Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“What has happened?” the Alizondern girl demanded. And there were rising murmurs from the rest of them, though some had stepped aside to clear the door.

“Hilarion has come! The ward—he must have the ward!”

“Keris?” There was denial in Lord Romar’s cry.

Mouse answered him. “It was his choice. Thus he will serve.”

They were all on their feet now, following Keris out into the light of a new day, but Liara now appealed to Destree. “I don’t understand.”

“Keris has opened the gate which is himself, given full entrance to Hilarion.” Destree held to her amulet helplessly. This was of her doing…

“That—” Liara pointed, “that is now your great mage? Then where is Keris?”

Destree shook her head slowly. “Perhaps we shall never know.”

She heard a stifled protest from Liara, but her attention was all for the one who led them—though he might no longer be aware that he had any company at all. His head was bare of helm and mail hood; his hands swung loosely by his sides but not near any weapons. The morning wind lifted a lock of his dark hair and then fell away as if even the breeze could no longer touch him.

So they went into the city. Those who bore arms had them, and out from among the towers came the Keplians and Jasta, but the Renthan did not as usual seek out Keris.

Destree heard the mutter of voices about her, but she did not try to sort out any words. They went now to such a rising of Power as she could not imagine—though perhaps Mouse had an inkling of what could come.

The ancient streets flowed by them like water. And Keris looked to neither side, but turned this way and that as if he had come this way many times before.

Then they came into that field. Gruck had somehow made his way close behind Keris as a shield mate might stand.

His handiwork still lived; there was no sign that the vines there had withered. The thorns did not droop and the sinister flowers were red and yellow saucers. There had certainly been no breakthrough from that darker world.

Now Keris’s body seemed even more misty, as if there was a struggle to keep it in form and steady. He—it—stood at the midpoint between those pillars, with the others, humans and beasts, in a semicircle behind him. Only Gruck kept his place closer to the adept.

There came sound, a thunder of it. Gruck’s paw-hand was on Keris’s shoulder and he jerked him farther back. Destree clapped one hand to her nose and she saw Mouse, white and sick, clinging to Liara, with the Lady Eleeri, arrow to bow cord, edging on to protect them. Blood—the stench of blood heightened by evil—

There came a crash from that barrier Gruck had set. Through the mass of vegetation thrust the broad nose of one of those carriers Mouse had seen in her vision. It tore through the vines but then slewed around and headed to the left, apparently out of control.

However, it was only the first of its kind to pierce the barrier. Those waiting had to scatter in a hurry, for it was plain that these metal crawlers no longer possessed any directing hand.

In one Destree saw a body lolling forward, skimming the pavement next to her. Another carrier nosed through the wide hole the first had opened for it. Eleeri’s arrow sang a death note and a man half arose within and toppled over the side, to be impaled on one of those thorns not quite broken from its vine.

There was a jerk and the carrier swayed back and forth. It might be striving to return, but the Power of the gate refused retreat.

Keris moved. He reached for no weapon. Instead his voice arose until it seemed echoed back from the very sky over their heads.

“We are of this earth. What is wrought here was born of that earth.”

He held out both hands, palms flat, and on those appeared balls of violet flame which flared as high as if they fed greedily upon the flesh which supported them.

“Arscro!” His ringing call made of that ancient name a battle cry. “Because there is always the balance—let now that balance right it-self.”

Then those behind him cowered away in spite of themselves, for he was summoning—summoning by names the most Ancient of Ones. And with each name the violet fire blasted higher.

The carrier had trundled through the wreckage at the gate and now stopped. But no one emerged from it. Nor did any other threatening blunt nose of metal show in its wake.

“Rammona, Lethe, Neave, Gunnora—Mothers of earth, Creators of all living things.” His voice was as high and as steady as when he had begun, but it seemed to Destree that that wavering of body was growing stronger.

“This is no door for us. By the mercy you hold in Power—make it naught!”

That last cry seemed to ring in the air. The fire he held in his hands flamed away from his body, struck full upon the pillars and all which was between them.

Now the pillars in turn became torches and the violet deepened to the purple Mouse at least recognized as the epitome of Power—perhaps its like never unleashed before.

High blazed that fire and there was no heat from it. However, that blood stench was gone. The pillars were dwindling, leaving not even ash behind.

With their passing went the remains of Gruck’s barrier and the carrier which had been frozen there in passage. The other machines which had preceded it had smashed into the rubble of ruins, the windowless towers.

There was a great gust of wind. They had to hold to each other not to be taken off their feet. Then—the plain was bare and under them even that seamless pavement was beginning to crack and erode.

Keris’s hands no longer held the fire; they hung limply at his side. Gruck moved with that agile speed he could show when he must, and caught the Escorian as he stumbled.

That curious wavering outline of his body ceased. He was solidly himself again. Or… was he? Healers instinct brought Destree running. Gruck had caught up the young man’s body as if it were not of any weight and carried it back to one of the stands of meadow grass, settling there as if in a nest waiting for Destree’s aid.

He was not dead, that much her quick check of pulse assured her. But that pulse was slow and uncertain. It was evident that Hilarion was gone and they could only hope that the price of power would not be nothingness.

Gruck put his hands on either side of Keris’s head and his own eyes closed. Destree sensed he was seeking life, striving to find where it now lay and bring it forth.

However, it was as if Keris slept—no, not exactly slept, but that what made him what he was had withdrawn… past return? She refused to accept that.

Mouse knelt at his other side. Tears ran down her thin cheeks as she said: “Sister, long ago those of my kind severed their Power from that which the adepts knew and used. I—I can do nothing.” And she was openly sobbing now while her jewel hung dull and lifeless.

Destree remembered those names Hilarion had called upon: Neave, who held always the way of truth; Lethe, who guarded the gate of birth life; Gunnora—her own dear Lady. She need not call upon Them by voice, They knew what lay in her heart.

Fearing nothing any longer—for those who had manned the carriers were dead and their blood gate was no more—the travelers trailed back out of the lower city, Keris in Gruck’s hold.

What had happened here had wrung the strength from all of them. Even the Keplians walked, their heads hanging as if they had run a full day’s journey. Destree, Mouse, and the rest left with Keris, moving camp, having little wish to hide among the dank-walled ruins any longer.

Liara crouched at Keris’s feet. “I heard Lord Romar say that his body may live—but his spirit is gone.”

She twisted her hands together. “All people have their heroes. My House of Krevanel have added to the roll in Alizon. But to risk the spirit… I do not understand—there is so much I do not understand. I only know I must learn!”