Andre Norton - The Key of the Keplian

“I saw those I loved and feared,” Jerrany said quietly. “I was offered choices.”

“As was I,” Eleeri confirmed. “But still we stand here.”

Mayrin sighed. “I was offered some wonderful things, but nothing that included Romar. And I had to lose too many I love to accept.”

Eleeri freed her hands, smiling at the two. “It seems we have all made choices. Let us move on to find out what comes to us from them.”

Side by side in the wide corridor, they marched forward. Eleeri knew what she had defeated, but as they walked, she wondered what her friends had faced. What had been the “wonderful choice” Mayrin had been offered? She stole a look at her, then at Jerrany on her other side. What had the Dark offered him to betray them all? That her friends were here showed they had turned away. But curiosity rode her as they walked. She grinned and thrust it away. It was none of her business and there was more to worry about than temptations refused.

Beside her, Mayrin also wondered. Into her mind seeped the memories of that time lost in the mist. One minute Jerrany had walked beside her, the next he was gone. She would have run shrieking his name but that she feared to call attention to herself. She had gripped her dagger and prayed to all those of the Light. Then the visions had begun.

Jerrany also remembered—and shivered in rage. They had threatened, but he had stood firm. But oh, gods, it had been a near thing. One more moment and he might have given up. He tightened his hold on Mayrin’s hand.

Beside the river the fight roiled back and forth. The mud was tinged with red where the combatants had fallen. Of the ten men-at-arms, only six now lived to fight on. Being swifter, the mares had usually managed to fight free and move back when they were too badly hurt to remain. Of the original eighteen, only half swirled and struck with their human allies. One lay dead with rasti tearing at the bones; the others had fallen away from the battle to reel in the direction of their canyon. Had those who fought on not been too busy to notice, they would have seen that the eyes of all the mares were now the sapphire blue of a creature of Light.

In his clear, carrying voice the master-at-arms shouted an order. The mares obeyed, closing into a circle that faced outward. The men-at-arms were spaced around the group, spears striking out and down as rasti sought to break the defense that bristled at them.

The tower tore at rasti minds to no avail. The scent of their dead, the stench of blood, had the plains hunters in a frenzy in which the urge to kill and feast predominated. The constant contact with beast minds had gripped the tower also. He would have them obey him. It was all that filled him as he speared into their minds again and again, demanding, ordering them to break off the fight.

He drew on his slave until even in the fury that possessed him he knew that the man was faltering. Yet he would not cease to use the fool. Let the lesser serve the greater. There were others to be had once he had time to turn his mind to them. The two he had seen in that one’s heart, for instance. They had more strength than they knew. They would do very well, once this was done.

He attacked his servants anew, striving to force their obedience. His slave, however, had more strength left than he knew. With delicacy, Romar had successfully kept his master from turning to attack the Gray Ones he believed to be the other portion of the fight.

Romar had been able to detach just sufficient strength to open the ancient door his master feared. Within the depths of his mind he yet hoarded himself, his unconquered spirit and the last scraps of power. Help was coming, he knew, and had successfully kept that from his master also. He could feel the touch of the Light as his rescuers neared him. At first he had recognized his twin and fought down terror. Lords of Light, let her not fall into the hands of this one! And what if she fell to the traps along the way? He had not enough of his gift left to reach out against those. His rescuers must fight as they could to reach him.

But a tiny flame of hope was beginning to burn. Little by little he had sensed that they were moving steadily toward him. Now and then he had felt the echoes of some struggle. But always they had moved on again. As they neared him, he could distinguish the spirits of the other two. His sword-brother, ah, gods, who else but Jerrany?

The other spirit, too, was known to him; had he not dreamed her down the long bitter months of captivity? He had seen her in his visions; now he recalled her to mind. She looked almost like one of his race to the eye, but the spirit that burned in her was different, born of another place. Not evil, just different. She was of the Light, that he knew in his innermost heart. He called up her face: his eyes caressed the strong planes, the storm gray of the eyes, the black spider silk of the hair that lifted around her shoulders.

There was a fierce pride and determination in those lines. The mouth was gentle, a mouth to kiss, to love, but below it a determined chin jutted. He smiled tenderly to himself. Such a chin betokened a stubbornness that would carry her onward in the face of any who might strive to halt her. Was this a characteristic of those who found the gates to his world? Others had come now and then; always they had been of a fierce spirit. Perhaps it was the spirit the gates recognized. He did not know. But the more he had seen of this one, the more his own spirit had yearned for her. In the old race desire wakes late, but at first sight of this lady it had woken truly.

Not desire of body alone, but heart’s desire. He would walk with her. Learn her thoughts, her fears and delights. Wed her in honor to love all the days of his life—which might not be very long indeed, his mind added bitterly. He could feel the weakness stealing over him.

Still in the core of all that made him human he nursed the vision. His friend and his sister were coming for him, and that other. What she might be to him he knew not, but she, too, fought her way toward him to buy his freedom at the point of a sword. He drew in, hoarding his dying strength.

Eleeri paced slowly along the passage, flanked by her friends. It appeared to stretch on forever. Mayrin halted to ease her sword belt.

“Do we go around in circles in this cursed place? Surely the tower we entered was not so large?”

Jerrany shook his head. “What is within may be greater than what is without; the power has always said this. The tower merely manifests that truth.” He stared down the passage before them. “But I do wonder, could it be that we are being led in circles deliberately? Does illusion trick us here?” He reached over to touch Eleeri’s cheek. “You marked your face before we entered. Do you still have some of that which you used?”

Her fingers flicked to her belt pouch to reappear with a nubbin of the red chalk that crumbled in cliffside streaks near the canyon. Silently she handed it to him, standing aside to watch with Mayrin as he moved forward. Carefully Jerrany drew a straight line down the center of their road. He paced on, then drew another, a break, then a third. But by now the two behind him could see.

Mayrin hissed softly and waved him back. He came running lightly.

“What is it?”

“The passage curves. It appears straight to our eyes when we stand together, but when you are well ahead, you are moving out of sight around a curve in the walls.”

“ Sa! ” His voice was quiet, but there was the triumph of a striking hawk in the hiss. “If illusion holds us, what else have we overlooked? It is a trick to lead us away from he whom we seek, but have we already passed him or does he yet lie ahead?”

Eleeri’s fingers went to the pendant in her dagger sheath. She lifted it free. “Maybe Pehnane can show us the way.” But try as she might, there was no answer from the tiny figure.