Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“That is now with Hilarion and Kaththea,” Mouse replied. “Hilarion reported two gates of his own and he deactivated them as well as he could. But the adepts were not friendly among themselves. It was their pleasure to make some new find and astonish their fellows, but not explain how they achieved the results they paraded later. However”—her small face was drawn and tired—“most of the Old Ones were of Escore and Arvon—that was the world before the Great Battle broke all apart. Therefore what we may find here in the south are the works of either wanderers, more than usual distrustful of their kind, or of refugees who were scattered after the First Ending.”

They did not push on that day. It was plain that the expenditure of talent had been hard on both human and animals. The two Borderers fished to good results and Keris on Jasta, with Falconer Krispin, went hunting. They brought down a good-sized prong-horn and Farwing took four grass hens—such abundance of meat to build up their dwindling stores as they lingered for a second and then a third day to dry it, waiting for Denever’s return and some report as to what lay downriver and whether they might expect to run into some of the roving parties which seemed now to provide Karsten’s rate.

During a second such hunt on the following day they came across evidence that Karsten still had pockets of life strong enough to hold the chaos at bay. Farwing, on scout, picked out what lay ahead, reporting to Krispin.

“A road”—the Falconer smoothed the head of his feathered companion with a finger—“and apparently one in use. Farwing saw a party traveling it. Perhaps we should take a look for ourselves.”

Better know the worst as soon as one could, Keris silently agreed. If their present camp by the river was not at the edge of an overgrown wilderness, but rather bordered on inhabited holdings, they must be ready to move on.

They dismounted, and Jasta drifted a little ahead as scout. Following him, Keris and the Falconer came through a narrow ravine which provided a path for a small stream with bush growth enough to afford them cover.

There ran the road, rightly enough, and Keris was quick to take the meaning of that space on either side: not quite as wide as an arrow flight, but obviously cleared, so that an ambush would be hard to set.

Whoever ruled this part of the sadly war-torn land had the will and power enough to keep open roads. And roads meant not only quicker movement for armed forces but also for traders. Where went traders there was peace, even if an uneasy one.

The road ran across the stream with no benefit of bridging and Keris guessed there was either a ford or just a shallow flow of water.

The party Farwing had sighted was already close to the fording. There rode a cluster of armed guards and within their circle of protection a litter swung between two sturdy horses, brightly curtained though somewhat tarnished by road dust. A section of this had been looped back that the rider within could view the scene. Keris caught sight of a rich-colored robe which could only be that of a noblewoman, and he saw a silver-banded arm fast-closed about a small, struggling child who was red in the face and screaming as it tried to free itself from restraint.

Behind the litter came three women in more sober garb, their heads nearly hidden by winged caps, mounted on slow-pacing horses. Then more guards. They all held to the plodding speed of the litter horses, though Keris noted that several of the men acted as outriders, seeking the very verge of the cut-back growth for their passage.

“Luscan!” That sharp exclamation from his own companion was startling. Just as the Falconer had spoken, so did the bird on its saddle-horn perch let shrill a carrying cry.

There was instant answer from the wayfarers. The guard split smoothly in two, one half taking their places around the litter and the women riders, the three closest headed toward the ravine while their companions maneuvered to withstand a charge.

Before Keris could move, Krispin sent his mount forward as his bird uttered another screaming call. Then Keris noted that two of the guards wore the equipment of Falconers. Their own birds were mantling and quickly answered Farwing’s cries.

One of the three Falconers below pushed up the bird-beaked visor of his falcon helm.

“You ride. Brother of the Eyrie, on oath?” The part of his face Keris could see was that of a much older man, and a seamed scar lifted the corner of his lip to one side.

“I ride on oath,” Krispin answered steadily. “I ride in no quarrel against the brotherhood—though the Eyrie no longer exists.”

The guardsmen below were taking their cues from the Falconers. There were hands on sword hilts and bows well forward, but they seemed willing that, in this, their own fellow traveler take the lead.

Krispin lifted his own beaked visor and then, as if to make his identity certain to the other, he took off that helm entirely.

“You are Luscan of the Barred Wing Flight,” he said. “I was fledgling in the season you took flight command.”

“And who was your trainer then?” came quick demand.

“Asshfar—but he took flight long since, even before the rending of the Border.”

“Asshfar,” the other repeated. “So, boy , what do you now—play blank shield as the rest of us to scrape a living?” His twisted mouth was a sneer.

“I have taken service as my flight commander bade me—

“With Baron Jerme? You ride boldly enough on his land.”

“Cross it only. Those I ride with have a geas set.”

Luscan stared at him. “What does witchery and geas have to do with an honest fighting man?”

“Perhaps much. But this I will swear to—by sword and blood, talon and beak—we come not to trouble any dweller on this land.” He hesitated and then added in a voice which was a tone sharper, “Be they of the Light.”

Luscan grunted, but it was plain that the oath Krispin had offered was binding to him.

“Whose shield badge do you raise?” he asked in a slightly less arrogant tone.

“That of two lands, perhaps even of Karsten, since that which we seek lies also here, as we have already proven twice.”

“Riddles!” That rather querulous voice came from the woman in the litter. “Speak plain or be taken for what you are—masterless and eager to profit by such freedom.”

The two other Falconers urged their mounts a few steps forward until all three faced Krispin. Keris tensed, knowing that if this turned from speech to sword, he would have a part in it.

“There is threat of the Dark for all men of good spirit.” Krispin made no move to resume his helm. “We come out of Estcarp, out of Escore, out of Lormt, to seek the seeds of death.”

“Witches!” Again it was the woman who spoke. “Have they not brought enough death upon us? Where lies my dear first lord, servant of ill power? Under the rocks of the mountains, lost forever.”

Her voice was nearly lost in a rush of wings. All four of the falcons had, by no order Keris was aware of, taken flight. At the same time Jasta’s warning hit him:

*Trouble. An ambush set and now they grow impatient. Their master is not an easy one.*

Down the stretch of road still before the cortege there frothed and bubbled, rising out of the grass of the verge, their natural hiding place, rasti—the great rat things who lived only to kill and eat.

Perhaps the scouts had not sighted this because they had been seeking more normal dangers. The screams of the women rang as high and violent as the neighing of the frightened horses. Though they might grow no longer than a man’s forearm, yet rasti in a pack could well bring down a horse and rider.

Kens raised his voice in the Valley battle cry. “Light for sword—Light,” and Jasta bore him forward at a run. They met with the tail end of the pack. Jasta’s head went down. He caught one of the bloated brown bodies, snapped and flung it into the midst of the others, while he reared on high feet to bring forehooves into smashing play.