The Forge in the Forest (24 page)

Elof looked from him to Kermorvan; he had been waiting for his friend to ask one question, one vital to them all. Better that it should have come from him, but at all events somebody had to ask. "My lord Korentyn… did you not name yourself Prince of Morvannec? Is that not Morvan's eastern port? And far from the Ice?"

Korentyn set his wine cup down carefully, and for the first time since his outburst at their meeting something other than kindness and merriment played over his face. "It was, sir smith. And so I name myself, empty honor though it be."

"You believe, then…"

"Could poor little Morvannec stand, when Morvan fell?
Messengers were sent, as
I told you. But since that time none has come westward, not one. Beyond doubt the east is dead, gripped and ground down under the hand of the Ice; far or near, the power of men unaided could not save it. My brother knew what he was about in forbidding us to return there, and so waste our lives. Do you take heed, wise smith!" The gray gaze flashed in the long lean face. "For not only yours to hold is your wisdom, to risk or throw away as you will. You must not waste it in a light cause, a doomed adventure. You owe it to the men who are to come, you hold it in trust for them as I hold my own scant store, that I may leave more than a mere life behind me."

Elof rose and bowed, to relieve his question of any sting. "Then you are a prince indeed, my lord," he said, for he was deeply impressed by the sincerity of the man, much as he had been by Kermorvan's at their first meeting. But next to this man, Kermorvan might have seemed young and callow had Elof not known better.

When all had finished their meal, Korentyn and some of the
alfar
led them out of the gallery and across a covered bridge which joined the hall to a high slender tower some way upslope. The moonlight was so bright now that Elof could follow his rippling shadow across the treetops below. He looked around, hoping to see further from this height, but there was only the for side of the vale, and above it the stars. He felt then that he might as well hope to reach them as the Eastlands.

"Tonight you will all lie like princes," said Korentyn, his good humor restored, "for this tower is my home. And yours, if you will, until such time as you choose dwellings to your taste." He brought them up many winding stairs to a balcony set with chairs, and behind it a long broad corridor, paneled in some light wood and lined with lou-vered doors. Behind each was a small bedchamber, the beds well strewn with furs and bright dyed blankets, so inviting that many began to yawn. A silver bowl and pitcher in an aumbry of fragrant cedar were all the other furnishings of Elof's alloted bedchamber, but these, though old and much used, were of work so rare it almost distracted his attention from Korentyn's parting words. "Sleep or wake as you wish, come and go as you will. We gather for our meals in the galleries of the court, but if you wish food here or anywhere, you have only to ask the
alfar
. They may understand your northern speech better, for it seems less altered. For now, your time is your own; but some weeks hence we have one of our great festivals, to mark the height of summer. Many now absent with the Guardians will be returning for that; there will be feasting, songs, dancing to beguile many a long hour. I bid you attend as our guests."

Kermorvan seemed slightly dazed. "You do us every honor already, lord," he said, and bowed.

"On the contrary," said Korentyn. "You honor us, and, in truth, you will add new zest to our revels; it is rarely now we have newcomers to welcome. It will recall to us a little of what is no more. And for you also, perhaps, it will cast some faint shadow of the glories that dwelt in Morvan of old. But you shall see. A fair night to you, my brave guests, and sleep you well."

With many polite good wishes the travelers watched him stride off across the tower, heard a door open and his footsteps mount a stair. Then they were surrounding Kermorvan and Elof, deluging them with questions that Tenvar summed up in demanding, "What
is
this place? Are we safe to sleep here, or should we seek to flee? Who are these folk?"

Kermorvan sat leaning on the balcony rail, gazing out over the trees below; he shook his head ruefully, and a strange slight smile played across his thin lips. "Do you ask me, of all men? When ancient heroism and tragedy, signs and symbols that all my life have inspired me, that have shaped my will to this very venture, stand living before me? When old tales I was raised on have taken my hand and spoken with me? When names a thousand years dead are given to the young and hale? How could I dare trust such a place?" Suddenly his fist pounded the rail. "And yet I do! I must! Against all reason! My heart leaves me no choice, it will not let me gainsay them. These
are
the heroes and legends of old, come alive."

"The legends?" asked Elof quietly. "Or the people?"

Kermorvan stared at him, then nodded. "A shrewd stab. All I can tell you is this, that there were once such folk as we have met or heard of tonight; they lived, all of them. Almayn the Wise, Svethan the Mariner, Merau Ladan, that bard Morhuen, Torve, many others, and Korentyn himself not the least; Korentyn Rhudri they called him, the Redhead, or the Firebrand. In the realm and city of Morvan they dwelt, and perished with it; so the annals of Kerbryhaine record. Their deeds and works have passed into legend, into folktale; they themselves should have been dead and dust these thousand years gone. Those who confront us now are not ideal figures, not legends. But the cause that legends are, that I could believe. And whoever they may be, they breathe humanity."

Borhi shivered. "We've only seen 'em by night," he muttered, and his meaning was clear.

"But we've met these Guardians or Children or whatever by day," said Ils firmly. "
And
drawn live blood from them in fight. And in all reason, do they
seem
like phantoms?"

"Yet they are no ordinary folk," objected Bure. "So tall, so… drawn…"

"But so fair!" said Arvhes reverently. "I could well believe we had shrunk in stature since their day!"

Kermorvan shook his head. "Not by such armor as survives."

Gise nodded. "They say we of the north have grown taller by the mingling of our blood with the men from oversea."

"But do you not see…" began Elof, and then checked himself. Ideas turned in his mind as flotsam in a whirlpool, too fast to grasp completely.

"What?" challenged Tenvar sharply.

Elof shook his head. "It is nothing, perhaps. I… will take counsel upon it. One matter, though… Kermorvan, are all those you recognized from the same time? Do the annals say they all lived in Morvan in the same years?"

The warrior glanced keenly back at him. "I know not what led you to ask that question, but it struck full in the gold. That fair lady, Dirayel, if she is the same… and after her the name was deemed unfortunate, and rarely if ever given… she is well remembered, as one of the great ladies of southern Morvan.
She
was lost on the first flight westward, that led to the founding of Bryhaine, a good two centuries before Korentyn and the others were born! She should be as dead to them, as they to us."

A long silence fell, broken only by the rustling of the trees and the living sounds of night, bird cries and the croak of frogs, bats shrilling, insects humming, small things scuttling and scrubbing among the leaves. So recently such sounds had seemed alien, even sinister, but within this fastness of walls they spread a sense of serenity and peace. This was the voice of the Forest, the soft insistent murmur of its myriad lives busy about their own intense concerns, and it spoke to them now, steady and untroubled. Before it, fears and tensions seemed to recede. Once more the full weight of weariness settled upon Elof, but as a calmer, kinder sensation, something fitted to hour and circumstance. In the end it was Kermorvan himself who spoke. "Tenvar, you asked if we will be safe to sleep here tonight. That at least I can answer; we may not safely do aught else. We do not know enough."

Gise snorted scornfully. "One thing we know, that they could have left us carrion on the Forest floor, if they wished us ill. Why offend them now?" Others voiced agreement, and Elof was surprised to hear Roc, normally most suspicious of new things, among them.

"That is what I meant," agreed Kermorvan calmly. "We cannot judge; we must know more, and for that await the morrow. But what the mind cannot unravel, the heart may measure. And mine tells me that here we have found a haven of peace, a bastion of living might against what would ravage the world. I shall sleep as I have not for many a night." He rose and turned regretfully away from the view. "In peace."

Elof looked at him in some surprise; peaceful or not, was the mighty mystery at the heart of this place to be dismissed so lightly? But the others were of Kermorvan's mind, turning toward the bedchambers, yawning and stretching as happily as in their own homes. Elof held his peace then, but sat obdurate till only he and Ils remained. "A haven…" he grated. "At almost any other time I would trust Kermorvan's judgment, whether it sprang from heart or mind. But not here. He is too deeply wrapped in ancient glories, he desires them true!"

She answered him softly. "And may they not be, after all? Slow I should be to remind any human of this save you, Elof, but we duergar may live three times your short span, and more. Andvar was little short of his three hundredth year. Yet we are close kin. Is it then so impossible that…"

He turned on her, and the concern he read in her dark eyes angered him further. "Longer, yes! Not forever! And not unaged, unchanged! Andvar was ancient, not hale as these. Can you see no difference between three hundred years and a thousand?" Impatience drove him from his chair. He glared at the hillside beyond, carpeted so thoroughly in trees that its contours could be seen only in their summits; in just the same way must this place reveal the mystery at its foundations, if only he could trace the shape. "Kermorvan says we do not know enough, and I agree. But in such a mood what will he learn? And you others are as bad!" Ils put a plump hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. "Go, sleep then! Dream your dreams with the rest! I'd sooner be sure when I am awake!" He repented his discourtesy even as he spoke, but as he turned with an apology on his lips a door closed softly, and he was alone.

That night there were no dreams for him; no sleep would come, though weariness burned in his limbs and his eyes grew sore outstaring the darkness. At last, as faint grayness glowed in the door louvers, he slipped from his bed and pulled on his breeches. A thought struck him, and he looped his sword belt over his shoulder before padding out barefoot onto the balcony and down the stairs, keeping to their margins lest they creak. But they did not, so solid was their making; he felt the polish of the wood under his bare feet, and wondered how it was maintained. All un-

bidden, there arose in his mind a vision of feet passing back and forth, the bare feet of the Guardians, the light court shoes of the others, back and forth, back and forth, while in the world beyond the Forest centuries paced by… He bit his lip in irritation. He had come to the galleries round the great court; better he should stay alert. But when he peered down into its shadows, he saw nothing stirring save the foliage of the vast oak, and he made his way very carefully down onto the cold flagstones beneath. He eyed the branches as he tiptoed over the stone and into their deeper shadow; he could imagine
alfar
asleep in them. But he saw nothing. Still he hesitated; was he not being precipitate, risking offense to seek what might be shown him in due course? Should he not wait? But he dared not abide that risk, to himself or his friends; he was bound to try. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed both palms to the ancient trunk before him.

He felt nothing, save the gnarled bark beneath. He waited, and there was still nothing, not even the sensation he remembered, as of a window closed upon him. With slow care he shaped within his thoughts a clear memory, a voice immense and commanding that seemed to be borne from vast distances upon a gusty wind, yet fell upon his mind rather than his ear. He shaped that voice a name, a name of power and meaning. But still no answer came. At last, impatient at the graying sky, he shrugged and turned away. Just then a sudden flurry broke out within the tree, and he snatched for his sword. Then he had to stop himself laughing aloud, for a very small green bird bounced out onto a limb level with his face, and peered at him with bright fearless eyes. Two more fluttered down from above and sat ruffling their feathers and preening. Another hung upside down from a lower bough, peering at him dubiously, cocking its head with such an absurd air of wisdom that he had to grin. He whistled to them softly, and in an instant he had a whole flock of them bouncing and shrilling their cries around his head. He laughed and cursed all at once; their row might alert somebody. He glared impatiently at the graying sky. He must needs wait, and try again when he could; he fought down the urge to beat on the trunk with his sword hilt.

That will not be necessary.

Elof jumped in fright, and whirled round. That voice came from no human throat. Nor was it in the least like that immense windblown voice, or any other he could imagine; it was weird, at once fluting and sharp, musical yet incisive, cold and clear as spring water. "Who are you?" he gasped. "How do you know my thoughts?"

Do you not know me, One Alone? Truly, men forget too soon, without my aid. Yet once I used you well when you were within my power, and gave you aid. I hear it served you.