Her dream sight cleared a little. Now beyond the man she could see a window, blue sky spread above, gray stone surrounding it. He sat held to a great carved chair by leather straps. Yet she sensed he was held by more than the bonds she saw. About him spread a circle. Runes flared red, smoked in black around the outer line. Eleeri shivered. There was no mistaking what she saw: Romar was captive to an evil that sought to use him. His eyes opened again, and in them there was a desperate appeal. The runes flared high, veiling him in a smoke that reeked even in her dreaming, of power and danger.
She pulled back. The scene began to fade, but as it did so, it shifted. Now she looked down as a bird might upon a tower below. Confirmation. That was indeed the Dark Tower, deep in Keplian lands. She rode on at daybreak, the dream repeating over and over in her mind. She feared the effect on Mayrin, did she speak of this. The woman would insist on an attack, but Eleeri felt that this would bring only death. They must be clever. Attack, yes, but as thieves in the night, not as warriors. The fighters of her people had once esteemed such battle cunning.
Her face flickered into a brief dangerous smile. She would keep her own counsel, but she would speak of the warnings her friends had brought from Keplian lands. That would be sufficient to place the keep on guard. As for Jerrany—there, too, she would not speak, she decided. He loved Mayrin dearly, too much to hide anything from her. Once she suspected, Mayrin would have the story out of him as a sea-dog shelled sea-snails.
Eleeri rode into the keep days later. From across the bridge, her friends came running, Mayrin laughing happily.
“Oh, it is so good to see you again. What has happened since last you came? Has the hunting been good? Are you tired?”
Jerrany seized the reins. “I’ll take this fellow to be cared for. Go you with Mayrin before she bursts with her questions.” He touched her lightly on one shoulder. “She speaks for us both, though. It is good to see you once more. I’ll bring your pack to the hall.” He strode away, leading the weary pony.
Mayrin had her friend by a sleeve. For the first time she realized that there was a hard material under her fingers. “Why, what is this?” She turned up the outer fabric. “Chain, you wear chain, and such craft! Where did it come from? Have you found another place to trade? What—”
Eleeri held up a hand laughing softly. “Let me answer one set of questions before you ask me more. As for the chain, it was found, not traded. I will tell you the story another time. The hunting has indeed been good, and yes, I am both tired and hungry. I have no news of Romar, but something that may bear upon you and the keep. Feed me and I will talk with you and Jerrany of it. This is in part why I have come.”
Late into that night they talked. Jerrany did not take her words lightly.
“I will have all put in order. We do stand ready, but there are many small things which might yet be done to prepare for siege or attack.” His face grew serious as he thought. “What have you brought to trade?”
“No luxuries this time,” Eleeri assured him. “All good deerskins, sinews, and a gift for you, another for Mayrin.” She reached for her pack. “Ask me not where these came from. They are for you, a gift of Light.” She allowed the first bundle to unroll, revealing a matching chain shirt which would fit her friend. Mayrin gasped, touching it with wondering fingers. Another bundle unrolled to spread half a dozen swords across Jerrany’s feet. They were unadorned but of superb workmanship. The keep lord picked one up, closed his hand about the hilt, and tried a pass or two. Then he spoke as one who offers a pledge.
“We will ask not whence these came. That they are of the Light is enough.” He eyed his wife sternly when she would have spoken, and Mayrin’s lips closed again. “They shall be used against evil, to protect that which is good.”
He was more sober than was his custom the remainder of Eleeri’s visit. When she departed, he watched as her pony rounded the lake edge, gradually disappearing from their sight. Then he strolled inside and called for a trusted armsman. To him he handed a letter.
“Take this to the lady who rules the Valley of the Green Silences, and none other.” Hoofbeats died on soft turf as he stood at the keep door. Silently he went to his armory and from there to check provisions.
Little enough of the gift was there in his line. But now he felt the chill as of a coming storm. He had heard Eleeri’s warnings with belief. He had mentioned it neither to his wife nor their visitor, but a hunter for the keep, ranging farther than usual, had seen Gray Ones. There was more the woman was not telling, he was sure. Perhaps she was not certain of the import herself. There would be no ill reason for her silence.
He stared out over the land that lay before him as he passed an arrow slot. It was fair: here he had planned to live, to see children grow. Would his bones lie here before his time instead? And what of Mayrin? She would not leave did he try to send her.
He looked out over the land to where blue-tinged mountains lifted far in the distance. Here they had come to build a house and a name. Here they would stay, for life or death. If the valley could send help, well enough; if not, then they would fight alone. Sunlight glinted far down the lakeside. No, not quite alone. Eleeri, too, rode to war.
He sighed. Always Romar had been his right arm. If only his friend were here now to stand beside him. His step was heavy as he left the window. Behind him there were none left to care about him, he thought. His mother had long since turned to her new lord and her growing brood. No, here were his only friends and loves. But he missed his sword-brother Romar with every fiber of his being.
He found he was standing in the middle of his bedroom studying the window once more. Through it he could see a long sweep of land toward the Valley of Green Silences. He sighed. This had been a lonely and dangerous place to choose to live. But hitherto it had been free from the Gray Ones. It was a sign the Dark was growing in strength, and a danger to all who rode for the Light.
Many years ago, a different Dark lord dwelling there had tried to seize the mind and heart of a witchmaid—the daughter of Simon Tregarth. She had been freed, and evil turned back on the man who would have used her. But the tower was a place which seemed to call to those small ones of the Dark who would be greater. A pity it was impossible to tear it down completely so that none might rise there in Dark power again. He had suggested that once; it was Duhaun herself who told him they could not. Some reason rooted in the things of power. He had not understood half the explanation, only enough to know she was right. It could not be done without endangering the land itself.
Far down the lakeside, sunlight flickered briefly from bridle mountings as Eleeri rounded the stream bend. She, too, was remembering—a harsh-planed face weary beyond words, and gray-green eyes that pleaded for aid. Over the past few days her mind had been made up. There comes a time when a warrior must ride. Along with Romar’s face, those of Mayrin, Jerrany, Tharna, and Hylan arose along with her other Keplian friends. Too many innocents. If she must don war paint, take oath to ride pukutsi, to ride slaying until all who faced her died, or she herself fell, then let it be so. She found she was humming softly as she rode. Far Traveler’s death song. She smiled. She would be ready.
10
Over the weeks, things settled to quiet again, but no one in keep or canyon was deceived. The feeling of danger grew as the Gray Ones were seen more often, always deeper into the lands that bordered their own. Eleeri took to sitting alone where they appeared. Bow in hand, she waited, patient pony grazing ready. From ambush her arrows slew in ones and twos until the wolfmen were nervous about the whole fringe of country toward the mountains.
Hylan did his share to make other Keplian males as wary. Twice he fought and defeated stallions given over to the Dark. He had seen their treatment of mares and foals. Now he knew why his gentle mother had fled to find refuge. All honor to her kin-sister who had protected them. As a foal he had looked up to the human; as a colt he had listened to her. Now as a stallion he spoke equally but accepted that she was the forethinker, the one who made plans, watched for consequences. Now he quite simply loved her, as did his dam.