Ширли Мерфи - The Castle Оf Hape. Caves Оf Fire Аnd Ice. The Joining Оf Тhe Stone

But the short journey over rocks, which she should have leaped in moments, was slow and painful, and when at last she came down onto the foot of the mountain, she was nearly too weak to go further. She had not spoken to Ram in her mind, but rather had listened, touching his remorse and fury that the wraith had gone, his worry over Skeelie. His anger at the disappearance of the runestone. His ever-present sadness and yearning for the girl called Telien.

When she reached level ground, she skirted the four horses with sense blocking, so as not to frighten them away, and went to stand beside Ram. He was so preoccupied, standing unheeding over the dead Herebians, that he did not see or sense her. She lay down behind him, watching him, knowing she could be patient for a while longer.

Ram kicked with idle anger at the nearest Herebian arm, pushed the body over with his toe. He knew he should strip the corpses of valuables. There could be jewels, money, things he might well need. He knelt at last and turned one of the bodies so he could feel into its pockets. And as he turned it, he saw a glint of silver beneath its shoulder. He held the body up and stared at the silver handle.

Then he drew Skeelie’s sword out of the blood and dust. Skeelie’s sword! He crouched there holding it, trying to fathom how it had gotten there and could sense nothing. How could Skeelie’s sword be here? How could it have been taken from her, except in death? Only a moment before, he had sensed that Skeelie lived, that the wraith had tracked her through Time. He slipped her sword into his belt, turned, and saw the golden bitch wolf lying awkwardly behind him, the arrow sticking out, her thick coat matted with dried blood.

He knelt, took her face in his hands, tipped water into her parched mouth. He tried to make her more comfortable, then quickly made a fire, sick at the thought of what he must do. He must cut the arrow out, and it was deep. He would need herbs, birdmoss for the healing. Great Eresu, he wished Skeelie were there. The look in the wolf’s golden eyes told him she would be patient, that she trusted him.

Yet he drew the wolf bell from his tunic and held it a moment. It gave him power; perhaps it would give her strength. Perhaps it could help him to numb the pain of the cutting.

Part Two: The Black Lake

From the journal of Tayba of Carriol, written seventeen years after the battle at the Castle of Hape.

The tale of NilokEm is evil and dark and leaves questions unanswered and actions unaccounted for. It is clear that that dark Seer alone escaped the slaughter at the Castle of Hape, escaped from Ramad and from the Seers of Carriol. It is said he hid from battle in the deep woods surrounding the castle, and then, the battle done and the castle burned, he rode at last into Farr. It is told that he remained hidden in Farr until talk of the victory at Hape died away, then came from seclusion to build himself a villa with riches gained from evil magic and cruel trading, an elegant villa in the north of Farr, near to where the river Owdneet comes down. And there, too, he constructed the city that later was named Dal. Folk say that NilokEm used dark magic indeed to find a woman that suited him; that he brought her by magic to Farr. Sure it is he bedded her, for she bore him a Seeing son. But no one knows what became of her, for she was not heard of again, once the son was born. Some whispered that NilokEm destroyed her in a fit of rage. Some said that the day his son was born NilokEm became the possessor of a shard of the runestone of Eresu. And there are tales of a battle in the dark wood to the south of Dal, a battle where warriors appeared from out the stuff of thin air to defeat NilokEm. Some say that one of those warriors bore a strong resemblance to NilokEm, though NilokEm had no kin, only his small son for whom the city Dal was built and named.

It is sworn by some that Ramad, himself, came out of nowhere to fight against the Seer of darkness, and that the great wolves fought beside him; and that Ramad killed the dark Seer. We of Carriol know not the truth of this, for Ram has not returned to us. We can only pray that his life, wherever he moves, has been as he would will it to be.

FIVE

Skeelie moved quickly down the mountain. The dropping sun, a sharp slash of yellow, blurred her view of the trail and of the city below. Then, as she rounded another curve, the sun was hidden, leaving only a line of yellow fire along the edge of the mountain. Ahead of her another trail came winding down in shadow, little more than an animal trail. That trail beckoned her, so she turned at once upon it and began to climb, touched with a spark of excitement, then of promise. She climbed quickly, never doubting that she must, scrambling over loose scree and in between close-set boulders; at the top of a mountain cliff, she stopped surprised, to stare out upon a vast flat plain. Smooth sand, black and fine as silk, glinting in the falling sun, stretched away to a line of misty peaks that formed the jagged edge of the mountain. She was nearly at the top of Scar Mountain, where its ancient crown had been eaten away by wind and rain and time to form this dark, silken desert, unmarked by the print of animal or bird. To her left, at some distance, gleamed a lake blacker than the sand. She made her way toward it.

The sense of Ram’s childhood still clung around her, the aura of the dust-wreathed stone house and the ancient garden. A sense of Ram’s destiny grew stronger now. She looked back only once, was surprised by the line of her own footprints across the silken black sand. How long would that lonely, alien trail mark this place before the mountain’s winds smoothed it away? When she reached the lake, she stood looking down at the clear water over black sand and stones, feeling unaccountably afraid. Then she felt the lake pulling at her, and knew, suddenly, a strong, terrifying desire to enter it.

She was not sure when first she was aware of something stirring around her, of shadows moving subtly across the plain as the shadow of a bird might wing across earth, light and quick, and gone. Did she hear the echo of some sound long vanished? She shivered, and the very air seemed to shift, but when she looked directly anywhere, all was still as before. Yet there was movement at the edges of her vision, movement within her senses, as if she were becoming a part of the fleeting shadows. She knew she must make some decision or she would indeed become a part of those shadows. This time she must choose her own direction or be swept into the meaningless shadows of Time; swept perhaps generations from Ram. She felt so close to him, felt that the thread of his life, picked up like a silken strand there in Gredillon’s house, was leading her. She dared not let it slip away. She stared at the black water and knew what she must do and did not know why, made no sense of it. The water pulled at her, some need was reaching out from beyond it and she could not resist.

She argued with herself for some time. The lake stretched away beyond low hills so she could not see the end of it. Could not see down into its depths beyond the first dark rocks and sand. It would be insanity to swim out into that black, concealing water. What did she imagine she would gain by drowning herself in a pool of black water on top of a mountain in a time she could not identify, and where no one would know she was dead, or care? She stared at the black water defiantly. But she knew she was going to do it and began at last to pull off her boots. Then she stood idle for some time deciding about her clothes. It would be foolish beyond measure to go into unknown water fully dressed, to be made helpless by heavy, wet leathers. Yet the thought of removing her protecting garments was worse.