There were fighters among the Old Ones—we have found traces of ancient and terrible wars. Metal seekers have brought out of the Waste masses so congealed and melted that it proved such had been the targets of vast forces.
If the Dalesmen had first believed that they only lived in High Hallack on sufferance, Jong, undisturbed years had lulled us into thinking that we had nothing to fear from those others. Still—suppose that the invaders, who knew nothing of this land, the things that trod the Waste, were to overrun us? Where next would they strike? Would they be stopped by legends and shadows?
We were not even sure why those of Alizon were unleashed upon us, traveling overseas to expend such fury upon a country, which, by all accounts, was far less rich and useful than their own. I had heard one story that a high-ranking prisoner, taken when one of their mighty earth-crawlers had broken down, reported that those who had lent them those alien weapons had said the secret of vast power was to be found here—enough to make them masters of the world. So their ruler lusted for that.
The only place where such a Power could be found might be the Waste, or in a land that might lie beyond that. If that belief was what had brought the Hounds upon us . . . Then—could those of the Waste be made to see that they had a part in our war?
No thinking man doubted that if Alizon invaded there they would come up against potent forces. But could the wielders of those be persuaded now to lend aid to the Dales?
I chewed upon that, finding it held a flavor I liked. To meddle with Power on our own, as my mother and Rogear had sought to do, was fatal folly. However, to enlist on our side those who had tamed it was another thing. Had this lain somewhere in Lord Imgry’s mind?
I sent my horse forward with a click of tongue, suddenly eager to reach the journey’s end—as we did by nightfall.
My last meeting with the southern leader had been in a forester’s hut, no trappings of state had backed that tall man with the cold greenish eyes. Now I sat on a stool in a small keep’s great hall.
Imgry occupied a high-backed chair which had been taken from the dining dais, yet still raising him above those who came to him. The man’s authority was like an unseen armor, though the latter in truth he did not wear at present, only the plain leather of a lord home from a day’s hunting. The hunt he spoke of, though, lay before and not behind him.
I had waited for some change of countenance when he sighted my bared hooves—they had been boot-hidden at our last meeting. Only I came to believe that indeed I could have been as inhuman as the gryphon-man of my night vision and he would not have noted the difference since I was there to serve a purpose.
For Imgry, only his own ambition and aims had importance. Everything he said, thought, acted upon, was for one purpose alone—to achieve plans that burned in him, to the extinction of all else.
He had laid out on the bench between us a much creased and spotted leaf of parchment. There were marks on it that my own past scouting had added, but much was blank, and, upon that blank surface, his hand lay now, palm flat.
“The answer lies here.” That he was so frank with me was enough to make me wary. It was not in his nature to share even the thin edge of his plans with another. Neither was it in him to be conciliatory, to ask instead of order.
“Be a little more plain with me my lord!” During the time since I had at last accepted this man’s orders I had gained I freedom of a sort—at high price. He could not overawe me any longer.
“We have accomplished much.” That was not boast, but a matter of fact. “Our smiths have worked the metals that came out of the Waste—in spite of the danger. We have now many weapons better than any of us have ever seen. We gather men—but also we have lost.” Now the palm lying on the map clenched into a fist. “Still the invader ships land fresh troops. Oh, it is true that they have not advanced against us in force for a time. But that is not because we have held them. We can as yet only worry their flanks, strike a small blow here, another there. Though”—there was a faint satisfaction in his tone now—“they have at last learned the folly of pursuing us too far into land we know far better than they. Now”—he leaned forward a fraction—“we have learned for certain something new—”
When he paused I dared to strike in with a question. “Is it true they seek some mysterious power?”
He shot me a glance so sharp and piercing he might have used the dart thrower on his belt.
“So men talk openly of that?”
I shrugged. “It was a story told even before I rode north. There must be some sane reason why Alizon harries us, when, if we are to believe the word of traders, there is nothing in this land to match theirs. We possess no treasure.”
There was no deference in what I said. I spoke as equal to equal. Imgry was a force, yes, and those of the Dales might be very glad it was wielded for them. However, he no longer impressed me. I was, in a way, inner-walled against him now.
He studied me with narrowed eyes. I think I had suddenly become a person, not a weapon ready to his hand. That impatience that lay ever close beneath the surface of his manner retreated a little. He considered me in a new way for I was not the boy who had gone to Ulmsdale—but a new factor to be fitted into the game.
“Your hand,” I continued, “lies there upon the representation of the Waste. Is it there you believe your goal to be? No treasure in truth—but Power . . .”
His expression did not change, but I had a sensation of fronting pure cold. Heat of anger was not for such a man, his rage would ape the icy breath of the Winter Dragon. I had prodded him then as I sat there, unmoved, drawing on my self-confidence. Why should I care that this Lord was ridden by ambition—to carry on great things if fate allowed? I was not of his kin.
“Yes, it is the Waste—or what it can hold.” He had decided to accept me as I was. “We do not know what it may be. This much we have learned from more than one prisoner—the Hounds want something they must find or control. In their own land they face an ancient enemy—one they would devour as they have much of the Dales. This enemy—by their accounts—may be kin to our Old Ones. They were armed in turn by others who have some way of divining what they seek but not the manpower necessary to take it. The knowledge lies here!” His fingers turned inward, his nails scraped across the map as the talons of a hawk might grasp jealously held prey.
3
Joisan
The mist hung like tapestries in some great hall, shutting in the fire those two whose warmth and life it served. Now I was there also and oddly content in a way I had not been since that hour when Kerovan had turned his back upon me and ridden forth from Norsdale. I watching him go dry of eye, though weeping in my heart. That sorrow and fear had been my own and I would not allow any to see the signs of it. But here—it was like—like being with kinblood. I marveled a little that I felt so.
“I am Elys,” the woman said, adding no House or Dale to mark rank. Yet manifestly she was one who would sit at the high table in any hall.
“And this”—her hand reached forward a little as if, were there no space between them, she would lay fingers on his arm (again I felt the bond between them, and I hungered for its like)—“is Jervon.”
“I am Joisan.” Because they made no claim of land or kin, neither did I.
“Joisan,” she repeated, her head a fraction to one side, almost as if she expected some echo from the mist.
That thought made me uneasy once again, broke through the dreamlike content which had held me for a fraction of time. I turned my head quickly. Only our four horses stood there.