Andre Norton - The Key of the Keplian

“Jerrany, Mayrin, unsheath your weapons.”

In turn they, too, saw the glittering points of light drift out to cover first them, then the upraised daggers.

Eleeri faced the pillar, now bowing but as befitted a warrior. “Sleep well, far-kin of my far-mother. What I can do, I will.” She lowered her dagger until it pointed at the stone. “Earth, Mother. You heard my promise.” The dagger lifted to point upward. “Sun, Father. You heard my words. Let me die within a season if I lie.” Her hand came up in a brief warrior salute before she turned, leading the way forward.

Behind her there was a gentle sliding sound as the pillar crumbled to dust. The runes still held light, but the three humans and Keplian must hurry, already it began to fade.

They trotted swiftly. Where the stones allowed it, they ran, dropping back to a trot when the path roughened again. Neither of her friends asked what that last speech had been about. It was none of their business, and power was an ill thing to offend. The stallion had made no sound and now he merely paced before them. Eleeri grinned to herself. They were a motley group, in truth, but maybe their very diversity would help to confuse their enemy.

Now of a sudden their road sloped upward. They passed through an arch and halted abruptly. All turned to look. At their very heels a rough rock wall faced their gaze.

“Well.” Jerrany ran fingertips across the harsh surface. “I gather we won’t be coming back this way. There’s even a different feeling in the air.”

Mayrin nodded. “This is no longer the place of our friend’s far-kin. This is the enemy’s home and our battleground. Let us go forward, for now there is no retreat even did we desire it.” Her face hardened. “And that I do not. Romar is ahead. He shall be freed or I shall die in the doing of it.” Her eyes met those of her husband.

He nodded grimly. “Your brother, my friend and sword-brother, neither of us turns back now. But what of you?” His gaze touched Eleeri.

She sought for words to make them understand. Then—“I am geas-ordered and bound by my own oath. Better I die in battle than betray either.”

Before they could ask further, she strode forward. Shod in soft calf-high moccasins, her feet were soundless on the smooth floor. Her friends followed, and none of them thought it strange that the stallion ahead made no sound as his hooves met the hard marble. He seemed rather to glide, nose seeking toward the walls. Then he signaled.

“A door?” Jerrany moved up to look. “Yes.” He thrust gently with no result. Studying it, he hooked fingers into a carved rose and pulled back. The door swung open, allowing them a glimpse of a roiling mist that began at once to creep toward them. With a shiver he allowed the door to swing closed again.

“ Not that one, I think. Spread out. Look for others.”

They obeyed, something in the feel of the long corridor making them keep silence. Twice more they opened doors which showed them nothing they sought. One opened into a vast waste of scrub, sand, and hard-packed pebbles. The air was dry and heat smote them savagely. The other opened into snow, whirling in great flakes above a black and bitter sky.

Eleeri had been walking, running her fingertips along the wall. Under them a break caught her attention. She moved in, eye intent. A prancing Keplian was carved deep into the door’s surface. She beckoned Pehnane. He looked at it. Something in his eyes was sad as his nose touched the nose of the carven beast. The door swung open.

They gazed in. Mayrin would have cried out then and run forward but for Jerrany’s grip.

“Be still, beloved. Bait a trap with what the prey desires most. Better we look this over well before we walk into a spider’s den.”

He tugged her backward, a jerk of his chin sending Eleeri to the doorway to look within. She studied the figure that lolled in the chair. To her eyes it was Romar, but—she peered closer. This Romar looked a little too well fed, too well cared for. His clothes were of good quality, his hands soft. She nodded at that. Soft, yes, but not the softness of one who had done no work with them these last months. They were the softness of one for whom they had never been bruised on labor. The wrists were not the strong-tendoned sinewy strength of a horseman, but lay weak and limp in the figure’s lap. Softly she pointed this out to Mayrin as the woman strained against her mate’s grip.

“It is not Romar.”

“Then who?”

Jerrany guessed, “A fetch, a made thing to lure us in.”

His wife shook her head. “Perhaps not. I have heard of images made without features. Look you at the way it is dressed. That could be the clothing of either sex.”

Eleeri raised her gaze and began to concentrate as she ordered, “Turn your eyes away, quickly. Do not look until I say.”

She called Cynan to memory. He was gone, his spirit in the lands he sought. She could do it no harm, but his memory might now aid them. Slowly she drew from her mind the memories. Cynan as he sat cross-legged teaching her the languages of this new world. Cynan as he groomed one of the ponies, big hands gentle on the rough hide. Cynan as she had seen him last in life. His arm upraised in farewell, his body clad in her gifts. Into that last she allowed her grief to flow. Then she stepped to front the open door. Before her on the seat Cynan lifted his head to beckon her in.

She turned away. This thing was a mockery of her old friend. She longed to destroy it, but her duty as a warrior was to her friends. She would have explained, but they had guessed.

“It wears now the face of the one you called?”

“It does.”

“Then the question is, do we attempt to destroy it or pass by?” Jerrany queried softly.

“Pass by. I think it is only bait; it has no power of its own. If we are not called by it, it will wait for others to come,” Mayrin answered. “The true question is, does it have some way of telling its maker that a trap has failed? If so, it is best we hurry.” Wordlessly Pehnane moved on. They followed in haste and silence.

The corridor wound on without windows, but Jerrany was sure it rose a little with each circle. A feeling of apprehension began to possess him. About him as he walked, the walls glowed. At first the light was unnoticed; then it brightened. Eleeri gave a small cry as Pehnane faded. She ran forward to pick up the pendant.

“Why? Why would he leave us now?”

Jerrany turned, searching for a reason. “The walls,” he said quietly, “look at the walls.”

Fire crawled up the ancient stones. It smoked, leaving filthy black trails behind the dull crimson glow. He advanced a hand cautiously. “That’s power, not real fire; there’s no heat.” He glanced ahead, then back at the pendant in her hand. “Maybe he can’t pass this as he was. You can carry him past as a pendant, though.”

“Maybe.” Eleeri was worried. “But I don’t like the look of it.”

Mayrin stirred. “Nor I, but we have only two choices. Go back or go on. I will not leave here without Romar.”

Eleeri shrugged. “We go on, then, and the Light be with us.” She marched forward, followed by Jerrany, Mayrin in the rear, daggers at the ready. They padded slowly along as the fire grew about them. The blackness spread rapidly until the whole of the way through which they now walked was black laced with the fire trails that formed runes on which they did not wish to look. From the floor a mist began to rise. It, too, was black, shot with the lacing of dull crimson that was now all that gave light. Eleeri drew her dagger and dropped the pendant into the empty sheath. She was drawn. Now that she thought about it, she had had the feeling for several minutes. Ahead lay the caller, Romar or another.