“What do you want of me?” Sparks of anger in those green eyes made Keris think of a snowcat he had once seen at bay.
The Lady Mereth did not turn to her slate at once. She was regarding Liara now as one must study some pattern in weaving. At length once more her chalk squeaked across her slate.
“Much, perhaps. Look you here.” She slid the slate to her other knee and now used the chalk to point to that part of the hide map before her.
Most of this was blank. Keris recognized a fraction of the coastline, but that, also, was cut abruptly short. This was south of Karsten—and he knew well the tale of that single gate symbol on the edge of the sea itself. His own clan, the Tregarths, had helped destroy that horror of a portal little more than a year past.
The girl had moved closer, as if her curiosity had drawn her against her will. But Keris was studying the land which was sketched in just above that blankness. Karsten—another ancient enemy. Survivors of his race there had been driven forth as exiles years since.
Pagan, the warlord duke, had taken command after the fall of the Kolder-backed rule. And Pagan had flourished until he was past all caution and had started north to invade Estcarp.
No one would ever be allowed to forget the Turning, when the witches protected their own with the force of such Power as racked the world. Mountains had walked and crumpled into valleys, new peaks had arisen. All the old trails were long gone, though parties of Borderers had been scouting southward ever since they had recovered from the backlash of that swordless battle.
They dared not accept that Karsten lacked gates. In fact there was already a known one near the new border on the southern side, sketched in by the Lady Eleeri. That lay in what had once been Karsten territory—a portion held by the Old Race before they had been hunted down and slain. There she had entered, to travel north and west into the fringe of Escore. And some of the descendants of those who had been driven out were indeed drifting back to restore ruined keeps long held by their clans.
So—the parry sent southward would be moving through a land given over to warring nobles and continued chaos. They must go as stealthily as scouts and yet be ready to defend their mission should the need arise.
“… know nothing of that land,” Liara was protesting. He must have been so intent on his own thoughts that he had missed some question of Mereth’s.
“And it knows nothing of you.” The words stood out, boldly scrawled on the slate.
Liara’s hand was at her lips and she looked beyond the slate to the nearly empty stretch of hide. “Why?” she said slowly.
“Do you wish a half life among those here, few of whom will give you trust, or a full one you can make for yourself?” Mereth’s chalk questioned.
The girl’s body was as tense as a boar spear held ready in the hunt. “You yourself say I am not trusted. How then could I be accepted by any of this company who choose to ride into danger?”
“Because,” she was answered then by a soft voice rather than the chalk, “you are called Lady of Alizon. The power chooses what tools it will wield.”
The small witch had drifted once more to them. That jewel which usually swung on its neck chain now rested on her palm, held out before her. And for a moment, even as Lady Mereth’s sending, it blazed blue.
Liara drew a ragged breath and shrank back a step. “I will not be slave to your magics!” Steel glinted in her hand now and Keris moved as quickly, being just able to catch her wrist, though he had difficulty in keeping that hold.
The witch jewel flicked. Another ray of light, and Liara dropped the dagger Keris had not yet been able to wrest from her.
Then the small, gray-robed figure moved closer. “There is no harm in that which is born of the Light,” she said. “And whether you see it now or not, that is where you stand, Lady of Alizon, on the side of the Light—even as does your brother. Yes, you will be one of the searchers.” She extended the jewel a fraction farther. “I do not select, nor do my sisters; this does. And”—suddenly she half turned toward Keris—“there is also a need for a fighting man.”
Keris had not loosened his hold on Liara. “Lady,” he said with all respect to this maid who was perhaps ten years or more his junior, “I am no name-won warrior. There will be those in plenty who can better serve than I.” The words were bitter. His whole body ached to believe what she had said: that he—the halfling—the ungifted—was a proper weapon for this foray.
She smiled at him almost mischievously. “Keris Tregarth, think what name you bear. Already those of your clan are on such a ride.”
“They are,” he answered slowly, “what they have always been, sword and shield to wall our world.”
“Nor are you any less, Valley guard.” Now she was deeply serious. “I have the foresight—which is more of a burden than any blessing. This pathway is also mine and I see you on it. The reason will be made clear in time.”
He let Liaras wrist fall quickly, lest he betray the shaking now of his own hand. What he wanted most, and this wisp of a witch child was granting it! The wonder of that made him feel a little dazed.
Then he pushed closer to the table to survey the unfinished trailing lines which disappeared southward into the nothingness of ignorance.
“Var City”—he pointed—“and then the Port of Dead Ships. But inland from there, who knows?”
There came a sound from the witch that was close to laughter.
“Since we are naming names—I am Mouse. And for your question, the answer is, who indeed? Learning that can only come in time.”
The days of their labor on the map seemed endless now to Keris. He noted, though, that Liara no longer kept to the shadows but often stood beside Lady Mereth’s chair, staring down at that same surface.
He delegated himself to search out the Borderers who had recently scouted south. And then he dared to approach that strange tamer of Keplians, the Lady Eleeri, whose territory lay in the disputed ground.
At his first awkward questions she seemed almost impatient. But as he persisted—though he did not tell her of the witch choosing—she called upon him to go with her, out of the hall, away from the bustle of activity there, pushing through the crowded courtyard where pack ponies and Torgians were being shod and made ready for swift riding.
He still matched strides with her as they came out into the open, away from that half-ruin which was now Lormt. Then they stood together in a wide field—good pasturage at this season.
She neither whistled nor called. But there came two trotting at a flowing gait, hardly seeming to touch hooves to sod. The Keplians: a mare who towered above any horse he had ever seen, and with her a young stallion.
The Lady Eleeri was speaking now—not to him but to the Keplians, as if they were of the same clan blood. And when they surveyed him with those great blue eyes, he knew that, bodily different though they might be, these two had intelligence and power such as was seldom found outside the Green Valley of his homeland. Instinctively he raised his hand palm out in greeting as the Lady spoke:
“This be one who will ride with us. He is of mighty get; those of his blood are those great and noted warriors, the Tregarths.”
*This one is a colt only!* The mare tossed her head.
Lady Eleeri looked amused. “We are all foals—until the wisdom-bringing years give us aging.”
Keris held himself stiff. He was used to mental communication with the Renthans of the Valley, though he had been overslow in learning to send as well as receive. However, stories of the past still rose from memory to haunt. His father had almost met his death from a Keplian years ago.
The mare’s eyes seemed to glare with blue fire now as she looked him up and down.
*We do not company with such.* There was disdain in that verdict. Keris flushed and knew a spark of anger, but he kept silent.
“He will have his own mount,” the Lady Eleeri returned. “Keris Tregarth”—now she spoke directly to him—“this is Theelas the great mare who helped bring down the plague of the Black Tower—and her second colt-son, Janner.”