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

“I think—look at them, Skeelie. Touch the sense of them. I think these people are not of our countries, that they are people of the unknown lands. I think the wraith came here to them, that it took their city, simply moved in and did with them as it pleased. People we never knew about. Perhaps they did not know how to battle it, were not used to fighting, or to those who can touch their minds, Simple men.”

“Why would it come here, so far? We don’t know how far. If it wants the runestones?”

“It knew I would follow Telien, no matter how far. Maybe—it wanted people, many people perhaps, to put under its power and draw strength from. Once it learned to take the strength from a person, I suppose its power has increased quickly.”

“And we go to challenge it.” She studied him, trying to look certain of their own strengths. Feeling shaky.

They stood at last before the cone that formed the central tower, a lopsided volcanic cone laid down by fire and silt and ash, then carved by water and wind into its thick coned shape. It had been hollowed out by men long before the wraith came. They saw a balcony high up and narrow. Did a shadow move inside? They could not be sure. The sense of the wraith was now so strong Skeelie felt sick with it: the sense of its desire to conquer them; of its greed for the runestones. Yet also a sense of its fear. Perhaps, even now, it did not feel certain of its power over this angry band armed with the shards of the runestone. Torc stood with flattened ears, her lips pulled back, her hatred risen to fury. The wolves flanked her, sharing her hatred, their heads lowered and fangs bared, watching the entrance to the tower. Skeelie laid her hand on Torc’s shoulder, but did not pull the wolf to her; there was too much anger there, too much hatred. You must not kill it, Torc.

Torc turned, snarling at her. I know that, sister. I know we must release Telien. But then, once Telien is free, then I can kill the wraith. Once you and Ramad are away.

Skeelie’s fear for Torc was painful. Torc ignored it, had no fear for herself, no thought for herself save revenge.

Ram had left them, gone back into a narrow street, entered a doorway. Skeelie, watching the empty street, could not sense what he was about. He emerged at last, propelling one of the mindless men before him, a big brute of a fellow who must once have been formidable indeed. She could touch no sense of what Ram was about. Why did he block her from his thoughts? Did he plan to force the wraith to take that man’s body, to leave Telien and enter that body? It was strong enough, surely. But how make the wraith do such a thing? It would rather have Ram, a Seer. Rather have her own Seer’s skills to add to its own. Did Ram think that with the power of the runestones he could force the wraith to abandon Telien?

She could feel his concentration, his single-minded commitment, but she could not read his intention. Did he, she wondered, growing cold, mean to make a trade? Give the wraith this hostage in return for Telien, but with some bribe it could not resist?

What bribe? What bribe except—her hands shook. She stared at Ram.

Did he mean to use the one bribe the wraith could never resist? Use the milestones? Trade the runestones of Eresu, trade all of Ere then, for the life of Telien? Oh, but he would not.

She followed Ram, cold and silent inside herself, watching him and unable to sense anything from his closed, remote state as he forced the hostage toward the wraith’s door. He did not pound on the heavy planks, but simply lifted the latch and forced the door in, pushing the captive ahead of him.

But the way was blocked by a little square woman no taller than Ram’s waist. She stared up at them with a face as sour as spoiled mash. “Go away. The goddess does not see strangers.” Her coarse brown skirt and apron were none too clean, and her hair seemed not to know what a comb was. She looked them up and down, looked disgusted at the crowding wolves, then began to push against the door in an effort to close it. Ram held it back with a light touch, watched her with amusement. She glowered. “Go away, I said! The goddess sees no one! She does not want strangers here.”

“She will see us,” Ram said. “The goddess will see us.” He stepped forward, propelling the prisoner, but the little woman held her ground. Behind her, in a dim sunken room, dozens of servants were working at an odd assortment of tasks, all crowded together among tables and benches and baskets with little order, seeming to be always in each other’s way. Their talk had died, but now began to rise again.

“The goddess Telien will see us,” Ram repeated, and had the satisfaction of seeing the woman’s startled look, at the mention of Telien’s name. “If she does not see us, we will turn her magic to ashes, and you as well, old woman.” He pointed a finger at her nose. “If we do not see the goddess, you will be swept like dust, old woman, in the winds I will call forth to destroy your goddess!”

The little woman scurried away so fast that both Ram and Skeelie grinned. They watched her run almost agilely up a narrow stair carved into the stone wall. Then they stood looking down with curiosity upon the seething activity in the workroom, where folk scraped vegetables, mended furniture, butchered a sheep, kneaded bread, all side by side in a confused huddle. It seemed that all the tasks of this rough castle were performed in this one room—and performed mostly at night. Was night the natural time of waking, here in this land? The smells of paint and fresh-sawed wood and warm blood mixed with the smell of baking bread. On the rough walls, one could see pick marks where the soft stone had been carved away. But the walls were carved with other things, too, with the images of figures.

“Let’s have a look,” Ram said, and led her down the few steps to the main room. The wolves remained behind guarding the hunched, still figure that once had been a man.

There were goddesses carved into the walls. Tall, beautiful women carved into the stone; but with the taint of evil about them. Farther back in the room they ceased to be beautiful and became goddesses of lust in poses that made Skeelie blush. And in the shadows at the back of the room, there were goddesses sacrificing tortured men in savage ceremonies. Skeelie and Ram avoided looking at each other. Around them, the servants worked unheeding. Skeelie could smell rotting vegetables, rancid oil. They stepped over tools left lying where they had been dropped. As they circled the room, the carved images grew so disturbing that Skeelie wanted to turn away from them, yet could not turn away from their twisted ugliness. And each depraved image had the face of Telien.

Ram turned away at last, ashen. Skeelie could do nothing to comfort him, nothing to soften the ugliness.

The stumpy woman returned and, without speaking, led them across the littered floor, through sawdust and food trimmings, to the stair and up it. A narrow, steep stair unprotected by any railing. Skeelie felt she was climbing the side of the wall like a fly. The wolves came behind, pushing the prisoner along between them. The sense of the wraith there above, the sense of impending danger increased as the little band climbed up the side of the cavernous room. Skeelie wanted to turn and pelt down the stairs, did not want to face what could happen here. She shielded her thoughts from Ram, or hoped she was shielding them, forcing herself to climb, staring above her at Ram’s rigid leather-clad back.

ELEVEN

The stair rose directly into a large, rough room cluttered with garish furnishing: purple satin drapings; magenta bedcover encrusted with tarnished gold braid; black and lavender pillows; all of it soiled and worn; and covered with a heavy smell, sweet and disgusting. They did not see Telien at first.