Three Hands for Scorpio (21 page)

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Authors: Andre Norton

BOOK: Three Hands for Scorpio
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MY LEFT HAND in Cilla's and my right held by Tam, I went, drained of all will—I could not turn away, as more than half of me urged. I have seen death before, even death by violence; but what faced us now was overladen with Evil such as I had not met since Zolan had forced open the cell in the wall.
The man who was bound to the chair—for it was a man, though the mutilation that had been performed on the body had nearly erased any sign of gender—was tall and broad shouldered. A blood-fringed strand of hair, stuck to the back of the chair, had been white, but he could not have been much older than my father. Someone had thrown part of a cloak about him; however, that garment served very little to hide what had been done here.
Cilla pulled loose from my hold and ran. From the distance, I could hear the racking violence of attempts to vomit, though she must certainly have little food left within her. I swallowed and swallowed again, clapping my hands across my mouth.
We come of a fighting line for many generations. But this was not warfare—it was brutalization beyond reckoning. There are those who delight in the torment of their kind. If any such twisted souls reveal their natures in our father's command, he straightway rooted them out. If they had already given way to base instincts, they were condemned out of hand; otherwise, he sent them under guard to the Black Isle to live or die among their own kind.
The monsters who had been at their beastly work here should be slain when taken. Reivers such as Maclan had already been judged and condemned and would have died within an hour of their capture, but this atrocity was worse than any the Breaksword had ever been accused of.
Zolan laid a hand on Lolart's shoulder. Again the huge man swung a fist, but this time Zolan ducked and avoided the blow. When he stood up again, he showed no anger.
“Was he”—the man from the Dismals made a gesture at the mangled body in the chair—“your lord?”
The guard was shaking; an icy wind might have whipped about him. He swallowed visibly several times before he spoke.
“This be Ichon Raven-Eye of the Marshurs, own brother to Hughes, their chief. He be one of the great ones in Gurlyon. They who dared this—they will pay mightily—”
Suddenly he reached out and, before Zolan was aware of what he would do, he gave a mighty pull on the ancient sword and tore it from the flimsy sheath Zolan had made. Turning again to face the body, he sank to his knees, holding out the blade.
“Thus do I swear, that under sun, under moon, under star, I shall seek, my lord. You shall look upon heads, count hands of those who raised steel against you. Blood debt will be fully paid.”
And we who were watching knew well that such an oath would be kept while life remained in the sergeant's great body.
W
e had turned to a grisly labor as the sun fled. We would have needed a full company to have adequately cleared that holding of the dead and seen them to proper burial, but here were neither time nor numbers enough to accomplish that. Few enemy bodies were found; perhaps the raiders had taken them away. We strove to give the fallen defenders what honor we could. The sum of those was few in number—certainly not the tally of a full garrison. It was full dark when those we could find lay in rows in the great hall.
Lord and lady were wrapped in the richest fabrics we were able to discover, though that stuff had been wantonly rent and was sadly damaged. With the cradle between them, the two were laid in state on the dais.
Lolart worked a little apart and, from his muttering, it was plain that he was addressing some of the dead. We could not distinguish more than a word or two of his mumbling, and I wondered if his wits had indeed been turned by what had happened here. Why he had been in a cell when we found him we did not learn; indeed, at that time, he had not even given us his name.
Dark as it was now, we would not remain in a place so haunted by Evil. My sisters and I were constantly communicating, not to each other but to
the Powers unseen that reigned in another place. Our clothing and hands were stained with blood. I had raided my herb pack to pass out handfuls of dried leaf-bits, which we each chewed until our jaws ached. The virtue of that herb was to divorce the mind somewhat from a laboring body. Tam had also brought out her jewel. Not only did it furnish a modicum of light but added to our feeling that a curtain of Power hung between us and the dead.
Lolart leaned against the wall; it was evident that even the great strength of the old campaigner had been sorely taxed by our labors. Zolan's hand fell on the burly soldier's shoulder, and the man from the Dismals spoke with more than a shade of compassion in his voice.
“This place is no longer for the living, guardsman. Come with us—we have a camp a little way from here.”
The other might not have heard him; still, when Zolan tightened his hold and drew him along, he stumbled forward without protest. I tugged at my bag of medicaments. Tam and Cilla carried the bulk of our finds between them while Zolan shouldered the rest. Climber had disappeared; perhaps he had gone hunting.
We returned to the shallow valley where we had left the horses and pack-ponies and established a camp.
WE KINDLED A small fire between two rocks, hoping that they would prevent any light from escaping that pockmark of a valley. We washed many times in the brook that trickled through our campsite, yet I still seemed to feel the crusted blood gloving my hands. I kept stretching my fingers, rubbing them together.
“They must be warned—” I Sent. We had not been discussing Mother and Father, but my thoughts had come to dwell more and more with them.
Bina was seeing to the leapers Climber had caught. I, who had thought I could never bear to look upon food again, was ready to tear at the meat that now dripped steaming fat into the fire.
Tam had dropped beside me. Once more she drew the gem from its hair bag.
“Yes,” she replied aloud.
Bina turned away from the fire and came to join us. Zolan was a distance
away, seated by the silent, blank-eyed guardsman. Likely Lolart saw neither us nor the present scene at all but only what lay behind.
On Tam's flattened palm rested the glowing stone. I placed my hand on her supporting arm, and Bina grasped her other hand. We closed our eyes. Zolan would know we were Sending but we could not ask him for support, since his Power differed too greatly.
We searched, casting our collective thought far abroad. Without warning, I was seized with an amazing force that swelled within me, arching my body in its intensity. I knew my sisters shared it. Truly, even in the short space since we had last so pooled our Power, some greater strength had grown.
Our Send speared out like a consciously aimed weapon. It struck against a barrier; however, we did not recoil or relax but continued to thrust until—
Through! Through!
We could have shouted that aloud.
The barrier suddenly gave way, and we were indeed safely inside. What we could sense now was Mother's own Ward and, in a fraction of a breath, that also was gone. Swiftly we united behind Tam, who told our bleak story is as few words as possible, and ended by warning that such Evil was free to raid elsewhere. In return, we received a certain ritual with instructions to use it. Then came silence.
Tam remained still, but her hand now held the gem against her forehead. I got to my feet and moved to Zolan and the guard.
“Further Warding is needed, for it is still two days or more before we can meet with those from Grosper. Our mother has also revealed that the followers of Forfind have risen and that the king has either become one of them or else is held prisoner.”
I saw the armsman blink. He might have been waking from a troubled sleep. The blink led to a glare turned fully on me.
“Devil—true devil!” he spat. “Such witch-work is why—”
“Condemn us later,” I interrupted. “Warding we must have at once.”
“Warding?” he repeated.
Zolan caught the soldier by the arm. “Up with you, man. This must be done—and now!”
Lolart allowed himself to be drawn along to where my sisters waited; then Zolan brought him into a circle with us. The glow from Tam's jewel gave us what light we needed. It was Tam who spoke now and directly to the armsman.
“What we do is for protection. Those who wrought that bloodletting at the keep depend upon more than sword, spear, and snaplock.”
As though grudging this truth, Lolart jerked his head toward Zolan. “So he has told me.”
“Give me your name,” Tam ordered, “for true names must be used now.”
“I be Lolart Boartusked of Ichon's kin. Would you call for a guard upon what cannot be seen?”
“Just so, Lolart. Let us now form a circle.”
Zolan suddenly produced from the inside of his tattered shirt a clenched hand. As he slowly spread his fingers he looked at Tam.
“There are Talents and Talents,” he said. “They may not be of the same calling, but if they are of the Light, they are linked together, even as the Evil now come into this land can call upon the Darkness inherent here to join forces. Therefore, let our speech be voiced together.”
On his palm lay a strange object that appeared to be a slender tube of bone. It did not glow, as did Tam's treasure, but it possessed a curious ability to draw the onlooker's attention as if at any moment it might alter shape.
Tam's hand with the gem swung in the direction of what he displayed. I flinched, for within me stirred such an energy as could have brought me to my knees. Then it was gone. No threat could be felt in its inroad, only promise.
“Let it be done,” said Tam swiftly. “Take hands—”
Though she and Zolan were only partly united, we were indeed linked. The armsman was seated between Bina and Zolan; I was joined to Bina, and Tam also held to me. Tam began to speak the ritual, and Bina and I followed; Zolan and Lolart came a little behind as both echoed us.
“I, Tamara of the Scorpys, ask the Boon of Shaft Ward, with these others. We go to battle Dark and Night, Evil and Might. Let the Shield promised to those who believe in Light close about us at this saying.”
I followed with my name and the exact words of that ritual. Then Bina spoke. More slowly, as if striving to match the exact words, followed Lolart, and at last Zolan. In only a short while we were finished, and what might follow we truly did not know.
An arrow of blazing light shot up from Tam's hand to meet with another from Zolan's. One shaft was green, the other golden. They met, wreathed together, and formed a hoop that spread until it was larger than our circle.
Once complete, it descended, passing from air to ground before it vanished. Within that space, I had a vision of a wall of swords between us and the outer night, and I breathed thanks to the Giver of Talents.
Our circle broke apart, and hunger was again upon us, the pain worse for the scent of the cooking meat. With no speech, we ate a small portion each of leaper. However, this time it was made more palatable by the addition of one of the herbs Bina had brought. Lolart also knocked the wax stopper from one of the smaller pots, and we used our fingers to gouge out dollops of berry jam, sourish but satisfying.
When we had done, Zolan spoke to the armsman.
“You have a story, friend. What enemy did you have, and what brought their fury on your hold?”
Lolart gazed into the dying fire as he spoke.
“Lord Ichon was my milk brother—my mam nursed us both, as we were born on the same day and the Lady Penthea was ailing. He was always wise beyond his years, and in time he was made First Kin, by Marshur choice, to young Gerrit, the king who vanished. The king was journeying to the Guardian Shrine for the final blessing of his mother, but Ichon remained behind as he had been hurt when a boar charged his horse during a hunt.”
Lolart raised his hand and absently stroked his bearded chin, as if his words had awakened some memory.
“Thus,” he continued, “Ichon was not with Gerrit when the king was attacked and taken. An outcry was raised, though, and Ichon was accused of knowing where the king might be. He took the Sword Oath against three champions, but Truth was his shield and he defeated them all.
“However, he would live no more with those of the court, for he thought that some did in truth know where the king was. Thus he came here to this outpost and served Gurlyon well, for he wiped out five invasions of the mountain people during his years as lord of Frosmoor.”
The guardsman's honest face darkened as his tale continued. “Some time ago, we heard of this Devil Lover from the mountains—and all we could learn was ill. Lord Ichon was summoned to a meeting at Kingsburke when it became plain that the Dark One had Arvor's ear and favor. It would seem, Ichon said when he returned to hold his own council, that the king strove to make the false priest a tool against the lords from whom he wanted free. Ichon would have none of this fight, for it might turn kin against kin. Thus he ordered that we of the clan should hold apart.
“Five, six days ago”—Lolart look down at his hands, as if needing to tell the days on his fingers—“there came that—” He fell now into the coarse speech typical of a soldier. Zolan touched his arm warningly, and his head snapped up.
“Your pardon, Wisewoman! That—messenger of the demon came.” Now his hand went to his throat, and he pulled from hiding within his buff coat a medal swinging on a thong. “This luck-piece was given me by one of your sort—Wisewoman Osira, who lives by the Goddess Pillars near Redmont. She told me to wear it ever, and it would keep me safe.”
Tam held out her jewel. Its gold glow became, for a breath or two, a soft blue, and we made gestures of reverence at this new emblem of the Great One.
“Well—” Once more the guardsman looked down at the medal he had left hanging in view. “She had the right of it.” His voice carried a note of bitterness. “Because of this talisman, I did not change.” Again he paused.
“Change?” Zolan encouraged him to continue.
“The folk at Frosmoor—they began to change as soon as the messenger was taken to Ichon. All were bowing—even the guard!—and speaking him fair. Ichon ordered drink for him. That devil-spawn then said as how he was sent by Arvor himself. Starkadder and Riffler had at last shown themselves to be traitors, and Starkadder had sent out a call to the Southerners to come. He had a sealed message that swore this for truth.
“But Ichon—he was not yet bewitched by the messenger. He called for council, and the kin house-heads, they urged sending the king a force. I spoke last of all. I was fair angered by their coat turning, so I demanded that we at least talk more of it. Then—”
Lolart's voice shook; his hand again nervously stroked the left side of his chin. “Then he—my milk brother—he went mad. He ordered me taken to the dark hold, to be left there until I came to my senses. So it was done. It was you who brought me forth to see blood and death—and the end of our clan. I am Breaksword now. If I had not spoken out, I might have been able to make a stand. Only a third or less of those who should have held Frosmoor were among the dead—the rest are gone!”
Zolan moved, and the hand that had cradled his talisman reached out once more to clasp Lolart's arm. The armsman had been shaking, but under that grasp his shoulders stilled as the man from the Dismals spoke.
“Your choice was the one any man of honor would have made. Do not
blame yourself. It is plain that your lord and those at Frosmoor were indeed ensorcelled, yet that spell must have been broken in some manner, or they would not have fought at the last.”
As he finished, Tam added an assurance from us. “Do not call yourself Breaksword, Lolart Boartusked, for have you not taken oath in blood to bring your lord's murderers to justice? It may hap that we can give you the means of keeping that vow. Those who come to meet us have a wish as great as yours to rid this land of Evil, though we are none of us native here. Ride with us.”
When the old campaigner raised his head, I could see the moisture on his beard and other tears still gathered in his eyes.
“You speak well, my lady,” he said. “I am a man of weapons, though I lack them now. Yet I will not turn from the road once my feet are set upon it.”
Thus our force of four became an army of five.
It was late when at last we did our best to get some sleep. However, in spite of the horror that lay behind us, I did not dream darkly. A nightvision came, yes, but the feeling it brought me was one of mission and promise. I stood in a hall not that of Frosmoor. A swirl of many colors wreathed me, and I sensed human movement around me, as well, yet I could not see any who caused it. Still I was certain that I walked among a strange and unknown company.
Then the looping of tinted light parted, and a woman came through. She was no beauty by the standards of the world I knew, yet her appearance had a quality that drew attention and held it firmly.
In her hands, clasped before her breast, she held a rod, and up and down that wand rippled the same rainbow of hues that formed the mist. For a scant breath I took in her bearing and burden, and then I knew whom I fronted: no woman who yet lived, but a consciousness now tied by will to a jug in a distant cave.
“The renegade of our people gathers strength,”
Pharsali's Send reached
me. “He will seek a change of body soon. Be you and yours prepared that he does not take what he would have.”
The mist concealed the Jar Woman from me, and darkness and peace descended once more. I felt chilled from more than the night wind's creeping under my cloak, so I roused somewhat. Near me someone stirred restlessly, then settled as I did also.

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