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

Wars had flared, died, moved across the coastal countries like a series of sudden storms, the raiders appearing in one place then disappearing suddenly. Sly, clever bands took shelter in the rough hills and woods, then slipped out to leave families dead and crops and homes destroyed. Slowly then the Herebian bands, provisioned from what they did not destroy and armed anew, drew ever closer to the ruling city of Zandour. So far they had been thwarted in Sangur and Aybil and Farr, or sometimes set one against the other when Hermeth could conjure friction and quarrels through a few trusted men who traveled among the enemy troops. This close, efficient network of spies was the first such in Ere since Carriol had come to power and, after the battle of Hape, sent out small cadres across Ere as protection against the dark Seers rising anew.

Though Carriol herself had changed her ways more than a generation ago and now spent her Seer’s powers—so much less without the runestone that Ramad had wielded, countless years back in her history—to hold solid her own borders, protecting those who would come to her for sanctuary, but letting the rest of Ere fend as best it could.

And now the sons of the dark twins, street-bred sons of whores, drew closer upon Zandour in these small, agile bands, easily lost among the hills and woods, impossible to track sometimes, except by Seeing. And Hermeth’s small handful of Seers was not omniscient. Seers tire, too. Seers grow weary in war and, grown weary, become uncertain in their skills.

He remembered with satisfaction that time in Aybil, in the curve of the bay nearest to the sunken island of Dogda, when he had laid a vision-trap that brought forty Herebian warriors down upon what they thought were sheep farmers and turned out to be soldiers herding boulders. That was a victory. But his skill of vision-making was uneven, and not often to be relied upon.

He thought of the power that that other Seer must wield. He coveted that power, not for himself, but to win this cursed war; envied the strength of mind he sensed in that Seer, was drawn to that young man who could command the great wolves and, most likely, command the powers of a runestone with none of his own hesitation. At times the stone would not work for him at all. He would feel a darkness then, a shadow around him; and the runestone would be lifeless in his hands so the visions would not come, let alone any illusion-making.

Then the veil would lift, and visions would come sharply. He would imagine that Seer and a great band of wolves fighting by his side, defeating the street Seers of Pelli. Was that Seer heir to Ramad, who had lived at the time of the Hape? Surely he must carry the wolf bell that had belonged to Ramad, for how else could he wield power over the great wolves? Hermeth scowled, puzzling. He thought of his father and the story of his victory over the dark twins. A mysterious warrior had fought by Macmen’s side. A warrior commanding wolves and believed by many in Zandour to have been Ramad of wolves come mysteriously across Time. Macmen’s own stories, when Hermeth was small—before Macmen died in Hermeth’s sixth year—had named that warrior Ramad. But mustn’t he in truth have been the grandson of Ramad, also named Ramad? The stories were garbled and unclear. The original Ramad had battled NilokEm nine years after the battle of the Castle of Hape, nearly ninety years gone in Ere’s past.

Hermeth felt overwhelmed with questions. It would make no sense for a vision to come to him of the original Ramad, long dead. Not when he envisioned so clearly that Seer fighting beside him. Could the redheaded Seer of his visions be the son of the second Ramad, son of the Ramad who had fought by Macmen’s side? Was this young man drawn to him now by the ties that their two sires had known on the battlefield?

*

When she had the drawbridge down, Skeelie found that an arrow was of little use in trying to undo the great iron lock on the door. Only the tip of the blade would go in, and the hasp was long and well set into the wood. It was hard to work by moonlight. She fiddled with the hinges, found one somewhat loose where the wood was softer. The panic of the closely approaching rider made her nervy, and she was fearful of the large band of riders farther off. Carefully, but with trembling hands, she began to dig out the hinge.

She hacked at the wood, dug, carved at it until at last she was able to work her arrow tip under and pry the hinge loose. When it came free, she began working on the lower one, which seemed solid indeed. She listened with growing tension for the galloping messenger, tried to plan what to do, swore at the lower hinge, which was set into the wood as if it had grown there.

She heard him before she had made even a dent in the wood. Exasperated, fearful, she drew back into the shadow of the door, her arrow taut in the bow.

He drew up his horse at the far bank and sat staring across, filled with apprehension, gazing into the shadows of the tower searching for the intruders who had lowered the drawbridge. Could he see her? The angle of the moons left only deep shadow where she stood, but some light came from the star-washed sky. She hardly breathed.

At last, with drawn sword, he urged his horse onto the bridge, approaching slowly and deliberately. The horse’s hooves struck hollow echoes. Skeelie knew the horse smelled her, could feel it tensed to shy. She soothed its mind until it calmed and came on quietly. Then when it was nearly on top of her she leaped out, shouting and waving her arms. The good animal screamed in terror and spun, nearly went over backward in its panic, dumped its rider and stepped on his arm as it lost its footing and fought to avoid the lake. It righted itself, then hammered away across the bridge and disappeared into the wood.

The rider half rose, groaning; crouched facing Skeelie, her drawn arrow inches from his face.

“Get up, soldier.”

He rose, staring at her with fury.

“Unlock the door. Hurry.”

He fumbled with the key, pushed it into the lock with shaking hands, got the door open at last, pushed it to. The cell room was dimly lit where moonlight crept through small cell windows. Barred cells rose all around, tier upon tier, with a winding stairway like a great snake leading up.

“Go in ahead of me. Stand in the center of the room. Where is the food?”

He stood in the moonlight facing her, dropped a leather pouch at his feet.

“Unsling your bow and your arrows and drop them. Your knife. Then step away from them, over by that cell.”

The man stared at the cell, then glanced at his knife still in the scabbard. She raised her arrow a quarter inch and drew her bow tauter. He removed the knife and dropped it.

“Now take your leathers off. Take your boots off. Toss them here. And the key.”

He stared at her with fury. At last he began to peel off his fighting leathers. She heard the key clink at her feet. When he was stripped to graying undergarments, she nodded toward the cell and he, docile now in his near nakedness, went into it. She gestured, and he pushed the door closed. “You would not leave me, miss. Not to starve, not to die of thirst here. . . .”

“There are riders coming. They will set you free. If they find you.” Skeelie saw Telien then on the narrow stair that led to the top of the tower. “There is a horse, Telien, go catch it; you are good with horses. Take—take his knife and bow.” She thought Telien would be afraid, would refuse. But the thin girl did as she was bid quickly, taking up the weapons and slipping out the door and across the wooden bridge soundlessly in her bare feet. Skeelie fitted the key to the cell door. “Miss, don’t lock me in here. I was only—I didn’t hurt her, I was only bringing her food.”

Skeelie locked the door and rattled it, gave the messenger a cold look, pulled on his leathers, all too big for her, rolled up the pants, the sleeves. She put on the boots, but they were impossible. She took them off again and tossed them into a locked cell halfway up the hall. She could see white bones in some of the cells.