The Blue Sword (27 page)

In the valley they heard hoarse cries, but the voices did not seem to reach the Blue Sword or the woman who held it, but fell back into the valley like fish who had leaped too high, gasping for their lives. They heard the white stallion scream, and heard an awful voice they knew to be Thurra’s, but no one turned to look; everyone stared upward. Even the horses stood with raised heads and pricked ears, facing as their riders faced; and Narknon, who had not followed Harry although she could have, stood stone still but for her lashing tail; Sungold pranced, looking up the rocks he could not climb. The blue light fell into his eyes and mouth and nostrils till he looked like a ghost horse.

The hillside began to move. Pebbles, then larger pebbles, then rocks and boulders began to tumble into the valley. The woman’s clear voice went on, and the incomprehensible words poured over the Hillfolk and the Outlanders with the brilliant blue light; then the noise of the mountains falling grew louder, and many fell to their knees and bellies because they could not keep their feet. They could no longer see with their eyes, though the light burned into their brains, and they no longer heard with their ears, for the roaring of falling earth blocked them, yet they heard in their minds the blue-lit words going on and on.

And then it was over. The horses shook themselves; some had to haul themselves, sweating, to their feet. The human beings turned over where they lay, and looked up at the sky, which was blue and cloudless; and shivered, and cautiously stood up. Jack looked up first; there was no sign of Harry. At first he thought it was because his eyes were still blind from the light, but he could pick out the shape of the mountain peaks around him, and he could work out where Harry had been standing; but where Harry had been was there no longer. He was sure he was looking in the right direction. Puzzled, then, he looked around for confirmation; his eyes crossed Richard’s; he was going through the same bewilderment. They turned together to look out over the valley.

But there was no valley. There was a smoking rubble of broken stones and uprooted trees; the cliff face beyond the Gate itself had sheared clean away, and the Gate would be a pass through the mountains no more. They stood at the edge, looking down, and then out and across; there was no sign of life anywhere. The only things that moved were clouds of dust. The dust was curiously blue-edged, and twinkled in the sunlight. A little breeze began. It came through a wide breach in the mountain that had not been there before; surprised, it began to investigate the new landscape. The weary anxious people and beasts on the ridge that was once a Gate turned a little to face it. It smelled good, of young green things.

“The north wind is gone,” said Jack.

“Yes,” said Richard. “This wind blows from the south and east.”

They stood for a moment, collecting their thoughts.

“We should look for Harry,” said Richard. “Shouldn’t we?” He sounded very young.

“Yes,” said Jack.

“That
was
Harry, wasn’t it?” Harry’s brother said, a little uncertainly.

Jack smiled a small smile. “Yes. Or it was Harry as much as it was anyone. Terim,” he went on in Hill-speech, “we would like to look for Harimad-sol. She might be too … exhausted to return to us. Will you come?”

Terim said, “Yes,” and Senay joined them, while the rest would wait for word. Sungold followed them to the foot of the rock wall Harry had disappeared beyond, and whinnied anxiously after them, and reared and pawed the rock behind them as they climbed away from him.

“We’ll bring her back,” Jack said to him. “Be patient.”

Narknon came with them.

The four of them seemed to move very slowly; or perhaps their feet moved at a reasonable pace, but their minds could not keep up. Narknon, instead of ranging around them as she usually did, trotted at their heels and paused when they paused. Jack felt that he was grinding out thoughts that moved as grudgingly as centuries, and when he shook his head, his brain seemed to turn over uneasily, like a bad swimmer in deep water. His eyes hurt in their sockets, and he still saw Harry with her sword raised and the blue fire around her, although the picture was memory now, and his eyes focused on scrub and dirt and rock and blue dust.

They all stopped as they came to a slope with trees growing above them. “This can’t be right,” said Richard; “we saw her on bare rock.”

Jack peered up at the sun. “It is right, though; or at least this is the right direction. If the sun hasn’t moved, which I don’t guarantee … perhaps these trees grew while the mountains were falling.”

Jack began to climb again as if he were sure he knew the way; Terim and Senay followed, for they were less shocked by Harimad-sol’s performance than Jack or Richard, and did not expect the landscape near such a piece of sorcery and
kelar
to conform to the usual physical rules. They had looked at the sun too, and knew they were heading in the right direction. Richard was last. He felt old, and his bones creaked, and Narknon made him uncomfortable. He knew of the Damarian hunting-cats, but he had never before met one.

There was a tiny path, as if made by small hoofed animals, up the slope, and Jack followed it hopefully; and after only a few minutes they broke through the trees and into a small glade, with fresh green grass in it, the first good grass they had seen since they left Senay’s village. Harry lay crumpled near one edge of the glade, with Gonturan, dull as pewter, the blue stone of her hilt opaque, lying on the grass beside her. Harry lay on her side, curled up, and both her hands touched the sword; the left awkwardly fell over the hilt, the right grasped the blade just below the guard. Jack came into the clearing first, and he was the only one who saw—or thought he saw—a figure in the trees just behind Harry; he thought he saw a glint of red hair. But he blinked, so he could stare again harder, feeling for his saber; and when he looked again, the figure was gone. He was never sure afterward if he had seen anything but an odd fall of leaf shadow, although he knew the Hill legends, and knew who had carried Gonturan before his young friend.

“Harry,” said Richard, and ran forward, and dropped to his knees beside her. The others, who had a little more faith in Hill magic—or who understood a bit better that whatever had happened was finished now, for good or ill—followed more slowly. Jack looked around. There was nothing like the stone knoll where Harry had stood anywhere near them; the trees—real trees, not the grey and stunted things they had seen around the Gate, and in the valley that was no more—stood high overhead, rustling softly in the green breeze from the east; and beyond the little glen there was nothing but more trees, more sweet greenness, for however far the eye could reach, no sunlight-glint of a clear space anywhere.

Harry was dreaming something, but Dickie was calling her. Aerin was leaning over her, smiling the wry smile Harry knew well by now; it was a smile of affection, but more of understanding. Aerin spoke to her, for the second time; she had a low rough kind voice. “This is what one mad Outlander on a Hill horse would have done; rather like something I once did. But it’s not fair that the heroes get all the adventures and all the glory alone; your band will be sung of for centuries to come, and Jack’s great-great-grandchildren, and Richard’s and yours, and Senay’s, and Terim’s will remember the Madamer Gate and how the mountains fell and crushed Thurra’s army. I found out that those at home don’t like having no part in adventures—I didn’t learn very much, but I did learn that; and it’s as well if someone can learn by my mistakes …”

“Corlath,” said Harry miserably; and Aerin answered her gently: “Corlath is waiting for you.” Harry wanted to say, That’s what I’m afraid of. But Dickie was calling her. It couldn’t be Dickie, she hadn’t seen him since … She opened her eyes. Her memory of the immediate past was not good, but she knew she had called on Aerin, and asked Corlath for help in whatever Gonturan’s past, master might send her, and that something had happened; and that Aerin had spoken to her about it … and Corlath … Her head hurt. “Richard,” she said.

The other three sat down with a sigh beside her, and there was a silence that no one seemed to know how to break. Narknon put a paw on Harry’s chest and began licking her face; a hunting-cat’s tongue is much harsher than a housecat’s. Harry thought her skin would crumble and peel off, but she didn’t have the strength to push her away. At last Harry said, and her voice sounded low and hollow, “Not that I feel much like moving just now, but don’t we have some fairly urgent business in the valley? Or have three days gone by while I … and …”

Richard said, “There is no valley.”

Jack said, “The Northerners are now lying under a very large pile of rock, which used to be a mountain range. You appear to have pulled it down around their ears, and, Harimad-sol, I salute you.” He touched his forehead and flicked the fingers out in the particular curl that is the Hillman’s gesture of respect to his king.

Harry smiled weakly. “That’s blasphemous, you know. I’ll have you court-martialed.”

“By Homelanders or Hillfolk?” Jack inquired blandly. “Can you stand?”

“I am gathering my courage to find out,” replied Harry. She had flopped over onto her back—Narknon was now nibbling lovingly on her hair—and then hauled herself up on one elbow; now Senay and Richard propped her up on both sides, and she reeled to her feet. Her leather vest seemed as stiff as iron. “I feel like a potato that’s recently been mashed,” she said. Narknon leaned against her knee and purred madly.

“Shall we carry you?” Terim said, hovering anxiously, torn between respect and caution.

“Not yet, thank you,” said Harry. “But you could hand me Gonturan. I don’t quite feel like bending over just now.”

This was said in Hill-speech, so it is possible that Richard did not understand. But of the other three there was a brief but obvious moment when no one moved, and everyone thought of the blue fire on the mountaintop, and everyone’s palms prickled. Then Jack took a step forward and bent and picked up Harimad-sol’s blade, flat silver now, glinting faintly in the sunlight, and offered the hilt to her. One narrow gleam of white fire ran up the edge of the blue sword, and outlined Jack’s fingers. Jack’s and Harry’s eyes met, for it was only when it was too late to stop her words that she realized what she was—or might be—asking. “Thank you,” she said. “I probably should have bent over myself, to find out if I could.” She resheathed the sword. Jack looked at his glowing white hand, and rubbed his palm along his thigh. There was a tingle in that hand that buzzed up his arm and fluttered for a moment in his brain. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

As her fingers closed on Gonturan, Harry realized that her body was functioning; that she would be able to walk. She kept her hand on the hilt of Gonturan and took a step forward. “We’ll stop where we are tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow we ride back to find Corlath.” She shut her eyes a moment; the world spun, then steadied. “They’re farther west than they expected to be. Six days, if we hurry. If we
can
hurry.” She frowned, her eyes still closed. “They are beating the Northerners back; they are winning.” She opened her eyes again. “They’re
winning
,” she repeated, and the color rose in her cheeks, and her three friends smiled at her.

Harry concentrated on walking, and by the time they came to the rockface at the Gate she had gotten pretty good at it; she still kept her eyes on her feet, but she slid and scrambled down by herself, while Jack and Richard, who had gone before her, tried very hard not to reach up and help her. When she got to the bottom, and her people were standing around her, and Tsornin was bumping her shoulder angrily, asking her why she had gone anywhere he couldn’t come too, and her Hillfolk were flicking their finger salute at her, Kentarre very deliberately touched her forehead too and flicked the fingers out, and all the archers followed suit. And Jack’s Outlanders stared and bowed and pointed saber hilts at her, and she realized how quiet they were. Too quiet. She turned to look at the valley.

She turned white, and then Jack and Richard did put out hands to steady her. “My God,” she said. “That was a bit of … something, wasn’t it?” The dust still swirled in clouds over the desert of rubble they looked at, and it hung thickly enough that they could not see beyond it. There were threads of blue woven through and over it, as if there were a webbing holding it in place. The sun burned brightly over the blue-shot fog, and hurt the eyes. The dust got into eyes and noses and throats as they breathed, and mouths as they talked, and their voices grew hoarse with it.

“Kentarre,” said Harry. “Will a lot of rock simply falling on him stop someone like Thurra?”

Kentarre shrugged. “My sol, I don’t believe it has been tried before.”

Harry smiled wanly.

“It will at least have stopped his army,” said Terim; “few of them have any
kelar
of their own.”

“They have never needed it,” said Senay, “for Thurra has always been stronger.”

Jack said, “There’s more than rock out there. There’s something holding the rock down.” He stared out, the flecks of blue teasing the corners of his eyes.

Kentarre and Senay and Terim, who knew the legends of the Northern mage, were silent. “It is possible that he will rest here,” said Kentarre at last. “But we can say that today is ours.”

“Today is Harimad-sol’s,” said Terim firmly, and Senay’s face lit up, and she cried, “Harimad-sol!” Kentarre drew her dagger and tapped herself on the chest with the hilt and then shook the point over her head. “Harimad-sol!” she called, and “Harimad-sol!” the other archers echoed, drawing their daggers in the same gesture; and Senay’s people picked up the shout next. Jack’s men, shaken out of their half-fearful amazement, began to applaud and stamp, as if they didn’t know what else to do; and it was Richard who yelled, “
Angharad
!” whereupon the Outlanders shouted “
Angharad
!” too, and a few whistled, as though Harry had just sung an aria at the opera. When at last they stopped, everyone was smiling and easy again, as if individually inspired landslides and earthquakes were quite a normal feat of warfare, or at least of leadership. Then everyone heaved a sigh and settled down, and supper fires were lit; and Narknon appeared, dragging a brown deer larger than herself, and looking terribly pleased with herself. The sunset that evening over the mountains was violet-blue.