Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“That gate they found—it was awakening. It takes four of the sisters now to keep steady watch, to hold the cover on it, and our number are limited. Yes.” She pressed her hands tightly about the ball. “However, I do not believe it is that gaping evil they seek, these southbound ones.”

“A greater one?” Lady Mereth wrote.

Gull nodded. “The fire of magic struck far when the Magestone went from us. Such could awaken the Dark as well as the Light. Now those of Escore sweep their southward borders and report this exodus which has never been known.”

“We have found many accounts of the Mage Wars here since we started a distinct hunt for such,” Lady Mereth wrote. “Yet there was something else mentioned several times—ask Morfew if you wish a full account. Power is of the land, it courses under the surface like unseen rivers of everlasting fire. Therefore those who deal with that power, or are born of dealings with it, instinctively do not venture too far beyond the sources they feel. Karsten never knew Gray Ones, except perhaps a small band or two on a quick raid, and then just along the Border.” As Gull read and nodded, Lady Mereth erased the filled slate and wrote again. “Rasti, the Lady Eleeri knew, but that again was in the Borderlands. These other presences you mention, have they ever stirred far from their native haunts before?”

“None such has been reported in our time.”

“The worst that any gate threw upon this world,” the chalk moved on, “was the Kolder. And from all accounts their gate was opened from the other side. But what, Learned Sister, if there now waits a gate in the south, perhaps controlled by a force beyond our knowing, which has found some barrier weakened and now summons to aid that to which it is akin?”

Gull’s clutch on the ball was now so tight that it would seem her fingers were sinking into it.

“Yes.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound. “And Hilarion can no longer raise Alon in Arvon. Garth Howell”—she spat the name with a cat’s hiss—“is not Lormt but it also harbors secrets.

“But do we suggest sending an army south—when we know so little?”

Mereth sighed and squirmed again against her cushions.

“Learned Sister, already time treads fast. Crops must be harvested to the last grain stalk, the smallest apple. There is no way Marshal Koris can call levies to arms without visible cause in Estcarp. While those who police Escore now have all they can do.”

“So.” Gull’s word was almost a verdict. “We wait—let us hope for not too long.”

Lady Mereth thought of the small party struggling into the unknown land so far away and sighed. Marshal Duratan could release no more than a squad. Even if they sent out a call for unpledged Falconers they could put no true army in the field. She wondered what happened now in her beloved Dales land. The triune of lords who established a loose rule after the invasion by Alizon might not even be still in existence. As for what might rise in Arvon—one guess was only worth another. That they had lost contact with Alon had sent Hilarion back to his own castle, to labor with the same equipment he had used before.

“Mouse… she is very young…” Mereth touched on a subject which had bothered her from the first.

Gull did not turn her eyes away. “Mouse”—her monotone was even softer—“is one such as comes to us perhaps once in a hundred generations. She will be one of the greatest All Mothers we have ever had. But the finest sword must be well tempered before it is readied for battle. Already her sending is such as few can equal. Look you—

She steadied the pearly ball on her knee, her fingers well to its bottom so as not to hide the sides. Lady Mereth made the effort to lean forward as far as she could.

Gazing balls she knew well, but this was not crystal as the others she had seen. Now the colors on its surface grew sharper, flowed, thickened, until she had an eerie sensation that she was something mighty and beyond human looking down upon a world in space.

Figures moved there, grew sharper, became recognizable. Travel-worn they were, honed to the point that Mereth understood them to be at their most alert. She studied them face by face—but—

“Liara is not with them!” she wrote.

“Liara made a choice—No,” Gull was quick to answer as Mereth’s protest could be read in her face. “Not one of the Dark—rather more greatly of the Light than she knew. Her part is not yet—nor can we be sure what it shall be.” Gull leaned closer to the ball. “Mouse, sisterling,” she called.

Then the world Mereth surveyed was blotted out by a small, sun-browned face. But the eyes… those did not belong to any child.

Lips moved, but it was in her head not with her ears that Mereth heard the answer.

“The land seems barren of people, but before us once more stand mountains, and our scouts ride to search out some possible path. We have seen no more of the Dark Ones, but there have been traces—things move in the night and only the strength of the Light hides us. There is something astir—though still far away—yet it is not to be denied.”

“Heard and understood, sisterling. If you need heart power, call—all we can raise will be yours.”

It was only a pearl-colored ball again. Gull leaned back in her own chair, appearing more gaunt. “South—ever south.”

“May the Blessing of the Flame be theirs,” Mereth wrote the age-old prayer, one she had not used for years, and then added:

“But what we can all do we shall, and Lormt’s secrets are unending.”

The mountains rose before them, clothed for half their heights with heavy growth so dark green as to seem nearly black. The travelers had long ago left behind them any sign of man’s work, though they knew that to the west lay the wide valley of Var and its city.

Here there were not even game trails, and both birds and animals seemed very few.

When they camped at night they drew close together, human and animal. Even the ponies no longer showed any stubbornness about being picketed close to the campfire.

It was Keris who blurted out on their third night of attempting to find passage south something which he believed they must have all noticed.

“Rasti—Gray Ones—I found a paw print in the mud of a spring this afternoon. Do they accompany us but are not yet ready to attack?”

Krispin, as usual, had settled Farwing on the horn of the saddle he had loosed from his horse. “They come, yes. But that they hunt us … I wonder.”

*They are called.* No one could mistake the snappish mind-voice of the Keplian Theela.

“Called!” Keris’s hand instantly went to the butt of his flame lash.

The mare was far enough into the circle of the firelight that they could see her nod her head like a human.

*Something seeks—that which answers it comes.*

Now all their heads swung toward Mouse.

“That which the Dark bred, held as liege in Escore, is moving south. I think we shall find it also. Whether we can deal with it…” Her child’s face was set as that of a woman facing some dangerous task. “But it is there—it waits.”

Though all his life he had called the Green Valley home, known the peace which dwelt there past all troubling, still Keris had always been aware that that was only a small fortification against what might roam beyond. Clans of the Old Ones years earlier, hunted out of Karsten, had been led by his own father to the resettlement of land about the Valley. Scouts rode many ways and there were some portions of Escore in which fury only drowsed and might awake at any time.

That ancient enemies were also journeying south was a hard thought for them all. Though they controlled many talents and Powers among them, they were but a handful, and who had yet been able to count the enemy?