Andre Norton - Year of the Unicorn

“Alizon was broke. But there might be those who fled. Desperate would they be with their ships gone and no path left for their returning home. Such a band under an able leader would try to turn Hallack’s tricks upon her lords and live in the wilderness to raid. They are not soft men, the Hounds, nor ones to throw down sword and call for peace because the tide turns against them.”

“But this far north—”

“One of their long boats could slip along the coast, that would take them away from the ports fallen to their enemies. And they would come north because they know that High Hallack does not patrol in this direction—leaving the waste to us—”

“But surely they also know—”

“That the Riders bide here?” His lips drew back, and for a second did I see a faint shadow form across his face? “Do not misjudge the Hounds, Gillan. Long did the Lords of High Hallack fight them. But all men are not formed the same. Oh, they have two arms, two legs, a head, a body, a heart, a mind—But what lies within to animate all that—that may differ much. There were those of the coast lands, of Dales’ blood, who did lay down sword and accept Alizon’s overyoke years ago. Many were hunted down and put to the sword when we finished off the invaders. Still perhaps not all such turncoats were so finished. And do you not think that there has not been much talk through these years just past the Great Bargain? What better stroke might a band of desperate men deliver than to cut us off now, leaving dead whom they could, perhaps making us believe that Hallack broke faith, so in turn we would return to rend the Dales?”

“You believe this?”

“It is a suggestion we do not throw away without question.”

“But to attack the Riders—” So deeply had I been schooled in the beliefs of the Dales that I had come to accept the common opinion that those I now rode among were invincible, and no man, lest he be bereft of his senses, would go up against them willingly.

“Gillan,” Herrel was smiling a little, “you do us too much honour! Powers we have which those of other races do not use. But we bleed when a sword pierces, we die when it cuts deeply enough. And we are now only as many as you see. Also, we can not detour too far from our chosen trail lest we do not reach the gate we seek in the appointed time, and so must rove on unsatisfied.”

Thus once more was I caught in another race against time. Only I could not credit that the Were Riders were not as all powerful as their reputations made them. Perhaps my face mirrored my doubt for Herrel then fitted another portion of the puzzle into place for me.

“Do you not understand that to maintain an illusion or bind a spell on another’s mind wears upon a man? Twelve in this company ride in spell. More than just the will of he who companies with each holds steady that illusion. You asked me last night—was I as you saw? Yes. I am that, at times—in battle. For our own sakes in fighting we are all shape changers. But to put on one shape or another is an effort of mind and will. These maids from High Hallack see as it is laid upon them to see. Should we be attacked then they would see what you have witnessed. From that true seeing could come an end to all we sought in the Bargain. Speak now the full truth, Gillan—which of those who rode hither with you would accept such a full sight and have it make no difference?”

“I do not know them well, I can not say—”

“But you can venture a guess, and what is that?”

“Very few.” Perhaps I was misspeaking the maids of Hallack, but remembering their murmuring on the ride to the Throat, and the stark fear which some showed then, I did not think I was so far in error.

“So. Thus are we now crippled. And those who might attack us have the courage of men who have been stripped of all—who have nothing left to lose. So would they come into battle with the advantage.”

“What will you do?”

He shrugged. Just such a gesture as I would have expected from Lord Imgry in such a strait. “What do we do? We send out scouts to spy us a trail, we Strive to find a swift passage, we hope that we do not have to fight for it.”

But his hopes were in vain. We struck a fast pace leaving that halting place. Within the hour we split into two parties. Those who were unpaired, save for three of their number, took a branching way yet farther east and rode from us at a gallop. While for the remainder we had a trail straight ahead. One of our three guards, who ranged up and down the line, as I had seen men of the Dales ride herd while moving cattle, was Halse. Each time he swung past it seemed to me that he turned his head, so that the baleful gems in that bear topped helm flickered, the ornament almost appearing a small living creature fully aware of all it saw.

In winter, twilight comes early. Shadows crept across our way which was now clear of forest or many trees, but which wound about to avoid outcrops of snow-crowned rock. Herrel’s mount was dropping behind and I reined back. The last of the party were now out of sight and we were alone.

“What is the matter?”

He shook his head. “I do not know. There is no reason—” He had stopped, now his head went up, his nostrils expanded, as he half turned in the saddle to look back along our trail. His hand moved in an imperative gesture for quiet.

I could hear the clop-clop of hooves ahead, the creak of saddles, growing fainter by the moment. Surely Halse or one of the others would come pounding back to see what delayed us.

Herrel dismounted. He looked up at me, his face a blur not easily read beneath the shadow of his helm.

“Ride!”

He went down on one knee to examine the forefeet of his mount, not looking at the hooves but rather in the longish hair above them. His fingers stilled and his whole body tensed.

“What is it?” I asked for the second time.

But there was no answer—only singing in the air, shrill, ear-piercing in high notes. Herrel’s mount reared, screamed, striking out, and sending the man at its feet rolling.

There was no controlling my mare either. She dashed ahead so wildly that she might have been blind. I fought against her terror with hands on reins and my will—that same will which leapt ever to my defence when there was need. Then, when it seemed she was truly mad, I leaned forward in the saddle, grasping her mane. Against my breast I felt a burning coal, eating into my flesh. The amulet—but why? I dared loose hold with one hand, clutched for that packet. Why I did then what I did I had no knowing, any more than why I had performed many actions these past days.

Jerking the cord until it broke, I pressed the amulet between my palm and the mare’s foam spattered neck. She ceased the terrible neighing which had been bursting from her as a woman might scream; her wild run slackened. My will caught her—we turned back. I was sure that what had moved her and Herrel’s horse had been no freak of nature but a deliberately planned blow.

Almost I feared I could not find my way back. The rocky outcrops all looked the same. But I urged the mare on, my amulet still pressed to her sweating hide. And I could feel the shivering which racked her. Fear was a stench in the air, and mine a part of it.

Behind me the pounding of hooves. Halse drew even, his cloak swept back on his shoulders. I could see sparks of fire...man’s eyes...bear’s eyes. He leaned forward as if to grasp at my rein, bring me to a halt. And I flung out my hand to ward off his. The amulet swung forward on its broken cord, struck across his bare wrist.

“Ahhh—” A cry of pain, as if I had laid a whip there in earnest. He jerked back and his horse reared with a startled neigh. Then I was out of his reach, riding on to where I had seen Herrel roll away from his mount’s striking feet.