
a kind of withdrawn, almost chilling expression,
freezing masculine beauty into a rigidly aloof pat-
tern to put a barrier between us.

Come! Her summons was imperious, demand-
ing.

That was what part of me wanted. But older ties
held. I turned and reached out a hand to Kaththea.
Then they stood beside me, my brother and sister,
facing those others who made no move to pass
between the menhirs to us. In a flash I knew with-
out being told that they could not—that what made
this a place of refuge for us locked them out.

One of Dahaun's companions snapped his whip
impatiently, and sparks cracked in the air.

"Come!" This time she called the summons
aloud. "We have little time. That which prowls is
routed only for a space."

With my arm about my sister's shoulders,
Kemoc on her other side, I walked towards them.
Then I saw that Dahaun's eyes were not for me any
more; they were on Kaththea, and that between
those two met and mingled a current.

Dahaun leaned forward on her horned one. She
had shouldered her bow and now one hand came
fully into the green glow. With deliberation her
fingers moved, outlining a pattern which con-

tinued to shine as lines in the air. Kaththea's arm
raised by vast and wearying effort which I shared
through contact. Quickly I willed strength to her,
as did Kemoc. Her fingers spread slowly, so
slowly, but in turn she sketched lines—lines which
burned blue after the fashion of the block behind
us, not green like those of Dahaun.

I heard a quick exclamation from one of Da-
haun's excorts.

"Come—sister—" The hand with which she
had sketched that sign Dahaun now held out to
Kaththea. And I heard a small sigh of relief from
my sister.

We passed between the green-lit stones, feeling
a tingling throughout our bodies. Small sparks
flashed from our skins. I sensed a stir on my scalp
as if my hair moved from its roots. Then Dahaun's
hand clasped tight about my sister's.

"Give her up to me!" she ordered. "We must
ride, and swiftly!"

I mounted then on Shabra, Kemoc behind me.
Ride we did. Dahaun went first, her horned one
skimming the ground at a pace which seemed to
say that a double rider burden was nothing. Then
came Kemoc and I, and the two whip swinging
guards behind us.

As we left the blazing menhirs a kind of greenish
haze accompanied us, and in a measure, at least
for me, walled off clean sight of the countryside
through which we traveled. Though I strained to
see better, I could not sight more than would be
visible to a man caught in a fog. And at last I gave
up, knowing we must depend wholly upon Da-
haun.

There was no uncertainty about her riding. And
the first pace she set did not slacken. I began to

marvel at the stamina of her homed mounts.

"Where do we go?" asked Kemoc.

"I do not know," I answered.

"It can be that we ride into yet deeper trouble,"
he commented.

"And maybe we do not! There is no evil in
these—"

"Still I do not believe that those now riding rear
guard look upon us with much favor."

"They came to save us."

But he was right. Dahaun had brought us out of
the refuge which was also a prison; in that much
she had favored us. But we could not be sure of
what lay ahead.

Though I could not see our path, I believed we
were headed back for the heights where lay the
healing basin and perhaps the homeland of those
who rode with us.

"I do not like to go thus blindly," Kemoc said.
"But I do not think they use this screen to confuse
us. This is a land through which we must feel our
way, blinded by ignorance. Kyllan, if we have
upset the balance of peace, what must we answer
for—beyond our own lives?"

"Perhaps a world!" Yet looking back through
time I could not see wherein we might have altered
anything we had done, given no more foreknowl-
edge than we held when we rode out of deserted
Etsford.

I heard a soft laugh from my brother. "Very
well, make it a world to be succored, Kyllan. Did
not our parents go up against the Kolder blindly
and with only the strength within them? Can we
reckon ourselves less than they? And we are three,
not two. It is in my mind, brother, that we ride now

to a hosting—and with such company as shall suit
us well."

On and on we rode, and within the envelope of
haze perhaps time as well as space was distorted.
Yet I thought that outside that the night passed.

The mist began to fade slowly. Trees, brush,
outcrops were more visible in it. And they were
illumined by dawn light. Then there came a time
when the first rays of the sun were bright as we
rode into a pass between two crags. Beneath the
hooves of the horned ones was a leveled road.
And, on either hand, set into the rock walls of the
cut, were symbols which looked vaguely familiar
to me, but which I could not read. But I heard a
small hiss from Kemoc at my back.

"Euthayan!"

"What?"

"A word of power—I found it among the most
ancient screeds at Lormt. This must be a well
guarded place, Kyllan—no hostile force can pass
such safety devices."

The rows of those symbols ended; we were de-
scending again and before us opened a wide basin,
well wooded, yet with open glades too, and a silver
river in a gentle curve along its bottom. At first
glimpse my heart pounded. This was a small slice
of that golden ancient land before the coming of ill
to twist and foul it. There was that in the air which
we drew into our lungs, in the wind which reached
us, in all our eyes feasted upon, which soothed,
heartened, turned ages back to an untroubled time
of joy and freedom when the world was young and
man had not yet sought that which would lead to
his own undoing.

Neither was it an empty world. Birds of the

blue-green plumage, shimmering Flannan, and
others sailed above us. I saw two of the lizard folk
sitting on top of a stone, their claw hands holding
food, watching us as we passed. Horned ones
without riders grazed in glades. And over it all was
an aura of rightness such as I had never known in
all my life.

We had slacked pace as we came through the
corridor of the symbol signs, and now we ambled.
Flowers bloomed along the edge of our road, as if
gardeners kept that brilliant tapestry of verge.
Then we entered an open space near the river, and
saw the manor hall.

But this was no building—it was growth out of
the soil, alive to shelter the living. Its walls were
not quarried stone, nor dead, shaped timber, but
trees or strong, tall brush of an unknown species,
forming solid surfaces over which grew vines,
flowers, leaves.

There was no defense wall, no courtyard. Its
wide entrance was curtained by vines. And the
roof was the most eye-catching of all, for it arose
sharply to a center ridge, the whole thatched with
feathers—the blue-green feathers of the birds we
had already seen.

We dismounted and the horned ones trotted
away on their own concerns, first down to the
stream to drink. Dahaun set her arm about my
sister's shoulders, drew and supported Kaththea
to the doorway. We followed, more than a little
wearied, in her wake.

Beyond the vine curtain was a hall, carpeted
with tough moss. Screens, some woven of feathers
and others of still flowering vines, cut the space
about the walls into various alcoves and compart-
ments. And there was a soft green light about us.

"Come—" One of the guards beckoned to
Kemoc and me. Dahaun and Kaththea had already
disappeared behind a screen. We went in the oppo-
site direction and came to a place where the floor
was hollowed out in a pool. Its water was thick and
red, and I recognized the scent of it. These far
more liquid contents were akin to the healing mud
of the basin. Eagerly I stripped, Kemoc following
my example. Together we sank into the stuff which
drew all aches and pains from us, leaving us lan-
guid.

Then we ate, drowsily, of substances set before
us in polished wooden bowls. Finally, we slept, on
couches of dried moss. And I dreamed.

Here again was a golden land, not this into
which our rescuers had brought us, but that earlier
and wider territory at which we had looked
through the eyes of the Familiar. And there stood
manors in that land which I knew with an intimacy
which could belong only to one who had lived
within their walls. I rode in company with other
men, men who wore faces which I knew—
Borderers from the Estcarp mountains, men of the
Old Race with whom I had feasted in the rare
intervals when there was no active war, and even
men and women I had known at Etsford.

And, in the strange manner of dreaming when
many things may be mingled, I was sure that the
threats which had been with me since my birth did
not hold here, but that once more our people were
strong, able, unbeset by those who would drag
them and their whole civilization down into the
dust of ending.

But with me also was a shadowy memory of a
great trial and war which lay behind, and which we
had survived through struggle and many defeats,

to this final victory. And that dark war had been
worth all it had cost, for what we had come to hold.

Then I awoke, and lay blinking at dusky
shadows over my head. Yet I carried with me
something from that dream, an idea which held
the improbability of most dream action, yet which
was very real to me, as if in my sleep some geas
past my avoiding had been laid on me. As perhaps
it had, for in this land were there not forces at work
past our divining? I was sure in that hour as to
what I must do—as if it were all action past; al-
ready laid out in words on some scroll of history.

Kemoc still lay on the neighboring couch, his
face clear and untroubled in his sleep. For a mo-
ment I envied him, for it seemed that he was under
no compulsion such as now moved me. I did not
wake him, but dressed in the fresh clothing my
host or hostess had left, and went past the screen,
into the main hall.

Four of the lizards sat about a flat stone, their
slender claws moving about tiny carved objects,
no doubt playing a game. Their heads all turned at
my coming and they favored me with those un-
winking stares of their kind. And two others also
looked at me. I raised my hand in a small salute of
greeting to her who sat cross-legged on a wide
cushion, a cup by her hand on a low table.

"Kyllan of the House of Tregarth, out of
Estcarp." She made that both formal greeting and
introduction. "Ethutur of the Green Silences."

He who was with her got lightly to his feet. He
was as tall as I, his dark eyes meeting mine on a
level. He wore the jerkin and breeches like mine,
but, as with Dahaun, he had gemmed wristlets and
belt in addition. His horns were longer, more in

evidence, than those of the guards who had ridden
with us from the menhir ring, but save for those he
might have" been any man of the Old Race. As to
his age, I could make no guess. For he might have
had a few more years than I counted, but meeting
his eyes and what lay behind them, that I doubted.
Here was one who had all the unobtrusive author-
ity of he who has commanded men—or forces—
for years, who had made decisions and ordered
them, or carried them out for himself, abiding by
the result without complaint or excuse. This was a
leader such as I had known in Koris of the Axe, or
my father, little as I could remember of Simon
Tregarth.

His eyes measured me in return. But I had stood
for appraisement before, and this was not as im-
portant to me as that which had carried over from
my dream.

Then his hands came out, palm up. Without
knowing the why of that gesture, mine moved to
them, palm down, our flesh so meeting. Between
us passed something else, not as strong a contact
as I had with Kemoc and Kaththea, but some of
the union. And in that I knew he accepted me—to
a point.

Dahaun gazed from one to the other of us; then
she smiled. Whether that was in relief as to how
our meeting had gone, I could not tell, but she
motioned me to another cushion, and poured gol-
den liquid from a flagon into a cup for me.

"Kaththea?" I asked before I drank.

"She sleeps. She will need rest, for more than
her body is tired. She tells me that she did not
accept the oath of the Witches, but certainly she
cannot be less than they. She has the Right, the

Will, and the Strength to be a Doer rather than a
Seeker."

"If she uses it rightly," Ethutur said, speaking
for the first time.

I gave him a level glance across the rim of my
goblet. "She has never used it wrongly."

Then he, too, smiled, and the lighting of his
general somberness made him indeed a youth and
not a war leader of too many strained years.
"Never as you fear I meant," he agreed. "But this
is not your land—the currents here are very swift
and deep, and can be disastrous. Your sister will be
the first to admit, when she knows it all, that a new
kind of discipline must be exercised. However.. ."
He paused, and then smiled again. "You do not
really realize what your coming means to us, do
you? We have walked a very narrow path between
utter dark on one hand, and chaos on the other.
Now forces are loosed to nudge us into peril.
Chance may dictate that such a move will bring us
through to new beginnings—or it may be the end
of us. We have been weighing one fortune against
another this day, Kyllan. Here in this valley we
have our safety, hardwon, nursed through cen-
turies. We have our allies—none to be
despised—but we are few in number. Perhaps the
enemy is also limited, but those who now serve
them as hands and feet muster the greater."

"And what if your numbers were increased?"

He took up his cup from the table. "In what
manner, friend? I tell you this, we do not recruit
from other levels of existence! That was the root of
all our present evils."

"No. What if your recruits be men of the Old
Race—already seasoned warriors—what then?"

Dahaun moved a little on her cushion. "Men can
be swayed by the Powers here—and what men do
you speak of? All dwelling in Escore made their
choice long ago. The handful who chose to stand
with us are already one, our blood long since min-
gled so there is no pure Old Race to be found."

"Except in the west."

Now I had their full attention, though their faces
were impassive, their thoughts well hidden from
me. Was I indeed bewitched that a dream could
possess me after this fashion? Or had I been
granted a small bit of foreknowledge as a
promise—and bait?

"The west is closed."

"Yet we three came that way."

"You are not of the fullblood either! Paths not closed to you might be closed to others."

"With a guide to whom such paths were open a
party could win in."

"Why?" The one word from Ethutur was a
bleak question.

"Listen—perhaps you do not know how it is
there. We, too, have walked a narrow path such as
yours ..." Swiftly I told them of the twilight of
Estcarp and what it would mean to all those who
shared my blood.

"No!" Ethutur brought down his fist with such
force on the top of the table that the goblets
jumped. "We want no more Witches here! Magic
will open doors to magic. We might as well cut our
own throats and be done with it!"

"Who spoke of Witches?" I asked. "I would
not seek out the Wise Ones—my life would be
forfeit if I did so. But those who carry shields in
Estcarp's service are not always one in thought

with the Council. Why should they be, in their
hearts, when the Witches close so many doors?"
And once again I laid facts before them. That
marriages were few since women with the Power
did not easily lay aside their gift, and births even
fewer. That many men went without woman or
homeplace for all of their lives, and that this was
not a thing which made for contentment.

"But if there is a war, they will have assigned
their loyalty and you could not find followers,"
Ethutur objected. "Or those you could find would
not be men to whom you could trust your unarmed
back—"

"Now there may be an end to war—for a time.
Such a blow as was dealt to Karsten in the moun-
tains would also prove a shock to Alizon. I will not
know unless I go to see."

"Why?" This time the question was Dahaun's,
and I made frank answer.

"I do not know why I must do this, but that I am
under geas of that I am sure. There is no turning for
me from this road—"

"Geas!" She rose and came to kneel before me,
her hands tight upon my shoulders as if she would
hold me past all escape. Her eyes probed into
mine, a kind of searching deeper than that Ethutur
had used, deeper than I had thought possible.
Then she sat back on her heels, loosing her grasp.

Turning her head she spoke to Ethutur. "He is right. He is under geas."

"How? This is clear land!" Ethutur was on his
feet, staring about him as one who seeks an
enemy.

"The land is clear; there has been no troubling.
Therefore it must be a sending. ..."

"From whence?"

"Who knows what happens when a balance
swings? That this has happened we cannot ques-
tion. But—to bear the burden of a geas is not
easy, Kyllan of the House of Tregarth out of
Estcarp."

"I did not believe that it would be so, lady," I
replied.

XV

WE MIGHT BE riding across a deserted land, we
who had been harried and hunted before. No sign
of that frightening crew that had besieged us in the
menhir-guarded refuge showed; even their tracks
had vanished from the soil. Yet I sensed our going
was noted, assessed, perhaps wondered over, and
this was only a short lull with very false peace.

Ethutur's men rode at my back, and, beside me,
against my wishes, Dahaun who had taken no dis-
couraging from that journey. Before us were the
western mountains and the gateway between the
lands.

We did not talk much—a few surface words now
and then as she pointed out some landmark, either
as a guide or a thing to beware in crossing the

country, with always an unspoken assurance that I
would return to have need of such information.
But as I rode my own confidence was not as great.
I was a man under compulsion—the way of it I did
not understand. Because I would not have Kemoc
and Kaththea join their fates to mine in this peril-
ous business I had ridden while they still lay in
healing slumber.

That night we camped among the trees which
were not as fine or tall as those of the Green Valley,
but were of the same species, thus friendly to those
with me. This time I did not dream—or at least not
to remember—yet with my morning waking the
need for going was more deeply rooted, spurring
me to speed. Dahaun rode on my right and this
time she sang, soft and low, and now and then she
was answered, by the green birds, or by Flannan in
bird form.

She looked at me from the corners of her eyes
and then smiled.

"We have our scouts also, man of war. And,
even though they know their duty well, it some-
times goes even better if they are alerted. Tell me,
Kyllan, what chances have you on this man quest
of yours?"

I shrugged. "If matters rest as they did when I
fled Estcarp, very few. But with an end made to
any Karsten invasion, perhaps that has changed."

"You have those who will come to your horn—
your own shield men?"

I was forced to shake my head. "I have no
shields pledged to me as overlord, no. But the
Borderers among whom I served are landless and
homeless. Years ago they were thrice horned as
outlaws in Karsten and escaped with only their

lives and the bare steel in their hands. Odd, when
we came hither we spoke of that—that it would be
a land won by swords."

"By more than swords," she corrected me.
"However, these landless warriors might well be
reckless enough to follow such a quest. In the final
saying most of us seek a place to set roots and raise
house trees. Here they will pay sword weight in-
stead of tribute. Yet—our seeking is based on
guesses, Kyllan, and guesses are light things."

I would not look at her now. I had no dispute for
what she said, and the closer we drew to a time of
parting the more I rebelled against the invisible
purpose which had been laid upon me. Why me? I
had no power to command respect, no gift of
words such as Kemoc could summon upon occa-
sion. My position as eldest son of Tregarth was
nothing to draw any support to my shield. Nor had
I made a war name to gather any followers.
So—why must I be driven back to a fruitless task?

"To break a geas ..." Had she been reading my
mind? For a second I resented, was ashamed of,
what she might have picked from my thought.

"To break a geas, that is courting complete dis-
aster."

"I know!" I interrupted her roughly. "And it
can recoil on more than he who breaks it. I ride to
the mountains, not from them, lady."

"But not in any helpful spirit." Her tone was a
little cold. "Right thinking can draw good fortune,
and the reverse is also true. Not that I believe you
have any easy path. Nor do I understand why ..."
Her voice trailed into silence. When she spoke
again her words were pitched lower, hurried. "I do
not know what force can aid beyond the moun-

tains. You leave those here who have reason to
wish you well, would will what they can in your
behalf. If you fall into danger—think on that, and
on them. I can promise you nothing, for this is an
untried, unmarked wilderness. But what can be
done in your behalf, that I promise will be! And
with your sister and brother—who knows in-
deed!"

She began to talk then of little things which were
far apart from my purpose, things which opened
for me small sunny vistas of her life as it had been
before we came to break the uneasy peace of Es-
core. It was as if she took me by the hand and
welcomed me into the great hall of her life, show-
ing me most of its private rooms and treasures.
And that was a gift beyond price, as I knew even as
I accepted it, for now she was not the awesome
controller of strange powers, but instead, a girl as
my sister had been before the Wise Ones rift her
from us and strove to remodel her into their own
pattern.

Then in turn Dahaun coaxed memories from me.
I told her of Etsford and our life there, more of that
than of the hard years which followed when we
rode mailed and armed about the grim business of
war. And the sweet of those memories, even
though it carried always a hint of bitter, relaxed
me.

"Ah, Kyllan of the House of Tregarth," she
said, "I think we two understand each other a little
better. And that is to your liking, is it not?"

I felt the warmth of blood-flush rising up throat
and cheek. "I cannot hide all thoughts, lady—"

"Is there a need to?" Her question was sober
enough, yet under that soberness lurked amuse-

ment. "Has there been any need to since first we
looked, really looked upon one another?"

She was not bold; it was fact she stated. Then
there roused in me such fire that I clenched fists,
fought myself, lest I reach for her in the instant, the
need to have her in my arms nearly breaking all
control. But that would be the false step, the
wrong path for both of us. How did I reckon that?
It was like the geas, knowledge out of nowhere yet
not to be denied. And the hatred of my task grew
with that constraint so holding me now.

"Yes—and yes—and yes!" she burst out, equal-
ing my own inner turmoil. "Tell me—make me see
what path you shall take when you leave us!" Thus
she tried to cut that too taut cord between us.

I sought my memories on our trip over the
mountains, recalling it all for her.

"You will be afoot in a wilderness." Dahaun put
that into words as if it presented a problem for
careful consideration.

I wore Kemoc's mail and helm, and carried his
dart gun—though ammunition for that was near
exhaustion. My sword and gun had been lost in
their flight after leaving the river islet. Yes, I would
be afoot and poorly armed in rough wilderness on
the other side of the mountain. But how to better
that position I could not see.

"Perhaps this is a test for us, to see how well any
influence can cross the barrier." Dahaun flung
back her head and trilled, her voice echoing. The
ground eating pace of the horned ones had brought
us very close to the climb of the heights.

A green bird planed down with hardly a beat of
its wide wings. It chirped an answer and arose, on
beating pinions, higher and higher, heading west.

We watched it until it was beyond sight, yet Da-
haun still glanced from time to time in its wake.
Suddenly she gave a little cry of triumph.

"No barrier to that one! It is over the pass,
winging out beyond. Now let us see if it can do
anything more."

There came a moment, not too much later, when
I swung down from Shabra's back, before me the
trail out of Escore. Dahaun did not dismount, nor
did her guard. But those sat a little apart, leaving
us to a shared silence we dared not break. Then
she raised her hand as she had done in her first
meeting with Kaththea and sketched a burning
symbol in the air. It blazed, dazzling my eyes, so
that her features again shifted and changed, as
they had not for many hours past.

And I brought my fist up as I would salute a war
leader, before I swung around and began that
climb with a burst of speed, aware that if I
hesitated, or looked behind me, I would break.
And that was not to be thought on, for all our
sakes.

Nor did I look back as long as I thought I might
see anything of Escore to lay ties upon me. But
before I set out on the perilous swing across the
tree limb valley, I took my last glance at this lost
world, as one does when going into exile. I had not
felt so torn when we had left Estcarp; this was
different. But the mist curtain was closed, I could
see nothing, and for that I was very glad.

I spent the night among the mountain rocks,
and with the day began the descent up which
Kemoc and I had brought Kaththea blindfolded. It
was easier, that descent, since now I had only
myself to think on. But I did not welcome traveling

the broken lands on foot. There was a need to
make plans. Those to whom I might appeal had
been in camp on the plains when I set forth on my
ride to join Kemoc at Etsford, but there was no
reason to think that they would still be where I left
them.

No Falconer would be tempted by what I had to
offer. They lived for fighting, yes, supplying mer-
cenaries for Estcarp and marines for the Sulcar
ships. But they were rooted in their Eyrie in the
mountains, wedded to their own warped customs
and life. There would be no place for them in
Escore.

Sulcarmen never ventured too far from the sea
which was their life; they would be lost where no
surf roared, no waves battered high. I had hopes
only of the Old Race uprooted in the south. A few,
very few, of the refugees from Karsten had been
absorbed into Estcarp. The rest roved restlessly
along the border, taking grim vengeance for the
massacre of their blood. It had been close to
twenty-five years since that happening, yet they
would not forget nor really make one with Estcarp
dwellers.

Karsten would never be theirs again. They had
accepted that. But if I could offer them land of
their own, even if they must take it by sword—I
believed they might listen. It remained now to
find them, and not be found by those who would
deliver me forthwith to the justice of the Council.

I climbed the ridge from which I had sighted the
campfires of those who had hunted us, and waited
there until night fell, watching for any trace of
continued sentry go there. But the land was dark,
although that did not necessarily mean that it was

unpatrolled. Kaththea's ruse with the Torgians—
how well had that served us? I shrugged. Magic
was no weapon for me. I had my gun, my wits, and
the training drilled into me. With the morning I
must put all to the test.

Even in the last rays of the sun and well into
twilight I found myself watching for the bird Da-
haun had dispatched across the mountains. Just
what service that could perform I had no idea, but
just seeing it would have meant much in that hour.
But all the flying things I sighted were common to
the land, and none flashed emerald.

In the early morning I started along the same
trail which had brought us into that twisted land.
Though I wanted to hasten, yet I knew the wisdom
of checking landmarks, of not becoming entangled
in the maze. So I went slowly, nursing my water
bottle's contents and the supplies Dahaun had pro-
vided. Once I was trailed for a space by an upland
wolf. But my gift held so that I suggested hunting
elsewhere and was obeyed. That disorientation of
sight which had been troubling when we had come
this way was no longer a problem, so perhaps it
only worked when one faced the east, not re-
treated from it.

I advanced upon the campfire sites, utilizing
every scouting trick I knew. The fire scars were
there, as well as the traces of more than a company
of men, but now the land was empty, the hunters
gone. Yet I went warily, taking no risks.

Two logs close together gave me a measure of
shelter for the second night. I lay unable to sleep
for a while, striving to picture in my mind a map of
the countryside. Kemoc had guided us this way,
but I had studied as I rode, making note of land-

marks and the route. Hazy as I had been, I thought
that I would have no great difficulty in winning
westward to country where I would know every
field, wood, and hill. Those were the fringe lands
of deserted holdings where the dwindling popula-
tion no longer lived, and where I could find shelter.

It came to me through the earth on which my
head rested —a steady pound of hoof beat. Some
patroller riding a set course? There was only one
rider. And I lay in thick cover which only ill luck
would lead him to explore.

The approaching horse neighed and then blew.
And it was heading directly for my hiding place! At
first I could not accept such incredible ill fortune.
Then I squirmed out of my cramped bed and wrig-
gled snakewise to the right; once behind brush, I
got to my feet, my dart gun drawn. Again the horse
nickered, something almost plaintive in the sound.
I froze, for it had altered course, was still pointed
to me, as if its rider could see me, naked of any
cover, vividly plain in the moonlight!

Betrayed by some attribute of the Power? If
so, turn, twist, run and hide as I would, I could be
run down helplessly at the desire of the hunter. So
being, it would be best to come into the open and
face it boldly.

There was a rustling, the sound of the horse
moving unerringly towards me, with no pretense
of concealment. Which argued of a perfect confi-
dence on the part of the rider. I kept to the shadow
of the bush but my weapon was aimed at where the
rider would face me.

But, though it wore saddle and bridle, and there
was dried foam encrusted on its chest and about its
jaws, the horse was riderless. Its eyes showed

white, and it had the appearance of an animal that
had stampeded and run in fight. As I stepped into
the open it shied, but I had already established
mind contact. It had bolted in panic, been driven
by fear. But the cause of that fear was so ill defined
and nebulous I could not identify it.

Now the horse stood with hanging head, while I
caught the dangling reins. It could, of course, be
part of a trap—but then I would have encountered
some block in its mind, some trace, even nega-
tively, of the setting of the trap. No, I felt it was
safe, the four feet I needed to make me free of the
country and give me that fraction more of security
in a place where safety was rare.

I led it along, traveling to the south, and in it was
a desire and liking for my company as if my pre-
sence banished the fear which had driven it. We
worked our way slowly, keeping to cover, so set-
ting some distance between us and the place to
which the horse had come as if aimed. And all the
time I kept mind contact, hoping to detect any hint
if this was a capture scheme.

Finally I stripped off the saddle and bridle, put
field hobbles on the horse and turned it loose for
the rest of the night, while with the equipment I
took cover in heavy brush. But this time I pillowed
my head on the support of a saddle and tried to
solve the puzzle of whence and why had come
what I needed most—a horse. My thoughts kept
circling back to Dahaun's winged messenger, and,
improbable as it seemed, I could accept the idea
that this was connected. Yet there had been no
memory of a bird in the horse's mind.

My new mount was not by any means a Torgian,
but its saddle was the light one of a border ride and

there was an intricate crest set into the horn in
silver lines. Sulcar crests were simple affairs, usu-
ally heads of animals, reptiles, birds or mythical
creatures out of legend. Falconers, recognizing
no families, used only their falcon badges with a
small under-modification to denote their troop.
This could only be the sign of one of the Old Race
Houses, and, since such identification had fallen
into disuse in Estcarp, it meant that this horse gear
was the possession of one of those I sought, a
refugee from Karsten.

There was an extremely simple way of proving
the rightness of my guess. Tomorrow morning I
need only mount the animal I could see grazing in
the moonlight, set in its mind the desire to return
whence it had come and let it bear me to its master.
Of course, to ride into a strange camp on a missing
mount would be the act of a fool. But once in the
vicinity of such a camp the mount could be turned
loose as if it had only strayed and returned and I
could make contact when and if I pleased.

Simple, yes, but once at that camp what brave
arguments would I use? I perhaps a total stranger
to all therein, striving to induce them to void their
allegiance to Estcarp and ride into an unknown
land on my word alone — the more so if they rode
as blind as Kaththea had had to do! Simple to
begin, but impossible to advance from that point.

If I could first contact men I knew, they might
listen even if the fiat of outlawry had gone out
against me. Men such as Dermont, and others who
had served with me. But where to find them now in
all the length of the south border country? Perhaps
I could fashion a story to serve me in the camp
from which the horse had come, discover from the

men there where I could meet with my own late
comrades.

No battle plan can be so meticulous that no ill
fortune can not upset it. As small a thing as a
storm-downed tree across a trail at the wrong time
may wipe out the careful work of days, as I well
knew. The "lucky" commander is the one who can
improvise on a moment's notice, thus pulling vic-
tory out of the very claws of defeat. I had never
commanded more than a small squad of scouts,
nor had I before been called upon to make a deci-
sion which risked more than my own life. How
could I induce older and more experienced men to
trust in me? That was the growing doubt in my
mind as I tried to sleep away the fatigue of the day,
be fresh for the demands of the morrow.

Sleep I did, but that was a troubled dozing which
did not leave me much rested. In the end I took my
simple solution: work back to the camp from
which the horse had come, free the animal without
being seen, scout to see who might be bivouacked
there. And that I did, turning the horse south at not
more than a walking pace. One concession to cau-
tion I made: we kept to the best cover possible,
avoiding any large stretch of open. Also I watched
for green against the sky. Still haunting me was
that thought—or was it a hope?—that Dahaun's
messenger might be nearby.

We had left Estcarp in late summer, and surely
we had not been long away, yet the appearance of
the land and the chill in the air was that of
autumn. And the wind was close to winter's blast.
In the day I could now see the purple fringe of the
mountains. And—nowhere along that broken
fringe of peaks did I sight one that I could recog-

nize, though I had studied that territory for most of
my life. Truly the Power had wrought a great
change, one such as stunned a man to think on.
And I did not want any closer acquaintance with a
land which had been so wrung and devastated.

But it was south that the horse went, and it was
not long before we came into the fringe lands. Here
there were raw pits in the earth from which up-
thrust the roots of fallen trees, debris of slides, and
marks of fire in thick powdery ash. I dismounted,
for the place was a trap in which a mount could
easily take a false step and break a leg. And once,
in impulse, I put my hand to a puddle of that ash,
wind-gathered into a hollow, and marked my
forehead and chest with a very old sign. For one of
the guards against ill witchcraft was ash from hon-
est wood fire, though that was a belief I had never
put to test before.

The horse flung up its head and I caught its
thought. This was home territory. Straightaway I
loosened my hold on the reins, slapped the animal
on the rump and bade it seek its master.. . while I
slipped into a tangle of tree roots, to work my way
stealthily to the top of a nearby ridge.

XVI

WHAT I SAW as I lay belly flat on the crest of the
slope was no war camp. This was centered by a
shelter built not for a day nor a week's occupancy,
but more sturdily, to last at least a season—a
stockade about it. Though that safeguard was not
yet complete—logs were still waiting to be up-
ended and set into place to close its perimeter.

There was a corral in which I counted more than
twenty mounts and before which now stood the
horse I had loosed, while its companions nickered
a greeting. A man ran from among those busied
with the stockade building to catch the reins of the
strayed mount. He shouted.

I saw the saffron yellow of a woman's robe in the
doorway of the half finished hall, and other colors
behind her. The men had downed tools, were
gathering around the horse. Old Race all of them,
with here and there a lighter head which could
mark one of Half-Sulcar strain. And they all wore
the leather of fighting men. Whatever this house-

hold was now, I was ready to wager all that they
had been Borderers not too long ago.

And as a Borderer I could well believe that, as
peaceful and open as the scene below appeared
from my perch, they had their sentinels and
safeguards. So that to win down into their midst
would tax any scout's ability. Yet to be found
skulking here would do me no good.

The same intricate device as was set on the
saddle horn had been freshly painted on the wall of
the hall, but I did not recognize it. The only con-
clusion I dared draw was that the very presence of
such a to-be-permanent holding here meant that
the dwellers therein believed they had nothing to
fear from the south, that Karsten had ceased to be
an enemy.

Yet they fortified with a stockade, and they were
working with a will to get that up before they
finished the hall. Was that merely because they had
lived in the midst of danger so long that they could
not conceive of any house without such protec-
tion?

Now what should I do? This household had
come into the wilderness by choice. They might be
the very kind I sought. Yet I could not be sure.

Below, they continued to inspect the returned
horse, almost as if it had materialized out of air
before their eyes, going over the saddle search-
ingly before they took it off. Several of them
gathered together, conferring. Then heads turned,
to look to the slope on which I lay. I thought that
they had not accepted the idea that the mount had
returned of its own will.

The saffron robed woman disappeared, came
back again. In her arms were mail shirts, while
behind her a slighter figure in a rose-red dress

brought helms, their chain-mail throat scarves
swinging.

As four of the workers armed themselves in
practiced speed, a fifth put fingers to mouth and
whistled shrilly. He was answered from at least
five points, one of them behind and above me to
the left! I flattened yet tighter to the ground. Had I
already been sighted by that lookout? If so—why
had he not already jumped me? If I had not yet
been seen, then any move on my part might betray
me at once. I was pinned. Perhaps I had made the
wrong choice; to go boldly in would be better than
to be caught spying.

I got to my feet, keeping my hands up, palms out
before me, well away from my weapons belt. Then
I began to walk down. They caught sight of me in
seconds.

"Keep on, bold hero!" The voice behind me
was sharp. "We like well to see open hands on
those who come without verge horn warning."

I did not turn my head as I answered. "You have
them in your sight now, sentry. There has been no
war glove flung between us—"

"That is as it may be, warrior. Yet friend does
not belly-creep upon friend after the manner of one
come to collect a head and so enslave the ghost of
the slain."

Head-collecting! Refuge holding right
enough—not only that, but at least this sentry was
one of the fanatics who had made a name for
themselves, even in the tough Borderer com-
panies, for the utter ferocity of their fighting.
There were those come out of Karsten who had
suffered so grievously that they had retreated into
barbarian customs to allay, if anything ever could,
their well-deep hatred.

I made no haste down that slope and to the
holding. The man or men who had chosen to plant
it here had an eye for the country. And, once the
stockade was complete, they would be very snug
against attack. They waited for me in the now
gateless opening of that stockade, armed, helmed,
though they had not yet drawn sword or gun.

The centermost wore insignia on the fore of his
helm, set there in small yellow gem stones. He was
a man of middle years, I believed, though with all
of us of the Old Race the matter of age is hard to
determine, for our life spans are long unless put to
an end by violence, and the marks of age do not
show until close to the end of that tale of years.

I halted some paces from him. My helm veil was
thrown well back, giving him clear view of my
features.

"To the House greeting, to those of the House
good fortune, to the day a good dawn and sunset,
to the endeavor good fortune without break." I
gave the old formal greeting, then waited upon his
answer, on which depended whether I could
reckon myself tolerated, if not a guest, or find
myself a prisoner.

There was something of the same searching
measurement as Ethutur had used on me back in
the Green Valley. A sword scar had left a white
seam long his jaw line, and his mail, though well
kept, had been mended on the shoulder with a
patch of slightly larger links.

The silence lengthened. I heard a small scuffing
behind me and guessed that the guard who had
accompanied me was ready to spring at the Manor
Lord's order. It was hard not to stand ready to my
own defense, to hold my hands high and wait upon
another's whim.

"The House of Dhulmat opens its gates to
whom?"

I heard a choked sound, a bitten off protest from
my guard. Again I was presented with a dilemma.
To answer with my true name and family clan
might condemn me if I had been outlawed, and I
had no reason to believe that that had not been
done. Yet if this holding already had its gate-crier
in place, that protection device would detect a
false name instantly as I passed it. I could retreat
only to a very old custom, one which had been in
abeyance in time of war. Whether it would have
any force in the here and now I did not know.

"The House of Dhulmat, on which be the sun,
the wind, and the good of wide harvest, opens
gates to a geas ordered man." It was the truth and
in the far past it meant that I was under certain
bounds of speech which none might question
without bringing me into peril. I waited once more
for the Lord to accept or deny me.

"Gates open to one swearing no threat against
Dhulmat, man or clan, roof-tree, field, flock, herd,
mount—" He intoned the words slowly as if he
pulled them one by one from long buried memory.

I relaxed. That oath could I give without any
reservations. He held out his sword blade point to
me, a sign I accepted the death it promised were I
foresworn. I went to one knee and laid my lips to
the cold metal.

"No threat from me to man or clan, roof-tree,
field, flock, herd or mount of the House of Dhul-
mat!"

He must have given some signal I did not detect,
for the woman in saffron approached, bearing with
both hands a goblet filled with a mixture of water,
wine, milk, the true guesting cup. So I knew that

here they clung to the old ways, perhaps the more
because they had been rift from all which had once
been home to them.

My host touched his lips to the edge of the goblet
and handed it to me. I swallowed a mouthful and
then dribbled a few drops to right and left, to the
house and the land, before I passed it back, to go
from hand to hand in that company, finally to the
guard who now stepped up to my side, shooting me
a still suspicious glance. He was a lean mountain
wolf right enough, tough and hard as the steel he
wore. I knew his like well.

Thus I came into the Manor of Dhulmat—or
what was the germ of that manor-to-be. My host
was the Lord Hervon, and, though he never said it,
I could guess that he must once have been lord of a
far larger land than this. The Lady Chriswitha who
now headed his household was his second wife—
for his first family had vanished during the horning
in Karsten. But she had given him two daughters
and a son, and both daughters had married land-
less men who had chosen to join the clan. These,
with such shield men as had attached themselves
to Hervon during the twenty years or more of
border warfare, and the wives of such, had come
here to found a new life.

"We marked this valley during patrol," Hervon
told me as they put food before me, "and camped
here many times during the years, raising part of
this hall. You may not understand at your age, but a
man needs a place to return to, and this was ours.
So when the sealing of the mountains was done
and we needed no longer bear swords south, then
we were minded to set our hearthstone here."

How much dared I ask him concerning what had
happened in Estcarp during the time I had been

east of the mountains? Yet I had to know.

"Karsten is truly sealed?" I risked that much.

There was a grunt from the other man at the
board—Godgar, who had played sentinel in the
heights.

Hervon smiled thinly. "So it would seem. We
have not yet any real news, but if any of Pagar's
force survived that sealing, then he is not a human
man. With their army gone and all passes closed, it
will be long before they can move again. The Fal-
coners still ride the mountains—where they may
find passage, that is—and the eyes of their
scout-hawks are ready to report any movement
from that filth."

"But Alizon is not sealed," I ventured again.

This time Godgar gave a grating laugh. "Alizon?
Those hounds have slunk back to their kennels in a
hurry. They do not want to sniff the same kind of
storm in their noses! For once the Power has been
a—"

I saw Hervon shoot him a warning look and he
was suddenly silent, flushing a little.

"Yes, the Power has wrought well," I inter-
posed. "Thanks to the Wise Ones we have now a
breathing spell."

"The Wise Ones." The Lady Chriswitha seated
herself on the bench beside her lord. "But in such
action they served themselves ill. The tidings are
that they wrung the forces out of them, to their
great hurt—many died and others are spent. If
Alizon knew of this, surely they would not be so
wary of us."

Hervon nodded. "Yes, so you do well, young
man, to call this peace a breathing spell." His gaze
dropped to the board before him. "Perhaps we
waste our strength and our hopes in what we strive

\

to do here now. It is very hard to lose all—"

His lady's hand fell over his in a warming clasp.
Then her eyes went to the daughters at the other
end of the hall, and those with them. And I was
shaken, for, if by some miracle I could rouse such
men as these to follow me to the east, what could I
offer them save danger once more? Perhaps worse
danger than these had fled when they came out of
Karsten. Leave them be in their small, hard won
time of peace. My memory of the golden land
when it was free faded. Though nothing would lift
from me the geas in this matter.

Godgar cleared his throat. "You, young man,
where do you ride—or walk, since, though you
wear horseman's boots, you come hither on your
own two feet?"

And the compulsion which had brought me over
the mountains set on me now an order for truth
though I did not wish to speak in this place where
peace was a birth of hope.

"I hunt men—"

"Men—not a man?" Hervon's eyebrows lifted.
I thought he had credited me with some motive
from his own past, the desire for private ven-
geance. For a feud vow, taken in the right time and
place—or the wrong, depending upon how you
looked on the matter—could also be a geas.

"Men—those willing to carve out a new
future—" How could I put my mission into words
without revealing too much to those inclined to
betray me?

Godgar frowned. "You are no Sulcar recruiter
for a raiding voyage. To venture this far inland
when you could have men beyond counting along
the river or in any port would be folly. And if it is
foray against Alizon—the Seneschal has forbidden

such, save under his own banner."

"No. I have fighting to offer, but not at sea nor in
the north. I offer land—good land—to be sword
bought. Where a son may uncover his father's fire
to a higher blazing—"

The Lady Chriswitha had been watching me
closely. Now she leaned forward a little, holding
me with her gaze as if she were one of the Witches,
able to pick true from false in my very brain.

"And where lies this land of yours, stranger?"

I wet my lips with tongue tip. This was the time
of testing. "To the east," I said.

They were all blank of countenance. Did the
block hold so tight that no thought of Escore could
ever penetrate, that I could not arouse any of them
even to think of such a journey?

"East?" She repeated that with complete in-
comprehension, as if I had used a word entirely
without meaning. "East?" she said again, and this
time it was a sharp-asked question.

This was a gamble, but all my life had been a
wagering of one risk against another. I must learn
here and now what luck I would have with any men
such as these. Tell them the truth as we had dis-
covered it, see if that truth would free them from
the bonds tied long ago.

So I spoke of what Kemoc had discovered at
Lormt, and of what we had found over the moun-
tains sealed in that long ago. Yet in that telling I did
not reveal my own identity, and it was that fact the
Lady Chriswitha struck upon unerringly when I
had done.

"If all this be so—then how is it that you went
over these mountains you say we cannot re-
member, or are not allowed to remember, and
which have been so long closed to us? Why did not

such bonds hold you also?" Her suspicion was
plain.

But her lord, as if he had not heard her, spoke
now:

"This much is true, I have never thought of the
east. In Karsten, yes, but here—no. It was as if
that direction did not exist."

"The Lady has asked a question which needs an
answer," growled Godgar from the other side. "I
would like to hear it, too."

There could be no more disguise. To prove my
truth I must tell all—the reason for my going east-
ward. And I put it directly.

"For two reasons did I go. I am outlawed, or
believe that I am, and I am not fully of your
blood."

"I knew it!" Godgar's fist raised menacingly,
though he did not strike with it. "Outlawed, yet he
tricked you into guesting him, Lord. And with
such a guest bond does not hold. Cut him down,
else he bring us new troubles!"

"Hold!" Hervon cut through that hot speech.
"What name do you bear, outlaw? And talk of
geas will not cover you now."

"I am Kyllan of the House of Tregarth."

For a second or two I thought that they did not
know, that that name meant nothing here. Then
Godgar roared in wrath and this time his fist sent
me sprawling, my head ringing. I had no chance in
my defense, for his men were in the hall and they
piled on me before I could even gain my knees.
Another blow sent me into darkness and I awoke,
with an aching head and bruised body, to yet more
darkness.

From very faint traces of light outlining a
door—or at least an entrance—well above me and

the feel of pounded, hardened earth under my
body, my hands being locked in rope loops, I con-
cluded that I now lay in a storage place which must
antedate, maybe by several years, this half com-
pleted manor. I had helped to construct just such
supply pits in the past, deep dug in the earth,
floored and walled with stone if possible, if not
with hardened clay, to be covered by a trap door.

Why did I still live? By rights they could have
taken my life there in the hall. Apparently Godgar,
at least, knew me for what I had been undoubtedly
proclaimed. That they had not killed me at once
probably meant they planned to deliver me to the
authorities of the Council, and perhaps the first
ending was the one I should desire the most.

As a recruiter I was a failure indeed. One can
always see one's mistakes afterwards, as plain as
the victors' shields hung on the outwalls of a con-
quered keep. But I had never claimed to be clever
at such work. How long would I lie here? I be-
lieved this holding to be one far to the southeast,
perhaps the only one now in this section of the
country. Any messenger to the authorities might
have more than a day's travel, even if he took extra
mounts for relays. Unless, of course, there was an
adept trained in sending somewhere in the neigh-
borhood.

I squirmed around, though the movement added
to the pain in my head, and I had to fight nausea.
Whoever had tied that confining rope knew his
business well. I stopped my fruitless struggling,
since no energy of mine was going to free me. To
free me—had I the slightest hope left?

But if I was going to be given up to the Council,
there was something I must do, if I could, for
others. Would the Witches ever dare to turn east?

They might. Who can fore-tell any action when he
has not even the dimmest of foresight? Those on
the other side of the mountain must be warned.

Matter would not aid me—but mind? I concen-
trated, building my mental picture of Kaththea,
straining to contact my sister wherever she might
be. Faint—very faint—a stirring. But no more
than that shadow of a shadow. Kemoc? Having
tried the greater first, now I strove for the lesser.
And this time received not even a shadow reply.

So much for our talent. Dahaun had been wrong
when she had suggested I might communicate so in
extremity. Dahaun? I set her in my mind as I had
seen her last.

Shadow—deeper than shadow—not real con-
tact as I had with brother and sister so that words
and messages might pass from mind to mind, but
enough to give warning. Instantly there was a beat-
ing at me in return—only it was as if someone
shouted to me in a foreign tongue some frantic
message which I could not understand. I lay gasp-
ing under the pressure of that unintelligible send-
ing. It snapped, and was gone.

My breath came in fast, shallow gasps; my heart
pounded as if I raced before some enemy host.
There was a sound, but it was of this world and not
from that place outside. The crack of light about
the opening above grew larger and a ladder thud-
ded down. They were coming for me. I braced
myself for action which I must face.

A whisper of robes. I tried to hold my head
higher. Why had the Lady Chriswitha come alone?
The door fell behind her so that the gloom was
again complete as she came to stand over me. I
caught the scent of that sweet fern women use to
lay between fresh washed garments.

She was stooping very close above me. "Tell me
why you fled Estcarp."

There was urgency in her demand, but the way
of it I did not understand. What made the reason of
our escape of any importance now?

I told her the whole of it, making a terse state-
ment of facts and fears as we three had known
them. She listened without interruption, then:

"The rest of it. The lost land—the chance to
bring it once more under our rule—?"

"Under the rule of good instead of evil, through
a war," I corrected. Again I was puzzled, and
asked:

"What matters all this to you, lady?"

"Perhaps nothing, or perhaps much. They have
sent a messenger to the nearest ward keep, and it
will go then by sending to Es Castle. Afterward—
they will come for you."

"I had expected no less." I was glad my voice
held steady when I said that.

Her robes swished. I knew she was turning
away from me. But from the foot of the ladder she
spoke once more:

"Not all minds are the same in some matters.
Outlaws have been born because of laws not all
hold by."

"What do you mean?"

She gave me no straight reply, only saying.
"Good fortune go with you, Kyllan of Tregarth.
You have given me much to think on."

I heard her climb the ladder, saw her raise the
door. Then she was gone, leaving me in turn with
things to think on—though to no profitable pur-
pose.

XVII

THEY CAME FOR me at last, on a morning when
there were clouds across the sky and the softness
of coming rain in the air. There were Godgar and
three others, but, to my surprise, no Council
guard. I do not know how long I had lain in the
store-pit. They had brought me food and drink, but
those who came so singly would answer no ques-
tions. I had time for many thoughts, but there were
no more dreams. Except those I wove deliberately
when awake, riding the golden land with one—but
there is no need to dwell upon those.

Now they produced a mount for me—a sorry
animal, probably the worst of their stable—and
they lashed me into the saddle as if they thought
that I might suddenly produce the claw and fangs
of a wolf-man. Save for these four there was no
sign of life about the manor. That I wondered
about . . . until my wonder became a tremor of
uneasiness. It almost seemed that this expedition
could be of Godgar's planning alone, and there had
been nothing in his attitude since our first meeting

to suggest that he designed any good end for me.

He took the fore in our ride out, my mount led by
the rider just behind, the other two bringing up the
rear. They were all older men, those guards,
enough like their leader to have been fashioned in
one dart stamper. And, while they did not use me
with any unnecessary roughness, yet neither did I
see any hope of escape.

We turned north as we came out on the manor
road, which was no more than a track of beaten
earth. The pace Godgar set was that of any routine
patrol, not forced, yet designed to eat miles. I
glanced over my shoulder at the manor. The mat-
ter of the Lady Chriswitha's visit still puzzled me. I
had not dared to believe that anything in my favor
might come of it. But still I thought that it had
shown minds divided on some subjects within
those half completed walls. But the manor might
now be deserted.

None of the guards spoke, nor did I see any
reason to ask questions. We merely rode, first
under clouds, and then in the beginning of a drizzle
which seemed to affect them no more than might
the sun of a pleasant day.

In spite of the hopelessness of my situation I
continued to study those who accompanied me,
and the land about, trying to sight any chance for a
break. My hands were bound before me to the high
horn of my saddle, my feet lashed to the stirrups,
the reins of my horse in the hands of him who rode
before me. My helm was gone, though they had
left me my mail shirt. There were no weapons in
my belt. And the horse under me could be easily
run down by any they bestrode.

As for the country, we were in open land where
there was little or no cover. The grass, which

brushed as high as our stirrups beyond the edge of
the narrow road, was autumn yellowed. And the
rain was chill. But there were inhabitants in the
grass. I saw prong-horns race away, their great
start-leaps carrying them well into the air. And
birds flew—

I do not know why I began to watch the sky for
any hint of green wings. It might be more probable
for a Flannan to perch suddenly on the saddle horn
above my tied hands. Yet each time I saw a bird I
looked the closer.

Then Godgar reined up, waiting for my leader to
catch level with him. He said something in a low
voice and the rein passed from guard to comman-
der, the relieved man spurring ahead, Godgar pull-
ing at the reins until my horse was beside his. He
had fastened his helm veil across his throat and
chin as if we were about to go into battle, and over
that half mask of tiny metallic links his eyes were
hot.

"Who sent you, oath breaker? Who sent you to
bring down the House of Dhulmat?"

His demand made no sense to me.

"I am neither oath-breaker, nor one who wishes
ill to you and yours."

Tied as I was I could not escape the answering
blow which made my head ring and swayed me in
the saddle.

"We know ways to make a man talk," he
snarled. "Karsten taught us much!"

"Perhaps you can make a man talk," I got out,
"but this man does not know what you seek."

Luckily, though he had come to depend upon
pain and force to support his orders, he had a
measure of intelligence behind such brutality.
Now he chose to use it.

"You go to the Council. If you are who you say,
you know what they will do to you."

"Assuredly." To Godgar the warrior's creed
was a living thing and part of that was a fatalistic
acceptance of things as they were. I could do no
more than summon that to my aid now.

"They will wring out of you all knowledge; thus
we shall learn sooner or later what we want to
know. Why not tell us now—who sent you to take
refuge with Hervon and so blacken his name?"

"No one. I came by chance to—"

"Riding one of our horses, a mount that bolted
without warning from our holding and returned
two days later only a little before you? By your
own telling, oath-breaker, you have consorted
with witchery, so all could be of your doing. But
the why of it? Why do you move against Hervon?
We have no family-feud with you! Who told you to
do this?"

"Any holding would have suited me," I said
wearily. There was no way of making him believe
that. He was determined that I meant ill to his lord.
But that private feuds were still alive among the
Old Race refugees was new to me. Apparently
Godgar expected such now. "A geas was laid upon
me in Escore, even as I told you. I was to recruit
such of the Old Race as wanted to try to free the
land from which they once sprang."

I half expected a second blow, a demand that I
speak what he would consider the truth. But to my
surprise, Godgar turned his head with deliberation
and looked to the east. Then he laughed, a harsh
bark.

"Did you think such a story would win you a
fighting tail into nowhere, outlaw? Why, I could
think of two handful of words which would serve

you better in Hervon's listening!"

"Have it your own way then," I told him, tired
of argument. "This is the bare bones of it. My
sister was forced to enter the Place of Wisdom
against her will. She shared with me and my
brother a gift. Through that she reached Kemoc
before the time of her final Vow, for she would not
be one of the Witches. We had her forth from the
Place, since the safeguards of the Power were
exhausted by the closing of the mountains. Having
won her freedom we strove to preserve it by strik-
ing east, into the unknown. We crossed the forbid-
den passes, found Escore, and those there, both
enemy and friend, with the need for men to fight on
the side of good in a very old war. Through no wish
of mine—that I shall swear to by any Sign or
Name—it was laid upon me to come here, and
seek out any willing to cross the mountains. More
than that no wile nor force can learn from me, for
that is the full truth!"

He no longer laughed; instead his eyes regarded
me very narrowly over the veil of his helm.

"I have heard of the Warder of the South, of
Simon Tregarth—"

"And of the Lady Jaelithe," I added for him.
"And never has it been hidden that he was an
outlander and held some of the Power—is that not
so?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"Then can it also be beyond the bounds of belief
that we, the flesh of their flesh, have also gifts not
usual to others? We were born at one birth, and
always have we been locked of spirit, and some-
times of mind. When Kaththea wanted to come
forth from that Place, we could do nothing else
than bring her. If that makes us meat for any man's

sword, then that is the way matters stand."

This time Godgar made me no answer, but set
his horse on, pulling sharply at the leading reins.
We trotted down the rough road in a thick drizzle.
Nor did he speak with me again throughout that
long morning. We made a noonday stop in a place
of rocks where an overhanging ledge gave shelter
and there was a supply of wood laid up by a black-
ened ring of stones to mark a known camping
place.

I walked stiffly when they had me down from my
horse, for they left my legs free but not my hands.
They produced journey bread, dried meat and
fruit, little better than field rations. And they
loosed my hands to eat, though one of them stood
over me until I was done, then promptly applied
the lashings again. But to my surprise they did not
mount up after they had eaten. Instead one of them
set a fire, which we had not needed for the cooking
of food, taking what seemed to me unnecessary
care in just how the wood was placed. Then, when
light was put to that stack of wood, he took a stand
to the right of it, a cloak in his hands.

Signaling! Though the code they used was none
I knew from my scouting days. Blink, blink, blink,
back and forth he snapped the cloak. I stared out
on the gloomy country-side, straining to read
anywhere along the darkened horizon an answer
to those flashes. But without result.

However, my guards seemed satisfied. They
kept the fire going, after letting it die down a little,
sitting about it while their cloaks and surcoats
steamed dry. I watched the sodden countryside.
They were waiting—for whom and why?

Godgar cleared his throat, and the sound was
loud in that place, for they had not spoken more

than a few words since they had dismounted.

"We wait for those who will take you to deliver
to the Council guards," he addressed me. "There
will be no one then who can say that you sheltered
with Hervon."

"As you yourself said, when they question me
under the Power, the Wise Ones will know all." I
could not understand why he tried the clumsy
cover-up of passing me from one party to another.

"Perhaps."

Then it came to me: there was one way in which
I could not be questioned, and that was if I was
delivered dead! If my body was so brought in by a
middle party, there could be no connection then
with Hervon's people.

"Why leave the throat cutting to another?" I
asked then. "You have a sword to your hand."

When he did not reply I continued: "Or do you
wear a rune sword which will flame out with blood
on it—to be read thereafter by all men? Your lord
was not one with you in this. He would not set
point or edge to a man with tied wrists!"

Godgar stirred. His eyes were hot again; I had
pricked him then. Hard as he was, old customs still
held. And there flashed now into my mind, as if
some voice spoke the words into my ears, an oath
considered so potent and binding that no man who
had ever borne a sword in war could break it.

"You know me—I am Kyllan of Tregarth. I have
ridden with the Border Scouts—is that not fact?
Have you heard any ill report of such riding?"

He might not understand the why of my asking,
but he returned frankly enough:

"I have heard of you with the Scouts. You were
a warrior—and a man—in those days."

"Then listen well, Godgar and you others—" I

paused, and then spoke each word that followed
with emphasis and measured slowness, as my sis-
ter might have delivered one of her chants to sum-
mon the Power.

"May I be slain by my own blade, struck by my
own darts, if I ever meant any ill to those within the
House of Dhulmat, or to any man of Estcarp."

They stared at me across their veils. I had given
them the strongest assurance any of our calling
might ever use. Would it hold?

They stirred uneasily, and their eyes went from
me to each other. Godgar tugged at his helm veil,
bringing it in a loose loop from his jaw as if he were
about to eat once more.

"That was ill done!" he barked angrily.

"Illdone?" I shot back. "In what way, Godgar?
I have given you Sword Oath that I mean you and
yours no ill. What evil lies in that?"

Then I turned to his men. "Do you believe me?"

They hesitated, then he in the center spoke.
"We believe because we must."

"Then where lies the ill doing?"

Godgar got to his feet and strode back and forth
a few paces, his frown blackly heavy. He stopped
and rounded on me.

"We have begun a thing for the sake of those to
whom we owe allegiance. You are no one, nothing.
Why must your fate be made now a shadow on our
shield honor? What witchery have you used, out-
law?"

"No witchery, save that which you, and
you"—I pointed to each—"and you, and you,
Godgar, share with me. I am warrior bred; I did
what I had to do in the support of my own al-
legiances. That put me outside the law of the
Council. I came back here because I was laid

under another command—the why of it and by
whom I have no knowing. But that I meant ill by
my coming no Power can prove, for it is not so."

"Too late." Another of the guards was standing,
pointing into the open.

Dim as the clouds made the scene, the coming
riders could be counted. Five ... six of them.

Godgar nodded in their direction. "Those owe
us a battle debt. But since you say you came to
Hervon by chance, and have taken oath on it—
well, they will turn you in living, not dead. With
the Witches you can take your chances and those
will not be bright. I—I am not honor broke in this,
outlaw!"

"You are not honor broke," I agreed.

"Wait!"

He who had indicated the riders now spoke
more sharply.

"What is—what is that?"

Between the distant riders and our shelter there
was open country, covered only with the tall grass.
It was at that grass he pointed now. It rippled, was
like the sea with each wave troubled and wind
tossed. And through it came such a regiment as no
man among us had ever seen. Prong-horns, not
leaping away in alarm, but gathering with purpose
towards us. A shambling bear taking no notice, a
grass cat—yellow-brown, but equal to his
brothers of the snow lines—smaller things we
could not distinguish save for the movement in the
grass ... all headed to us!

"What will they do?" Godgar was disconcerted
as he would never have been to see an armed party
about to attack. The very unnaturalness of this
advance was unnerving.

I struggled to my feet and none reached a hand

to stay me, for they were too awed by what they
now witnessed.

As the grass was agitated by a gathering of four-
footed inhabitants, so was the sky filled in turn.
Birds came in flocks out of nowhere, and they
swooped, called, strove to reach us under the
ledge. These men had endured years of war such
as only warrior blood could face, but this was
against nature.

I struggled to contact the minds of those closing
in upon us. I found that I could contact them, yes,
and read their determination—but I could not con-
trol them in any manner.

I moved away from the others, who had drawn
tightly under the protection of the ledge. The birds
whirred, screamed, trilled about me, but they
made no move to attack. Grass dwellers gathered
about my feet, and wove circles, always facing—
not me—but those who had brought me here. I
began to walk, out into the open and the rain, away
from Godgar and his men.

"Stand—or I shoot!"

I glanced back. His dart gun was out, aimed at
me. Through the air came that which I had
sought—blue-green, moving swiftly, straight for
Godgar's head. He cried out, and ducked. I walked
on, passing a grass cat growling deep in its throat
and lashing its tail, looking not to me but to the
men behind, past a prong-horn that snorted, struck
the earth with blade-sharp hooves, past a gather-
ing army in fur and feathers.

And always I probed, trying to find the will
which had launched that army, which held them
there. For that such existed I was certain. The
horses that had carried us snorted, screamed,
reared to break loose from their picket ropes and

run, in wild galloping, from feline forms skulking
about. I heard shouts behind me, but this time I did
not turn to look. If I were to die by Godgar's darts,
why face them? Better to walk towards freedom.

I discovered that walking with tied hands was
not walking free. The rain had made the ground
slippery, and I lost balance with my arms so tightly
confined. I had to watch my footing as I went.
Then I heard sounds from behind strange enough
to make me look.

Just as I had walked away from the ledge, so
after me stumbled and wavered my captors—not
willingly, but under compulsion. For they were
being herded" by the animals and birds. What had
become of their weapons I did not know, but their
dart guns were gone. And, strangely enough, none
had drawn steel. So they came, strained of face,
staring of eye, men caught up in a nightmare of
mad dreaming.

I had headed east, and so east we went in com-
pany, the birds always above, and always around
us the host of animals large and small. Now they
gave voice, squeaks, growls, snorts, almost as if
they protested their use in this fashion—for being
used they were. I glanced to where we had seen
those other riders. There was no sign of them!
Could they have been overwhelmed by the weird
army?

Of all the marches I had made in a lifetime, that
was the strangest. The creatures kept pace with
me, and those after me, to the best of their ability.
Though, after a space, the smaller ones fell behind,
and only the larger beasts matched us. The birds
went in flocks, wheeling and diving. But the blue-
green one had once more vanished.

We plodded on, to what goal I had no idea,

though not to return to Hervon's holding. Again
and again I tried to reach by contact the control
over that furred and feathered force. Finally in my
mind the old march cadence began its well-known
sing-song:

"Sky-earth-mountain-stone! Sword cuts to the
bone!" Then I realized I was chanting that aloud
and the clamor of beast and bird was stilled. Yet
silent they marched with a determination not of
their natures.

At length I paused and turned to face those
behind me. They were pale under the brown
weathering on their faces. And they met my gaze
glassily, as men will front something over which
they have no domination, against which they can
make no true stand.

"Godgar!" I raised my voice sharply to shake
him out of that ensorcelment. "Godgar, go from
here by your path, as long as it leads back to the
House of Dhulmat. As I have said, between us lies
no feud, nor the need for any answer to be made to
this day's work. If I wore a sword I would ex-
change it now for your blade in truce."

He had passed beyond anger, but he was not
broken.

"Captain"—that address of respect came wryly
from him—"if it is peace you offer, peace shall we
take. But do those who walk with us also offer it?"

That I did not know either, but it must be tested.
"Try them," I replied.

Then, watching warily their flankers, Godgar
and his men started south. Slowly, with a
semblance of reluctance, a way was opened to
them. As he saw this, Godgar's shoulders went
back a fraction more. He looked once more to me.

"This must be reported," he said.

"Let it be so," I answered.

"Wait!" He started towards me. A grass cat
crouched, fangs bared, snarling. Godgar stopped
short. "I mean you no ill. Walking with bound
hands is hard; I would free you."

But the cat would have none of that, despite my
silent command.

"It would seem that our oaths are not current
coin here, Godgar. Go you in peace, and report as
you must. And I say again—I hold no feud thought
against you or yours."

He returned to his men and they walked south,
behind them trailing a detachment of the crea-
tures, as if they were to be escorted on their way.
But for me there was another path—blue-green
wings again in the air and a trill of song urging me
along it.

XVIII

IT WAS A little later that I learned I was not being
escorted, but after a manner herded also. For once
Godgar and his men were out of sight. I paused,
faced about—and looked into the snarling mask of
a grass cat, behind it a prong-horn snorting and
pawing earth. Ancient enemies, but now united in
purpose. The cat growled; I wheeled to face east
and the growling ceased. More and more of the
furred company had fallen away from the body
which had set us moving away from the ledge, but I
still led a formidable force, mostly of larger crea-
tures.

A trilling overhead—Dahaun's messenger cir-
cled there, urging me on, I thought. So I left the
road, tramped on in the sodden grass which

brushed wetly about me almost thigh high and
sometimes concealed my escort altogether. When
I was on the move once more, the bird flashed
ahead.

Dahaun—had she followed across the moun-
tains? But sense was against that. There was so
close a tie between her race and Escore that they
could not go out of that haunted land. Kemoc? But
the command over this company of beasts and
birds was not Kemoc's, nor Kaththea's, nor born
of any magic ever brewed in Estcarp.

Ahead was the dark mass of broken mountains.
This route would bring me into their foothills. I
struggled against the cords about my wrists. Once
into that rough country I would need use of my
hands. The ties cut into my flesh and I felt the
slipperiness of blood oozing from ridged cuts.
Perhaps that loosened them sufficiently at last.
For, in spite of menacing growls and snorts, I
halted now and again to work with all my might at
those circlets. Then, with a tearing of skin, I pulled
one hand free and brought both before me, con-
gested and purple, blood-stained. I wriggled fin-
gers to restore circulation.

The rain had ceased but there was no lightening
of the clouds, now that it was twilight. Not only the
coming of dark in this wilderness plagued me, but
fatigue had slowed my progress to a weary shuffle.
I glanced behind. The head of a prong-horn buck
was up, the eyes of a cat watched—but farther
back. I took a step or so in their direction. Snarl
and snort—warning me on. I could see other
bodies crouched or erect in the grass. There was
for me no road to the west.

They did not follow me, merely stood where

they were now, a barrier before those lands where
I might find others of my kind. Just as those hun-
ters had been on my trail before, so now these
were harrying me out of Estcarp.

Seeing a rocky outcrop not too far away, I made
for that and sat down to rest aching feet. Riding
boots had never been fashioned for steady hours of
walking. I could spy those sentinels slipping along
the ground if they were felines, treading on deter-
mined hooves for prong-horns. The heavily built
bears had disappeared, perhaps unable to keep up.
But for the others ... we matched stares while I
thought.

It would seem that someone or something
wished to send me back to Escore. And I rebelled
against such pressure. First send me to Estcarp on
a fruitless mission, then drive me out again. I could
see no sense in this, nor does any man take easily
to the knowledge that he is only a piece on some
gameboard, to be moved hither and thither for
purposes which are none of his.

Dermont had told me once of a very ancient
custom of Karsten, one which had fallen into dis-
use when the Old Race lost rule there and the
newcomers from still farther south had overrun
the land. But in dim history there had been a game
played each decade. Carven pieces were set out on
a marked board. At one side sat him who was
deemed the greatest lord, on the other who was
landless, followerless, the least, but who would
dare the game. And the landless player repre-
sented the forces of disruption and ill luck, while
the lord those confidence and success. Thus they
played, not only for all the great lord held, but also
for the luck and fortune of the whole land. For,

should the landless topple the lord, a period of
chaos and change would ensue in the land.

Was such a game now in progress, with a living
man—me—for one of its pieces? In Estcarp abode
the settled state of things as they are, well estab-
lished, even firmer now that Karsten had been
dealt with. And uneasy Escore where old troubles
stirred was the opposite. Perhaps behind that an-
cient game had lain some older truth well buried,
that a more powerful action once known had been
reduced to ritual at a gameboard.

So could I speculate, but I doubted that I would
ever know how much of my guessing was the
truth. I had certainly been moved into Estcarp,
just as I was being moved out again. I shook my
head, though only the beasts saw that gesture.
Then I began to pull up the grass about my rock,
making a nest bed. The one thing I was sure of was
that I could go no farther now.

Though I lay in the open this was one night I felt
no need for watch keeping. Perhaps I had been
lifted out of the normal courses to the point where I
no longer cared, or perhaps I was too tired and
worn by what had chanced.
 Thus I slept. And if I dreamed, I did not carry
the memory of those dreams past my waking. But
when I got stiffly to my feet from that mass of grass
in the morning, I faced the mountains. This was
right—if I were a piece on a gameboard, then I had
been moved. I started off with empty hands, no
food, and a hard climb before me. Twice I looked
back. If my herders had kept vigil during the night
that had not lasted until this hour. No sign of them
was visible. Neither was there in me any need to go
out once more into Estcarp.

During the day I was certainly one under some
order, though I could not have put it into words.
The broken mountains were my goal. Senseless,
senseless, one part of my mind repeated over and
over. Urge me in, bring me out—what had I ac-
complished? A meeting with refugees on a single
holding, and on them I had made only a negative
impression.

I thought I had been sent to recruit—but my
feeble effort had not even begun that task.
So—and that brought me up short as I halted on
the verge of a mountain reaching ravine—so what
had been the real reason for my return to Estcarp?
I kicked viciously at a stone, sent it rolling from me
with a sound to break the general silence.

A use for me—what? None that I could see, and
my ignorance gnawed, plunging me into action,
the only kind open to me now, the return over-
mountain. I scrambled down slope, began to run
almost blindly, taking little heed of my body with
my mind so bedeviled with frightening half-
thoughts to which there were no sane answers.

A fall was the end of that witless race, witless
because there was no escaping from fears I bore
with me. I lay panting on the earth, beating my still
swollen hands on the gravel until the pain of that
contact shocked me back to quiet again.

Once the blood stopped pounding so heavily in
my ears I heard the gurgle of water and I was
drawn by that, my dry mouth gaping even before I
reached a spring fed pool. I lapped up the fresh
liquid as might one of the hunting cats. Water cold
against my face restored more rational thinking. To
run terror stricken was never an answer, so—yield
to this mysterious ordering until more could be

learned. I was far more a man when I left the
spring. There was an explanation somewhere and
it could only lie in Escore. For the beast army was
not of Estcarp's devising. So the sooner I gained to
Escore, that much earlier would I learn my place in
the new scheme of things.

Hunger grew in me. It had been a long time since
I had chewed those trail rations under the rock
ledge. Yet nowhere in this wilderness was there
food. But I had known hunger before and kept on
the move in spite of its twinges. The mountains—
could I find again that valley which led to our climb
point? Sometimes when I looked about me, either
that peculiar distortion which had plagued us be-
fore was in force, or else my lack of food worked
upon my vision, for there was a disorientation to
this land through which I moved.

Evening did not stop me, for the need of Escore
had grown to an all pervading urge. I stumbled on,
in a narrow cut, but whether the right one I could
not have said. And then—ahead was light!
Stupidly I plowed to a halt and blinked. I had a dull
fear that I had been forestalled, that I was awaited
now by those who would cut me off, take me once
more captive.

My mind worked so sluggishly that I could see
no way out of such disaster. If I retreated it could
only be back to the plains, or to be lost in the
foothills where I could never find my way again.

Brother!

So deep was I sunk in my own inner pit that at
first that mind call meant nothing. Then—
then—Kemoc!

I do not believe that I shouted the name aloud as
I began to run towards the fire—but in me was a
welling fountain of recognition.

He came to meet me and I could not have made
those last steps, few as they were, alone. Half
guiding, half supporting, he brought me to his oasis
of light and warmth. I leaned against a backing
springy brush and held a small bowl, the warmth of
its contents reaching my hands, the aroma making
me eager to sip at a thick stew.

Kemoc—wearing the garb of Dahaun's
people—even to the whip stock at his belt, yet
looking as he had a hundred times before when we
had shared patrol camps. And the familiarity of the
scene was as soothing to my feeling of being under
another's control, as the stew was to my hunger of
body.

"You knew I was coming?" I broke the silence
first, for he had allowed me those moments in
which to soak up ease and reassurance.

"She did—The Lady of Green Silence." He
sounded a little restrained and aloof. "She told us
you were taken—"

"Yes."

"They would not let Kaththea try to aid you.
They put a mind lock on her!" Now his constraint
was hostile. "But they could not hold me. So
having wrought their own magic, they allowed me
to come to see how well it worked."

A small flash of insight—did Kemoc, also, feel
that he was now moved by another's will?

"Their magic." The beasts—yes, that could
well be Dahaun's magic.

"They were not sure it would work—not in
Estcarp. But it seems that it did, since you are
here. Kyllan, why did you go?" he demanded of
me hotly.

"Because I had to." And I told him of what and
how it had chanced with me since my awaking

from that dream in the Green Valley. Nor did I hide
from him my concern over being used by some
unknown authority for a reason I did not under-
stand.

"Dahaun?" Again that sharpness.

I shook my head. "No, she did not wish it. But I
tell you, Kemoc, in all of this we play a game, and
it is not of our choosing or understanding. Least of
all do I know why I was sent here and then
allowed—no, ordered—to return again!"

"They say there is an ingathering of forces in
Escore, a rallying of evil—and they summon their
people also. The time of truce is past; both move
now to a trial of strength. And I tell you, brother,
hard as this may be, still I welcome it. For I do not
relish this play behind a screen."

"Kaththea—you say they have mind locked
her."

"Only until she would agree not to use her
Power. They said it would only further awaken all
we have to fear. She waits with the others, up
there." He gestured at the mountain wall behind
him. "With the day we shall join them."

This night I did not sleep dreamlessly. Once
more I rode the fields of Escore in another
guise—mailed, armed, ready for bared swords or
worse. And with me was a force of those to choose
to share shields. Among them were faces I knew
from the past, but not all from a distant past. For,
mailed and armed as was the custom in times of
great danger. I saw the Lady Chriswitha. Once she
smiled at me before she rode on and others of the
Old Race took her place. But always we traveled
with danger to the right and left, and a kind of
desperation eating at us. There was a banner
fashioned like a huge green bird (or could it have

been a real bird many times life size?) and the wind
appeared to whip it so the wings were ever spread
in flight. Always we bore with us an axe's weight of
death, not tribute, to satisfy any dark overlord.

"Kyllan!" I awoke with Kemoc's hand on my
shoulder, shaking me into consciousness.

"You had ill dreams," he told me.

"Perhaps ill, perhaps otherwise. You shall have
your open battles, Kemoc, one after another of
them. Whether we shall cleanse the land or be
buried in it—" I shrugged. "At any rate we have
our hands, and swords for them to use. Though it
may be that time does not favor us."

For the second time we climbed the cliff out of
Estcarp. And for all the urgency riding me I moved
slowly. But when we had reached the crest, before
we moved on to the pass, I turned, as did Kemoc.
He had a distance lens to his eyes. Suddenly his
body tensed and I knew he had sighted something.

"What is it?"

His answer was to pass the lenses to me. Trees
and rocks leaped up at me. Among them men
moved. So they were a hunting on my track again?
Well, that would not last; they would shy off from
the forbidden lands as had those others. A large
force—truly they wanted me badly.

Then I focused the glasses better and I saw one
rider, another, a third. Unbelieving, I looked to
Kemoc. He nodded, his surprise open to read on
his face.

"You see truly, brother—those are in part wo-
men!"

"But—why? Wise Ones come to capture the
fugitive for themselves?"

"What Wise One would bear a child in a riding
cradle before her?"

I raised the lenses again, swept that company,
found what he had earlier marked, a cloaked
woman in the breeches meant for long and hard
riding, but across her saddle the cradle of a child
still too young to sit a pony.

"Some invasion—they being hunted before
it—" I sought for the only explanation I could
credit.

"I think not. They ride from the southwest.
Invasion now would come only from Alizon in the
north. No, I believe they are recruits—the recruits
you were sent for, brother."

"That cannot be—women and children?" I pro-
tested. "And I told my story only at Hervon's
manor where it was discredited when I named
myself outlaw. There was no reason for them
to—"

"No reason that you knew of," he corrected.

I do not know why at that moment I remem-
bered something from my childhood. I had come
into the hall at Etsford on one of those rare occa-
sions when my father had visited us. Yes, it was the
time that he had brought Otkell to be our tutor in
arms. And he was speaking of something which
had lately happened at Gorm. A Sulcar ship from
overseas had drifted into harbor, all her crew dead
on board. And in the Captain's cabin, written out in
the log, the story of a plague picked up in a distant
port, which spread from man to man. Those at
Gorm towed the ship well to sea, set her afire to
burn and sink, taking her dead with her. But all had
come from one man, returning from shore leave
with the seeds of death in him.

Supposing I had been sent to Estcarp carrying
some such seed—not directly of disease and
death, though the end result might well be the

latter, but to infect those about me with the need to
seek Escore? Wild as it was, that could be an
explanation to answer more than one question.

Kemoc read it in my mind and now he took the
lenses from me, to once more study those moving
with such purpose towards us.

"They do not seem to be befogged,or otherwise
blocked," he observed. "Your plague may already
be well seated."

Women and children—no! A tail of fighting men,
those with no ties who were long hardened by slim
chances—that I had wished for. But to bring their
families into the threat of shadowed Escore—No!

"It would appear that someone or something
has plans for refounding a nation." Kemoc low-
ered the lenses.

"More players for the game!" I knew dull anger
and also that such anger would not avail me. Nor
would I take the lenses again as Kemoc held them
out. This was my doing and I would have to answer
for it.

"They cannot bring their mounts in," Kemoc
said, becoming practical. I could almost have
struck him for his quick acceptance of what was to
come. "But with ropes their gear may be lifted,
and they aided. Then, perhaps, horned ones wait-
ing beyond the tree valley—"

"You are very sure they are coming to us," I
shot at him.

"Because he is right!"

Kaththea stood behind us. Now she ran for-
ward, her hand on my arm, on Kemoc's, linking us.

"Why?" Somewhere in her, I hoped, was an
answer for me.

"Why do they come? Not all of them will, only
those able to feel the call, the need. And why were

you sent, Kyllan? Because you were the one of us
who could best carry the seed of that call. In me
the dream could not be set; I had too many Power
safeguards implanted. In Kemoc also, for he was
so close of mind that my block spread to him. So
you had to be the carrier, the sower . . . and now
comes the harvest!"

"To their deaths!"

"Some to death," my sister agreed. "But do not
all living things abide with death from the first
drawing of life breath? No man may order the hour
of his dying if he travels by life's pattern. Nor can
you bewail the chance, brother, which made you
carry your dream into Estcarp. We stand in a time
of chance and change, and move into new designs
we do not understand. Play your life boldly as you
always have. Do you blame the sword for killing?
It is the hand and brain behind it which holds the
responsibility!"

"And who is the hand and brain behind this?"

"Who can name the names of Eternal Ones?"

Her prompt reply startled me. That some still
believed in those nameless forces beyond nature,
man, or the world, I knew. That those of witch
training would, I could not understand.

"Yes, Kyllan, the acquiring of learning does not
mean the end of faith, even though some who stop
too soon would swear that so. I do not know in
whose pattern we begin to move now, nor do I
deny that it may be a harsh one with sore troubles
ahead. But we are caught in it and there is no
turning back. Meanwhile, cease chewing fingers
and become yourself!"

So was the incoming to Escore. And I, who had
been challenging death since I first felt the weight
of a sword above my hip, took on again that weight

and others. For we did thereafter indeed buy Es-
core with steel, raw courage, and such witchery as
was not tainted. And that winning is a marvelous
tale which must have a full chronicle to itself. But
this was the beginning of that tale, the sowing of
the seed from which came later harvest—and it
was the story of us three.