Wizards’ Worlds (7 page)

“Your food, master.” She was deft, far more so than the mistress, as she slid the
platter of crisp browned mush and thin-sliced pink meat onto the board.

“Thanks given,” Trystan found himself making civil answer as he might in some keep
were one of the damosels there noticing him in courtesy.

He reached for the tankard and at that moment saw her head sway, her eyes wide open
rested on his hand. And he thought, with a start of surprise, that her interest was
no slight one. But when he looked again she was moving away, her eyes downcast like
those of any proper serving wench.

“There will be more, master?” she asked in a colorless voice. But her voice also betrayed
her. No girl save one hold-bred would have such an accent.

There had been many upsets in the dales. What was it to him if some keep woman had
been flung out of her soft nest to tramp the roads, serve in an inn for bread and
a roof? With her face she could not hope to catch a man to fend for her—unless he
be struck blind before their meeting.

“No,” he told her. She walked away with the light and soundless step of a forest hunter,
the grace of one who sat at high tables by right of blood.

Well, he, too, would sit at a high table come next year’s end. Of that he was as certain
as if it had been laid upon him by some Power Master as an unbreakable geas. But it
would be because of his own two hands, the cunning of his mind, and as such his rise
would be worth more than blood right. She had come down, he would go up. Seeing her
made him just more confident of the need for moving on with his plan.

T
HE
road along the ridges was even harder footing after Nordendale, Hertha discovered.
There were gaps where landslides had cut away sections, making the going very slow.
However she kept on, certain this was the only way to approach what she sought.

As she climbed and slid, edged with caution, even in places had to leap recklessly
with her spear as a vaulting pole, she considered what might lie ahead. In seeking
Gunnora she had kept to the beliefs of her people. But if she continued to the shrine
of the Toads she turned her back on what safety she knew.

Around her neck was hung a small bag of grain and dried herbs, Gunnora’s talisman
for home and hearth. Another such was sewn into the breast of her undersmock. And
in the straw which lined each boot were other leaves with their protection for the
wayfarer. Before she had set
out on this journey she had marshaled all she knew of protective charms.

But whether such held against alien powers, she could not tell. To each race its own
magic. The old ones were not men, and their beliefs and customs must have been far
different. That being so, did she now tempt great evil?

Always when she reached that point she remembered. And memory was as sharp as any
spur on a rider’s heel. She had been going to the abbey in Lethendale, Kuno having
suggested it. Perhaps that was why he had turned from her, feeling guilt in the matter.

Going to Lethendale, she must ever remember how it was, every dark part of it. For
if she did not hold that in mind, then she would lose the bolster of anger for her
courage. A small party because Kuno was sure there was naught to fear from the fleeing
invaders. But after all it was not the invaders she had to fear.

There had come a rain of arrows out of nowhere. She could hear yet the bubbling cry
of young Jannesk as he fell from the saddle with one through his throat. They had
not even seen the attackers, and all the men had been shot down in only moments. She
had urged her mount on, only to have him entangle hoofs in a trip rope. After that
she could remember only flying over his head—

Until she awoke in the dark, her hands tied, looking out into a clearing where a fire
burned between rocks. Men sat about the fire tearing at chunks of half-roasted meat.
Those
had been the invaders. And she had lain cold, knowing well what they meant for her
when they had satisfied one appetite and were ready—

They had come to her at last. Even with tied hands she had fought. So they had laughed
and cuffed her among them, tearing at her garments and handling her shamefully, though
they did not have time for the last insult and degradation of all. No, that was left
for some—some
man
of her own people!

Thinking on it now made rage rise to warm her even
though the sun had withdrawn from this slope and there was a chill rising wind.

For the ambushers had been attacked in turn, fell under spear and arrow out of the
dark. Half conscious she had been left lying until a harsh weight on her, hard, bruising
hands brought her back to terror and pain.

She had never seen his face, but she had seen (and it was branded on her memory for
all time) the bowguard encircling the wrist tightened as a bar across her throat to
choke her unconscious. And when she had once more stirred she was alone.

Someone had thrown a cloak over her nakedness. There was a horse nearby. There was
for the rest only dead men under a falling snow. She never understood why they had
not killed her and been done with it. Perhaps in that little her attacker had been
overridden by his companions. But at the time she had been sorely tempted to lie where
she was and let the cold put an end to her. Only the return of that temper which was
her heritage roused her. Somewhere living was the man who should have been her savior
and instead had rift from her what was to be given only as a free gift. To bring him
down, for that she would live.

Later, when she found she carried new life, yes, she had been tempted again—to do
as they urged, rid herself of that. But in the end she could not. For though part
of the child was of evil, yet a part was hers. Then she recalled Gunnora and the magic
which could aid. So she had withstood Kuno’s urging, even his brutal anger.

She held to two things with all the stubborn strength she could muster—that she would
bear this child which must be hers only, and that she would have justice on the man
who would never in truth be its father. The first part of her desire Gunnora had given.
Now she went for answer to the second.

At last night came and she found a place among the rocks where she could creep in,
the stone walls giving refuge from the wind, a carpet of dried leaves to blanket
her. She must have slept, for when she roused she was not sure where she was. Then
she was aware of the influence which must have brought her awake. There was an uneasiness
of the very air about her, a tension as if she stood on the verge of some great event.

With the spear as her staff, Hertha came farther into the open. The moon showed her
unmarked snow ahead, made dark pits of her own tracks leading here. With it for a
light she started on.

A wan radiance, having no light of fire, shown in the distance. It came from no torch
either, she was sure. But it might well mark what she sought.

Here the Old Road was unbroken though narrow. She prodded the snow ahead, lest there
be some hidden crevice. But she hurried as if to some important meeting.

Tall shapes arose, stones set on end in rows. In the outer lines there were wide spaces
between, but the stones of the inner rows were placed closer and closer together.
She followed a road cut straight between these pillars.

On the crest of each rested a small cone of light, as if these were not rocks but
giant candles to light her way. And that light was cold instead of warm, blue instead
of the orange-red of true flame. Also here the moonlight was gone, so that even though
there was no roof she could see, yet it was shut away.

Three stone rows she passed, then four more, each with the stones closer together,
so that the seventh brought them touching to form a wall. The road dwindled to a path
which led through a gate in the wall.

Hertha knew that even had she wanted to retreat, now she could not. It was as if her
feet were held to the path and it moved, bearing her with it.

So she came into a hexagonal space within the wall. There was a low curbing of stone
to fence off the centermost portion and in each angle blazed a flame at ground level.
But she could go no farther, just as she could not draw away.

Within the walled area were five blocks of green stone. These glistened in the weird
light as if they were carved of polished gems. Their tops had been squared off to
give seating for those who awaited her.

What she had expected Hertha was not sure. But what she saw was so alien to all she
knew that she did not even feel fear, but rather wonder that such could exist in a
world where men also walked. Now she could understand why these bore the name of toads,
for that was the closest mankind could come in descriptive comparison.

Whether they went on two limbs or four she could not be sure, the way they hunched
upon their blocks. But they were no toads in spite of their resemblance. Their bodies
were bloated of paunch, the four limbs seemingly too slender beside that heaviness.
Their heads sat upon narrow shoulders with no division of neck. And those heads were
massive, with large golden eyes high on their hairless skulls, noses which were slits
only, and wide mouths stretching above only a vestige of chin.

“Welcome, seeker—”

The words rang in her head, not her ears. Nor could she tell which of the creatures
had addressed her.

Now that Hertha had reached her goal she found no words, she was too bemused by the
sight of those she had sought. Yet it seemed that she did not have to explain, for
the mind speech continued:

“You have come seeking our aid. What would you, daughter of men—lose that which weighs
your body?”

At that Hertha found her tongue to speak.

“Not so. Though the seed in me was planted not by lawful custom but in pain and torment
of mind and body, yet will I retain it. I shall bear a child who shall be mine alone,
as Gunnora has answered my prayers.”

“Then what seek you here?”

“Justice! Justice upon him who took me by force and in shame!”

“Why think you, daughter of men, that you and your
matters mean aught to us, who were great in this land before your feeble kind came
and who will continue to abide even after man is again gone? What have we to do with
you?”

“I do not know. Only I have listened to old tales, and I have come.”

She had an odd sensation then; if one could sense laughter in one’s mind, she was
feeling it. They were amused, and knowing that she lost some of her assurance.

Again a surge of amusement, and then a feeling as if they had withdrawn, conferred
among themselves. Hertha would have fled, but she could not. And she was afraid as
she had not been since she faced horror on the road to Lethendale.

“Upon whom ask you justice, daughter of men? What is his name, where lies he this
night?”

She answered with the truth. “I know neither. I have not even seen his face. Yet"—she
forgot her fear, knew only that which goaded her on—"I have that which shall make
him known to me. And I may find him here in Grimmerdale, since men in many now pass
along this road, the war being ended.”

Again that withdrawal. Then another question.

“Do you not know that services such as ours do not come without payment? What have
you to offer us in return, daughter of men?”

Hertha was startled, she had never really thought past making her plea here. That
she had been so stupid amazed her. Of course there would be payment! Instinctively
she dropped her bundle, clasped her hands in guard over where the child lay.

Amusement once more.

“Nay, daughter of men. From Gunnora you have claimed that life, nor do we want it.
But justice can serve us too. We shall give you the key to that which you wish, and
the end shall be ours. To this do you agree?”

“I do.” Though she did not quite understand.

“Look you—there!” One of the beings raised a forefoot and pointed over her shoulder.
Hertha turned her head. There was a small glowing spot on the surface of the stone
pillar. She put out her hand and at her touch a bit of stone loosened, so she held
a small pebble.

“Take that, daughter of men. When you find him you seek, see it lies in his bed at
the coming of night. Then your justice will fall upon him—here! And so you will not
forget, nor think again and change your mind, we shall set a reminder where you shall
see it each time you look into your mirror.”

Again the being pointed, this time at Hertha. From the forelimb curled a thin line
of vapor. That gathered to form a ball which flew at her. Though she flinched and
tried to duck, it broke against her face with a tingling feeling which lasted only
for a second.

“You shall wear that until he comes hither, daughter of men. So will you remember
your bargain.”

What happened then she was not sure, it was all confused. When she was clear-headed
again dawn was breaking, and she clawed her way out of the leaf-carpeted crevice.
Was it all a dream? No, her fingers were tight about something, cramped and in pain
from that hold. She looked down at a pebble of green-gray stone. So in truth she had
met the Toads of Grimmerdale.

Grimmerdale itself lay spread before her, easy to see in the gathering light. The
lord’s castle was on the farther slope, the village and inn by the highway. And it
was the inn she must reach.

Early as it was there were signs of life about the place. A man went to the stable
without noticing her as she entered the courtyard. She advanced to the half-open door,
determined to strike some bargain for work with the mistress, no matter how difficult
the woman was reputed to be.

The great room was empty when she entered. But
moments later a woman with a forbidding face stumped in. Hertha went directly to
her. The woman stared at her and then grinned maliciously.

“You’ve no face to make trouble, wench, one can be certain of that,” she said when
Hertha asked for work. “And it is true that an extra pair of hands is wanted. Not
that we have a purse so fat we can toss away silver—”