Andre Norton - WW - High Hallack 03 - Spell of the Witch World

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Dragon Scale Silver
1
The Coming of the Far Strangers
THE STORM had been high, battering the cliffs, breaking over the half reef
which gave protection for anchoring the fishing boats. But the men of Wark had
had warning (for none are so weather-wise as those who live by wind and wave
and the changeful sea-luck). So no boats were lost, nor men either -- save
only that the smaller yawl of Omund was driven up on the beach so he must
inspect it carefully.
Omund was not the only one upon the wave-pounded sands that morning, for sea
storms, if they do not take wantonly from what little stores of goods a man
may garner, sometimes give. Thus all of Wark who could keep to their feet and
had keen eyes were down on the strand seeing what bounty might have been
deposited at their very doorsteps.
Sometimes amber was found so, and that was a precious find. Once Deryk had
come across two gold coins, very old, with signs on them Aufrica, the Wise
Woman, said were of the Old Ones. So Deryk took them to the smithy
straightaway and had them melted into a lump, thus removing any magic curse
from good metal.
Always there was wood, and the kelp from which women could make dyes for
winter wear, and shells, which the children treasured. Sometimes the wreck of
ships, such as never anchored in the reef-guarded small-bay of Wark, nor which
most of the people had ever seen the like of -- nor would unless they traveled
to Jurby port.
This time came the strangers. At first those on the beach thought the boat
drifting in deep water was wreckage, and then there was a flutter of movement
aboard. Yet there were no oars. When those on shore called and waved (though
their voices might well be lost in the crying of the sea birds) there came no
answer.
At last Kaleb of the Forge stripped and swam out, a rope about his middle.
Then he waved vigorously to let them know there was life aboard and made fast
the rope, so the men, pulling together, could bring in the boat.
In it lay two, though one leaned against the side, her salt-tangled hair about
her wan face, her hands moving weakly as she tried to brush it from her eyes.
The man lay quiet, a great wound upon one temple as if he had been felled in
battle, so that they first thought him dead. But Aufrica, bustling forward, as
became her calling of healer, pulled aside his sodden tunic and listened for
the heartbeat, declaring that the sea, or ill fortune, had not taken him yet.
Thus with the woman, who seemed in a daze, unhearing their questions, only
brushing feebly at her hair and staring wide-eyed, he was taken to Aufrica's
house.
So the strangers came on the storm edge to Wark.
And thereafter they stayed, though they remained strangers. For the wound
which had felled the man had in a manner changed him. At first he was like a
little child and the woman fed and cared for him as if in deed he was one she
had before carried at her breast.
Their clothing, sea-stained and stiff with salt, was not that of villagers,
nor was the woman like any they knew. At first, Aufrica reported, she had not
their tongue, but she learned it speedily. Then Aufrica, who had always been
open, spoke less and less of those she sheltered. And when Gudytha, the
headman's wife, and others asked questions, she was evasive, as if she
harbored some secret which both awed and excited her.
The women of Wark spoke long and often to their goodmen, and at length Omund
came to the house of Aufrica as Headman to ask the name and purpose of the
strangers that he might send word to the Lord Gaillard in whose territory Wark
lay. For this was in the Year of the Salamander, before the great war of the
invaders, and High Hallack was at peace, with law within its borders,
especially along the coast where the settlements dated from the early days.
The stranger man sat in the sun, his healed wound leaving a scar across his
forehead. Except for that he was comely, dark of hair, with thin, well-cut
features which were not those of the Dalesmen. He was slender of body, though
tall, and Omund noted that his hands, which lay slackly on his knees, were not
calloused as his own from oar and net, but rather those of a man who had not
labored thus for a living.
He smiled at Omund with the open frankness of a child and there was that about
him which made Omund smile back as he would at his own young son. And in that
moment he thought that for all the tittle-tattle of the village wives and the
talk over the wine-horns of the men, there was no harm in this poor stranger
and he had come on a useless errand.
At that moment there was the opening of the door and he looked away from the
smiling man to face the woman who had come out of the sea in his company.
Straightaway something stirred deep in Omund's mind, though he was a simple
man who found the events of each day enough to think on.
She was nigh as tall as he and, like the man, slender and dark of hair. Her
face was thin to gauntness and there was certainly no trace of beauty, as
Omund reckoned it, in her. But there was something else --
He had been to the great hall in Vestdale to be confirmed in his headship for
Wark. There he had seen the Lord of the Dale and his Lady sitting in state,
all power and authority. Yet when he faced the stranger woman, wearing a
kirtle made from one of Aufrica's and badly fitting, too, with no gems on her
fingers or at her throat, her hair braided but with no golden bells to dance
lightly at the ends of those braids, he felt more awe than he had in the full
splendor of Vestdale.
It was her eyes, he afterward decided -- nor could he have told the color of
them, save that they were dark and seeming too large for the thinness of her
face. Still in them --
Without thinking Omund took the seaman's knitted cap from his head and raised
his hand palm out as he would to the Lady of Vestdale herself.
"Welcome in peace." Her voice was low, yet had in it a kind of controlled
power, as if she could shout down the mountains behind them if she wished. She
stood aside for him to enter.
Aufrica sat on a low stool by the fire. But she did not rise nor bid him
welcome, leaving all to the stranger as if this was not now her own house, but
rather she was visitor within its Walls.
On the table was the hosting-horn filled with the good wine of hospitality.
Beside it a platter of welcome cakes. And the strange woman held out her hand
as was the custom, her fingers light and cool on his sunburned wrist. So she
brought him to the table, taking the stool opposite from him across the board.
"My lord and I have much to thank you for, you and your people of Wark,
Headman Omund," she said as he sipped the wine, suddenly grateful for such a
familiar thing when all else seemed to take on strangeness. "You have given us
both second life, which is a great gift indeed. And for which we are in your
debt. Now -- you wish some accounting of us -- as is proper."
He had no chance to ask the questions he had formed in his mind; she was in
command here even as a Dale lord would be. Nor did he resent that; it seemed
right and proper.
"We come from overseas," she continued. "But there is ill doing there, the
hounds of war cry. There came a time when we must choose between death and
flight. And since no man, nor woman either, chooses death unless hope is fled,
we took ship for a new land. There are the Sulcarmen who dwell in ports of
their own along our coast, and through them we learned of this land. It was on
a ship of theirs we took passage.
"But -- " For the first time she hesitated, looked to her own long-fingered
hands where they rested on the tabletop. "There was a storm," she continued as
one who must put aside certain thoughts, "and the ship was sore beset. My lord
was struck down by a falling mast as he was to come into the boat. By a great
mercy -- " here her fingers moved as if she made some sign, and Omund saw
Aufrica stir, heard her draw a deep breath, "he fell to me. But there were no
others reached us and we drifted until you found us.
"I speak frankly now with you, Headman. What gear we had was lost with the
ship. We have naught now, nor any kin here. My lord mends, he learns from day
to day as a child learns from birth, yet faster. Perhaps he will never regain
all the storm took from him, but he shall be able to play a man's part in the
world. As for me -- ask of your Wise Woman -- I have certain gifts which match
hers, and those are at your service."
"But -- would it not be better that you go to Vestdale -- ?"
She shook her head at Omund's suggestion.
"The sea brought us here, there was doubtless a purpose." Once more she signed
upon the table and Omund's awe grew, for he knew now this was one like
Aufrica, but greater, so it was well Aufrica did her handmaid's service. "We
remain here."
Omund made no report to the Lord at Vestdale, and, since they had delivered
the year's tax at Jurby, the Lord's men had no reason to visit Wark. At first
the women were inclined to keep apart. But when the stranger tended Yelena in
such a birth that all swore the babe would not come live from her body, yet it
did and lived, and Yelena also (after the stranger had drawn certain runes on
her belly and given her to drink of herbs) there was no more talk. Yet neither
did the goodwives treat her with such friendly wise as they did Aufrica, for
she was not of their blood nor kind, and they called her always Lady Almondia,
just as they spoke with deference to her man Truan.
As she said, he mended, and when he was fully well went out with the fishers.
Also he devised a new way of rigging nets which added to their catch. He, too,
went to the smithy and there he worked with a lump of metal he brought out of
the hills until he had a sword. This he practiced with as if against future
need.
Often together the Lady and Truan went to the hills in directions those of
Wark never took. Oh, men had half-wild sheep there which they kept for the
shearing. And there were deer, and other game to provide a tasty change from
fish. But there were also things of the Old Ones.
For when the Dalesmen came up from the south into this land it was not a
barren world. Though the Old Ones were few, for many of them had withdrawn, no
man knew where. Those who remained had little traffic with the newcomers,
keeping ever to the high places, the wastelands, so that one saw them only by
chance.
Strange indeed were the Old Ones and not all of one kind as the men of High
Hallack. Some seemed monstrous. Yet in the main they did not threaten man,
only continued to withdraw further.
However, they left behind them many places wherein they had once built their
own strongholds, places of power. And these, though well built, men shunned.
For there was about them a feeling that it was well advised not to disturb
their ancient silences, that if one called too loudly or too arrogantly, one
might be answered by that better not to face.
There were places also where remnants of powers or influences still clung.
Into these one could venture and deal with such -- if one was foolhardy and
reckless. If you gained, the saying went, your heart's desire from such
dealing, yet in the end the sum was dark and grim and you were the worse
instead of the better for it.
One such place stood in the hills above Wark and the hunters, the herders kept
afar from it. Nor did the animals they trailed or tended ever stray in that
direction. Yet it was not noted for evil as some places were, but rather for a
feeling of peace, so that those encroaching upon it by chance were oddly
shamed, as if they disturbed the rest of something which should not be so
troubled.
There were low walls, no higher than a man's shoulder, and they enclosed a
space, not square, nor rectangular, but a five-pointed star. In its centermost
core was a star-shaped stone set as an altar.
Within the points of the star sand was spread, and those stretches of sand
were different in hue. One was red, one blue, one silver, one green, and the
last as gold as the dust of that metal. No wind ever seemed to blow within the
walls, and the dust was always smoothly spread, as if it had not been
disturbed since first it was shifted there.
Outside the star-point walls there was the remains of a garden which was a
tangle of herbs. It was there that Aufrica went three or four times a summer
to harvest those simples she used in her cures. After the coming of the
strangers both went with her first, and then alone. But none spied to see what
they did there.
It was from such a trip that Truan brought back the lump of metal he wrought
into a sword. Later he brought back a second mass and fashioned a shirt of
mail, so cunning his work that Kaleb and fishermen alike would watch, marvel
at how deftly he drew out metal into threads or wire, formed them into
interlocking rings. As he worked he always sang, though the words were not in
their language, and he appeared to be in a dream from which he could not be
easily roused.
While he labored the Lady Almondia sometimes came to watch, her long hands
clasped one over the other tightly as if she willed herself to some hard
action. Her eyes were sad, and she would leave with drooping head, as if she
watched some fateful thing which had in it the seeds of abiding ill. Yet never
did she speak, nor strive to halt his labors.
There came a night in the first of autumn when she arose before the moon was
to be seen. She touched the shoulder of Aufrica who lay in her own bed place.
While Truan slept they went forth from the house and took the trail up and up.
The moon gave light as they reached the top, to show them the way as clear as
if they carried lanterns.
So they went, the Lady Almondia first, and Aufrica after, and each carried a
bundle in the crook of her arm, and in her free hand a wand of ash peeled
white and silvered by moonlight.
They passed through the old garden and the Lady climbed the wall, her feet
setting prints in the smooth sand which was silver. Aufrica, following, took
care to step in the tracks the Lady left.
Together they came to the star altar. Opening her bundle Aufrica took out
candles, finely fashioned of beeswax and scented with dried herbs. She set one
of these on each point of the star. While the Lady unrolled the packet she
carried and brought out a cup. It was roughly made of wood, as if it had been
shaped by hands not accustomed to such a task. Which was the truth, for she
herself had labored in secret to hollow it.
This she placed in the center of the star. Into it she shifted a little of the
sand taken from each point, putting in a double handful of the silver. So the
rude cup was half full.
She nodded then to Aufrica, for they had done all in silence, not breaking the
brooding quiet. The Wise Woman threw around the cup full handfuls of a white
powder, and when that was done the Lady Almondia spoke, thus calling upon a
Name and a Power. And she was answered. Out of the night struck a bolt of
white fire to ignite the powder. And that blaze flared so brilliantly Aufrica
cried out, covering her eyes. However, the Lady Almondia stood steady, and now
she chanted. As she chanted that blaze continued, though there was naught for
it to feed upon. Over and over again she repeated certain words. At last she
flung high both arms, and when she lowered them slowly to her sides again, the
blaze died.
But where there had been a cup of rough wood, there was now a goblet shining,
as if fine silver. The Lady took this and covered it quickly, holding it to
her as if it were some treasure she valued with her life.
The candles had burned away, but they left no dripping of wax where they had
stood; the stone was bare.
The women turned and went. Aufrica glanced back as they climbed the wall. She
was in time to see a small ruffling of the sand as if it moved under some
invisible, unfelt wind, to wipe out the footprints they had left.
"It is done, and well done," the Lady spoke with a wearied voice. "There
remains now only the end -- "
"A lusty end -- " Aufrica ventured.
"There will be two."
"But -- "
"Yes, a double wish carries its own price. My lord shall have his son, who, as
the stars have written, will company him. Yet, there shall be another to
guard."
"The price, Lady?"
"You know well the price, my good friend, my moon sister."
Aufrica shook her head. "No -- "
"Yes, and yes! We have both cast the seeing runes. The time comes when one
must go, the other be left. If the day of going comes a little sooner -- for a
good purpose -- what matters that? My lord will have those to watch after him.
Look not so, moon sister. You and I know that such partings are but doors
opening, not closing -- though the dull eyes of this world see very little.
Rejoicing, not sorrow shall be our portion!"
Though she had always been so sober of mien and quiet, it did seem that the
Lady Almondia thereupon put on lightsome airs she had not shown before. And
there was a kind of beauty about her as she bore the cup back to the house.
There she filled it with a special wine of Aufrica's best. With it rim-full in
her hand she went to the couch of her lord and laid her hand upon his
forehead. He awoke easily and she laughed and spoke to him in her own tongue.
Then he laughed also and drank of the cup halfway. She finished the rest and
went to his eager arms and they lay together after the way of man and wife and
were fulfilled while the moon sank and the first light of dawn grayed the sky.
Not long after it was seen that the Lady was bearing, and now the women of the
village felt less in awe of her and they would speak freely, telling of this
or that which was of aid to women in her condition. Always she thanked them
softly, with good will, and they brought her small gifts, a length of fine
wool for a wrapping band, things to eat which were proper for a breeding
woman. She went no more to the hills but worked about the house, or sometimes
sat silent, her eyes fixed upon the wall as if she saw there what others could
not.
But Truan became more than ever a part of the village. He went with Omund to
Jurby for the year's tax and trading venture, and when they returned Omund was
high pleased, saying that the Lord had made an excellent bargain with the
Sulcarmen so they reckoned more from this venture than for many years
previous.
Winter came and people stirred not far from their homes, except at Yule eve
when they had the Year's End Feast, the women tossing ivy, the men holly onto
the fires to bring luck for the Year of the Sea Serpent now beginning.
Summer came after an early spring and there were babies in the village,
Aufrica overseeing the birthing. The Lady Almondia no longer went out. And
several of the goodwives began to watch her and shake their heads in private,
for, though her body thickened, yet her face was very thin, her arms like
wands for size, and she moved as one with a burden greater than she could
bear. Yet she smiled at all and seemed content. Nor did her lord appear to
notice any change in her.
Her time came with moonrise on just such a brilliant night as that when she
and Aufrica had evoked whatever was within the star walls. Aufrica brought
forth oils over which she said old spells, and upon the Lady's belly she wrote
runes, and upon the palms of her hands, and upon her feet, and last of all on
her forehead.
It was a long labor but it ended at last with the crying wails of not one babe
but two. Side by side they lay on the bed place -- a boy and a girl. The Lady,
too weak to raise her head from the pillow, looked to Aufrica with a message
in her eyes, so that the Wise Woman came quickly to her, in her hand the cup
of silver.
In this she poured a small measure of pure water and held it so that the Lady
could, with infinite labor, raise her right hand and set fingertip in it. With
it she touched the girl babe who cried no longer, but lay looking about her
with strange, almost knowing eyes, as if she could understand all that was
happening.
"Elys," said the Lady Almondia.
By her stood the Lord Truan, a kind of horrified awareness in his face as if
his season's long gentle acceptance of life was ended with bitter knowledge.
But he reached also finger to water and touched the boy babe who was crying
lustily and kicking as if he fought.
And he said: "Elyn."
Thus were they named, and they grew well. But within four days after their
coming the Lady Almondia closed her eyes and did not wake again. So she went
from Wark after her own fashion and when she was gone they discovered that
indeed they were much the poorer. The Lord Truan let Aufrica and the women
make her seemly, then he wrapped her in a woolen cloak and carried her in his
arms into the hills. Men, looking upon his face, did not ask him where he
went, or if they could aid him.
On the second day he returned alone. Nor did he ever mention the Lady again,
but became a silent man, willing to give aid in any matter, but seldom
speaking. He continued to live with Aufrica and he cared for the children with
more attention than the village men were wont. But no man remarked on that,
for he was no longer one they felt easy with -- as if some of that which had
always cloaked the Lady was now wrapped about him in turn.
2
Cup Spell
THAT WAS THE BEGINNING of the tale, before it was mine. I learned it mostly
from Aufrica, a little from my father, who was Truan, the Far Stranger. For I
am Elys.
There was more that Aufrica told me concerning the Lady Almondia. Neither she
nor my father were of High Hallack nor of the Dales blood. They came from
Estcarp, though my father said nothing of their life there. And what my mother
had told Aufrica was little.
Aufrica, being a Wise Woman, had the lore of herbs, knew charms, could make
amulets, ease pain, bring children, had the powers of the woods and the hills.
Though she never attempted the mastery of high sorcery, nor called upon the
Great Names.
But my mother had been more, though she used what she knew sparingly. Aufrica
believed she had set aside much of her power when she fled her native land
with my father, the reason for that I was never to learn. But my mother was
witch-born, sorceress trained, so Aufrica was like a newly schooled child in
her presence. Yet there was some barrier so that she might not turn much of
her past authority to use in High Hallack.
Only when she wished children had she invoked what she had once been able to
call upon freely. And then she paid a high price -- her own life.
"She cast the rune sticks," Aufrica told me. "On that table there, she cast
them one day when your father was afar. In those she read her own future was
short. Then she said that she must not leave her lord without what he longed
for -- a son to bear sword and shield after him.
"It was the nature of her kind that the bearing of children is not often
known. For they put off much of the woman when they take on the cloak, put out
their hand for the wand of power. They must break vows and that is a fell
thing. But she was willing to do this for her lord."
"He has Elyn," I nodded. At that moment my brother was indeed with our father,
down with the boats drawn out of winter seas to be worked upon against summer
out-faring. "But there is also me -- "
"Yes." Aufrica's hands were busy as she crushed dried herbs into a scented
paste in the mortar she held between her knees. "She went to a place of the
power to ask for a son, but also she spoke for a daughter. I think that she,
also, wished one to take her place in the world. You are witch-born, Elys,
though what I can teach you is very little beside what your mother knew. Yet
all I have learned shall be yours."
A strange upraising indeed. For if Aufrica saw in me my mother's daughter, to
be nurtured with the learning of old powers, my father saw a second son. I did
not wear the kirtle and skirt of a village maid, but breeches and tunic like
my brother's. This was to suit my father, as he was uneasy if I appeared
before him otherwise.
Aufrica thought that was because as I grew older and taller and more of a
woman I resembled my mother and that made him unhappy. So I kept to the
likeness of Elyn and he was satisfied.
It was not only in apparel that my father wished me son rather than daughter.
From the earliest years he taught me arms-play, matching Elyn and me. First we
thrust and parried with small, mock swords made from driftwood. But as we grew
older he beat out twin blades in the smithy. And I knew as much of the art of
battle as any Dales squire.
However, he yielded to Aufrica, that I had my time with her. We quested into
the hills for herbs, and for her to show me certain places of the Old Ones and
relay to me the rituals and ceremonies which must be observed at phases of the
moon should it be desired.
I saw the star-walled place where my mother had wrought her High Moon Magic,
but that we never ventured in. Though we brought harvests from about the
walls.
I had seen many times the cup my mother had brought from that final sorcery.
Aufrica kept it among her most precious things, never touching it with her
bare hands, but always with a square of green-blue stuff she valued highly. It
was silver in color, that cup, but also other colors ran across its surface
when it was turned this way or that.
"Dragon scales," Aufrica told me. "This is dragon scale silver. I had heard of
it in old legends, but never did I see it before the dragon fire itself
wrought this at the Lady's bidding. It is thing of very great power; guard it
well."
"You speak as if it is mine -- " I marveled at the cup, for it was a thing of
such beauty as one might see only once in a lifetime.
"Yours it is when there is time and need. It is bound to you and to Elyn. But
only you, being what you are, can make use of it." Nor did she say more then.
I have spoken of Aufrica who was very close to me, and of my father, who
walked, talked, and lived as if a thin sheet of some invisible armor cut him
away from the rest of mankind. But I have not spoken of Elyn.
We were born at one birth, yet we were not close copies of one another. Only
in our faces and persons was that so. Our interests were never the same. He
loved action, swordplay, and he chafed at the narrow life of Wark. He was
reckless and often disciplined by my father for leading other boys into
trouble or danger. And he used to stand outside at times, staring at the hills
with such longing in his eyes that he seemed a hawk in chains.
I found my freedom inwardly, he wanted his outwardly. He had impatience for
Aufrica's teachings. And as he grew he spoke more often of Jurby, of going
there to take service with a Dales lord.
That my father would have had to let him go at last we knew. But in the end
war answered that for us. For in the Year of the Fire Troll the invaders came
to High Hallack.
They were seaborne, and, when my father heard of their raids upon the coast
keeps and towns, his mouth set hard. For it seemed that they were enemies long
known to his own people. He put aside those moods of other-being when he
walked apart and one night he spoke to us and Aufrica with the determination
of a man who had decided upon a course and would not be turned from it.
He would go to the Lord of Vestdale and offer his sword -- and more than his
sword, for knowing this enemy of old, he had that to offer which could prepare
resistance the better. Looking upon his face we knew that nothing we might say
or do could turn him from this course.
Elyn then arose and said if my father would go, then he also as squire. And
his determination was as set and stern -- their faces alike, one to the other,
in that moment as if one was the mirrored reflection of the other.
But my father won that battle of wills, saying that Elyn's duty was to me and
to Aufrica for the present But he swore a binding oath that he would send for
Elyn later, so his authority held.
However, my father did not depart at once; rather, he wrought in the smithy
day and night. But first he went into the hills with a pack pony. When he
returned his animal was heavily laden with lumps of metal which might have
once been worked and then congealed into these masses.
From these he wrought, Kaleb aiding him, two swords and two shirts of fine and
supple chain mail. One of these he gave to Elyn, the other he brought to me.
When he laid it down he spoke as one who would have his words heeded, to be
remembered in days to come.
"I do not have the gift of foreseeing that she had" -- seldom did he mention
my mother, and then never by name -- she might have been some great lady he
held in reverence and awe. "But I have dreamed, and of my dreams has come this
-- that there lies before you some venture in which you must go girt with more
than your strong spirit and courage, my daughter. Though I have not treated
you as a maid -- yet -- "
It seemed that words failed him. He stroked the mail shirt as if it were silk,
nor did he look directly at me, but turned sharply and went before I could
speak. And in the next dawn he took the hill path to Vestdale. Nor did we ever
see him again.
The Year of the Fire Troll passed, and as yet we dwelt safe in our small clift
pocket, we of Wark. But Omund made no year-end voyage to Jurby, for a small
band of hard-used folk came over the hills to tell us Jurby had fallen to the
enemy in a single night of red wrack and ravage. And that Vestdale Keep was
now besieged.
The villagers met and tried to plan. They had always lived by the sea, yet it
seemed now that the sea might be their bane and to flee inland meant safety.
The younger men, and those without strong family ties, spoke to make a stand
where we were. But others thought it better to abandon the village and return
later if no invasion came nigh.
Tales of the refugees swung the day, for those hearing their accounts of the
red ruin the raiders left urged retreat, and that decision won.
During all debate my brother listened but did not speak. I read in his face
that he had made his own decision. So when we went back to the house I faced
him and said:
"There comes a time when one can no longer keep sword in sheath. If you would
go -- go with our blessing of good fortune. You have served your time here; be
sure we shall have safety on our side when we take to the hills, for who knows
their secrets better than Aufrica and I?"
For a long moment he was silent and then he looked at me straightly.
"There is bred in me that which I must answer, for a year I have been trapped
here. Yet I was promise-bound."
I went to Aufrica's cupboard, and she, sitting on a stool by the fire and
watching, said not a word. What I brought forth was the dragon cup of our
heritage. When I set it on the table between us I let fall the wrapping and
set my two hands boldly about the cool curve of its sides. So I held it for
the space of a few breaths.
Then Aufrica arose in turn and brought from her stores a bottle of herb brew I
had never seen her open before. She drew its stopper with her teeth, keeping
both hands about it as if she feared she might drop or spill what she carried.
Into the cup she poured a thick golden liquid, and a spicy odor filled the
room, carrying with it the plentiful ripeness of a good harvest, the
slumberous fullness of early autumn.
Halfway she filled the cup as I held it; then she drew back, leaving Elyn and
me facing each other across it. I loosed my hold, reached out, catching his
hands, drawing them to the smooth silver.
"Drink," I told him, "half of this, drink. For it is the cup we must share
before we part."
Without question he raised it two-handed, and did not set it down again until
he had swallowed half the potion. Then I took it in turn and finished what was
left.
"While we are parted," I told him, "I shall read your fate in this. For while
the silver remains clear as you now see it, then all is well. But if it clouds
-- "
He did not let me finish. "These are times of war, sister. No man walks safely
forever."
"True. Yet sometimes ill can be turned to well."
Elyn made an impatient gesture. Never had he taken any interest in wise
knowledge. It was as if he deemed such of little value. Still we had never
brought this difference into words. Nor did we now.
Rather I put away the cup and worked with Aufrica preparing what he must take
with him, covers to sleep warm in on the trail, food and drink, as well as a
wallet of healing herbs. And, like my father, he went.
But those of Wark left also. Some of the younger men followed my brother like
an ill-drilled menie. For he was, in spite of his youth, a leader amongst them
in his knowledge of arms. The rest of us barred the doors of our houses,
loaded our pack ponies, and took to the hills.
That was an ill winter. We found refuge, first in an inland village, until an
alarm of raiders came -- then farther inland in barren country. Until we lived
in caves and other rude shelters. Always came tales of farther and farther
invasion, more and more taking of High Hallack.
Aufrica and I were much called upon for our knowledge of healing, not only of
wounds when wanderers from lost battles chanced upon us, but of the many
illnesses which come from hard living, hunger, and even of hearts giving up
hope. Since we faced dangers which were more sharp and sudden, I wore the mail
my father had fashioned for me, knew sword-weight at my belt. Just as I
learned to use the bow for hunting, both for the pot and for those who would
prey on us for what sorry possessions we had left.
As it always is when there is no law in the land and only war and more war,
season after season, there were those who had been born of our own kind and
now skulked as filthy scavengers, preying on all too weak to defend
themselves. I killed in those days and knew no sorrow for it, for those I so
slew were not truly men.
One thing I kept ever by me was the cup, and each morn I took it forth to look
upon it. Never was its brilliance dimmed, so I knew all was right with Elyn.
Sometimes I tried to reach him by a dream bridge, using a sleep potion. Yet
all I bore back into wakefulness was a confusion of half memories. At those
times I hungered for more than Aufrica could teach me, for what my mother must
once have had.
In our wanderings we came nigh now and then those places of the Old Ones. From
several we urged our now small and stumbling band away. For what crept like a
foul fog from those was evil malevolence, wholly alien to our kind. Others
were empty -- as if what they had once cupped was long fled or had seeped away
through the years. A few were welcoming, and to those Aufrica and I went,
hoping to evoke something of what centered there. Yet we had not the proper
training to take more with us when we left than a sense of peace and inner
refreshment.
There were no longer named years for us, just the passing of seasons. In the
third summer we found refuge at last. Some of our band had split away,
choosing other roads. But our small remaining group, with Omund at its head
(he was now much crippled with an aching ailment of the bones), his younger
brothers, their wives, two daughters with children whose husbands had followed
Elyn (for which they sometimes looked ill at me yet never spoke their feelings
aloud), and three more households in which the men were elderly, remained
together.
We found a way into a small upland dale which had never been settled or
visited save by shepherds in season, or cattle drovers, who left huts where
they had sheltered during the grazing months. There we stayed, our handful of
sheep, our half-score of footsore ponies, glad to be at rest. And the people
who had spent their lives combing a living from the sea turned with patient
labor to win some sustenance from the hills.
In high places overlooking the two passes we kept guards. So different had
life become that those guards were mainly women, armed with bows and with
spears which had once been the harpoons of deep-sea fishermen. Well did we
keep watch and ward, for we had seen several times what chanced in small
settlements when those raving wolves of scavengers came down.
It was midsummer of our second year in that pocket of earth, and most of the
others were at labor tending what grain and roots we had saved for this
season's planting, that I was on hill watch and saw for the first time riders
on that faint track which would bring them to the south pass. I raised my
bared sword and with the sun flickering on its bright blade signaled the alert
down valley. I myself went by previously learned ways to spy closer upon those
who came. For by this time we judged all strangers enemies.
As I lay upon a sunwarmed rock and watched, I could see that they were little
threat to us. For we made up in will and preparedness enough to handle these
two.
They were plainly fighting men, but their mail was rusted and gashed. One had
been tied to his saddle and drooped so he might have fallen to the ground had
it not been for those ties and the fact that his comrade rode close beside
him, leading his mount.
There were bloodied rags bound around the head and the shoulder of the
half-unconscious rider, and about the forearm of his companion.
That companion looked time and again to their back trail, as if he expected
pursuers. He still wore a helm topped with a crest of a swooping hawk, though
one wing of that was shorn away. And both had the ragged tatters of heraldic
coats over their mail, though whatever device those had once displayed was so
raveled as to be unreadable. Not that I was learned in the symbols of the
noble Dale houses.
Both men had swords, now sheathed. And the helmed one a crossbow. But they had
no field packs, and their mounts ambled at a footsore pace, as if nigh to
floundering.
I inched a little back and got to my feet in the shadows, setting arrow to bow
cord.
"Stand!"
My order must have seemed to come from empty air. The helmed man jerked his
head. I could not see his face clearly because of the overhang of his
headgear, but his hand was on sword hilt in swift, sure movement. Then he must
have thought better of what might be useless defiance, for he did not draw.
"Stand forth yourself, lurker, steel to steel!" His voice was hoarse and low,
but he bore himself as one ready to meet trouble as it came.
"Not so," I answered. "I have that which will pin death to you, bold man! Come
out of your saddle and put your weapons from you."
He laughed then.
"Cut me down as you will, voice from the rocks. I put aside my blade for no
man. If you want it -- come and take it!"
Now he deliberately drew his weapon, held it at readiness. Even as he faced me
so his comrade stirred and groaned, and the other urged his horse a little on,
pushing between the wounded man and where he must believe I stood.
"Why do you come here?"
His constant glancing at his back trail remained in my mind and I wondered if
he led more trouble to us. Two such men we could handle -- but more --
"We come no place." There was vast weariness in his voice. "We are hunted men
as you can guess if you are not blind. Three days ago Haverdale stood
rearguard at the Ford of Ingra. We are what is left of that force. We bought
time as we promised, but how much -- " He shrugged. "By your speech you are of
the Dales, not the Hounds. I am Jervon, once Marshal of Horse -- this is Pell,
my lord's younger brother."
摘要：

DragonScaleSilver1TheComingoftheFarStrangersTHESTORMhadbeenhigh,batteringthecliffs,breakingoverthehalfreefwhichgaveprotectionforanchoringthefishingboats.ButthemenofWarkhadhadwarning(fornonearesoweather-wiseasthosewholivebywindandwaveandthechangefulsea-luck).Sonoboatswerelost,normeneither--saveonlyth...

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