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Authors: Andre Norton

BOOK: Three Hands for Scorpio
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Cilla appeared to have drawn up over her face an ever-thickening veil. For a moment or two, the shadowy stuff hung firmly in place, then it grew thinner. Cilla's features remained but she was no longer our sister—instead, our great-aunt Drucilla stood there, plainly ill-pleased at the position in which she found herself.
Zolan stared.
“Great-aunt Drucilla,” she said. “You see, boy, it is not in the least difficult. Simply draw upon the Talent you were given. Take someone you know well, summon a projection of that person, then hold fast the mask that comes. It must be renewed from time to time, but you need only call upon it when truly necessary. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” If he did understand, he obviously was not entirely certain. It was Bina who pointed out the weak spot in what we had hoped was a strong answer for our needs.
“Zolan, how many like yourself and us do you know?”
Suddenly he grinned as if he had at last found a key to what we were suggesting. His face became expressionless. A puff of mist gathered beneath his chin, journeyed slowly upward even as the one Cilla had summoned did for her. So, even if his Talent was different, still he could achieve like results. But, having heard Bina, we were alert to learn what would emerge from behind the transforming fog.
Fade it did. We stood stock-still, though we should have suspected what was coming. Cilla was confronting herself—a little taller, to be sure, and possessing a somewhat odd figure, but at least wearing the proper features.
“Thus?” Zolan asked, his voice suspiciously meek.
Great-aunt Drucilla's brows grew, producing some more new, if small, wrinkles.
“Do not jest, boy. If you cannot do it, why not just say so?”
The fourth sister disappeared. Zolan was frowning too. “I have no other guides.”
“Yet you did not fail, either,” Cilla said, allowing Great-aunt Drucilla to withdraw also. “Thus—you
can
mask, if you wish.”
He shrugged. “Well, I will have no need of such mummery if we do not ride on—the morning is well spent.”
FOLLOWING THE SAME action as the day before we at last continued on our way. No talk broke the silence among us; we—at least we Scorpys—were still striving to solve the problem Zolan presented. Though we were very used to him, it was far from difficult to realize how any Gurly of this wasteland would see him as a very strange traveler, one to be mentioned as soon as any honest man was again with his fellows.
My sisters have always credited me with being able to provide unusual clothing and oversee effective costumes for the festival. Now, however, we needed another person to provide an outward seeming for Zolan to copy, and perhaps I had at last met with an exercise in disguise I could not solve.
The clothing he had taken from the peddler's pack covered him in a lumpy fashion that did nothing to alter his upright posture. His skin was still far too pale for any wayfarer, though that condition could be corrected, and his hair might be trimmed as Tam's had been to the general length common for a male. No, the safest guise of all was the mask, but he must have a model for that—to really summon a disguise that would hold, the summoner must be very well acquainted with the model.
We had started our day's journey late and kept our pace slow. Our noon halt was late, as well, and it was also mealless. Climber had again added leapers to the burden of one of the ponies, yet Zolan built no fire. However, we did not rebuke him for such privation, since we had ridden over fresh tracks—those of cattle, probably the small and dangerous black ones of the mountains.
An inspection of the tracks also showed impressions made by unshod horses; we might be viewing what had betrayed a raider. For the Gurlys not only raided across the Border but also refined their skills by preying upon strangers in the highlands where the rumored barbaric old clans were thought to have headquarters. Thus a raid in this part of Gurlyon was a distinct feat of daring.
The last such outlaws we wanted to meet were Reivers of this part of the land. When we passed our warning on to Zolan he accepted it, turning more to the left, since the track seemed to be angling west.
Our animals were faring better than we. Unless we had better fortune, we might soon be faint enough to tumble off our mounts, too weak to go farther.
It was then that Climber came shooting towards us, his scarlet coat like a flame. Zolan signaled a stop and waited for his bond-beast to arrive. Having exchanged a Send, which was still unreadable as far as we were concerned, he shared Climber's report with us.
“There are buildings beyond—some have been half destroyed by fire. Climber found no life in the place. Let us scout and discover what we can.”
Reivers was my unspoken thought. If a holding had been attacked, it might well be that only death remained. However, a faint chance existed that we might find supplies. Zolan went from horse to pony to horse, gazing intently into the eyes of each. The ponies were freed of the lead ropes but not unburdened until after Zolan's beast had led us to a dip in the ground. In that sheltered cup they scattered to graze.
We three, working as one, set Wards which would keep out other folk, should strays still roam the land from the herding party we believed had been responsible for a raid. Once the barriers had been raised and secured we joined Climber.
The countryside was far less level here, though the rises were not of great height. We took advantage of every chance for cover; the three of us also strove to sense out any other presence. We had often done this before from mere curiosity and had had no results; we followed the same pattern now. Climber would have to serve as advance scout.
Suddenly I sniffed. Something was, or had been, burning not too many hours before. A brisk breeze blew into our faces bearing that scent. Belly down, we crawled up the nearest slope to see what lay on the other side.
M
any tales are told concerning the vicious cruelty of raiders. I myself had tended survivors of such attacks who had been brought to Grosper in the past. However, no previous experience prepared me for such devastation. What I now saw was a horror greater than any I had ever dreamed.
The place of destruction was no shepherd's cot but a tower keep of some size. Trails of dark smoke threaded groggily upward to taint the sky. Bodies lay here and there, undoubtedly those of the inhabitants, as the raiders would have taken their dead with them if they had been beaten off. Certainly what we could see did not suggest that this struggle had ended in victory for the defenders of the keep.
I noted Climber picking his way toward the disaster. Though we had seen no signs of life, the beast from the Dismals advanced cautiously, using bushes for a blind here and there, and stopping to scent the acrid air. He reached the level land of the settlement, where stood the burnt-out remains of huts. Again for a space of time he simply stood as if now his ears and nose would serve him best.
Zolan made no comment but simply launched himself downhill. Within a step or so he commenced running swiftly until he skidded to a stop in
earth loosened by churning hooves. Only then did he look up to wave us on.
Tam was the first on her feet, and Bina was nearly as quick to follow. I, however, longed to turn in the other direction. What profit could there be in searching such bloodied chaos? Though hunger was a constant pain, surely those who had looted here had either carried off all supplies or wasted them past use. I had no choice but to follow, but I did so at a slower pace.
HAND TO SWORD, I joined Zolan and was the first of us three to reach him. The stench of smoke and other odors I would rather not identify set me coughing. We were on a track—it could not be termed road—leading directly to the keep. Facing each other across this rough way, the wreckage of two huts lay mounded to our right and left.
Faceup beside one of these small dwellings, a woman lay stripped of clothing, her arms pulled up above her head and lashed to the broken haft of a small spear. Beneath her, the ground had been recently readied for planting. Beyond her body was that of a boy, treated in like manner, showing many stab wounds.
I made the Sign of Calling the Great One, not only for the peace of the suffering but that those who had used them so might be summoned to full justice.
We moved on as Bina and Cilla joined us. Bina gave one quick glance and also made the Sign. Cilla copied it without looking.
Those two were not all the dead, merely the first. Indeed, so often were we confronted from either side by such scenes that they lost the power to shock, only to sicken those who looked upon them. Here Evil had been given rein, so fully that Fear could well follow.
The door to the wall surrounding the tower keep was gone but, where one would expect remnants of a broken barrier, none such existed. From the complete absence of any torn hasps or fragments of wood, no portal might have ever been mounted here. The strangeness of that empty frame made me reach out and clutch Zolan's arm, bringing him also to a stop.
Some trick of Talent? I studied all three sides of the opening in the stone wall. The edges bore a rim of dirty yellow around their perimeter. Now another harsh, biting odor intruded strongly on my senses. I loosed
my hold on Zolan and inched forward. This—I had heard rumors of this use of Power but never had seen evidence of its reality.
Here was legend come to life. I looked around. Another broken lance lay not too far away. Fetching it, I pushed forward. With the splinter-headed weapon held in front of me, I drew the shaft up, down, and around the three sides of the doorway, being careful not to touch the yellowed edges.
“What would you do?” Zolan demanded.
I used the spear to indicate the nearest length of yellow line. “When a raid comes, a door of wood may be beaten in, or set aflame, if the defenders are unable to pick off their attackers by arrow. That was not what befell in this place. Old Lore teachers that some of the Talented of ancient times had other weapons unknown to us. I think a siege-engine of Power might have been used here. We must all keep well away from those lines when we go in.”
I was not sure that I wished to enter at all, and I could sense that Bina and certainly Cilla thought such action highly dangerous. Zolan, though, was not to be deterred from his quest. Having regarded me searchingly for a second or two, he marched on through the break left by the missing gate. A sense of responsibility sent me after him. It was true that he was Talented, but what had been wrought here was of the Upper Land and not the Dismals and might therefore be the product of Power alien to all he knew. At least I had
heard
of such a weapon, while he did not recognize it; thus it must be of this world.
Contrary to what we might have expected, the strip of land about the base of the tower was not near filled with bodies. Several corpses, however, lay in line with the missing gate, and these folk had not been killed by steel or snaplock ball. Their bodies lay in positions that made us sure they had died in great pain and terror, yet we saw no outward signs of wounds.
The door of the keep itself had not been made to vanish by some spell as had the outer portal; here an improvised battering ram, still lying to one side, had been brought to bear. Perhaps if the other weapon had been born of Power, it had been exhausted in a single use.
We explored. Death reigned everywhere, from the bodies of a pair of sleuthhounds trained for defense to the pitiful small form of a cradled baby in the great hall. She who had been doubtless its mother lay naked and savaged beside it. Again we called down the Peace of the Great One and could only believe that all within these walls were now safe at rest within the ever-living Light.
Trying to close our minds to the slaughter, we made our way to where the storerooms must be. Since winter was only a short time behind us, and the first crops were yet to be harvested—many not even showing above the soil—supplies would be few, and perhaps all had been taken by the raiders. Still, through some strange quirk of fortune, we did find fruit, very dry, and also the hard kernels of dashen. We stored all we discovered in hide bags that were stacked nearby, perhaps the same in which those supplies had been brought.
Bina went exploring in another room off the kitchen, crunching through the debris of broken pipkins and battered pans. She, too, made use of a bag, filling it with what she found in the stillroom.
And it was she who made another surprising discovery.
THE STORES IN the stillroom had been little disturbed; even wax-stoppered crocks stood uncracked and sealed. I made quick choices of what we might need the most, glad to be once more in the company of herbs that I knew well.
I had cleared one shelf of small jars, all labeled (which was a boon), when I noted that the section of shelves themselves seemed to be pulled away from the wall at one end. Removing the few containers still left on these, I tugged at the entire storage area. It appeared to be firmly fixed; however, when I gave a hard pull, it grated towards me.
Darkness lay beyond, not only honest night, but—I reeled back, too shaken to do more than cling to the wooden boards. I had been assaulted by a heavy pall of pure evil which enwrapped me as might a net meant to capture. Choking, I fought to draw in a full breath.
I heard, dimly, the voice of Tam, but even a Send was beyond me now. Then an arm slid about my body, and I was drawn back. My hold on the shelves being broken, I stood only by the aid of him who held me; a moment later, I was swung about, and Cilla came to give me support.
A sudden blaze of light leaped up, and the darkness was broken. In Tam's hands her talisman was glowing ever stronger. Zolan reached for her but she had already found the hidden opening and, as her hand lifted higher to give a view of what lay ahead, he was still a step away.
We could now see into that chamber as if the most brilliant of suns shone through the stone. The space which the shelves had concealed was hardly more than a cupboard. Yet it held an occupant. Propped back against the wall stood the severely emaciated body of a male. It was robed in the fashion of the priestly garb worn by Udo the Chosen. And crowning that corpse—I heard Cilla's scream, felt the sway of her body against mine. The light wavered, and Tam uttered a word that was half defiant cry, half curse.
Skeleton hands clutched the throat of the man—his own. His face was only a charred patched of flesh against bone. And—
Cilla had hidden her head against my shoulder. Not loosing my hold on her, I Sent:
“Tam—Power for Tam!”
We linked, found Tam, linked again. But Zolan had already shouldered our sister aside. He now faced the horror straight on, and his hand came up.
The back of his hand was towards me, but I was sure I had seen something cupped in the palm. He spoke no audible word of ritual or command, yet a burst of light flared forth. A movement stirred the stagnant air of the cupboard as if barely visible waves rose and fell—green light pressing forward against roiling dark.
The oppressive presence of Evil that had sapped my strength vanished. It had affected Cilla also and perhaps Tam, though she had not wavered to confront it, doubtless drawing extra energy from the talisman. In fact, I felt as renewed as if by a night of deep and healing slumber.
Against the wall still huddled the figure in the vestments of the Chosen. Now, however, it began to slide downward against the stone. We watched. As the body reached the floor, Zolan approached it.
With his padded boot he toed the thing, and at the same time he leaned forward to pick something from the floor. Whatever he had used to clear our surroundings had disappeared—If he
had
wielded any instrument of Power, what he held now was a rod perhaps slightly less in length than his forearm. Taking this wand in both hands, he snapped it in two, casting the pieces down on the body. Then he retreated from the space and, without a word, pushed until the shelves were back in place, no edge jutting out to betray their secret. Only when this action was completed did he speak.
“It is well that I have come forth. The Evil One has launched his war.”
“The robed one was the renegade of the Dismals?” Tam asked.
“No, but what was used here was a weapon of Dismals Power. It seems,
however, that he could not control it properly and that what he had summoned returned upon him full force.”
Such a backwash of force we could comprehend. The Talented were taught from the time they could understand that to loose Power they could not completely command was to lay themselves open to the very weapon they attempted to use.
“Those attacking here,” Tam said slowly, “possessed a Talent weapon also, but that, I believe, was, long ago, one of our own—”
“Which means”—Zolan's face was grimly set—“Tharn has established contact with someone or something of this land. He has either made common cause with a Talented Gurly or has stolen learning from the past.”
I wished to shout a denial of such reasoning; however, it was all too logical. Now Cilla, moving in my hold to face the others, added to Zolan's theory with more somber reasoning. “Those who murdered, took this holding—if they still have the weapon which they used to destroy the wall gate—” She choked on the word “gate” as if its very naming called up sick fear.
I WAS PUTTING my sun-warm stone, for so it felt, back into my pouch. Perhaps we had come into a state of arrogance because of the Talent and the abilities we were all sure had been added to our inborn force during our time in the Dismals. The source of the Power these raiders wielded might well be found in a search of such libraries as our grand dames and Great-aunt Drucilla kept. I, for instance, would not have possessed that scrap of recollection regarding the gate if I had not read or heard of such barriers in the past. However, its true nature and how best to deal with it remained unknown.
But our father and mother were on their way—
Mother!
I caught instantly at that questing tendril of thought. Almost as speedily, Cilla and Bina were with me in mind as well as in body. However, before I could tell Zolan what must be done, Climber hurtled in, dashed forward, and reared up to thud paws on his chosen human at waist height. His rush sent Zolan crashing back against the shelves, and pots went flying.
Zolan dropped to his knees so that his eyes met Climber's straight on. Silent communication lasted but a moment; then he jumped to his feet and headed for the kitchen.
“A survivor!” he said. That amazing news brought us at a run behind him.
Climber led the way with Zolan on his heels. Through the kitchen, again scattering debris and raising dust, the bond-beast passed the stairs leading above to reach a place where he brushed the floor vigorously with a paw. Though it was too dark to really see, my mind went instantly to the idea of a trapdoor. Such underground storages were often used for prisoners. Had some unhappy soul been half buried here while the hold of the keep was occupied by the enemy?
“Candle—lamp—” Bina turned back toward the kitchen, but I swung out the gem, which now gave a faint radiance. Cradling it between my palms, I centered Power on it. The glow increased to light as would a breath-fanned torch.
Zolan was kneeling by the edge of what was indeed a trapdoor. As soon as he could see, he hammered back the bolt and then was around the door and pulling at an iron loop in its top, clearly intended for access.
“What be going on?” demanded a voice out of the depths. “Old Raven-Eye come into his wits again? Best be using that eye of his to look for Ichon's banner—”
Bina came up with a coil of rope in one hand and a lanthorn to add to the light. Zolan caught at the sturdy cord and started back to the stairs to make one end fast. I leaned over the edge of the trapdoor to view the unfortunate imprisoned below.
I looked into the face of a heavily bearded man.
“Who are you, wench? Or is Ichon taken to letting his get ride a-reiving, be they man or maid?”
I drew a deep breath. “The keep has been taken. We are all who are left of a merchant's train. We thought your hold slaughtered to a man—”
He was silent for a long moment and then struck the near wall of the cell-like space in which he had been held. From his lips came the greatest number of powerful oaths I had ever heard loosed at one time. Then Zolan was pushing me to one side and tossing down part of the coiled rope so that it struck the face of the prisoner and silenced him.
Thus we came to face Lolart Boartusked, once Guard Sergeant of Frosmoor. The minute the prisoner was wholly out of the makeshift cell, he threw the rope from him, struck Zolan with a mighty fist, sending the man from the Dismals staggering, and raced up the staircase.
We wasted no time in following, though Bina had lagged behind with
her bag of plunder. By the time we reached the great hall, we heard such a bellow of rage as seemed likely to shake the rest of the walls down upon us.
The guard sergeant came back into the hall, staggering like one who had taken a mortal wound. Above that heavy bush of a beard, his weatherbeaten skin was a sickly gray. Wavering on his feet, he stood staring at us, plainly suffering from such a shock as to near destroy his wits.
“All—all o' 'em—her ladyship—th' wee 'un.” He glanced at the corner where the woman lay by the cradle. “Where's Ichon?” He did not seem to be asking that question of us. Instead he turned away, lurching toward a dais at the other end of the hall. The room was a rough miniature effort to copy a chamber of state.
For the first time we saw—for we had been only too eager not to view closely the dead upon our coming—that someone was sitting there. He might have been first watching the massacre, then waiting for us.
Lolart was off again, heading for the watcher. When a step from the dais, he stopped short to beat with clenched hands at the air above his head, screaming such a cry as might have been uttered from a prison pit of eternal darkness.
Though we were sure that the evidence of another horrible act waited on that throne, the four of us were drawn after him, for to view the tragedy ourselves might be an inescapable duty.

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