Andre Norton - WW - Estcarp Cycle 02 - Web Of The Witch World

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Web of the Witch World
A Witch World Novel by Andre Norton
Version 1.0
I GAUNTLET THROWN
IN THE NIGHT there had been storm with great gusts of
angry wind to batter ancient walls, aim spear-thrusts of
rain at the window slits of the chamber. But its violence
had been reduced to a sullen mutter outside the South
Keep. And Simon Tregarth had found that mutter sooth-
ing.
No, this was no troubling of nature—the raw nature
men must fight and subdue for his own survival. It was
a very different unease he felt as he lay in the early
morning, awake and aware as a sentinel listening to
sounds beyond his post.
Chill sweat gathered in his armpits, beaded dankly
on his slightly hollowed cheeks and square jaw. Gray
light overtook the room shadows, there was no sound,
but-
His hand went out tentatively before he consciously
thought. Nor did he entirely realize that he was yielding
to an emotion which he still found new and hard to
understand. This was an instinctive appeal for comrade-
ship and support against—what? He could set no name
to the uneasiness which held him.
Fingers met warm flesh, cupped on soft skin. He
turned his head on the pillow. The lamp was unlit, but
there was wan light enough to see his bedfellow. Open,
watchful eyes met his fearlessly, but their depths were
shadowed by a twin to the anxiety growing in Simon.
Then she moved. Jaelithe, she who had been a witch
of Estcarp, and was now his wife, sat up abruptly, the
black silk of her hair pulling from beneath his cheek to
cloak her shoulders, her hands folded over her small
high breasts. She no longer gazed at him, but searched
the room, open to their sight since the midsummer mild-
ness had led to the bed hangings being looped up for
the free passage of night breezes.
The strangeness of that chamber came and went for
Simon. Sometimes the present was a dream, ill-rooted
and illusory, when he thought of the past. At other times
it was the past which had no part of him at all. What
was he? Simon Tregarth—disgraced ex-army officer, a
criminal who had fled the vengeance of wolves beyond
the law, who had taken the final step of the perfect es-
cape known to that evil world—the "gate." Jorge Pe-
tronius had opened it for him—an age-old stone seat
rumored to take any man daring enough to sit in it to a
new world, one where his talents would make him at
home. That was one Simon Tregarth.
Another lay here and now in the South Keep of Est-
carp, March Warder of the south, sworn to the service
of the Women of Power; he had taken to wife one of
the feared witches of the age-sombered land of Estcarp.
And this was one of the times when the present annulled
the past—when he crossed a border he could not de-
scribe into a firmer union with the world he had so ab-
ruptly entered.
Sharp as any sword thrust into his flesh was that throb,
breaking through his momentary wonder concerning him-
self and what he was doing here. He moved as quickly
as Jaelithe had earlier, sitting up so that their shoulders
brushed, and in his hand was a dart gun. But even as
Simon brought that out from under his pillow, he knew
the folly of his action. This was not a call to battle, but
a clarion summons far more subtle and, in its way, more
terrifying.
"Simon—" Jaelithe's voice was shaken, higher than
usual and a little unsteady.
"I know!" He was already sliding over the edge of
the wide bed, his feet meeting the first step of the dais
which supported it above the floor of the chamber, his
hands reaching for the garments left on the chair be-
yond.
Somewhere—either in the pile of the South Keep or
near thereto—was trouble! His mind was already busy
with the possibilities. A raid by sea from Karsten? He
was certain no party from the duchy could have won
through the mountains, not when all that country was
patrolled by the Falconers of the heights and his own
Borderer companies. Or was it some slash-and-go attempt
on the part of Alizon, operating by sea? Their sullen
unrest had been apparent for months. Or—
Simon's hands did not slack speed in pulling on boots
or fastening belt, though his breath came a little faster
as he thought on the third and worst possibility—the
chance that Kolder was not crushed, that the evil—alien
to this world in the same way he was alien—stirred again,
moved, lapped closer to them.
In the months since that ruthless enemy had struck
and been repulsed, since the Kolder stronghold on the
island of Gorm had been taken and cleansed and their
supported rising in Karsten failed, they had gone. Noth-
ing stirred from their dark hold of Yle, though none of
the Estcarp forces could break through the barrier which
locked that cluster of towers from approach by sea or
land. Simon, for one, did not believe that the defeat in
Gorm had finished the Kolder threat. That would not be
done with until the aliens were traced to their overseas
stronghold and the nest there destroyed with the vipers
in it. Such a move could not be made as yet—not while
Karsten smoldered to the south or Alizon remained a
battle hound hardly in check in the north.
He was listening now, not only with the sense he
could not have named which had warned him out of
sleep, but with his ears for the warning tocsin on the
tower above. The Borderers who manned this keep
were not to be taken unawares. Surely by now the alarm
should be booming, vibrating through the stone of the
walls!
"Simon!" The summons was so sharp and imperative
that he swung around, weapon once again in his hand.
Jaelithe's face was pallid in this half-light, but her lips
were unnaturally tight against her teeth. It might have
been fear which lighted her eyes so—or was it? A soft
crimson robe was clutched about her, held negligently
by one hand. She had not put her arms into its wide
sleeves and it dragged along the floor as she came around
the end of the bed to him, walking stiffly as if in her
sleep. But she was awake, very much awake, and that
was not fear moving her.
"Simon—I—I am whole!"
It hit him, worse than the summons, with a hurt which
registered deep, and which would grow and hurt the
more; he sensed this fleetingly. So—it had meant that
much to her? That she felt herself maimed, lessened
by what had been between them. And another part of
Simon, less troubled by emotion, arose to defend her.
Witchdom had been her life. As all her sisterhood she
had had pride of accomplishment, joy in that usage;
yet she had willingly set aside, so she thought, all that
when she had come to him, believing that in their
uniting of bodies she would lose all which meant so
much to her. And his second thought was so much the
better one!
Simon held out his hand, though he longed to take
her wholly into his arms. And her new joy which blazed
from every part of her, as if a fire were lit deep within
her skin, bones, and flesh, warmed him also as their
clasp went tight, fingers locking about fingers.
"How—?" he began, but she interrupted him.
"It is with me still—it is! Oh, Simon, I am not only
woman, but also witch!"
Her other hand dropped its hold on her robe so that
the folds collapsed on the floor about her feet. Her
fingers went to her breast, seeking what she no longer
wore—the witch jewel she had surrendered at her wed-
ding.
A little of that bright look faded as she realized she
no longer possessed that tool through which the energy
which filled her now could work. Then, with her old-
time quick reaction to fact, she broke clasp with Simon
and stood, her head slightly atilt, as if she too, listened.
"The alarm has not sounded." Simon stooped to gather
up the robe and wrap her in it.
Jaelithe nodded. "I do not think this is an attack. But
there is trouble—evil—on the move."
"Yes, but where—and what?"
She still stood in the attitude of one listening, but
this time Simon knew that she did not hear audibly,
but sensed some wave reaching directly to her mind. He
felt it, too, that uneasiness which was fast heightening
into a push to action. But what kind of action, where,
against who, or what?
"Loyse!" A whisper. Jaelithe whirled and made for
the coffer which held her clothing. She was dressing
with the same haste as Simon had. But not in the robes
of her household faring. What she burrowed deep to
find was the soft leather which went under chain mail,
the clothing of one riding on a foray.
Loyse? Simon could not be so sure, but he accepted
her word without question. There were four of them,
oddly assorted—four fighters for the freedom of Est-
carp, for their own freedom from the evil which Kolder
had sown so far in what had once been a fair world.
Simon Tregarth, the alien from another world; Jaelithe,
the Witch of Estcarp; Koris, exiled from. Gorm before
its fall into darkness, Captain of the Guard and then
Seneschal and Marshal of Estcarp; and Loyse, the Heiress
of Verlaine, a castle of wrecker lords on the coast. Flee-
ing a marriage with Yvian of Karsten, she had brought
Jaelithe out of Verlaine, and together they had wrought
subtly in Kars for the undoing of Yvian and all that he
stood for. Loyse, wearing hauber, carrying sword and
shield, had joined in the attack on Gorm. And in the
citadel of Sippar had pledged herself to Koris. Loyse,
the pale, small girl who was indeed a warrior strong
and brave beyond most counting. And this sending
dealt with danger for Loyse!
"But she is at Es Castle—" Simon protested, as he
pulled on mail to match that which now clinked softly
in Jaelithe's hands. And Es Castle was the heart, if the
enemy had dared to strike there—!
"No!" Again Jaelithe was positive. "There is the sea—
in this there is the sea."
"Koris?"
"I do not feel him, not in this. If I only had the
jewel!" She was tugging on riding boots. "It is as if I
tried to track a drifting mist. I can see the drift, but
nothing is clear. But Loyse is in danger and the sea is
part of it."
"Kolder?" Simon put into words his deepest fear.
"No. There is not the blankness of the Kolder wall.
But the need for help is great! We must ride, Simon-
west and south." She had turned a little, her eyes now
focused on the wall as if she could really see through
it to the point she sought.
"We ride." He agreed.
The living quarters of the keep were yet silent. But
as they sped together down the hallway to the stair
they heard the sounds of the changing guard. Simon
called, "Turn out the Riders!"
His words echoed hollowly, but carried, to be an-
swered by a startled exclamation from below. Before
he and Jaelithe were halfway down the stairs, Simon
heard the piping of the alert.
This garrison was well prepared for sudden sallies.
Through spring and summer the alarm had sounded
again and again to set the Borderers loose along the
marches. Those who made up the striking force Simon
commanded were largely recruited from the fugitive
Old Race. Driven out of Karsten when the massacre
orders of Kolder were given, they had many causes to
hate the despoilers and murderers who now held their
lands and who came, in quick stab raids, to try the de-
fenses of Estcarp, the last home of that dark-haired, dark-
eyed race who carried ancient wisdom and strange blood,
whose women had witch power and whose men were
dour, stinging wasps of fighters.
"No beacon, Lord—"
Ingvald, Simon's second in command from the old
days' when they had fought, rode and fought again in
the high hills, waited him in the courtyard. It was Jae-
lithe who answered.
"A sending, Captain."
The Karstenian refugee's eyes widened as he looked
at her. But he did not protest.
"An attack here?"
"No. Trouble west and south." Simon made answer.
"We ride fast—with half a troop. You remain in com-
mand here."
Ingvald hesitated as if he wished to argue that, but
he did not speak except to say, "Durstan's company has
the hill duty for this day and are ready to ride."
"Good enough."
One of the serving women ran from the hall behind
- them, holding a platter covered with rounds of journey
bread, new from the oven and each bearing a smoking
slice of meat. Behind her pounded a kitchen lad with
filled beakers slopping their contents over his hands as
he came. Jaelithe and Simon ate as they stood, watching
the troop check mounts and supply bags, ready weap-
ons, for the move out.
"The sender!" Simon heard a small, pleased laugh
from Jaelithe.
"She knows! Had I but my jewel in again, we could
dismiss her to other duties."
Simon blinked. So Jaelithe, even without her jewel,
had communicated with the young witch who was their
link with Estcarp command. The warning must even
now be on its way to the Guardians' Council. In turn
Jaelithe might be able to hold that communication as
they rode, stretching it to report.
He began to consider the terrain west and south-
mountains, the broken foothill country, and sea coast to
the west. There were one or two small villages, market
centers, but no other keep or castle. There were also
temporary guard points, but all were too small, too far
within Estcarp's own territory to house sending witches.
So hill beacons passed warning. And there had been no
such beacon lighted.
What was Loyse doing there? Why had she come forth
from Es Castle and ridden into that wilderness?
"Brought by trick." Jaelithe was reading his surface
thoughts again. "Though the manner of the tricking I
cannot tell you. The purpose I think I can guess—"
"Yvian's move!" It was the most logical answer to any
action against the heiress of Verlaine. By the laws of
Karsten she was Yvian's wife, through whom he could
claim Verlaine—though he had never set eyes on Loyse,
nor she on him. Get her under his hand and the bar-
gain Fulk had made for his daughter would be com-
pleted. Karsten was in uproar by all reports. Yvian, the
mercenary who had won to power by might of arms,
was facing the bared teeth of the old nobility. He would
have to answer their hostility firmly or his ducal throne
would crumble under him.
And Loyse was of the old blood; she could claim kins-
rights with at least three of the most powerful houses.
Using her as a tool Yvian's own ability could accomplish
much. He had to put Karsten in order in a hurry.
Though Simon knew that Estcarp had no intention of
carrying war beyond her own borders—save in the di-
rection of the Kolder—Yvian would not believe that.
The Duke of Karsten must rest very uneasy, knowing
that his massacre of the Old Race gave more than a little
reason to center the vengeance of the witches upon
him. And he would not believe that they did not intend
to attack him. Yes, Loyse was a weapon and a tool Yvian
must be wild to get within his two hands for use.
They rode out of the keep at a purposeful trot, Jae-
lithe matching Simon's pace in the lead, Durstan's twenty
men providing a competent fighting tail. The main road
ran to the coast, perhaps four hours ride away. Before
the fall of Sulcarkeep, the traders' city under Kolder
attack, this had been one of the trade arteries of Est-
carp, linking half a dozen villages and one fair-sized
town with that free port of the merchant-rovers. Since
Sulcarkeep had been blasted into rubble nearly a year
ago the last despairing gesture of its garrison, taking
with it most of its enemy, the highway had lost most of
its traffic and the signs of its disuse were visible, save
where the patrols worked to keep it free of fallen trees
and storm wrack:
The troop clattered through Romsgarth, a central gath-
ering point for the farms of the slopes. Since it was
not market day their swift passage awoke interest from
the early stirring townsfolk and there were calls of in-
quiry as they passed. Simon saw Durstan wave to the
town guard, and knew they would leave a watchful and
ready post behind them. The Old Race might be des-
tined to go down to defeat, their neighbors snarling at
their borders. But they would take a large number of
those enemies with them in the final battle. And that
knowledge was one of the things which kept Alizon
and Karsten from yet making the fatal move of out-
right invasion.
Some leagues beyond Romsgarth Jaelithe signaled a
halt. She rode barehead, her helmet swinging at her
saddle horn. And now she turned her head slowly from
right to left, as if she could scent the path of the quarry.
But Simon had already caught the trace.
"There!" The sensation of danger which had been
with him since waking focused unerringly. A track split
south from the main road. Across it lay a fallen tree and
that trunk bore fresh scars on its bark. One of the troop
dismounted to inspect.
"Scrapes of hooves—recent—"
"Infiltrate," Simon ordered.
They spread out, not to use the artery of the half-
closed path, but working in through brush, among trees.
Jaelithe took up her helmet.
"Make haste!"
This ground was right for ambush; to run into attack
was the choice of a fool. But Simon nodded. What had
brought them here was building to a climax. Jaelithe
pressed heels to her mount, jumped the log, headed
down the path with Simon spurring to catch up with
摘要：

WeboftheWitchWorldAWitchWorldNovelbyAndreNortonVersion1.0IGAUNTLETTHROWNINTHENIGHTtherehadbeenstormwithgreatgustsofangrywindtobatterancientwalls,aimspear-thrustsofrainatthewindowslitsofthechamber.ButitsviolencehadbeenreducedtoasullenmutteroutsidetheSouthKeep.AndSimonTregarthhadfoundthatmuttersooth-i...

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