“But Jartar died—” Brixia said.
“He died like any other of us—by a sword thrust through the throat. For he stood above my fallen lord beating off that scum who spilled rocks into the pass to stun us. He took a wound, blood ran as it would from any man, and he died, my lord unknowing. From a rock blow on the head, my lord came back to me with disordered wits—as you see him. Only he spoke of Jartar as one who waited somewhere for him, and that he must gain the Bane. First he said that it was because of Jartar he must do this thing—now—you have heard him! I know no more of what he seeks than that song he will sing and some scattered words.
“When he came to this place he walked as does a man who is so intent upon what he must do that he looks neither right nor left, but presses forward that it be speedily finished. Now it seems he has taken it into his head that what he seeks lies out there—” Dwed motioned to the lake now hidden in the night. “I know not how to deal with him any more. At first he was weak of body from the head wound and I could lead him, take care of him. Now his strength has returned. At times it is as if I am not with him at all—he thinks only of something I do not know and cannot understand.”
Dwed’s words spilled out as if he found relief in talking of the burden he carried. But that he expected any reponse or sympathy from Brixia—no, he would probably resent that she had heard so much after he had obtained relief from such unguarded speech.
“I cannot—” she began.
“I need no help!” Dwed was quick to refuse what she might offer. “He is my lord. As long as he lives, or I do, that will not alter. If he is under some spell—this damned land may well have set its shadow upon him forever, weak and open as his mind is. If that is so I must find what I can to break him free.”
He turned his back on her and went to settle beside his lord, pulling over Marbon the journey cloak. Brixia huddled on her own side of the fire. She was very tired. Dwed might want her gone, her own sense of self preservation might agree. But tonight she could not summon strength to move on.
There was no feeling this night of being guarded, or lying safe, as there had been under the trees. The girl curled in the grass and suddenly there was a warm and purring body next to hers. Uta had come to share her bed once again. Brixia stroked the length of the cat’s body from prick-eared head to smooth furred haunch.
“Uta,” she whispered, “what sort of a coil have you led me into, for indeed the first meeting with these two was of your doing and I may be undone because of it.”
Uta’s purring was a song to weight the eyelids of the listener. Though all she had learned in the past dark years urged her to caution and to the safeguards she had always depended upon, Brixia could not rouse herself again. She slept.
“Where is he?”
She struggled out of deep sleep, a little dazed. Hands pawed at her, shook her. She opened her eyes. Dwed had hold upon her. His look was that of an enemy peering at her over a battle shield.
“Where is he—you outlaw slut!”
His hand rose, cracked against her cheek, rocking her head.
Brixia jerked back.
“Mad—you’re mad!” she gasped and clawed farther along the ground, away from him.
When she was able to sit up she saw him running from the burnt out ashes of the fire down to the edge of the lake.
“Lord—Lord Marbon—!” His cry arose like a wounded man’s scream. He splashed into the water, beating out frantically with his arms.
Brixia began to understand. Only Dwed and she—both Marbon and Uta were not in sight. In the same instant she knew the reason for Dwed’s present fear. Had his lord awakened—walked on into that stretch of water as he had tried to do last night—walked out to death beneath the surface?
She followed Dwed to the lake’s edge. That clarity which the water had gained from the passage of the bud was lost again. There was no sighting of what lay beneath its surface, smooth and quiet as a mirror save for where Dwed splashed and sought to swim. Swim he could not—just so far was he able to win into the water—then, as frantically as he struggled, he could go no further.
He was fighting in that fruitless manner when Uta broke from the grass and came unto the narrow strip of sand shore. The cat meowed, loudly and demandingly, a cry Brixia knew of old. Uta sought attention.
“Dwed-wait—!”
At first he might not have heard her, then he turned. Brixia pointed to the cat.
“Watch!” she ordered, with, she hoped, enough force to make him obey.
Uta turned and bounded off, looking back now and then to see if she were indeed being followed. Brixia broke into a trot to keep up. There was no more splashing; she glanced back. Dwed had come out of the lake, was pounding after them.
So the three of them ran on through the grass until they came to where Lord Marbon stood in a channel, dry, but cut deep enough in the soil of the valley to hide his hunched figure from their view until they were directly upon him. By his side lay Brixia’s spear, earth stained, and in his hands was Dwed’s sword. With the point of that he pried at a wall of stones which stopped the end of the channel.
A dam—a dam set to lock up the lake! Now he glanced at them.
“Get busy!” his voice was sharp with impatience, “don’t you see—we must let the water flow. It is the only way to reach An-Yak now!”
9
“Lord Marbon!”
He looked around, his dark head bare, his face once more with the life of intelligence to bring back that aspect of youth. So he was able to understand her summons. Brixia pointed to the wall he assaulted. His efforts there were already being rewarded, for water oozed through between the stones in patches of wet.
“You pull those free without more thought,” the girl observed, “and it will be as taking a stopper from a filled water-skin. A whole flood will rush forth against you.”
Marbon glanced back at the wall, raised his arm to draw across over a face streaked with the sweat summoned by his efforts. Then he studied the dam with narrowed eyes. Now he had the appearance of a man who might be moved by sorcery, but one who could also think for himself in some things and with judgment.
“It is true, Lord,” Dwed jumped down into that same long dry channel to stand beside him. “Break that through and you may be swept away.”
“Perhaps—” there was force in Marbon’s answer. He tapped the spear butt hard against the stones.
By Brixia’s guess there were already more patches of moisture than there had been even seconds ago.
“Lord Marbon—Dwed—get out—!” she cried. “It is beginning to give!”
Hardly knowing what she did, the girl went to her knees, leaned down to catch at Marbon’s arm—since he was the nearer—snatching her spear from him. Then, throwing the weapon behind her, she tightened her hold on the man himself. Dwed moved in on his other side, exerting his strength to urge his lord towards the bank.
For a moment Marbon resisted them both. His attention was all for the wall. Then he shook free of Dwed, pulled himself up beside the kneeling girl.
“Up with you!” Marbon, too, was on his knees, reaching out to catch at Dwed’s mail shirt near the neck. Setting his hold firmly, he jerked the boy towards them both. Together they pulled Dwed out of the channel just in time.
The patches on the stones thickened to trickles of water. Then one, and a second, spouted out as pressured streams to shoot beyond the foot of the dam, dashing on into the channel.
“Away—!” Marbon’s arms swept out, sweeping both Brixia and Dwed with him, back from the lip of the cut. They stumbled, dragged themselves farther off. There was a sound—Brixia, edging around without getting to her feet, saw water fountain up above the banks. The whole dam must have given away suddenly.