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

They were wolves come long ago to the high desert, come generations before out of Zandour, descendants of those who had not joined Ramad when he was swept away out of Time. They had come to the desert and lived generations here; and now suddenly they harked to the pillage in Zandour, to the world their ancestors had left. They felt the warring with a cold fury; and they felt the darkness rising. They Saw the dragon and his woman attacking Zandour’s troops. Their race-memory, and the tales handed down from their sires, knew the kindness in Zandour, knew the gentleness of Hermeth; and they recalled the way in which Hermeth died, possessed by darkness.

They turned as one to look off toward the north’s uncharted mountains where the wolf bell dwelt and where the son of Ramad stalked and swore, fettered by his own fury against full use of the stones he carried. And all time and all evils and all forms of goodness came together into a wholeness for them. A pale dog wolf raised his muzzle and howled. A dark brother joined him, and another. A bitch wolf screamed into the hot desert wind. The band’s cry sent a chill across the high desert that made rock hares freeze in their tracks and lone miners pull their doors to and bolt them.

And suddenly the band leaped away running hard for the rim and for the lands below it.

*

A pale, white-haired child heard their cry like wonderful music and watched them leave the desert. When she turned back toward her small valley at last, she walked swiftly and did not pause until she had curled into her bed beneath the crystal dome and held once more in her small hand the heavy talisman she kept always with her. Now, soon, they would come, a Seer would come searching for the stone. A Seer of light? Or a dark Seer? She could not yet divine which. The dark Seer might kill her, but such a one could not take the stone.

Would the other white-haired ones come now?

She prayed for the salvation of Ere, prayed until at last a vision of the Luff’Eresi came to her like cascading light through the crystal dome, their forms glinting through the heavy crystal panes as if the dome existed not at all, tall, iridescent beings seeming half man, half horse, but more wonderful than either, creatures whose great wings shed rainbow light; and she thought of them as gods though they were not; and she spoke to them as she would to gods.

“Will you help them?” she whispered. “Will you help them now?”

We do not know. They must help themselves.

But even with that vague answer she felt eased; and long after they had left her, she lay dreaming contentedly, the heavy green jade clutched tight in her small, pale fist.

*

A few remnants of the Zandourian army escaped the dragon and fell back under cover of darkness to restore what was left of their decimated battalions. Scouts slipped away to outlying farms to gather reinforcements, though new soldiers would be very young, for the young were all that were left. New horses would be half-wild colts, or old and stiff. And food was growing short, weapons in short supply.

It was past midnight and cold when they knew the dragon had left Zandour at last—surely to bring destruction elsewhere. Winged horses lay dead in a heartrending loss that made men mourn them, sick with agony. The disheartened troops huddled, tending wounds, burying their dead. In far-flung towns, RilkenDal’s officers tethered their winged mounts and bound their wings so they could not fly away, then forced the townsfolk to build up fires and bring drink and food and pleasures, and soon they were laughing and drunk and sacking what little was left of farms and homes.

Five of Zandour’s seven Seers lay dead.

*

The dragon moved through watery moonlight licking blood from his lips. Kish, astride him, was silent, heavy with the satisfaction of killing. He swept soundlessly above Aybil, then down over Farr toward where Kish’s cults were camped. “Go to the dark tower,” Kish said. “My leaders will come to me there.” Both, replete with battle, wanted little more now than a light sleep, perhaps a few moments of mutual pleasure. But suddenly Kish stiffened. Her excitement surged, she could feel Dracvadrig’s senses come alert as he reached out to increase control of the girl. For the girl had gone alone—of her own volition—into the citadel and was very close now to taking the stone. They could see her figure, thin and wispy in the moonlight where she stood beside the granite table, staring at the runestone.

Dracvadrig shook off the last vestiges of the drug with effort and brought his power around the girl, enticing her, cajoling her until at last, at last they watched her lift the stone and begin to strip away the gold thread from which it hung. But then almost at once she faltered, hesitated, nearly dropped the stone. Kish sighed impatiently. Dracvadrig strained, pouring his will into her, forcing her until all reluctance was swept away at last, until aggression replaced that reluctance.