Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“The Dark?” suggested Jaelithe.

“No, that we would sense at once. Three reports have come in turn from the Sulcar expedition: They have truce with the barbarians but are now before even the boundaries of that half-fabled land. Arvon—what chances there to give us any hope?”

Gull leaned forward a little and stared straight at Kaththea, a frown drawing her somewhat bushy brows together.

“Hilarion labors but—so far the connection cannot hold. And that,” the younger woman nearly spat back at the witch, as if she were defending her mate, “ is of the Dark. Therefore we dare not probe too deeply lest we draw to us something of what our kin must now be facing.”

“Now we hear of a city,” Mereth broke in, her slate chalk busy. “Did not Mouse tell you in detail of that?”

“Not only of a city, but…” Gull hesitated, “we know of the in-drawing of the Dark Ones southward. It would seem that it is this city they seek. They are being watched but our scouts are too few to attempt an open meeting with them.”

“A city,” hazarded Nolar. “Perhaps also—a gate?”

For a long moment Gull made no answer, and then she nodded. “A gate,” she said sourly, as one biting down on unripe fruit. “We hold that earlier one found alive, but it takes toll on the sisters. To hold two such—” Then she turned on Mereth, her cheeks flushed a little as if with anger. “For all your delving, you have found nothing concerning a ward. We hold one gate here, perhaps two, if Mouse can give us early proof. How many may lie elsewhere? But I tell you this—even all the power which made mountains walk to our defense in the past cannot hold much more than we already deal with!”

“Sage Morfew uncovered yesterday a packet bearing the seal of the Mage Arscro.” Mereth shifted in her chair.

She heard the sound of quickly indrawn breath. For the first time Willow dared speak:

“Arscro is legend.” She stated that as if she hoped it was a fact.

“Legends,” Kaththea returned, “have a habit lately of coming to life. But who—or what—is Arscro?”

“One of the Old Great Ones—the first openers of the gates.” It was Nolar who made answer, to the very obvious surprise of Gull. “When I was student to Sage Ostbor he had one document which made some reference to Arscro but saying nothing more than that—that the first of the gates grew from his experiments.”

“Then let us hope,” Gull snapped, “that this sage’s find, Lady Mereth, will have some answers which we badly need. In the meantime…” She paused, as if she hated to say the words which she spoke now. “We shall guard and sustain our people—those with Mouse as well as who are farther afield—as best we can and hope for time.”

Mouse crouched in the half embrace of the sweet-smelling shrub which had drawn her because its perfume seemed soothing to her troubled mind, and looked out upon as much of that grotesque city as she could see from this small hillock. They had guessed that in reality it was one city rooted upon the ruins of another, ruins which the newcomers had made few attempts to clear away. The worn, overgrown stone humps were in such sharp contrast to those towering windowless, doorless spears of buildings that it somehow triggered uneasiness.

The falcons and then the Keplians and Jasta had been the first-in scouts for them, the animals apparently roaming in their grazing closer and closer to the more crowded center of the town.

So far they had reported no signs of any life except birds and animals. It was as if this forgotten country had never been known to man. At dawn and late afternoon scouting parties of three had begun going out, ostensibly hunting but really penetrating deeper into the midst of the clustered buildings.

But—Mouse had her fist at her mouth and was gnawing at her knuckles, unconscious of the pain—but there was… She bit deeper. Gull should be here—one of the Elder Sisters. She could not tell for herself what dwelt like shadows just behind her shoulders. There was a… waiting!

Because she was so unsure of what might menace them, she could not call too often—try too much to explain. This brooding something might well be waiting for her to reveal Power in just some such way.

So far she had not shared her uneasiness with any of the others. But she wondered if Destree was not also troubled at what might be.

The brush which sheltered her now shook, and fragrant petals showered down upon her. Liara was on her knees, her green eyes bright, her lips tight against those sharp white teeth.

“There are Gray Ones,” she said with a certainty which could not be disputed. “Riders also—though their mounts are not honest beasts like ours. Gruck trails them.”

So, her uneasiness was banished by so much. Mouse knew now, as if Gull had announced it in cloister meeting, that these straying Dark Ones were moving, against their wills, drawn by something greater than they could understand, toward a final meeting.

“We move camp,” the Alizondern girl was continuing. “Vorick has found a ruin which is not altogether swallowed up and will give us temporary shelter, and the Lady Eleeri has sent out mind-call to Theela. The mare will bring the other animals in. Only the scouts are out, hut today they vowed to strike clear to the sea—if it is a sea. Can you call them, Lady Mouse?”

She remembered seeing them ride out that late afternoon even though she had been more than half buried in her own thoughts: Denever, Krispin, and Keris. Surely the Renthan would pick up the Keplian warning as it came.

But the men… She clutched her jewel firmly and summoned up a mind-picture of each—Krispin in his hawk mask helm, Den-ever, and Keris, of the Valley and yet not of it.

She held them so and summoned strength with the jewel. Then Jasta answered, and she knew that they would be slipping back with more caution than they had gone, out of any trap newly come enemies might be setting.

Gather they did, at the temporary shelter Vorick had discovered. Either the masonry of this particular ruin had been better ordered or the plants attacking it of less hardy rooting. They were able to push aside a screen of vines and enter into a large hall, the roof of which seemed intact under the prodding of their spears.

The space was large enough that they could also bring in the mounts, and the animals made no objection to being urged under cover.

Their two travel lanterns flashed brightly enough to afford half-light for this hall. But anyone could see that wariness grew sharper by the moment in each and every one of them.

Apparently Liara’s report had already spread. They were busy at their packs loosing extra arrows, fresh spearheads, sharpeners for the blades of knives. Mouse saw Keris to one side, his flame lash in his hands, examining intently the butt—perhaps the lash’s efficiency was threatened, for he frowned as he did so.

“The Dark Ones gather,” Destree observed. “They are few, as far as we can tell. Perhaps the jungle took greater toll of them than we can guess. But there are Sam Riders—and such are not easily faced. Rasti?”

She looked inquiring to Vorick, whose Swifttalon had flown scout that day.

“They have not been seen. And Swifttalon can track a leaper in a hayfield by the wave of stems alone.”

Mouse felt that sharp blow, delivered by no hand, coming out of the very air around her. She held her jewel first to her trembling lips and then to her forehead above her eyes.

Distorted pictures, like tapestry crumpled together, shook her. She was dimly aware of hands clasping her tightly, giving her support. With all the talent she could summon, Mouse tried to make some sense of the weaving pictures. It was as if some constantly whirling mist first revealed and then quickly hid them again.