Andre Norton - The Key of the Keplian

“This way.”

She was hurrying, her feet stirring up to knee level the clouds of dust which still layered the ancient stones. It was certain that no one else had traversed these ways for centuries, she thought. Romar had said she would be guided by ways unknown to the tower inhabitant. How much had he to do with this? Or had it been the aid of the ancient one who had searched her mind in the cavern below? She smiled. What did that matter, so long as she found Mayrin’s brother? There was a time to ask questions, and a time to accept without asking and do, not talk. She slowed as a hiss came from Jerrany, who led.

“Another door here, and there’s something beyond. I can hear sounds.” Eleeri felt an insistent tugging at her waist. She slipped the pendant from her dagger sheath, placing it gently upright on the floor, then stood back.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s time for him to help,” she hissed back. Mist pooled upward from the floor, then fell away again. In its place Pehnane stood. Eleeri stifled a nervous giggle. He looked faintly ridiculous cramped into this narrow corridor. With his gleaming flanks brushing the walls, head lowered so as not to strike the roof, hooves lifting delicately out of the dust, he met her eyes, sharing her amusement.

A lift of his nose signaled them toward the door. Jerrany touched it cautiously, listening. In turn the others came forward to lay an ear to the thin stone. Jerrany waved them back to gather around the bend, heads together.

“Those aren’t voices. Not human, anyhow.” He turned to look up at the stallion, who loomed over him. “Can you tell us anything?”

The mind-voice rolled like thunder. *It is the last one to serve he who dwells here. It is my ancient enemy. Yours is the task to face he who dwells here, to free his slaves. Mine is the facing of this servant and his final defeat. Long have I waited. Let me go now so that I may rejoin my kin-friends and be at peace.*

Within the corridor they squeezed into position. Jerrany reached around, taking hold of the door and flattening himself against the walls as he did so. The door opened silently and the stallion sprang past him. There was a squeaking as small forms scurried desperately away.

“Thas,” Jerrany identified them in disgust. With the arrival of the Keplian, the lights in the room beyond had flared brighter. Now the inhabitants fled to escape that painful light. Eleeri stared at the frantic forms as they ran to and fro. Mayrin had told her of these earth burrowers, but the reality was far stranger than she had imagined. The last of them found sanctuary from the light, vanishing into a wall which had sprung open under their beating. Behind they left a vast, vaulted space.

Only two figures remained. Keplian fronted Keplian, stallion faced stallion. But the eyes of one glowed the blue that was power of Light, the other rolled eyes of crimson fire. Jerrany and Mayrin would have stayed to watch, to encourage Light’s champion, but Eleeri seized them in a hard grip.

“Such a fight may attract attention. If the tower turns to see one enemy within, will it not look for others? Let us seek quickly while there is yet time.”

Still she was the last to turn away, hearing the voice in her mind. *Seek, far-kin, and may your fortune be all good. Where I go they will remember the daughter of their blood.*

She ran then, to escape the feeling that she deserted a friend.

At the river the master-at-arms gathered his men. None were unwounded, but they were prepared to fight on. He studied the sky and frowned. His lord had hoped some sign would show when the tower was failing. His men and the mares would fight a little longer, but to continue much beyond this time was to die. Still, now might be the time to try a few wiles.

He called orders as the Keplians fell back. They made a running battle of it, with his men spreading out to harass the outliers. Twice they jumped crevices in the earth; each time rasti were lost within.

In the hall within the tower another battle raged. Both power and ordinary strength contended here. Keplian stallion reared high, screaming fury at Keplian stallion. Power blazed and seared in the air between them. They were evenly matched on that level. Well, then, they would fight in the ancient way. They leaped forward, heads snaking out to rend and tear. Hooves hammered in body blows. Pehnane’s teeth drew blood as they tore through an ear. In reply his opponent squealed, striking with razored forefeet. Glowing crimson blood trickled from the savaged ear. Blue fire flowed from a hoof-gashed shoulder.

They came together exchanging kicks in turn, then broke apart once more. Now the enemy seized Pehnane’s throat, but before he could clamp down, a pawing hoof thrust hurled him back. Like maddened wrestlers, they met in the hall center. Rising, sinking, grabbing for holds only to lose them, leaving bloody fire in the wake of teeth and hooves. Twice the enemy landed blows to the rear flanks of his opponent, high on the kidneys where a sufficient strike could cripple. But each time Pehnane swerved, just a little, and the full power failed to lash home. The enemy’s blood pulsed fire as it flowed down the forelegs. He was weakening and he knew it.

Both stallions spun rearing, seeking for the throat grip. They failed and landed back on their hooves again, lashing out viciously. Blue fire laced Pehnane’s chest; he, too, was weakening, but there was no fear in his sapphire eyes. It was for this he had remained: to face the one who had chosen Dark power and a Dark master. He feinted, falling back in an illusion of weakness. The Dark stallion shrieked triumph, rising on his hind legs to crash home the death blow. Pehnane shied sideways and as his enemy came down off balance, the blue-laced head shot out. Teeth met in the jugular, crunched down with all the strength left to him.

Convulsively the enemy attempted to rear. He failed as his legs unlocked. Light faded from the crimson eyes as he sank to the stone. Hatred shone in his dying glare. His choice had been made very long ago; there would be no last-minute repentance.

Pehnane reared, standing almost straight on quivering hind legs. Within his mind a call resounded, to be answered as light flowed about him, silver deepening into gold as the air sliced open onto a sunlit sky. Those he loved best waited for him as he gathered his failing strength to reel forward. Hands greeted him. Behind him the gate slammed shut, light faded from the hall. The body of his enemy drifted up as a coil of blackened smoke and was gone. But in another place friends greeted friends in gladness. A task was completed.

The tower shuddered as the servant died. Blue light ran in power around the rooftop. Even from so far away as the river it could be seen. The master-at-arms reined his horse back from the blood-crazed rasti.

His voice rose up. “Break off, break off.”

They fell back, leaving a gap between themselves and the beasts they fought. He waved toward the direction of the tower.

“A sign, our job is done. Let us lead these away from our wounded.” He called orders as the injured who could no longer fight started up the slope. The rasti snarled low in many throats. They would not be cheated of their prey.

But far away like a spider spinning its web, the Dark knew danger. It ceased to attack the fools who fought against orders. With that withdrawal the beasts faltered. Part of their madness had been caused by the assault on their minds. With that gone, they gave back a little. Step by step, the master-at-arms withdrew his fighters, making no overquick or clumsy move to spur the rasti into automatic attack. Then the animals began to turn away, hunching their fluid way back to their burrows.

Hapwold moved his warriors more swiftly. The Keplian mares split away from the riders, moving off toward the trail to their home. Two would never return, nor would the four men who had fallen. But they had had blood for their going, a river of it. A warrior asked no more.