Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

The men, of course, were unapproachable, even though the females of this outer world were as frankly at ease with them as they would be with their own sex. She had first marveled at that openness and then somehow it made her angry inside, as if they had forced her into a kind of invisible prison.

However, she could use her eyes and her ears, and her life in Alizon had trained her to seek out nuances, weigh even the tone of a voice, the flick of an eyelid. Thus she tried to learn all she could without any questioning, making herself a slave laborer for this mixed band.

There came the sound of a scrambling run downtrail and she was on her feet in an instant, grasping for the reins of her pony.

She recognized the newcomer as that halfling Tregarth, enemy born to those of her blood.

“Off pack!” His order came breathlessly and he pushed past her to the foremost of the ponies. The small beast promptly snapped with yellow teeth and Keris barely avoided that vicious nip.

Liara smiled slyly. Then she returned the reins of her mount to the rocky tie and slipped past young Tregarth to the animal, who was prevented only by the length of its lead rope from savaging him as he backed hastily away. There was more sound upslope until one of the Falconers skidded on a mossed stone and fetched up again the rock which had supported her earlier. The hawk mask of his helm was in place and his bird circled overhead.

“Do we camp?” Liara asked. Her hand was now on the pack pony’s neck. It did not strike at her, but it began to sweat as if the climb this far had taxed its full strength.

Keris scowled at her. “We need the beasts—to clear our path.”

Her hands were busy with the ropes as the men stood watching, for if they ventured any nearer, the ponies rolled eyes and prepared to kick and buck. She was used to this job now, but it was clear that the others were impatient that she did not allow the loads to simply tumble to the ground.

Once the lashings on the ponies were freed, she nodded to the others. “There is need for this. Would you let it lie?” Liara had no thought herself of trying to lift or drag the packs.

However, the men did not protest. Already they pulled the supplies behind a tumble of storm-uprooted trees.

The rearguard was up with them now, short spear out of his shoulder sling, on the alert.

“What’s to do?” he demanded.

“There is that beyond which must be destroyed. We need the pack ponies to shift rocks.” Keris’s answer was immediate.

“Then”—the guard jerked a thumb at Liara—“best get her for the managing of them. No man is going to want to lose a hand or have his feet kicked from under him!”

Keris nodded. Then he spoke to Liara as he always did, aloofly, not meeting her eye to eye. “With your assistance, then, Lady. We need the strength of these beasts and you can best command them.”

There was no reason to refuse. In fact she was being sharply prodded by curiosity. Getting into her saddle and settling herself there gingerly, she picked up the lead rope and the three men stepped nimbly aside as she led her procession up toward the ridge top.

The wind was rising and it flowed downslope. Liara made a face. This was like the effluvia from a badly kept kennel—though she had never heard of a kennel neglected to such an appalling state.

The Lady Eleeri and the witch had moved aside from the trail and here was Denever, and the second Falconer. They were squatting, the archer busy with a stick, drawing on a patch of ground brushed clear.

Lord Romar stood there also looking down, and as Liara drew her train to a halt he said:

“Farwing and Swifttalon report that the length of the thing vanishes into the side of the cliff itself. It is like some monster entrapped.”

Denever nodded. “Entrapped even as it was set to trap. The evil is sped now, Lady Mouse has said. But it may still return even as fire flickers out of an ember when another stick is laid for its eating. We have here a trace way up—which only the ponies can take. The Torgians and Keplians and Jasta are all too large to attempt it. Even if it were widened, their greater weight and shod hooves would bring them down.”

The others were nodding and then the Falconer added: “Farwing reports broken land atop. Even the ponies will have to be surefooted there.”

Denever grunted. “Show me a pony that is not that and I shall shout it aloud to all of Karsten. These beasts are bred and born in such country and they are surefooted. So, Lady Liara”—he did not even turn his head to look at her—“if you can get these stubborn animals to climb, perhaps a good third of our job is done.”

“Lady Liara.” Mouse was standing now, though Eleeri hovered by her as if to offer instant support. “It is true that the Dark has withdrawn from this thing. The trap is very ancient and perhaps, if a will was set to move it once more to slaughter, it has withdrawn. For now your beasts have nothing to fear.”

Your beasts—not you and your beasts. Liara nodded but was surprised when Mouse continued:

“Though you see shadows where none walk, there is promise of more—by this.” Her hand cupped the jewel. “So do I swear it!”

Witchery! Liara tensed. Was this Mouse girl weaving some net about her, dooming her to everlasting service? Bur it would not matter, she had already doomed herself when she had taken the hidden ways of Krevanel keep.

“My thanks, Lady.” She tried to speak smoothly. “What we can do, these beasts and me, that we shall.”

However, when she saw the steep narrow trail up which they had to be urged, she began to doubt her own words. Dismounting, she tested the ropes which fastened the ponies in a chain.

“Here, take you this and test your way.” Lord Romar had moved to her side and pushed into her hand a stout shafted spear.

Nodding thanks but concentrating on the trail ahead, Liara looked for the best place to begin that climb. She thought she did not fear heights and certainly in the secret ways of Krevanel she had dared passages purposely made perilous. Slow but sure—that was what was to be kept in mind now.

Liara never afterward tried to guess how long that ascent took her. She kept small spurts of fear under tight control and the ponies did not balk when she tugged at the lead rope. As the climb continued, that stench grew the stronger and she knew what caused it—maggot-infested meat, crust of blood. The field of some battle might lie ahead.

Finally she and her charges reached a leveling off and she was sure they were on the crest. Around them was a tumble of shattered rock—such as might have existed after some stupendous hammer had given blow after blow here.

The ponies were puffing and moved of their own accord away from that near-impossible trail. This was like a shelf against the cliff and she could see no way they might stray. In fact, one moved purposefully to lip at a tuft of coarse gray-green grass.

She had no desire to see what lay below the edge of the drop to her left. The fetid odor was enough to warn off anyone. Yet she made herself go and gasped as she clung to one great rock and looked down.

A serpent—such a serpent as was reported in legend, killed by heroes in their time for the good of all. What showed in the open was the terrifying head, its monstrous jaws open. However, a little more than a hands-breath behind the backward slope was the cliff wall. Lord Romar had been right: The thing appeared to have been trapped in solid rock.

But— it was also rock, showing no sign of life save the grisly remains about its rigid jaws. Witchery past any imagination except in a nightmare.

“Not pretty, my lady!” The men of the party had climbed up now, crowding to the cliff wall for safety.