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

He would say no more. Ram stared after him puzzling. He rode at a gallop toward the low, western hills, his white hair like a flag on the morning.

Surely he did not travel to Kubal merely from curiosity. Klingen had described the Kubalese raids adequately, described their brutality with sufficient clarity to belay any idle curiosity a man might have.

Ram forded the Voda Cul at the shallows, then veered north of the Urobb, farther from Kubal’s prying eyes. He took his noon meal from the saddle while his gelding drank, and soon was among high foothills and narrow valleys where the rich grass was crossed by small wandering springs. The dark humping mountains rose directly over him, gigantic peaks laid about by deep shadow and blackened by falls of volcanic stone, empty wild mountains peopled only by the wolves and, here and there, by the winged horses transient as moths on the wind. There were caves in the mountains, immense and twilit and filled with the wonders of a time long past. Ram thought of the caves he knew, and longed for the warmth of shaggy muzzles thrust deep into his hands, for the rank musty smell and the deep voices of the wolves, for Fawdref’s knowing grin. He slipped the wolf bell from inside his tunic and held it for a long painful time, staring at the rearing bitch wolf holding the bell in her mouth, remembering. Remembering so much. Fear, terror. Such warmth, opening his mind to wonders he had not dreamed. The sense of brotherhood, greeting the great wolves and knowing, always, that he had come home. He longed to go to them. But he could not pause nor turn aside, he must go quickly into Eresu lest, while he tarried, another child should burn at Venniver’s abominable sacrifice. He pushed the bay gelding restlessly toward the dark peaks where lay the hidden valley. Soon he would stand facing the gods, their bodies glinting and ever changing as if they moved in another element. He went weak with awe and with apprehension. Could a man approach the gods? His appalling effrontery at considering he could do so, could solicit the gods’ help, nearly undid him.

Yet it must be done. Nothing else short of war—and Carriol was not strong enough now, crippled by the dark, to make such war—could prevent Venniver’s slaughter of the Seeing children. Could prevent Venniver’s insane and false religion from creating untold destruction and pain.

And if he had ever thought, as a child, that the gods were not truly gods, were, as he had once told Tayba, only different from men, he trembled now at that thought.

Soon he entered a valley that rose steeply toward a grove of young trees thrusting up between stones of black lava. Beyond the trees rose steep grassy banks. He saw the winged horses suddenly, for they were standing in shadow by the grove, motionless, watching him approach, five winged ones, their dark eyes knowing, their wings folded tight to their bodies to avoid the low branches of the wood. They seemed—they were waiting for him, yet their thoughts did not touch him. His horse stared uncertainly, smelled them, saw their wings, and wanted to bolt A big russet stallion came forward lifting his wings, touched Ram’s cheek with his muzzle, ignored Ram’s mount utterly. He pushed at Ram’s red hair with his nose, a gesture of respect and love. They had some need, these winged ones, some trouble. Ram tried to understand and could not, the dark held impenetrable silence over them, silence between those who should speak with one another as easily as breathing. At last, unable to communicate, the stallion led Ram deep into the wood. The four other winged ones followed.

There, just in the dappled shade, a winged colt stood twisted into ungainly position, caught in a rope snare. Ram dismounted, drew his knife. The colt was big, a yearling, and had been cut cruelly by the ropes as he fought to free himself. Ram could see where the stout lines had been chewed by the other horses. He began to cut the snare away.

He had cut nearly all the ropes when suddenly his arm touched a rope yet uncut, saplings hissed and a second snare sprang, jerking and choking him as he fought, engulfing him in tangles. And he heard a human shout and suddenly five riders came plunging down the hill. He fought in desperation, slashed at ropes. The winged ones turned, screaming, to battle the riders. Ram, fearing more for them than for himself, shouted them away, saw the colt leap skyward, then the others, as bows were drawn against them with steel-tipped arrows, heard a mare scream as she took an arrow in the leg. The five horses lifted fast into the wind.