The Castle Of Hape. Caves Of Fire And Ice. The Joining Of The Stone

Ram felt a strange sense stir him, an unfamiliar excitement. He paused, feeling outward, but could make nothing of it; and it was gone so quickly. He brought himself back to Jerthon. “Yes—perhaps I know of whom you speak.” What was this pounding of his pulse? “Perhaps I know, for we have had news of Kubal . . .” And the very word Kubal seemed to speak to him in some way; but he could make nothing of it. He reached out, tried to sense whatever it was, and could not, frowned, irritated himself. “There are captives from Kubal come three days ago, brought in by wagon from Folkstone. They escaped from Burgdeeth after a child was—burned to death in Venniver’s sacrificial flames.”

“You . . .” Jerthon stared at him. “It has begun, then. The burning has begun.”

“Yes. What we feared has begun.” Ram looked away toward the portal. This defeat, on top all the rest, was nearly unbearable. Well, it must be told. Jerthon waited to hear. He sighed, continued.

“The mother and the child’s two sisters escaped through the tunnel, then later were captured by the Kubalese as they dug roots in the hills. They were helped to escape Kubal by a young girl—the Kubalese leader’s daughter, they said.” And again that strange excitement swept him, a sharp sense of anticipation. “The girl is AgWurt’s daughter, but they said she brought extra food and water to them, helped them. Perhaps it is she you touched, perhaps she . . .” Why did the very mention of the girl unnerve him? “If she could help us . . .”

“Perhaps. We can try.” Jerthon sat hunched, scowling. Then at last, “The burning of a child should never have occurred. We have waited too long. Curse the Pellian Seers, curse the blindness they put on us!”

Ram shifted, easing his wound. “I ride tonight to carry out the plan we made long ago. I ride for Eresu to speak with the gods, to beg their help in stopping Venniver.”

Jerthon stared at him. “With that wound? You can’t ride alone with that wound. We will go this night.”

“You are committed to meet Arben.”

“There are lieutenants who can—”

Ram shook his head. “It would be foolish for us to be together. And the runestone . . .”

“Tayba will guard the runestone well and use it if it is needed.”

“Do you trust my mother, Jerthon, even yet? After her treachery against you in Burgdeeth?”

Jerthon gave him a look that withered him. “That was twelve years back, lad! She has proven—since that time—her quality. You know I trust her—more than trust her. And she . . . Tayba has the most skill with the stone. A traitor, Ram—a traitor turned to love the cause he betrayed is often the steadiest of all.” He paused as the choir’s voices rose . . .

 

They touch the star. The force of Waytheer

Brings us closer, gods and men.

Ynell’s true Children never waver,

Though falter, Seers dark with lusting,

Falter you.

 

The voices echoed against the cadence of the pounding sea. Jerthon said quietly, “What makes us really believe the gods will help us in curbing Venniver’s lust for the burning of children?”

 

“. . . Falter, Seers dark with lusting, Falter you . . .”

 

“The gods must help. Even if they have never helped men except to offer sanctuary, even if their beliefs say that to help is to tamper with the natural conditions of men, still this time, Jerthon, they must! I will—somehow I will—see that they do. If—if they are truly gods they . . .”

“I have no patience with that old discussion!” Jerthon wiped dust from his cheek with the back of his hand. “It means nothing. Anyway it makes no difference, true gods or not, they are capable of helping—if they will.”

 

“. . . Falter, Seers dark with lusting, Falter you. . .”

 

Jerthon looked at him for a long moment. “It is up to you, then, Ramad of wolves.”

The last stanza died echoing inside the citadel, the last tones rising and lingering against the pounding heartbeat of the sea. Ram and Jerthon rose as one and left the citadel. Skeelie stared after them and knew from the look of them they would both be off on some wild business, and bit her lip in anger. Damn the Pellian Seers! Damn this ugly, useless, harassing, small-minded, terrifying war!

 

 

 

THREE