Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“I believe that you hunt gates.” Again her answer was abrupt.

Once more Mereth’s chalk was busy. “We hunt for portals through which the Dark can come to us, not ones to suffer us to travel into the unknown. You believe we threaten Alizon. Not so, but your home may also be threatened by just such a danger as we seek. We labor on two things, Lady Liara. First to find such gates, second to discover that which will lock them against all future opening.

“To do this”—she had wiped away the earlier lines and was writing swiftly again—“we must go into parts of our world of which we know nothing—where even Sulcars and traders have forged no trails. Girl, you have that in your blood which is mine also.”

Liara had heard that, too, what Kasarian had been told: that Elsenor, the mage who was their own distant foresire, had come out of time to father this woman, Mereth. All which she had always believed was under threat, and so was she—perhaps.

“I am of the House Line of Krevanel.” Her chin went up and she faced this chairbound woman proudly. “I am of Alizon. Anyone within this hall”—she made a gesture with her left hand, keeping her right carefully close to the hiding place of her longest knife—“would gladly see my blood on his or her steel.”

Mereth was writing again. “No one denies that your people are hated. But your brother learned that with a common goal even enemies swear battle oaths.” Her chalk paused and now her stare at Liara was even more penetrating.

“You are not altogether ignorant. I have enough of the talent to know—this—

The hand holding the chalk flashed upward, as if, leaving the slate, Mereth would now draw upon the air itself. And draw she did—a complicated design. White it was at first, as white as Liara’s hair, then deepening into a blue which drew the girl past understanding to put out her own hand.

The design curled, wavered, flipped, to encircle her wrist. She would have cried out, but it was as if Mereth’s own dumbness that moment became hers and she could only stare from the woman to that strange coil which did not quite touch her own flesh but whirled thrice and then was gone.

It was Keris’s turn to start and his hand went to sword hilt in unconscious reaction to an act which bore the force of true power. As strange as the truce with the Keplians, now of the Light, who companioned with the Lady Eleeri and her lord, so was such an acceptance of this female from Alizon. Mage blood—yes, he knew that story. It was widespread in Lormt and he knew that it had been passed along deliberately so that Liara might find acceptance among age-old enemies of her kind.

Only… there was no misinterpreting what he had just seen. This Liara was not only accepted by the Light; she also was gifted as well. He knew that old twinge of jealousy. To be a halfling and ungifted, while this open enemy was granted such a Power…

“What do you want of me?” Sparks of anger in those green eyes made Keris think of a snowcat he had once seen at bay.

The Lady Mereth did not turn to her slate at once. She was regarding Liara now as one must study some pattern in weaving. At length once more her chalk squeaked across her slate.

“Much, perhaps. Look you here.” She slid the slate to her other knee and now used the chalk to point to that part of the hide map before her.

Most of this was blank. Keris recognized a fraction of the coastline, but that, also, was cut abruptly short. This was south of Karsten—and he knew well the tale of that single gate symbol on the edge of the sea itself. His own clan, the Tregarths, had helped destroy that horror of a portal little more than a year past.

The girl had moved closer, as if her curiosity had drawn her against her will. But Keris was studying the land which was sketched in just above that blankness. Karsten—another ancient enemy. Survivors of his race there had been driven forth as exiles years since.

Pagan, the warlord duke, had taken command after the fall of the Kolder-backed rule. And Pagan had flourished until he was past all caution and had started north to invade Estcarp.

No one would ever be allowed to forget the Turning, when the witches protected their own with the force of such Power as racked the world. Mountains had walked and crumpled into valleys, new peaks had arisen. All the old trails were long gone, though parties of Borderers had been scouting southward ever since they had recovered from the backlash of that swordless battle.

They dared not accept that Karsten lacked gates. In fact there was already a known one near the new border on the southern side, sketched in by the Lady Eleeri. That lay in what had once been Karsten territory—a portion held by the Old Race before they had been hunted down and slain. There she had entered, to travel north and west into the fringe of Escore. And some of the descendants of those who had been driven out were indeed drifting back to restore ruined keeps long held by their clans.

So—the parry sent southward would be moving through a land given over to warring nobles and continued chaos. They must go as stealthily as scouts and yet be ready to defend their mission should the need arise.

“… know nothing of that land,” Liara was protesting. He must have been so intent on his own thoughts that he had missed some question of Mereth’s.

“And it knows nothing of you.” The words stood out, boldly scrawled on the slate.

Liara’s hand was at her lips and she looked beyond the slate to the nearly empty stretch of hide. “Why?” she said slowly.

“Do you wish a half life among those here, few of whom will give you trust, or a full one you can make for yourself?” Mereth’s chalk questioned.

The girl’s body was as tense as a boar spear held ready in the hunt. “You yourself say I am not trusted. How then could I be accepted by any of this company who choose to ride into danger?”

“Because,” she was answered then by a soft voice rather than the chalk, “you are called Lady of Alizon. The power chooses what tools it will wield.”

The small witch had drifted once more to them. That jewel which usually swung on its neck chain now rested on her palm, held out before her. And for a moment, even as Lady Mereth’s sending, it blazed blue.

Liara drew a ragged breath and shrank back a step. “I will not be slave to your magics!” Steel glinted in her hand now and Keris moved as quickly, being just able to catch her wrist, though he had difficulty in keeping that hold.

The witch jewel flicked. Another ray of light, and Liara dropped the dagger Keris had not yet been able to wrest from her.

Then the small, gray-robed figure moved closer. “There is no harm in that which is born of the Light,” she said. “And whether you see it now or not, that is where you stand, Lady of Alizon, on the side of the Light—even as does your brother. Yes, you will be one of the searchers.” She extended the jewel a fraction farther. “I do not select, nor do my sisters; this does. And”—suddenly she half turned toward Keris—“there is also a need for a fighting man.”

Keris had not loosened his hold on Liara. “Lady,” he said with all respect to this maid who was perhaps ten years or more his junior, “I am no name-won warrior. There will be those in plenty who can better serve than I.” The words were bitter. His whole body ached to believe what she had said: that he—the halfling—the ungifted—was a proper weapon for this foray.

She smiled at him almost mischievously. “Keris Tregarth, think what name you bear. Already those of your clan are on such a ride.”

“They are,” he answered slowly, “what they have always been, sword and shield to wall our world.”

“Nor are you any less, Valley guard.” Now she was deeply serious. “I have the foresight—which is more of a burden than any blessing. This pathway is also mine and I see you on it. The reason will be made clear in time.”