The sun still illuminated the panorama. Tatzel came to sit under the tree and idly picking little blue daisies, strung them into a chain. Suddenly she spoke. "I have been thinking of what you told me. ... I feel a whole torrent of emotions! Because you brooded over your daydreams, I all unwittingly must suffer! Discomforts, dangers, indignities—I have known them all! Even though at Sank I spoke never a word to you—"
"Ah, but you did! After a trifle of sword-play with your brother! And do you not recall stopping in the gallery to talk with me?"
Tatzel looked blank. "Was that you? ... I barely noticed. Still, no matter how closely I resembled your illusion, the realities remain."
"And what are they?"
"I am Ska; you are Otherling. Even in dreams, your ideas are unthinkable."
"Apparently so." Aillas looked back across his memories. "Had I known you better at Castle Sank, I might never have troubled to capture you. The joke is on both of us. But again, no matter. You are you and I am I. The phantom is gone."
Tatzel took up the wine-sack and drank. Then, rising to her knees, and sitting back on her heels, she swung around to face squarely upon Aillas, displaying for almost the first time the animation of the old Tatzel. She spoke with fervour: "You are so wonderfully wrong-headed I can almost find it within myself to laugh at you! After chasing me over the moors, breaking my leg and causing me a dozen humiliations, you expect me to come creeping to you with adoration in my eyes, happy to be your slave, soliciting your caress, hoping with all my heart that I may compare favorably with your erotic daydream. You profess to find the Ska lacking in pathos, but your conduct toward me is absolutely self-serving! And now you sulk because I do not come sobbing to you and begging for your indulgence. Is it not a farce?"
Aillas heaved a deep sigh. "Everything you say is true. In all justice, I must admit as much. I have been driven by romantic passion to act out a dream. I will say this, with only glancing reference to the fact that the Ska made me their slave and that I am entitled to retaliation: you are a prisoner of war. Had the Ska not taken our town Suarach, we would not have attacked Castle Sank. If you had submitted at once to capture, you would not have broken your leg, nor been exposed to humiliation, nor isolated here on the moors with me."
"Bah! In my place, would you have done other than try to escape?"
"No. In my place, would you have done other than try to capture me?"
Tatzel looked at him for a full five seconds. "No... . Still, prisoner of war or slave or whatever, I am Ska and you are Otherling, and that is the way of it."
III
IN THE MORNING, while packing the wine-sack, Aillas found it bulging full as if it had never been broached, and he gave a most fervent thanks to the genial god Spirifiume for what would seem an incalculable treasure. After ordering the campsite with meticulous care, out of respect for their host, Aillas and Tatzel set off down the slope. There was an easier quality to their relationship, as if the air had been cleared, though camaraderie was still lacking.
The slope was steep, the brambles and thickets troublesome, but in due course they came down upon the fourth brake: the narrowest and most heavily forested of all the brakes, and in some areas less than half a mile in width. Tall trees: maple, chestnut, ash, oak, held high green umbrellas of foliage to shroud the brake in sun-flecked shadow.
Cwyd had ignored the fourth brake in his informations; Aillas, therefore, had no reason to dread some imminent danger. Still, an odd and troubling odor hung in the air, of a sort Aillas found both mystifying and, at a primordial level, frightening, the more so since he could not identify it.
Tatzel looked about with a puzzled expression, glanced at Aillas; then, observing his own perplexity, she said nothing.
The horses, taking note of the odor, jerked their heads and sidled stiff-legged, adding to Aillas' uneasiness. He pulled up and searched the forest aisles in all directions, but found only shaded ground, carpeted with dead leaves and dappled with morning sunlight.
Aillas bestirred himself; nothing could be gained by delay. He shook the reins and once more the party set off across the brake.
They rode through an uncanny quiet. Aillas watched warily to right and left, and twisted in the saddle to look back the way they had come. He saw nothing. Tatzel, absorbed in her own thoughts, rode with her gaze directed between the ears of her horse, at a point in the middle distance, and ignored Aillas' tension.
For ten minutes they rode through the silence; sunlight, filtering through foliage, working odd tricks on the vision. Suddenly a remarkable illusion appeared to Aillas so that he sucked in his breath, blinked and stared with bulging eyes... . Illusion? No illusion whatever! Two great creatures fifteen feet tall watched placidly from a distance of barely thirty yards. They stood on squat yellow legs, of human conformation. The torsos and arms might have been those of monstrous gray-yellow bears. Stiff yellow bristles surrounded the round heads, producing an effect much like enormous yellow sat in pincushions, with no discernible facial features. Here, clearly, was the source of the stench.
The creatures stood motionless, their bristling great heads turned—toward Aillas and Tatzel? Hairs prickled at the back of Aillas' neck; these were not ogres or giants, or anything else of this world, nor would they seem to be demons. They were things beyond both knowledge and hearsay, and they would haunt his memory for a very long time. Tatzel, riding ahead, observed not the silent creatures, nor did she hear Aillas' startled gasp.
The creatures passed from sight; Aillas kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and took his troop loping through the forest; the horses needed no urging.
A few moments later they arrived at the edge of the brake and there discovered a trail which led them by an easy route down to the fifth brake, across and down the final slope to the shores of Lake Quyvem. Here the trail met the shoreside road and once more they had returned to the society of men.
Along the eastern shore grew a thick pine forest; to the west were coves and rocky headlands. Two hundred yards ahead appeared a huddle of timber structures, including a hospice, or an inn.
As Aillas and Tatzel rode along the road they came upon a boatwright's workshop at the water's edge and, nearby, a dock to which were moored half a dozen small boats.
Out on the lake, a skiff approached the dock, sculled by a tall thin man with a long pallid face and lank black hair hanging to his shoulders. He brought the skiff close to the dock, made fast the painter, lifted out a basket of fish and stepped ashore. Here he paused to survey Aillas, Tatzel and their four horses with a slow and measured gaze.
The fisherman brought his catch to the road where he set down the basket and addressed Aillas in a deep voice: "Travellers, whence have you come and where do you go?"
Aillas replied: "We have come a goodly distance, over the moors from South Ulfland. Our destination will be decreed by Tshansin, Goddess of Beginnings and Endings, who walks on wheels."
The fisherman showed a smile of mildly amused contempt. "That is pagan superstition. I am not by nature a proselyter, but, truly, a unified wisdom rules the Tricosm, seeping from the roots of the Foundation Oak Kahaurok, to form the stars in the sky."
"That is the belief of the druids," said Aillas. "It would seem that your own thinking is based on Druid doctrine."
"There is a single Truth."
"Perhaps someday I will look more deeply into the matter," said Aillas. "At the moment I am interested in yonder inn, if such it be."