Andre Norton - WW - High Hallack 04 - The Jargoon Pard

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Books by Andre Norton
About the Authors
Witch World
--12 The Jargoon Pard (1974)
Of Gunnora’s Shrine and What Chanced There in the Year of the Red Bear
Of the Heirship of Kethan and Life in Car Do Prawn
Of The Trader Ibycus and the Jargoon Belt He Brought
Of the Gift of the Lady Eldris and the Coming of the First Full Moon Thereafter
Of the Warning from Ursilla and the Cloud Over Arvon
Of Maughus’s Plot and the Opening of My Own Eyes
Of the Wild Hunt and My Flight Therefrom
Of the Maid in the Forest and the Star Tower
Of How I Dreamed and of What Ill Followed
Of the Snow Cat and What Chanced in the Haunted Ruin
Of Those in the Tower and How I Chose Danger
Of the Discovery I Made and How I Planned to Put It into Use
Of How I Was Prisoner to Ursilla and My Mother Fortold My Future
Of How the Three from the Star Tower Took an Interest in My Fate
Of How I Chose Not the Beast’s Way and of the Secret of Ursilla
Of How Ursilla Read the Smoke Runes and Sent Me to Do Her Bidding
Of How the Lady Heroise Told the Truth and I Confronted Ursilla
Of Sorcery Wrought and Unwrought and How We Learn Our Destiny
About the Authors
FOR OVER FIFTY years,Andre Norton , "one of the most distinguished living SF and fantasy writers"
(Booklist) , has been penning best-selling novels that have earned her a unique place in the hearts and
minds of readers. She has been honored with a Life Achievement Award by the World Fantasy
Convention, and her numerous science-fiction and fantasy novels have garnered her millions of devoted
readers across the globe. Works set in her fabled Witch World, as well as others, such asThe
Elvenbane (with Mercedes Lackey) andBlack Trillium (with Marion Zimmer Bradley and Julian May),
have made her "one of the most popular authors of our time"(Publishers Weekly) . She lives in Winter
Park, Florida.
Mercedes Lackeyhas enjoyed best-selling success with her many fantasy works, including her
much-acclaimed adventures set in the fabled world of Valdemar. While much of her work lies in epic
fantasy, she has enjoyed successful forays into dark fantasy, with her Diana Tregarde books, and
contemporary fantasy, which includes her recently publishedSacred Ground . She is one of the most
popular fantasy authors on the scene today. She lives with her husband, artist and author Larry Dixon, in
Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Witch World
--12 The Jargoon Pard (1974)--
Of Gunnora’s Shrine and What Chanced There in the Year of the Red Bear
Many are the chronicles of Arvon, for that is a land old beyond the imaginings of men, even though those
men may be born of the Elder Races and, therefore, long in their own lives. Some tales are near
forgotten, so that a song-smith has but bits and patches of them caught in memory. Others are new
forged and detailed. For in a land where the Power is known and used, then marvels do follow after, as
the long-fleeced sheep of the Dales follow close upon the piping of their shepherd.
There is much in Arvon pertaining to the Seven Lords and those who ruled before them that is lost,
though their judging still lies active in the land. Even those who can wield the Power do not know all, nor
ever will.
Who was Gunnora? Was she once a Wise Woman of such stature in the land that after her passing
some spoke of her as never having been flesh, but spirit alone? If so— that part of the truth is long
befogged. But that Gunnora’s influence remains, that all womankind knows, to take heart in. For she is
the one whose sign is a sheaf of ripe grain bound together with fruit of the vine ready for the plucking. It is
Gunnora’s amulet each maid wears, upon which she lays her hand at the moment that she conceives, and
that she will hold tightly when the time of childbirth is upon her.
To Gunnora’s shrine came those for whom doubtful runes have been cast, that in her sanctuary they may
be cured of barrenness, or else have an easier time of child-bearing. And that she has power within the
matter of healing, all will testify.
Thus, at Gunnora’s shrine, begins the chronicle of Kethan—or if I speak less like a songsmith and more
in the common tongue of the land—my own story. Yet the truth of what happened within that shrine at
my birthing was a long time hid and held secret. At last only sorcery wrested it forth into the light of day
and the full knowledge of men.
It was the custom of the Four Clans—Redman tie, Gold-mantle, Bluemantle and Silvermantle—that
inheritance follows the old ways. Thus a man’s son does not succeed him in leadership, no, rather the son
of his full sister does she bear a boy child. For it be the blood of the women of the Clan that is reckoned
the truest by descent. In the House of the Car Do Prawn, she who would provide the heir was the Lady
Heroise.
Though her brother, the House Lord, Erach, had wed early, having already a son, Maughus, and a
daughter, Thaney (yet an infant in her cradle), Heroise showed no inclination to take any man to her
chamber. She was a woman fiercely proud, with a small talent for the Power. As a young maid she had
studied with the Wise Women of Garth Howel, bringing one of their number, Ursilla, with her to Car Do
Prawn when summoned to return.
The idea was firm in her mind that she should, in time, bear a son to take the chieftain’s chair. To the
shaping of that son, mind and body, she must bend every care, so that when the day arrived that he was
shield-raised by the men-at-arms, and his name shouted to the four corners of the Great Hall, it would be
her will that would govern all his actions. And in this project she had the alliance of Ursilla, with all the
knowledge of her calling.
Who was the father of the child she carried in the early spring of the Year of the Red Boar no one could
name. It was accepted as her right to choose such in temporary alliance only, if that was her wish. Stories
were whispered behind hands that her mate was of Ursula’s providing, but it was best not to inquire too
deeply into his beginnings lest that be uncovered which would make the coming heir less—or
perhaps—more than human. For heir, Heroise was certain, her child would be. And in this Ursilla also
gave her assurance.
In the Month of Snowbird, the Lady Heroise and her women, together with Ursilla, traveled to
Gunnora’s shrine, for the Wise Woman, Ursilla, had cast a foretelling that troubled her. Her uneasiness
alarmed Heroise in turn, so that she determined to have all the help she could call upon that the result of
all her planning would match her consuming desire. Thus by easy stages, for ragged sweeps of snow still
lay upon the ground (though the hint of coming spring was in the air at midday at least), they came to the
shrine.
Gunnora has no priestesses nor shrine attendants. Those who seek her out come into a Presence that
they may sense but never see. Thus they were met by no one of their own kind. But in the stabling, a little
distance from the shrine, were two horses, while in the outer court a man paced like a great caged cat up
and back, up and back, since he dared not enter the inner chamber, which was Gunnora’s alone.
The stranger glanced at Heroise as she came in, walking awkwardly because of the clumsy bulk of her
swollen body. Then he turned away quickly, as if he feared that he did a discourteous thing. So he did
not note that Ursilla gave him a long, measuring glance as they passed him by, and that a faint frown
crossed the Wise Woman’s face, as if she had touched upon the edge of some troubling thought.
But she had no time now for any other save her charge, for it seemed that the Lady Heroise had
miscalculated her time, and her pains were already upon her. She settled in one of the small inner rooms,
only Ursilla, as a Wise Woman, attending her, the other women awaiting without.
There was a languorous scent upon the air, as if the flowers of late summer bloomed in abundance, and
it seemed to the Lady Heroise that she drifted among the beds of a great garden. She knew pain, but that
was a far-off thing, which had no tie with her body and meant nothing. Rather in her now worked a great
joy, such as in her cold and devious mind she had never known before.
Nor was she aware that in a neighboring chamber of the shrine rested another woman and with her one
of the Wise Women from the neighboring village. She, too, dreamed joyfully, awaiting a child to fill her
arms as love for it already filled her heart.
Nor were either aware of the storm that gathered, though the man, who paced and waited, went to the
outer doorway and stared at the black massing of clouds overhead, regarded the clouds anxiously and
shivered. It seemed to him that, though he knew all the humors of nature well and through many years,
the brooding stillness under the dark roof now stretched over the land was not quite like anything he had
seen before. Because of his own nature, he was alert to forces that were not of the Arvon of men, but the
Arvon of Power. Perhaps now that Power was about Of Gunnora’s Shrine to manifest itself in some
fashion that was a threat to all below.
His hands went to his belt, and he ran his fingertips questioningly along it, as if he sought something there
that was no longer his to find. But his chin was up, as he eyed the clouds, and what he half-believed might
move them so, with a grim defiance. His clothing was plain, a brown sleeveless jerkin over a shirt of
forest green. His cloak lay behind within the court. On his feet, the boots of a horseman were dull brown,
the breeches above them green.
Yet there was that about him which said he was no field man, nor even chief of some small and
unimportant holding, such as his garb suggested. His dark hair was thick and grew in a peak upon his
forehead, and his eyes were strange in his weather-browned face—for they were a tawny yellow, like
unto the eyes of some great cat. Anyone glancing at him once might well turn to look again, drawn by his
air of authority, as if here stood one who answered only to his own will.
Now his lips shaped words, but he did not utter them aloud. His hand rose from his belt to make a small
sign in the open air. At that moment there came a great neighing cry from the stable. The stranger turned
swiftly— though he could not see around the corner of the building. At a repetition of that cry he darted
back, caught up his cloak, and was off toward the horses he had earlier stabled.
He found there the men who had ridden with the party from Car Do Prawn making haste, in view of the
storm, to get their own animals into shelter. But the two mounts already there reared and neighed, striking
out with front hooves, as do warhorses trained for the fierce battles in the Dale, so that the servingmen
and guards swore lustily and fingered their riding quirts, yet dared not push closer.
There were elements of strangeness about these two mounts now prepared to defend their own quarters
against any invasion. They were dappled gray and black, the markings not well defined, but so
intermingled that perhaps in the wooded countryside, their shading would produce a cover to confuse any
who searched for them. Longer of leg than most were they, also, and slimmer of body.
Now they swung their heads toward the man who had come running, and whinnied in combined
complaint and greeting. The stranger pushed past the men from the Keep without a word and went to the
mounts. At his coming, they stood quiet, only blowing and snorting. Their master passed his hands down
the arch of their necks and over their flanks. They made no further sounds as he urged them toward the
opposite end of the stabling.
There he put them together within one wide stall and for the first time spoke:
There will be no trouble, but keep to your own end—-” His words were curtly delivered, carrying a
tone of order. The commander of Lady Heroise’s escort scowled. That such a common-appearing fellow
dared speak to him so before his men was an insult, which, in another place, he would have been quick
to answer.
However, this was the shrine of Gunnora. Here no man dared test what might happen if blades were
drawn— weapons of death bared in a place dedicated to life. Still, the glance he shot after the stranger
promised no good at any future meeting.
There was one among the men of Car Do Prawn who continued to stare at the stranger standing
between his mounts, a hand lightly laid upon the neck of each as they inclined their narrow heads toward
him, one nibbling at his hair. Pergvin had served the Lady Eldris in years gone by, she who had borne the
Lord Erach and his sister Heroise. Deep in him memory stirred, yet it was a memory that he would not
share with any here. If what he half suspected might indeed be true, what a wild chance of fate had
brought this meeting at this day and hour? He wanted mightily to confront the stranger, call him a certain
name, see if he made answer. Only there had been an oath sworn in the past after an exiled one went out
the Gates of Car Do Prawn never to return.
“Pergvin!” A sharp summons from the commander brought him to the task of helping with their own
horses for this was a gale that was like to crush utterly any puny human creature.
So heavy was the rain that they could not see the shrine from the door of the stable, though that building
lay only a short distance away. Wind swooped upon them, driving in a lash of icy rain, until they pulled
shut the door and barred it. While the stable itself shuddered around them in warning.
The stranger left his horses, went to lay hand upon the door bar. However, Cadoc, the commander,
stepped quickly before him, interposing his body between that uplifted hand and the latch.
“Leave well enough alone!” He had to raise his voice to a near shout as the howl of the wind outside
deafened them. “Would you let in the wrath of the clouds?”
Again the stranger’s fingers dropped to his belt, slipping back and forth, searching. He wore a short
sword, but the weapon—closer to a forester’s all-purpose tool and clearly no battle arm—was tight
sheathed.
Cadoc, in spite of his anger, shifted from one foot to another under the stare the stranger turned upon
him. Still he held his ground while the other, after standing so for a long moment, gave way and returned
to the far stall where once more he stood between his mounts, a hand on each. But Pergvin, stealing a
look when he could, saw that the man’s eyes were closed and his lips moved to shape words, which he
could not, or dared not, voice aloud. Also, when he watched, Pergvin had an uneasy—nearly shamed—
feeling, as if he intruded upon some man who was engaged in that which was very private. He turned
away quickly, to seek out his own unhappy fellows who jerked their heads and hunched their shoulders
with every blast of wind that struck upon what now seemed a very flimsy shelter.
Their own horses, unlike those of the stranger that now stood quiet, showed signs of panic. So the men
needs must work to soothe the beasts. Thus they forgot some of their own fear as they dealt with the
animals.
Within the shrine the Lady Heroise was unaware of the fury sweeping beyond the walls. But Ursilla,
watching by the Lady, harkened to those gusts and wails, felt the beat of wild nature’s force reaching her
through the very substance of the ancient building. In her there grew a fear and wonder, for she could not
expel from her mind that this was a portent. She longed to be able to use the Power, to perhaps read the
meaning behind the fury that now enfolded them. But she dared not distract any of the energy that she
kept centered on the Lady Heroise so that their mutual desire be safely accomplished.
In the other chamber, the woman on the couch half stirred out of the drowse Gunnora had sent. She
frowned and put out her hands as if to ward off some threat. The Wise Woman, who watched by her,
took the hands in hers, willing peace and comfort to return. Not possessed of any great Power was she.
Beside that which Ursilla could summon, her talent was the feeble striving of a maid as yet much
untutored in the ancient learning. Yet the peace and goodwill in her flowed through her hands and stilled
the fear that roseinthe half-conscious woman. The dun shadow that had touched her fled.
It was at the height of the storm that the birth cry sounded and from each chamber did it come, one
being like to an echo of the other. Ursilla looked down upon the baby she had received into her hands.
Her face twisted, her mouth was a wry grimace.
The Lady Heroise’s eyes opened, she looked about her as her mind awakened. Her struggle was over,
all she had planned and worked for was won.
“Let me look upon my son!” she cried.
When Ursilla hesitated, Heroise pulled herself higher on the couch.
“The baby, what is the matter with the baby?” she demanded.
“Naught—” Ursilla replied slowly. “Save that you have a daughter—”
“Daugh—” It was as if Heroise could not force the whole of that word from her quivering mouth. Her
hands grasped so tightly on the covering of the divan that she might be preparing to rend the stout cloth
into strips.
“It cannot be! You wrought all the spells the night that —that—” She choked. Her face was a twisted
mask of rage. “It was in the reading—that you vowed to me.”
“Yes.” Ursilla wrapped the birth cloth about the baby. “The Power does not lie; therefore, there must be
a way—” Her features set, her eyes stared straight at Heroise. Yet in them there was now no intelligence.
It might be that Ursilla’s spirit had left her body, sought elsewhere for knowledge she must have.
Heroise, watching her, was tense, very quiet. She did not spare a single glance for the child now
whimpering in Ursilla’s hold. All her attention was fixed avidly on the Wise Woman. She felt the Power.
Enough of her early tutoring remained for her to recognize that Ursilla now wrought some spell of her
own. But, though Heroise’s tongue uttered no more reproaches, she twisted and tore at the covering with
crooked fingers she did not try to still.
Then intelligence came back into Ursilla’s eyes. She turned her head a little, pointed with her chin to the
wall at their left.
“What you would have lies there. A boy child, born at the same moment as this one you bore—”
Heroise gasped. A way out—the only way out!
“How—” she began.
Ursilla gestured her into silence. Still holding the baby within the crook of her left arm, the Wise Woman
faced the wall. Her right hand rose and fell, as with the tip of her ringer, she drew signs and symbols on
the surface of that barrier. Some of them flared red for an instant, as if a spark of hearth fire glowed in
them. Others Heroise could not follow for the swiftness of those gestures.
While she signed so, Ursilla chanted, her voice rising and falling as she recited words, spoke Names.
Still never was it louder than a whisper. Yet it carried to Heroise’s ears through the rumble of the storm.
At the sound of one or two of those Names, she shivered and shrank, yet she did not protest. Greedily
she watched, her fierce hunger for what she wanted most alive within her.
Then Ursilla had finished. “It is done,” she told Heroise. “I have raised a spell of forgetting. Those within
now sleep. When they awake they will have a baby who shall seem to them the rightful one.”
“Yes! Do it quickly, quickly!” Heroise urged.
Ursilla was gone, the Lady lay back upon the divan. This she had done—borne an heir for Car Do
Prawn. In the years to come—her eyes shone—she—shewould be mistress there! And with the
resources of all the hold land—the lordship—behind her, the heir her creature, and Ursilla to aid
her—what else might she not achieve in due time! She laughed aloud as Ursilla returned, a baby wrapped
in a birthing cloth once more within her arms.
Coming to Heroise, she held out the child. “Your goodly son, Lady.” She used the old formal words of
the birthing woman. “Look upon him, name him, that he may have life well set before him.”
Heroise took the baby awkwardly. She peered down into his face where eyes dark-lashed were tightly
closed, one small fist pressed against his mouth. He had dark hair. Well, that was right. Her own was
near the same shade. She pulled away the cloth to inspect the small body critically. Yes, he was properly
fashioned, with no mark upon him that could afterward be raised to question his identity.
“He is Kethan,” she said swiftly, as if she feared someone to dispute her naming and her owning. “He is
my true son, heir to Car Do Prawn, so do I swear before the Power.”
Ursula bowed her head. “I will summon your women,” she said. “Once the storm is spent, we had best
be on our way.”
Heroise looked faintly uneasy. “You said they,” she nodded toward the wall, “would never know.”
“That is true, for now. But the longer we linger, the more chance may upset our plans, even though I
have used mighty spells to further them. She—” Ursilla hesitated. “The one who is the mother yonder,
there is something about her that I find strange. She has some of the talent—”
“She will know then!” Heroise clutched the baby to her so tightly that he awoke and gave a little cry,
waving his fists in the air as if willing to do battle for his freedom from that grasp.
“She may have talent,” Ursilla countered, “but she is not my equal. You know that we can judge another
of our kind.”
Heroise nodded. “But it is best to be away. Send my women to me—I would they see this baby, know
him in the first hour for Kethan, who is mine alone!”
In the other room, the mother stirred. The shade of uneasiness, which had been upon her face earlier,
had returned. She shifted her head upon the pillow and opened her eyes. The space of a pointed finger
away lay the baby. And over her bent the Wise Woman.
“Aye, m’lady, this be a proper little daughter. She do indeed! Your goodly daughter, Lady. Look upon
her, name her, that she may have life well set before her.”
The mother gathered the baby into her arms joyfully. “She is Aylinn, my true daughter and that of my
Lord. Oh, go and bring him quickly, for now that I am out of Gunnora’s care, I feel uneasy. Bring him
quickly!”
She held the baby close and crooned lovingly. Aylinn opened her eyes and then her mouth, giving voice
to a small cry as if she were not quite sure she found the world entirely pleasant. The woman laughed
joyfully.
“Ah, little daughter, welcome are you, thrice, four times welcome. Indeed life shall be better to you than
it was to me when I was young. For you have my arms about you and my Lord’s strength to guard
you—and both our hearts to hold in your two hands!”
Outside the storm began to die. The stranger fought his way out of the stable to meet, at the door of the
shrine, the Wise Woman. As he hurried to his wife, he heard a stirring in the other chamber, but it held no
interest. Nor did he even watch when, in the morn of the following day, those from Car Do Prawn rode
away, their mistress in her horse litter, her son in her arms.
For the three left behind, there was also a faring out some time later. They turned their faces northward
to the wilds of the forest, which to them meant home.
Of the Heirship of Kethan and Life in Car Do Prawn
Car Do Prawn is not the greatest of the Keeps that gave allegiance to the Redmantle Overlord, nor the
richest. But what it holds within its boundaries is satisfying to look upon. There are orchards of cherry
and apple, from which come not only fruit in due season, but also cider, a cherry cordial for which we
have no small fame in Arvon. There are also fields of grain, always yielding abundantly at Harvest tide.
And there are flocks of sheep and a goodly herd of cattle. Centermost in this smiling and fruitful country
sits the Keep itself, and about that a small village. The village lies open under the sun, its cottages
possessing sharply gabled roofs, the eaves of which are carved with fanciful shapes. Their walls are all of
a light gray stone, the roofs of slate, while those carvings are entwined with runes painted green and gold.
But the Keep itself, while of the same stone, has no such lightsome embellishments. There is always
about the Towers a seeming of shadow. It might be that some invisible cloud keeps it so. Within the
walls, even in the depths of summer, there abides a chill that none save I ever seemed to note. There I
had often the sense that things moved along its very old corridors, in the corners of its shadowed rooms,
which had little in common with the ways of mankind.
From the time of my first understanding, my Lady Mother made plain to me that, in the future, I would
rule here. But that promise gave me no feeling of pride. Rather, I oftentimes wondered whether any man
could claim full sovereignship within such a haunted place. Perhaps my own reticent nature was my
protection, for I never spoke to her nor to Ursula (of whom I was greatly in awe) of those strange and
disturbing fancies concerning Car Do Prawn.
Until I reached the age of six, I lived in the Ladies’ Tower, where my only companion in age was the
Lady Thaney, she who was Lord Erach’s daughter and my elder by a year. It had been told me early that
our destinies were designed to be one, that when we came to a suitable age, we would be wedded, thus
fast locking together the House fate; though at the time this meant little or nothing to me, or perhaps to
her.
Thaney was tall for her age, and very knowing, also somewhat sly. I early learned that were we in any
mischief together and discovered, the blame would fall wholly upon me. I did not like her or dislike her. I
accepted her presence as I did the clothing on my body, the food on my plate.
With her brother Maughus, the matter was far different. He was some six years my elder and dwelt in
the Youths’ Tower, coming only at intervals to visit his grandam, the Lady Eldris, his mother having died
of a fever shortly after Thaney’s birth. I say his grandam, though by decent, I was also a grandson.
However, the Lady Eldris made plain her preference, and either ignored me, or found fault whenever I
was in her sight, so I kept away from her apartments.
Ours was a strange household, though I did not realize that, as it was all I had known. Thus I could
believe that all families perhaps lived in the same fashion. Lady Eldris had her own apartments and it was
there that Thaney was supposed to stay, though she followed mainly her own will, for her waiting woman
was old and stout and more than a little lazy, not keeping as strict a watch upon her ward as custom
demanded.
Maughus’s visits to their rooms were a signal for me to be on guard. He made very plain when we were
ever private together (which I saw, as best I could, was seldom) that he carried ill will for me. He was
fiercely proud, possessing much of the same ambition that I knew was inherent in my mother. That he
would not be Lord in the Keep after his father caused a bitterness that ate at him even as a child, growing
stronger through the years until I was well aware he hated me for what I was, if not for myself.
My mother, the Lady Heroise, and the Wise Woman, Ursilla, had in turn their own chambers, which lay
at the top level of the Tower. My mother was much concerned with matters of the household. Whether in
the past there had been any clash of wills between her and the Lady Eldris, decided in my mother’s
favor, I never knew. However, when Lord Erach was absent, it was the Lady Heroise who held Manor
Court in the Great Hall and gave the orders. At such times she had me ever beside her, seated on a small
stool a little behind the Lord’s great chair, which had the red mantle of our clan draped across its back,
listening to what judgments she would give. Afterward, she would explain to me the way of this or that
decision, whether dictated by custom, or the product of her own reasoning.
That she longed to occupy the seat permanently, I learned by instinct while I was yet a small child. It was
as if the qualities that were adjudged by the world to be those of a man had been embodied in her
woman’s flesh, so she chafed against our customs, decreeing the narrow limits of her own life. In one
thing alone she was free, and that was the use of the Power.
Ursilla was the only being within the Keep my mother acknowledged her superior. The Wise Woman’s
knowledge and talent was, I know, a matter of abiding envy for the Lady Heroise. Though my mother
possessed a small talent herself, it was in nowise enough to fit her for the long learning and discipline of
spirit that would have made her the equal of her instructress, and that lack she had the intelligence to
recognize. But she did not admit in any other thing that she was less than able.
The Lady Heroise lacked the temperament to school her own desires and emotions for any further
training in the Other Ways than she had learned in her youth. Even had she not been the vessel to bear
the next heir for Car Do Prawn, she would still have been unable to enter into the full training of a
sorceress. And to desire so greatly what one cannot obtain because of some lack in one’s self is a matter
to sour and warp the one who has failed.
If she could not have one kind of Power, then she would excel in another. To this end she now strove
with all the force of her ambition.
I have said I was in awe of Ursilla, and I would have gladly avoided her. But, even as my mother
enforced upon me her form of training, so did the Wise Woman concern herself equally with my affairs.
Though that part of the Power which is wielded by a sorceress is not the same as that which a Warlock
or Wizard may summon, still she gave me what learning she deemed useful, carefully pruning such
lessons, I realized later, of any material that I could use in an attempt to escape the fate they had set upon
me.
It was Ursilla who taught me to read the runes, who set before me carefully selected ancient
parchments— mainly those dealing with the history of the Four Clans, with Arvon, and with Car Do
Prawn. Had I not had a measure of curiosity about such things, I would have found such tutoring a dull
and discouraging time of enforced attention. But I developed a liking for the Chronicles the Wise Woman
deemed useful in fashioning my character and learned eagerly.
Arvon itself, I discovered, had not always dreamed away time in this ease of golden days that now
seemed endless. In the past (the addition of years was obscure since it seemed that those who wrote the
accounts were never interested in reckoning up any strict numbering of seasons), there had been a great
struggle that had nigh destroyed all ordered life.
Before that period of chaos, our present domain had not been bordered by the mountains to the south
and east, but had spread beyond, reaching east to the legendary sea, also south into territories long since
forgotten. However, those of Arvon had always had the talent in lesser and greater degrees, and our
Lords and rulers were often also masters of Power. They began to experiment with the force of life itself,
creating creatures to serve them—or, in mistaken experiments, ones to slay their enemies horribly.
Ambition as strong as that which moved my mother worked in many of them, so that they strove to outdo
each other to establish onlytheirwills across the land.
They awakened much that should never have been allowed life—opened Gates into strange and fearful
other dimensions. Then they warred, ravishing much of the land. Many of the forces they had unleashed
were plagues destroying even some of the Power itself. The disputatious Lords withdrew as their
numbers grew less, returning here to the home—heart of their own country. Some came quickly, alarmed
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BooksbyAndreNortonAbouttheAuthorsWitchWorld--12TheJargoonPard(1974)OfGunnora’sShrineandWhatChancedThereintheYearoftheRedBearOftheHeirshipofKethanandLifeinCarDoPrawnOfTheTraderIbycusandtheJargoonBeltHeBroughtOftheGiftoftheLadyEldrisandtheComingoftheFirstFullMoonThereafterOftheWarningfromUrsillaandthe...

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