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

Guards were coming on the double around both ends of the Hall. Ram stood facing them, wanting to run, held himself still with great effort.

They were robed in red. He supposed they called themselves deacons now, according to Venniver’s grand plan. They surrounded him. One prodded him, one lunged to take his sword and Ram hit him, fought them then because not to fight would seem suspicious, because he could not help himself, kicked one captor in the groin sending him reeling, fought the dozen guards with mounting fury until they had pinned him at last.

They bound his arms and began to prod him toward the hall. He went slowly and sullenly, resisting them at every step, would not speak, would not answer their questions. They forced him past the hall toward Burgdeeth’s main street, and there they made a great show of his capture, roaring commands so all along the street heads popped out of windows, folk ran out to watch. A man hauling barrels pulled up his donkey to stare; two women with milk cans set down their burdens to watch Ram forced along the cobbled street toward the square. He could smell hot wax, smell cess and the sour stench of ale brewing. Men and women crowded the street now, their hands stained from their work, their faces flushed with sudden excitement and with the self-righteousness that lay thinly concealing their blood-lust. He could see the hunger in their faces for the death of the Seer come so boldly into Burgdeeth, could see their growing anticipation of the exalted, killing fire so soon to burn in the temple. A handful of children stared after him, their faces white with fear, then turned and ran. Ram was forced toward the square. Behind him the mountains rumbled faintly like a great animal yawning. Men turned, stared at the mountain, then stared back at Ram.

And then beyond the heads of the crowd he saw Venniver riding out from the Set and went weak with sudden fear; the sight of Venniver, the memories he stirred, sickened Ram. Broad of shoulder, black-bearded, his blue eyes cold as ice, he rode slowly toward the square where Ram stood, and Ram was a child again, defiant and afraid. Would Venniver recognize him? But perhaps not, for Ram’s hair had been dyed black then. The mountain rumbled again. Venniver glanced toward it, then returned his gaze to Ram. Behind him, smoke hung in the sky above the mountains. He jerked his horse up with a hard hand so the animal began to fidget and would not settle. Venniver sat staring down at Ram like a hunting animal regarding cornered prey.

Whether he recognized Ram or not, it was clear that Venniver intended that this Seer should die—here in Burgdeeth, very soon, and with impressive ceremony.

*

On the mountain, Telien listened with growing apprehension to the rumbling earth, felt its quaking with an increasing sense of confusion, felt as if the mountains themselves might come tumbling down on her. The air was hot and close, smelled of sulphur. She could not put from her mind the Herebian tales of people running before flowing lakes of fire, burned to death as they fled.

Below in the meadow, the mare moved restlessly, looking often toward the mountains. The red stallion had disappeared. Telien could not believe he had deserted them. The mare gazed at the sky and spread her poor naked wings in a gesture that tore at Telien.

Then suddenly a shadow dropped over Telien. The stallion was descending, plummeting down to nudge the mare wildly, as if he would carry her aloft. He was irritable, seemed strung tight with agitation, nosed at Meheegan with terrible, loving urgency, wanted her to move out—but where could she go? Telien snatched up her bit of food, her blanket, and when she turned she saw the sky behind her grown dark with smoke. By the time she reached the valley floor she was drenched with sweat. Her horse was gone, had broken his reins. She hoped he would find safety.

The stallion greeted her with his head against her shoulder, then nudged her too, began to force both her and the mare toward the opposite rim of the valley. Surely the mare was aware of what he wanted, but seemed too frightened to obey, terrified of her helpless crippled entrapment upon the earth.

The three of them climbed until darkness overtook them, the darkness of night or the darkness of smoke filling the sky, it was hard to say which. They went along a ridge as the moons rose, dull smears obscured by smoke and giving little light. The stallion forced Meheegan on up the stony crest as the earth trembled again and again. He seemed to be heading directly into the face of the fires. Now and then he would rise into the smoke-filled sky, and each time return to change direction, to hurry them faster up the rising ridge; to reassure the stumbling mare, so heavy and clumsy with her unborn foal. Once Meheegan laid her head against Telien’s shoulder, so tired, so driven and afraid.