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Authors: Andre Norton

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Bina sat farther back on the bed, no longer peering at the map. “Wool from the highland pastures is prized—was not a cloak of it sent to the queen as a New Year gift, a season agone? Goodly trade comes in from that territory. But mere pastureland would not be marked on a ranger's map such as this—”
I glanced from her to Cilla. As if in response to some silent order, she once more bent over the map. It was her turn to point and call out what she saw scribed thereon.
“Here be the hunting land which is the king's own. Then here is a holding marked ‘Langrun,' and here one ‘Slagenforth.' But see—the Cursed Land lies beyond—the Lair of Baltiwaight!”
“Many tales of evil are told of that place,” supplied Bina. “No proof of their truth was ever offered, at least not since the time of the Loathy King—he who became the Demon of Gurlyon's past. He reigned five hundred years ago and, even though his sins may have mountained in the telling, it is known that he ruled long and wickedly. It could well be true that the country folk nurse a dislike for a strip of country darkened by such history.”
“In the Yakins, this Chosen Forfind lived a hermit,” I added.
They were immediately at the map again, pulling it a little away from me to examine it the better. However, at that moment a trumpet call sounded. We slid from the bed and crowded to the window to peer below, in time to see the combined parties of the clan chief and the High Lord Warden ride out together. We had said farewell to our parents earlier, and the fact that we did not appear in public to wish them safe travel would surely prove we were in disgrace.
I hammered my right fist against the windowsill. Bina and Cilla shared my anger, needing no words. It was a feeling that arose not from disappointment or humiliation but from the constraint that would now lie upon us for future wariness of action.
Now that the visitors had gone, though, we were free of our section of Grosper. Our study materials, the books and papers, were again properly housed in the library, and for a time the subject of the Cursed Lands was half forgot.
However, the perusal of ancient records was not all that busied us. Each morning we went to the exercise hall, which had been set aside for us by our father when he had first accepted the keys of Grosper. There we worked at the ritual of swordplay he had taught us, used snaplocks to chip stone from the circled target painted on the wall, and honed our skills with the common spears of the North. We might not ride out for the present, but we could maintain our training in the meanwhile.
From the wielding of steel, we turned to another art of defense. This was the warfare against bodily ills which was our mother's Gift, the distilling and mixing of various herbal potions against fever, sepsis, and all wounds and sicknesses that might afflict the people of a land on the brink of war.
On the seventh day after the party for the Truce Meeting had ridden forth, Loosy came to us.
“'Tis a peddler from the North, my ladies,” she announced.
I placed my sword in the rack. I had been fencing with Cilla, trying to break through her long-perfected guard. Bina laid aside the snaplock she had been loading.
“Do we, or do we not?” I asked.
Peddlers had many uses beside the mere transport and supply of unusual and needful wares. They were also, by tradition, accepted as the purveyors of news. Sometimes they bore specific messages and warnings.
Both Bina and Cilla shook their heads. At that dissent, I turned to Loosy.
“Listen well.” I deliberately drew myself up to my full Scorpy height to look down at the maid, a posture I believed would give my words additional force. “We will not see this peddler. However, get you Hanna, and bring her here quickly.”
Hanna must have been waiting just without the door, for Loosy had only to go to the portal to return with her.
“Now, then.” Bina took the lead. “You will say that we are keeping to the tower as our father ordered—you may, indeed, let it be known that we rest under his deep displeasure. Do you know what this wanderer offers for sale?”
“Yes,” the maid was quick to answer, “he has pomanders and ribbons, sleeve- and bodice-knives, combs for the hair, some laces, and the like.”
“Trifles,” Cilla commented, “but such as are well chosen to catch a lady's eye.”
In the exercise gallery, we wore breeches and shirts for freedom of
movement. I now picked up the cloak I had brought to cover this mannish garb, for we all paid tribute to Dame Modesty on our journeys through the halls. From the inner pocket, I brought out a purse.
None of us had been moved as yet to spend any of the pin-money granted us upon our latest birthing date, which had fallen some weeks before. I shook a few coins from the bag into my cupped hand.
“Take these, and select what pleasures you desire. For us, procure the answers to some questions. Why does this peddler bring his business to Grosper when he would surely find better custom at the Truce grounds? Where does he come from? Does he sell for himself, or is he one of those trusted ones who serve a greater merchant and goes about on his master's purpose?”
“Also,” Bina added, “mark well any question he asks you. If he wants guesting rights for the night, send him to—Heddrick.” She paused as she swiftly mind-touched each of us. Wordlessly we agreed.
When Cilla offered a last suggestion, she startled the serving-girls but not their ladies. “'Twould be best were you to put on some of Appy's ways.”
Loosy grinned, and Hanna's look of surprise changed even more noticeably. Rolling her eyes, the maid pressed her plump hands together and exclaimed, in the broad speech of the country folk, “Lawks, m' lady, I ne'er did see sich pretties afore!” Then she turned in a slow circle, mouth agape, as she expressed the amazement of a beggar newly introduced to the contents of a safe room.
We laughed at the contrast between the normally quiet Hanna we knew and this one suddenly stirred to such volubility. Loosy now also showed the wide-eyed stare of a simple backcountry maid bedazzled by hitherto unknown delights.
“You do properly,” I noted. “Hunt well, sleuthhounds.”
We separated as we went into the hall. Loosy and Hanna, at a pace near running, scurried to find the peddler, and we went our way to our mother's solar.
“Heddrick?” Bina made a question of the name.
At our nods, she stepped to the wall and, catching the wide, embroidered ribbon bell pull, gave it a sturdy yank. Her tug was answered by a clangor far louder than our mother had ever wakened. We had a very short wait before a scratching sounded at the door.
The man who answered our summons was tall and spare, and even under
this roof he wore a helm and jack-coat, laced ready to ride out. Heddrick had been our father's man before our birth, and he would continue to serve Desmond Scorpy as long as his lungs drew breath. The order that bade him remain at Grosper had come as a bitter blow, for he had no desire to shuffle about its halls and chambers when our father rode out these days. Yet below his right knee the old campaigner no longer bore flesh and bone, but wore a wooden leg strapped on, and that maiming sealed him just as surely as Father's command to this exile from the life that had been so long his meed. However, his new post was not without its own power, for no bailiff in our father's absence ruled here without Heddrick's assent, nor ever would, not while Desmond Scorpy was in command.
Like Duty, the crippled soldier was a man of few words. Now he simply stood, asking nothing, awaiting our orders in place of his lord's. I spoke first, as was customary.
“A peddler has come,” I began. Heddrick gave a slight nod.
“We wish to know more concerning him. Loosy and Hanna have started the game, but it needs further players. Nothing is of greater worth than the truth.” I was quoting now, repeating words we had heard the present Lord Verset speak from time to time.
Heddrick returned at once. “M'ladies, the gallows-clapper will be ever under my eye. Should he be kicked out the gate now?”
“Not yet,” I cautioned. “Peddlers learn things—they bring and they take. Might one bring solid substance and take smoke?”
“If that be the way of it, yea.” The salute offered us was not quite that which he would give our father, yet it meant firm agreement.
We did not reach for any chore to occupy us as we waited. For the first time we were launching ourselves into such matters as had always been our elders' concern. I think we were all breathing a little faster but we did not mind-touch.
Bina startled us by a sudden recitation of places: “Murderers' Rock, Hell Cauldron, Killdeer Edge, Traitor Tod—this is a land of unseemly names. Was no place famed for good deeds, or loved for happy frolics? To hear that sorry list, an outlander might believe that nothing befell in this country save sin or sorrow.”
In contrast to Bina's grim mood, Cilla was beating out a rhythm on the arm of her chair with light-tripping fingertips. Her eyes were half-closed as if her memory had withdrawn to another time and place.
I sniffed. “Come away from the dance, dear sister. It will be another year before you tread to that tune again.”
Bina nodded. “
Unless
—” What she would say was clearer in her mind than on her lips.
As one, we tensed. Already at our last birthing-day we had been two years past the usual age for betrothal. However, due to the isolation of our life in Grosper we were set apart from the social ways our peers in the South had known since they were hardly more than infants. We were also well aware that Scorpy women were never sought after by many, for it was the custom that the married ones drew their lords into our clan line rather than departed from it.
It was a subject we never dwelt upon, even among ourselves. What comments Bina might have awaited did not come. Then, once more, a scratching at the door came; this time it preceded Loosy and Hanna's arrival. They made profound curtseys as if being presented to a lady of the castle. Cupping Loosy's brown hair was a cap of netting that glittered with her slightest movement. Dangling from each side just above the ear were several cords of differing lengths, each ending in a bead of shining metal, the style a type of headgear altogether unknown to us. Her usual cap hung all but disowned from one hand. Hanna's well-washed (and somewhat workworn) blue homespun gown had been gaily refurbished at the neck by a wide lace scarf whose ends were tied in front.
Cilla shaded her eyes. “Lawk”—she used her own country voice—“this be a brave sight!”
Loosy giggled and pushed away one of the weighted strings tapping against her cheek, while Hanna smoothed her lace with obvious pride. Bina, however, was frowning.
“These fripperies are not usual wares,” was her comment.
Loosy nodded. “I think, m'lady, that he did want you to see these, so you might wish him to show other things he has. He even had one case he did not open, but kept ever close to his hand.”
I saw fit to call them to order. “What have you learned? Sit and tell us.” I waved them to the footstools that served our chairs, and sit they did.
“
H
e names himself Hal Shoan, my ladies,” Loosy began the servants' report, “and he boasts that he is his own man and comes from Kingsburke. This be his first trip to the Border—he is testing how trade is hereabouts. All this he told without our asking.” Loosy twisted one of her dangling cap strings about her finger.
“Surely he must have heard of the truce gathering, which would be a better place for trade,” Bina commented as the maid paused.
“He said, Lady Sabina”—Hanna nervously smoothed the lace across her breast—“as how he did not hear of that till he was well along this way. Now that he knows, he will go there directly. He is very pleasant of speech, m'ladies, and seemed quite downcast when you could not receive him.”
“Aye,” Loosy nearly interrupted, “he is like no Border man, rough of manner or mien—he is more like one of the servingmen at the queen's own court. He is tall, with a chin-pointy beard such as his lordship wears, and his coat and breeks are well kept, dusty as he's been on the road, but with no patchin' you can see.”
The thoughts shared by us three were knitting together rapidly. Every fact the girl added to her account set this Shoan further apart from most peddlers we had known in the past.
“Did he ask questions?” I asked a little sharply.
“No, m'lady. Master Heddrick, he came by and heard him. Said he could eat with those of the guard as stayed here and get him a straw pallet in the gatehouse. Told him to come right along if he wanted his vittles hot. Then he gave us a smile and went.”
“But not afore he said something else, m'lady,” added Hanna. “Told us to show our ladies what we had bought, he did. He said to say, too, that he took orders for the best as could be got from Kingsburke, and he thought he would be traveling special from there to here from now on.”
“Well done,” I gave credit where due. “You're the best scouts we could ask for. Get you to the kitchen now and have your Sundown. You can bring ours here later.”
After they were gone and the door had shut behind them, our thoughts were open as always when a matter of importance was to be considered.
“From Kingsburke …” Bina spoke first.
“He must think us fools!” flared Cilla. “All folk in Kingsburke would know of a Truce Meet, for peace councils are always reported to the king.”
“Yes, and no one can cap merchants and peddlers when it comes to news—they have their own ways of learning such things,” Bina agreed.
“A peddler who is a little too polished for his calling,” I mused. “First comes that Chosen, who is like gravel in a boot, and now a peddler, smooth as a court servant, both from Kingsburke—both from the king? What game is being played now?”
“One that bodes no good for us,” Bina declared. “I tell you, sisters, this is like being handed the end of a strand of wool from a ball all knotted together. We shall see what Heddrick has to add. Loosy and Hanna are sharp of wit in homely concerns, but Heddrick is wise in affairs of a much larger world, and he has never accepted matters as they appear on the surface.”
The maids brought us our simple meal of cheese and same-day-baked bread with dried cherries added to the dough, a goodly treat Cook Mattie had devised this season.
With the light supper came a bottle of wine and a pitcher of milk. As usual, we drank more of the latter than the former. Loosy reported as she served us that the peddler was in the gatehouse with his wares but that he was to be at dice later with Heddrick and the stable master.
We had exhausted all our guesses concerning what Shoan was or would do. We therefore occupied the hours remaining before bedtime in debating
what might happen at the Truce. When Cilla had yawned widely at least twice, we at last took our candles and sought our tower chamber.
“It is so quiet,” Cilla near whispered as she looked up at the stair curling into the darkness above. She shielded with extra care the wavering flame of her taper, as though fearful that the surrounding night would reach out and snuff it like a hand. Our sister spoke the truth; we three shared her feeling of having been almost entombed here, alone in a grim casket of stone.
We kept together as we trudged aloft. Night lamps had been lighted and set in wall niches at intervals along the rise of the stair, but somehow those shone dimmer than usual, seeming well-nigh overwhelmed.
When we reached our chamber to find Loosy and Hanna waiting, we closed and locked the door. Cilla, however, remained facing it. Slowly raising her right hand, she traced a symbol with her forefinger; chambers for family use were always warded. These Talent-born barriers against Evil had been firmly established by our uniting as one under our mother's command when we had first taken up residence here—a ceremony that was renewed each Yearsend and a ritual that promised us safety for the forthcoming twelvemonth.
“Why do you make the sign of the Fear-Fend?” I asked as Cilla's hand dropped to her side. She had not yet turned from the door.
“I—I do not know,” Cilla admitted. “It seemed that I must do so, as if Mother had spoken.”
Bina stood by the bed and turned slowly, staring first at our familiar furniture, then to walls whose every stone we had once counted in a childhood game, and finally to the entire known, loved room. I set the bar across the last shuttered window.
Your Majesty, heretofore Tamara has had the telling of this record. But now, taking turns, each of us will report for herself what has been her portion of the tale, for from this point in our adventure we began to play different parts in this drama, with actions dictated by our individual Gifts from the Light. It is I, Sabina Scorpy, daughter to the Earl of Verset, in Your Majesty's service and that of the Lady Sorceress Altha, Countess of Verset, who will now speak, and thus we shall proceed.
EACH OF US had retired into her own thoughts—or questions—and we did not seek to share those ideas, as we mainly do when puzzled. That in itself seemed strange. When we were at last settled within the great bed in our usual order, Tam to my right, Cilla to my left, we broke silence only to wish each other a peaceful night under the Watch of the Preserver.
The faintest of lights gleamed beyond the curtained foot of the bed; the night lamp had been newly filled to pass the dark hours. I rubbed a hand across my eyes, which seemed to burn, then closed them—only for a moment, I thought. However, when I reopened them and looked again, the lamplight had sunk far lower.
Our linens, drawn up now to our chins, smelled not only of lavender but also of other herbs that underlay that favorite. I set myself to name those faint scents, but, before I could complete this self-set task, I had fallen asleep once more.
Cilla is our acknowledged dreamer, but this time it was I in the solar, needle in my hand and rolls of colored wool beside me, from which I must choose
the
one proper shade. So heavily did this task weigh upon me that I felt fear like a physical oppression. I struggled to put the needle from me, but my motions were maddeningly slowed, as if I were besotted or—bewitched? Even my mind seemed dulled, but I held to the thought that I must
not
obey this seeming command—must
not
—
Strengthened by a last burst of resolve, I opened my eyes to find myself in our bed. It was utterly dark—no lamp now glowed beyond the bed curtains. And what was far worse, beside me, to the left, was emptiness—no sound of even-drawn breath, no warmth radiating from a body lying close beside mine.
“Cilla!”
For some reason, I called with mind-touch.
It was as though an unbreakable shield had been slipped between us. Never had this happened before. Terror shot through me with the pain of a pike thrust by a Breaksword raider.
Surely this was a nightmare. I made a great effort to rise, but my body refused to obey; and when I would have called aloud, my tongue would not serve me, either.
Suddenly I heard movement beyond the bed-curtains. Then a coarse voice spoke aloud as if there were no need for quiet:
“Ought we t'take th' sluts now?”
“Nay, leave them!”
“They be tasty bits. One does no' waste sweetmeats—”
“Get about what ye're to do, Blubberguts, an' no more cackle.”
I could not turn my head to see as the bed-curtain to my right was jerked open. Though the thick dark remained, no light having been rekindled, I was aware that Tam was being drawn from my side.
“Twa o' 'em. All right and tight,” observed Blubberguts.
Once more I struggled with all my might, but again to no purpose. I might have been chain-bound as securely as any gallowsmeat.
Sounds of movement again reached me again. “She's tight, Lug-ears. Call them in for the taking,” snapped the second speaker.
More noises, one the creaking of the door. Then someone must have stumbled against the bed, for it shook and I heard a blistering oath.
“These eye-things, they don't work so good namore,” complained Lug-ears sullenly.
“Lug-ears?” sneered the second voice. “Lug-
head
, more like! The charm wasn't promised to last forever. Nor will the door hold itself open—Hedge witch combings don't be trusted. You want the Warden riding Hot Tod behind us and lighting balefires to bring in the others? Now
jump to,
I tell you, before they awake. That there guard be Border wise.”
Covers were yanked off me. Hands groped, grasping both my bedgown and my flesh. Helpless in the grip of the—drug? spell?—that had divided and paralyzed us, I was pulled across the bed. Hands were set on my ankles and my shoulders, but my arms were allowed to swing down limply. Then I was drawn altogether free of the bed in the cloaking dark and dropped, to land bruisingly on the floor.
A thick covering fell over me that was not the bedclothes, and rough paws now jerked me upright so that this stuff could be wrapped about me and made very tight, leaving only my head free. I was lifted again and carried out.
The darkness did not hold beyond the door, though my limp helplessness did. I was slung over the shoulder of a great ox of a man with the stench of horse sweat, clothes too long betwixt washings, and strong ale thick about him. I could see only leather and the curve of back armor. The Second Voice,
who appeared to be the brain-pan behind this business, remained just that—speech with no visible speaker.
My bearer was strong enough that he seemed to have no difficulty in descending the stairway burdened with my weight. At last we came into the courtyard. I could hear the stamping of horses and, a moment or so later, was flung facedown across the back of a mount and made fast. I saw no more of my partner at pig-a-back.
It was too quiet—in spite of my present posture, which was upside down in mind as well as body, I grew more and more aware of that. The horse onto which I had been bound was moving, and I heard the motion of other animals, but no speech passed among my captors—
our
captors, if my guess was right and I shared this fate with Tam and Cilla.
Kidnapping was not unknown in the border lands. Years agone, it had been a common ploy on both sides, but it had dropped out of general favor as a means of forcing a foe's hand since my father had taken the Wardenship. However, in most of those abductions, the victim had been caught in the open. This venture into the very heart of enemy territory to take us was a brazen maneuver we had never encountered in the reports we had been combing.
Yet it would seem these Breakswords had managed to do as they wished with no difficulty. What had happened to Heddrick and the gate-guardor to our Wards—that this villainous deed was possible? Once more I strove to mind-touch but met again with that impenetrable wall.
We were descending the slope from Grosper now. The fact that I was tightly rolled in blankets did not keep at bay the sawlike abrasion that began on my skin at the places where my body strained against the ropes lashing me to the horse. I soon passed into a haze of torment, dominated by wrenching cramps in arms and legs and punctuated by a fearful pounding behind my eyes, an anvil rhythm underscored by every thud of the horse's hooves. I would have moaned, but just as thought-send was denied me, so, it appeared, was physical voice.
Time meant nothing. My fog of pain and confusion thickened, so that only a stumble of my mount now and then roused me to full consciousness. Each time I could think, half-mazed though I was, I tried to reach my sisters.
When finally I roused with a clearer mind, it was beginning daylight. The horse had come to a halt. It stood blowing heavily as if it were winded from being used so hardly.
“Get them down, dunderheads—down and in.”
Hands loosed my ropes; then, my bundling remaining tight about me, I was swung aloft to be carried on a shoulder once more. My new bearer and I passed from the predawn gray gloom into a roofed space where I again saw torchlight, felt fire-heat. I had not realized how cold I had been until I felt that warmer air.
Down I went, with a speed suggesting that my carrier had simply dropped me. I landed on my back on the floor of what seemed a hut. Though at the time the actions of my captors gave little comfort, this partial release meant that my long-bent body might straighten out, for a blessed time.
Within my limited sight stood a cloaked and hooded man, the collar of his garment pulled up so high about his ears and face that he appeared well-nigh masked. Finding that I could now move my head, I turned it a fraction, carefully, as I did not wish to attract attention. Then I could see not only the cloaked one but another man, tall, and bearing the massive shoulders and heavy head of a bull. This second ruffian was staring at me. Did he see that my eyes were open?
“Th' cub be payin' good money, right enough,” observed Bull-head. “Which one is it he wants to tumble?”
High-collar shrugged. “Not our choice. They all look alike, he said, for they were born together like a litter of pups. So we take them all.” Suddenly he swung in my direction and dropped to one knee. His gloved hand caught in my hair, and by that painful hold he dragged me up a little and raked me with an appraising gaze. His lips shaped a low whistle.
“So—the Chosen's not as good as he thinks he is. You're awake, slut? Want to see who snapped you out of Grosper like you were a pea in a pod?”
With his other hand, my interrogator pulled the cloak-collar away from his chin so that I might have full sight of his face. It was long and narrow. He wore his beard as did my father, trimmed evenly into a chin point; but this man's hair was fair, not dark, and the firelight glittered on golden hairs here and there.
Lancing across his right eye—or rather the shrunken socket that had once held that orb—and down his cheek was the ridge of a scar. The eye that remained was bright with a near-feverish gleam, and it kept me pinned as firmly as his hand continued to grip my hair. He gave those locks a punishing yank as if he would make sure I was listening.
“Pretty face.” He smirked. “Like I had, once, before your hound of a father rent it. Would have had me off to Licking Stone, he would, but Maclan is no rabbit.”
Maclan—Licking Stone! Now I knew into whose hands we had fallen; nonetheless, I held my gaze steady. In that moment, for the first time since I had awakened in the tower, my voice returned to me:
“It was a fair fight, and that you cannot deny—”
He gave a last vicious pull and, dropping my head, rose again to his feet. Then his boot flashed out and struck my shoulder to send me rolling, unable to aid myself in any way. I came to a stop only when my body struck against another in the same sort of bundling as mine.
“Cilla? Bina?”
Mind-touch, faint but true! Tam had called. I answered her swiftly and added a warning.

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