Andre Norton - The Warding of Witch World

“I just did.” All that temporary authority appeared to have deserted the boy. “We go to hunt gates now?”

Alon shook his head. “Not yet—we have others hunting them for us. Also we must keep an eye on Garth Howell.” Some of the tension had again stiffened his features. “But we must tell Ibycus.”

“Through that?” Trevor wanted to know, pointing to the hemisphere.

“No—that has done its duty, little one. It has held more power than we can control. See—” He tapped the crystal with a fingertip and it shattered, the broken bits in turn becoming dust. Now he turned to the girl. “Rest, hearts lady. We shall need the full meld to search out Ibycus, and that at moonrise.”

She had laid aside her harp and now he had an arm about her shoulders, was drawing her up against him. She needed that steadying, for she felt that without it she could not keep her feet.

But that Alon had managed to do this—and those at Lormt… Hilarion, the others had found the answer. It was enough to make one feel dizzy with relief.

They might still have Garth Howell to reckon with, but who knew—Perhaps with study Alon could turn this same formula on that haunt of Darkness and seal it also. After this hour Eydryth could believe anything was possible.

Ibycus had taken a place close beside the boy, who now appeared in the depths of slumber. Now and again he regarded his ring, staring into its dull stone as if he would summon up answers to questions his mind proposed but could not solve. Though the day advanced, they made no move to travel onward. All of them could guess that locked in the sleeper was the information they needed the most now.

The Kioga kept out of the grove, their attention mainly for the mounts, since they wanted no more such wanderings as had drawn Guret away. He described several times to the tribesmen the nature of those ground-clinging creatures which had held horse and man at bay.

“Those of the Mantle Lands have mounts indeed,” Obred remarked as he chewed his noon rations. “But they are not close kin to their herds as we, the People, have always been. How was it, then, that this young lordling has also the gift of calling? And why Vasan, who had not chosen him at the fall roundup?”

“I think”—Lero glanced around him as if to make sure there were no others than his own tribesmen about him—“that the Mother of Mares has some purpose in all this.”

As one, the three of them made the touch to forehead and then heart which honored that sacred name. There were many stories of the way the Mother dealt with those in which She had some interest, and it could be that the strange wandering gelding indeed had a purpose—to bring Guret to the scene before the stranger was pulled down. He remembered now the odd fact that the urings (as the stranger named them) had fled him even before his sword started harvesting their lives. Her Hand over him? Perhaps; only a shaman could have borne witness to that.

“Where does the old mage think to lead us now?” Obred changed the subject.

“That is his choice and we have yet to hear it,” returned Guret.

Ibycus held his ring-befingered hand out over the boy lying still within the sanctuary of the fane.

“Hardin of Hoi?” he called softly as one might to awaken one from rest. “Hardin of Hoi.”

The boy’s eyes did not open, but his head turned from one side to another and a faint frown line showed between his brows. Like all those of the Mantle Lands, he was plainly of the Old Race, pale of skin in spite of life in the open, dark of hair with the delicate, slanting brows of the same shade. Though he had not yet reached his full man’s growth, the firmness of his jaw and his well-formed features showed that he was indeed well to look upon.

“Hardin of Hoi!” called Ibycus for the third time, and this time more loudly.

Aylinn sat cross-legged at the boy’s head, her healer’s eyes sharp to catch the difference in him. At her back was Kethan, the weight of Uta resting across his legs, a low purr to be heard now and then.

But Elysha was on the other side of Hardin’s body and now she put out a hand warning off Ibycus. The mage looked up with a frown to which she paid no attention; rather, she leaned forward a fraction and spoke herself.

“Hardin, son of Ylassa…”

There was a small choking cry from the boy in answer to that and his eyes opened, staring straight at her.

“Mother—” he began and then, so swiftly he caught them all by surprise, he drew in upon himself, one hand pawing at his side as if to palm a weapon. “You are—” It was clear that he was fully conscious now. But he paused, his eyes surveying her sharply.

“Last midsummer we shared a guesting cup,” Elysha returned in an ordinary voice. “I was the Lady Ylassa’s chamber guest.”

He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “Yes. You brought her the message—you rode with her out of Hoi.” He was on his knees now and he grabbed at her shoulders, digging his fingers in as he gave her a vigorous shake. “Shadow creeper, her blood debt is mine.” With the force of his attack he overbore her backward.

Kethan sprang to action with Firdun. Thin and wasted as the boy seemed to be, his rage was such that it took the two of them to hold him.

Elysha arose, smoothing some tatters from her shirt at the edge of her jerkin. But it was Aylinn who swung past her to where the three still struggled, and her wand blazed.

Hardin gave a choked cry and all the strength seemed instantly wiped out of him. He flung back his head and his eyes went wide. He stared now at the great seated figure as if nothing else existed now in his confused world.

“Hardin.” Still smoothing her torn sleeve, Elysha deliberately moved so she stood between him and the throne, that he could see her fully. “The Lady Ylassa is safe. She was called by the Voices and serves them now.”

“My lord—he said—” the boy choked on the words and was plainly struggling for control. “When he ordered me with him on a hunt…” Now there was another note in his voice, anger was returning. “We—he said we were to guest in Garth Howell. But—they gave me of the guesting cup and when I drank—” Again he sought for and found self control. “I was a prisoner and they said that he—he had given me freely to them and I was of value because I was her son!”

“Did they also tell you that she had agreed?” Elysha asked.

“Lies! They serve the father of lies there! They have a new leader—one Jakata—he is mighty in power and has made covenant with that which waits beyond—”

It was Ibycus who interrupted. “Waits beyond what?”

Firdun and Kethan had released their hold on Hardin and now he swung around to confront the mage. “Beyond a gate—the greatest of the gates. It spoke to them—the Garth has spell dreamers, three of them—and by those they know what happens elsewhere. Jakata says that the time wheel has spun and these are the old days come again. He is an adept—and from behind him the Dark will rule.”

Ibycus was nodding. “And this gate, boy—does Jakata hunt it now, to the west?”

“Yes, he was summoned. It is said—I heard the guards speak—that there was a blood-drinking and a soul-darkening… Oh”—his face lost years; it was now the desolate one which might be shown by a hopeless child—“I—I dreamed. They used pain and other ways I do not understand save that they were against all which was of the Light.” He looked nearly as pale as the image behind him now. “I was a warrior. I have ridden against the hill demons when they come to ravage and I have slain in the name of the Light—but they overthrew me and I am…

“Stranger”—he grasped at Firdun now—“use your sword. I know that you march against the Dark. Let my defiled blood be the first you shed! Give me that much armsman’s grace!”