But was feeling, even a Seer’s feeling, ever enough?
He stood pondering this when the vision came, abruptly: Anchorstar kneeling before AgWurt, held like a dog, beaten by guards so the lashes cut through his leather jerkin and into his skin. Anchorstar, silent and ungiving; Anchorstar beaten raw and still unwilling to speak. What did they want of him? Ram gripped the bars, Seeing with terrible clarity. Saw, then, the small leather pouch in AgWurt’s fist, knew he had taken it from Anchorstar’s tunic, the starfire pouch, heard AgWurt’s words briefly before the vision faded: You will tell me where! I will know where they came from, or you will die in Kubal’s pens, old man!
*
When Telien returned, she came from the direction of the mare’s fence. He had not seen her go there in the dark; her hands were freezing, as if she had been standing a long time inside that corral. The night was broken by loud voices and laughter from the hall, as if AgWurt’s men sat drinking there. A thin fog lay across the moons. He wanted to look into Telien’s face, but she stood with her back to the dull moonlight. She had brought meat and bread. He reached through the bars, touched her hand. She pushed the plate at him, seemed shy and confused. When she looked at him, it was with veiled, wary eyes; and yet he thought there was more. Something . . .
She said, abruptly, without greeting, “He keeps—AgWurt keeps the key chained to his wrist.” As if she had thought all day about how to set him free. “I—he almost never takes it off. Once, by the water trough . . .”
“Yes, when you freed Mawn Paula and her children.”
“Yes.” She moved along the fence until Ram had turned so the faint moonlight fell on his face. She reached as if she would touch his hair, then stilled her hand, remained silent, watching him.
He wanted to whisper to her, to hold her.
“You can’t dig out, Ram. The posts are buried a long way and the ground is like rock.”
He touched her hand, her cheek—that face he had seen in dreams for half his life. Why didn’t she remember? He wanted to speak of Tala-charen and could not.
“I can steal a knife, though. If you . . .”
He searched her eyes. So direct, so concerned for him. “A knife, yes. If I could get AgWurt to enter this cursed pen . . .” Should he speak of this? AgWurt was, after all, her father.
“If you could do that, you could kill him and take the key. I want to kill him. I am—I am afraid. I have tried. He—he wakes in his sleep. It is the—the only way I know to do it, in his sleep, and I can’t even do that.”
“He will die,” Ram promised. “He needs to die. Is this . . . Telien, is this why you help me? Only so I will kill AgWurt?”
She looked shocked, drew back. “I—I suppose it is, in part. But . . .” She came close again. “But there is more to it than that, Ramad. I don’t understand. I would help you anyway, you are a Seer of Carriol. But . . .” She was so close to him. “There is something more that I do not understand.” She searched his face, trying to make sense of it. “We are together. In a way I do not understand.” Was there a glint of fear on her cheek? He seemed unable to tell her how he felt. They stood on the brink of wonder beyond any he had ever known, and he could not speak. The moment on Tala-charen was a part of it, he could almost feel again Time warping, space warping beyond comprehension to form new patterns—and then suddenly terror gripped him. Terror for Telien swept him as he Saw her sucked through the barrier of time, in a vision so abrupt, so lucid, a vision of Telien’s fate. . . . Gone. Lost in Time, perhaps for eternity.
It could not be! He would not let it be! He felt her stir and found he was gripping her hard, hurting her. He loosed her. She touched his clenched fist. For an instant she thought his pain was from the wound and then, watching him, she knew it was not; she saw his fear and her eyes were huge with it.
When he did not move or speak, did not draw himself from the vision that held him, she dug anxious fingers into his arm and reached to turn his face to her. “What is it, Seer? What vision holds you?”
His fear for her and his sudden rending pain for himself because of it, his pain for the two of them, shook him utterly. He could not touch the edges of the vision, nor grasp the causes of the chasm of time through which he saw her fall. He could only taste his own fear and then his terrible, unbearable aloneness.
She watched him with sudden growing understanding—at least of what he felt, of what she herself felt. Of what she had felt last night, this strangeness, this sense of having known him always. She was amazed and shaken by it. There had been men; this was not like that. This was as if a part of her had suddenly, irrevocably, come home. As if her very soul had come to her suddenly out of unimaginable space.
She bent forward so her cheek was pressed against the bars and drew him to her. He held her fiercely in a grip he could not quell, kissed her, was unaware of the bars pressing into his side and shoulder; they clung together wounded by the bars of his cage, clung with a terrible sudden knowledge; and a sudden awesome fear that would never again quite fade.
For long after Telien left him, he paced, could not settle to sleep. Long after the warriors’ voices died and lanterns were extinguished so the compound lay dark, he walked the perimeter of his pen, examining again and again his feelings for Telien.
Had they always been linked in some crevice of fate that had swept them incredibly to this place at this time? Had they always been one by some turn of their very spirits that neither one understood?
And why, then, did Telien not remember?
*
He woke. Something was screaming, he thought it was a woman, then knew it was not: Terrifying animal screams, nearly human, a scream more of rage than of pain. He flung up, trying to locate the direction while still half-asleep. The night was clear, the stars uncovered, the moons brighter. There was wild stirring in the winged mare’s corral. She screamed again, Ram saw her rear up, saw the broad figure of a man pulling at her rope. She reared again as he spun in a dance around her trying to throw a saddle on her back. Ram could smell honeyrot, watched AgWurt’s clumsy movements with fury. The man was dead drunk, meant to saddle a mare of Eresu and ride her. Ram tore at his bars uselessly, calling AgWurt every filth he could name, but the Herebian leader paid no attention. He had the mare snubbed now against the fence, had the saddle on in spite of her fighting, and was reaching to pull the girth under her belly when she kicked him so hard she sent him sprawling in the mud. But he was up again, animal-like in his rage. He set on her, beating her with the bridle. Ram tried with all his skill to weaken the man, tried and could do nothing, was sweating with effort, calling the powers of the wolf bell; yet could not touch AgWurt. The man had succeeded in getting the saddle girthed as the mare fought uselessly against the tight snub. He was trying to mount her and so drunk he fell twice. She struck at him, screaming. Ram could sense soldiers in the darkness watching, routed from sleep, sniggering. The mare’s poor wings flailed uselessly, pitifully.
Ram felt the wind, heard the rush of wings, looked up to see the stars blotted away as dark wings swept overhead, heard the stallion’s screams challenge AgWurt, saw the great horse descend in rushing flight.
The stallion dropped straight for her pen like a hunting falcon, then startled suddenly, leaped skyward again, great wings pulling as he sensed the pen too small and that he would be trapped there, his wings entangled. He hovered in confusion, wanting to get at AgWurt, then dropped down outside her pen striking at the fence in a frenzy, thrusting himself against the rails, his need to free her terrible, his need to kill AgWurt terrible. He would tear himself to pieces. Lights flared as running men struck flints, lamps caught. The great horse spun to face the shouting soldiers, pawed as they surrounded him. The soldiers fell back, their lanterns swinging wild arcs. Ram saw AgWurt slip out of the mare’s pen, stealthy, rope held low, could feel AgWurt’s lust as he leaped for the stallion’s head.