When Ram slipped away from behind the Hall, he knew that Tayba was standing close by, watching, not understanding what she saw any more than Venniver did. He was disgusted with her for that; she could have understood, had she wanted—had she tried. He knew she saw him, followed him. He doubled back, nearly invisible in the shadows as he moved to join Fawdref and the real wolves above Burgdeeth.
*
When Tayba reached the dirt mound beside the grove, she stopped. She could not see Ram. There was stealthy movement down in the pit. She crept past the mound to see, stood staring into the blackness.
There were men down in the pit, moving something heavy. Carrying long, heavy objects between them down and down into somewhere black, into deep shadow. Then guards were riding toward her, spurs rattling. She dropped down the side of the pit, skinning her leg, and lay still until they passed. She was not certain why she hid, except she could never explain her presence here to Venniver.
When it was safe to move, she stood in the pit trying to make sense of the twisted, indecipherable shapes on every side of her. She could hear movement somewhere to her right. She put her hand out to something lifting in a curve and felt metal. It looked—it was a wing; she could feel feather shapes under her fingers. Yes, an immense bronze wing. And there, she could make out the head of a horse lying against a pile of timbers. She looked up and caught her breath.
Towering above her, pale in the moonlight, rose a god. He leaped skyward flanked by two winged Horses of Eresu, almost soaring already as they rose in flight.
But they could not lift in flight yet remain poised, so still. She crept forward to reach out, hardly daring . . .
They were made of wood. She let out her breath and found her heart was pounding.
She turned then and saw a line of men in the near dark, carrying long timbers between them. When she turned back she saw a man standing beside her, silent, so tall, his red hair loosely knotted. His eyes were full on her, terrifying her. Jerthon! There were sweat stains on his tunic, and his hands were scarred over with burns from the smelter. She wanted, unreasonably, to touch them.
He saw what she felt about the statue. She thought he knew everything about her, and she was so shaken she thought such probing was his right. He destroyed her, lifted her—in an instant he showed her a world of wonders that elated and terrified her, showed her the real gods, lifted her in flight as the gods lifted, showed her the sense of wonder and immense sadness that belongs to the Seer; showed her more than she could grasp. They stared at each other in silence; and then it was she who turned and fled.
She felt his disappointment in her as she climbed out of the pit to safety. He had made her see visions she could not cope with, concepts quite beyond her in their vastness. She stood in the empty square hearing the wolf hunters far away and feeling so desolate and lost she thought she could not move from that place, wanted to crouch there weeping, to bury herself there and never face anything again, to die there.
She should be searching for Ram and was unable to think where to search, heard men’s distant cries that meant nothing. She turned in confusion toward the hall, then stopped, staring.
The wolves stood in a circle on the plain above the hall, facing into Ram and Fawdref. The riders were drawing close to them—then Ram raised his arms, and a second mass of wolves appeared in front of the riders, running hard. The men shouted, closed the distance on straining horses, were almost up to the wolves when—the wolves vanished. Simply disappeared.
Ram’s wolves seemed to smile, their tongues lolling. She saw pale Rhymannie lift her head with cool pleasure, saw Ram grin. The riders were milling, shouting; and then the phantom band appeared again suddenly in the other direction. The riders wheeled after them.
They had not seen Ram or his wolves.
The fleeing band led them a chase, then she heard shouting again and knew that, again, the wolves had disappeared.
Wolves running on the plain one minute, and gone the next. She stood staring at Ram in awe. This child—her child; maker of visions.
He looked at her and grinned, then said softly across the night, “Yes, Mamen. Visions. Visions for our leader Venniver.” And his meaning made her shudder and turn away.
SEVEN
“But I only went into the street! You were out there, Venniver! Wolves couldn’t hurt me with you there.”
“Wolves were in the street! They could have killed you!”
“But they didn’t kill me.”
He stared at her with helpless fury. She had never seen him so angry. “Those wolves were devils, disappearing and—and the arrows didn’t . . .” He began to sweat. “For all I know they were straight out of Urdd, come down from the fires of those cursed mountains! You hadn’t any business out there! Why were you there, you—”
“I told you! I just wanted to see, I just—you know I didn’t go far into the street, you can see I scratched my leg running back, falling on the steps. . . .”
“I can see you scratched your leg.” He stared at her suspiciously. “Next time—next time stay in here. I don’t want you eaten by wolves.”
Already it was growing light, the night gone in chasing phantoms. Old Semma had brought tea and bread and cheese. Tayba had just poured out the steaming dark brew when a guard came pounding. Venniver rose, furious, to fling open the door. “What the tracking Urdd do you want!”
“There are timbers missing, a whole pile of them. They were—there must have been twenty there in the pit. Not just a few this time. They—”
“Where in Urdd do timbers go? What in the Urdd—well, get out and look for them. There ought to be tracks. Get on out of here.” Venniver slammed the door, threw on his cloak and went out. Tayba could hear a good deal of shouting and swearing outside. When he returned at last, his mood was so black he yelled at her for no reason. She snapped back at him, but was greatly amused at his fury—and quite pleased to know something Venniver did not. Though why timbers would be missing was a puzzle. “What difference does it make, a few logs?”
‘The point, my dear Tayba, is who took them? And why? Where in Urdd,” he said with cold fury. “Where does someone hide timbers? You don’t slip timbers into your tunic! And there’ll be so damned many wolf tracks and hoofprints from last night we’ll never—those wolves! Those fracking damned wolves!” He stopped speaking to stare at her. “There couldn’t be a connection!” he said, puzzled. He began to pace, whacking at a chair as he passed.
“Could—could the guards have miscounted, forgot someone moved them?”
“If Pennen miscounted, I’ll have his ears on a stick!”
She shivered, thinking of last night in the pit, of that line of silent men carrying the timbers into shadow. What was it all about? And Ram had been a part of it, surely, had used the wolves to distract Venniver and his guards while the timbers were moved. And Jerthon—he had stood watching her so intently, had caught her unguarded, looked at facets of herself that—that did not exist. That were none of his affair!
Well she was certain of one thing. She was not going into that slave cell again. Not where Jerthon could study her once more. She would not subject herself to that. She watched Venniver until he stopped pacing and turned to look at her and saw her rising color. His temper faded. She said sleepily, “Must I—must I take food to the slaves today? It is such a bore.”