Andre Norton - Web of the Witch World

• Название: Web of the Witch World
• Автор: Andre Norton
• Жанр: Фэнтези

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“You are of Estcarp.” A statement and yet a question as if, looking upon him, the woman doubted that.

“I serve the Guardians. But I am not of the Old Blood.” His appearance, Simon decided, was what puzzled her.

“Of Estcarp.” Now it was a statement. “Tell me, witch warrior, who commands in Estcarp—you?”

“No. I am Border Warder of the south. Koris of Gorm is marshal and seneschal.”

“Koris of Gorm. And what manner of man is Koris of Gorm?”

“A mighty warrior, a good friend, a keeper of oaths, and one who has been hurt from his birth.” From whence had come those words for his use? They were not phrased to match his thinking, yet what he had said was the truth.

“And how came the Lord of Gorm to serve the witches?”

“Because he was never truly lord of Gorm. When his father died his stepmother called in Kolder to establish the rule for her own son. And Koris, escaping Kolder, came to Estcarp. He wishes not Gorm, for Gorm under Kolder died, and he was never happy there.”

“Never happy there—But why was he not happy? Hilder was a kindly man and a good one.”

“But those of his following would never let Koris forget he was—strange . . .” Simon hesitated, striving to choose the right words. Koris’ mother had come from Tormarsh. This woman could even be kin to the seneschal.

“Yes.” She did not add to that but asked a very different question. “This maid who was taken with you, what is she to you?”

“A friend—one who has been with me in battle. And she is betrothed to Koris who seeks her now!” If there was any advantage to be gained from the thread of connection between the seneschal and the marsh people, then Loyse must have it.

“Yet they say she is duchess in Karsten. And there is war between the witches and those of Karsten.”

It would seem that Tormarsh, for all its taboo-locked borders, still heard the news from outside the swamp.

“The story is long—”

“There is time,” she told him flatly, “for the telling of it. And I would hear.”

There was a definite order in that. Simon began, cutting the tale to bare outline, but telling of the ax marriage made for Loyse in Verlaine’s towers and all that happened thereafter. But when he spoke of the ship-wreck on the coast and how he, Koris, and two survivors of the Guard had climbed to discover themselves in the long-lost tomb of Volt, where Koris had boldly claimed Volt’s ax from the hands of the mummified dead, the Torwoman halted him abruptly, made him go into details. She questioned and requestioned him on small points, such as the words, as well as he could remember, that Koris had used when he asked the ax of Volt, and how that ax had been taken easily, with the long dead body crumbling into dust once the shaft had been withdrawn from the claw hands.

“Volt’s ax—he bears Volt’s ax!” she said when he was done. “This must be thought upon.”

Simon expelled his breath in a gasp. She was gone—as if she had never stood there, solid body on solid pavement. He took two strides to the same spot where she had been standing only an instant earlier, drove his boot down in a stamp which proved the footing as solid as it looked. But—she was gone!

Hallucination? Had she ever been here at all? Or was this one of those mind-twisting tricks such as the witches played? Shape-changing—that was as eerie in its way as this instant vanishing. So this could be another form of magic, with its own rules, simple enough when one was trained by those rules. And not only the Torwoman practiced it, for the boy had winked out in just the same way. But to those who did not know the trick, this room or others like it would continue to be prison cells.

Simon returned to the bed. The tray with its beaker and plate still rested there. That much was real. And the fact that his hunger and thirst was gone, that he felt strong and able again—that was no hallucination.

He had been captured and imprisoned. But he had also been fed, and so far he had not been threatened. His dart gun was gone, but he had expected to be disarmed. What did these marsh dwellers want? He and Loyse had come into their territory by accident. He knew that they resented all trespassing bitterly, but were they fanatical enough on that subject to hold the innocent equally guilty with any determined invader?

Did they close their borders to everyone? Simon remembered Aldis, her hands tight upon the Kolder talisman, so deeply sunk in her voiceless call for aid that she was unaware of action about her. She must have expected such aid—so Kolder crawled somewhere in Tormarsh as evilly as the lizard thing had crawled upon the flyer.

Kolder. To those of witch blood Kolder was a void, noticeable in its presence because of that void. In the times past he, too, had known Kolder by sensing it—not as a void but as a waiting menace. Could he pick up the canker now the same way?

Simon set the tray on the stool, stretched himself once more on the bed, closed his eyes, and set his will free. He had always had this gift of foreseeing, in part a limping gift, not to be disciplined into any real service. But he was sure that since he had come to Estcarp that gift had grown, strengthened. Jaelithe—the twist of pain which always came now with the thought of Jaelithe. She had used the symbols of power between them twice and those had glowed in answer. So that she had hailed him as one of her kind, then . . .

Now, though he intended to go hunting for the cancer of Kolder, rather did his mind return again and again to Jaelithe, to pictures of her. First, as he had seen her fleeing in rags with the hounds of Alizon baying on her trail, then as she had ridden in mail and war helm to Sulcarkeep when Kolder had made its first foul move in the present war. Jaelithe, kneeling on the quay of that fortress, breathing witchery into the scraps of sail for the vessels they had hastily whittled from wood, tossing those crude ships into the sea, so that a mighty fleet moved out through the cloaking mist to confound the enemy. Jaelithe acting as a sorceress and reader of fortunes, brewer of love potions in Kars, when her summoning had brought him across many miles to her aid. Jaelithe, shape-changed into a hideous hag and riding in company over the border to rouse Estcarp for war.

Jaelithe in Gorm, telling him in her own way that that way was also his from then on. Jaelithe in his arms, being one with him in a way no other woman had ever been before, or would ever be again. Jaelithe excited, bright-eyed, that last morning, in the belief that her witchcraft had not gone from her at all, but that she was all she had been. Jaelithe—gone from him as if she used the traveling magic of these Torfolk.

Jaelithe! Simon did not cry that aloud, but inside of him it was one great shout of longing. Jaelithe!

“Simon!”

His eyes snapped open, he was staring up into the gloom, for the crawling lights had returned to their scattered clusters along the walls.

No, that had not come in any audible voice. Breathing fast, he closed his eyes again. “Jaelithe?”

“Simon.” Firm, assured, as she had ever been.

“You are here?” He thought that, trying to shape the words clearly in his mind as a man might fumble about in a foreign tongue of which he knew little.

“No—in body—no.”

“You are here!” he replied with a conviction he could not explain.

“In a way, Simon—because you are—I am. Tell me, Simon, where are you?”

“Somewhere within Tormarsh.”

“So much is already known, since we are aware that your flyer dropped there. But, you are no longer Kolder ruled.”

“Fulk’s belt—one of the bosses on it—their planting.”

“Yes, it opened a gate for them. But you were never so much theirs that we could not alter their spell a little. That is why you did not fly seaward at their bidding, but inland. Tormarsh is no ally of ours, but perhaps there is better chance to treat with Tormarsh than Kolder.”

“Kolder is here also.” Simon told her what he believed to be the truth. “Aldis called their aid, she was calling when we left her.”

“Ah!”

“Jaelithe!” That moment of withdrawal frightened him.

“I hear. But if Kolder is with you—”

“I was trying to search for it.”

“So? Well, perhaps in that two may be better than one, my dear lord. Think you on Aldis. If she moved to Kolder, perhaps your power may move with her—to our better knowledge.”

Simon tried to picture Aldis as he had seen her last, lying in the flyer as he pushed back the sprung door. But he discovered that he could not visualize that clearly at all. Instead he had momentary flashes of quite another and nonfamiliar scene—of Aldis seated, leaning forward, speaking eagerly to—to a blankness. And upon that the tie, if tie it was, with Aldis snapped.

“Kolder!” Jaelithe’s recognition was sharp as any blow. “And they are on the move, I think. Listen well, Simon. The Guardians say that my power is now only a wisp which will fail with the passing of time, that I have no place now in the Council of Es. But I tell you that between us we have something that I do not understand, for it is different than all else which I have held in my witchhood. Therefore, though it has taken me time to test this thing, to work with it as best I can, I have learned that I am not able to shape or aim it, save with you. Perhaps both of us must be the united vessel for this new strength. Sometimes it rages within me until I fear that I cannot hold it in bonds. But we have so little time to learn it. Kolder. is on the move and it may be that we cannot bring you forth from Tormarsh before that move is made—”

“I do not wear their talisman, but it may be that they can control me still,” he warned her. “If so, can they reach you through me?”

“I do not know. I have learned so little! It is like trying to shape fire with my two hands! But this we can do—”

Again a snapping—even more sharp than that break which had come between him and the shadow shape of Aldis.

“Jaelithe!” he shouted soundlessly. But this time—no reply.

11 KOLDER KIND

SIMON LAY very still, sweating now. For this was no half-trance of his own willing. He was motionless in bonds he could not see, his body held by another’s will. Then she stood there, clear to the sight, at the foot of the bed, watching him in the level measurement which held no hint of whether she was friend or foe, or merely neutral in this war.

“They have come,” she said, “to answer the call of their woman they have come.”

“Kolder!” Simon found that he could use his tongue and lips if not the rest of his body.

“The dead ones who serve such,” the Torwoman qualified. “Listen, man who obeys Estcarp, we have no quarrel with the witches. Between them and us there is neither friendship nor enmity. We were here when the Old Race came and built Es and their other dark towers. We have been rooted here for long and long, a handful of people who can remember when man was not the ruler of earthside, not even ones who lived widely. We are of those Volt gathered and set apart to learn his wisdom.

“And we want no dealings with those outside Tormarsh. You have come to trouble us with your wars which are no concern of ours. The swifter you are gone from us, the better served we shall be.”

“But if you do not favor the witches, then why do you favor Kolder? Kolder hungers for rule over all men—and that includes the race of Tor.” Simon retorted.

“We do not favor Kolder, we only ask that we be left to our own mysteries without troubling from beyond the marsh rim. The witches have not threatened us. This you call Kolder has shown us what will happen if we do not yield you to them now. And so it is decided that you go—”

“But Estcarp would defend you against Kolder—” Simon began until she smiled a small, cold smile.

“Will they, with aught save good wishes, Warder of the Border? There is no war between us, but they fear the marsh as a place of ancient mysteries and strange ways. Would they fight to save it? I think not. Also they have no men to throw into such a battle now.”

“Why?” She seemed so certain that Simon was startled into a rough demand.

“Alizon has risen. Estcarp needs must throw all her armies northward to hold the marches there. No, we make the best bargain for us.”

“And so I am to be delivered to the Kolder.” Simon strove to keep his voice even and emotionless. “And what of Loyse? Do you give her also into the hands of the worst enemy this world has ever known?”

“The worst?” the Torwoman echoed. “Ah, we have seen many nations rise and fall, and in each generation there is a powerful enemy to be faced, either with victory or defeat. As for the girl—she is part of the bargain.”

“She is also Koris’, and I think you will discover that that has a meaning when it comes to extracting a price for such bargaining. I have seen the price he took from Verlaine and from Kars. Volt’s gift drank deep in both those holds. Your marshland will not turn him back when it comes to his hunting.”

“The bargain is made,” her tone was more remote than ever. Then her hands came up in a swift gesture and her fingers moved. Not to shape Jaelithe’s symbol of power, but still in an airborne sketch which had meaning.

“So you deem this Koris will come hunting for vengeance here?” she asked. “This pale-faced girl means so much to him?”

“She does, and those who have harmed her have need to fear.”

“Ah, but now he must ride to hold back Alizon. It will be many days before he shall have time to think of aught else. Or perhaps he will find an end to all questions and desires among the border hillocks.”

“And I say to you, lady, that Volt’s gift shall yet swing in Tormarsh if you do as you have said.”

“If I do, March Lord? I have naught to say in the yea and nay of such bargainings.”

“No?” Simon put all the skepticism he could muster into that. “And I say that you are not the least of those among the Tor born.”

She did not answer for a long moment, her gaze steady upon him.

“Perhaps once I was not. Now I do not raise my voice in any council. I wish you no ill, Warder of Estcarp. And I think that you mean no ill to me—or any of us. But when need drives, we obey. This much I shall do for you, since the maid is favored by he who was once lord of Gorm. I shall send a message forth to Es that those there may know where you have gone and why. If then they can move to aid you, perhaps it will not go so ill. More than that I am sworn not to do.”

“The Kolder come for us here—how?” Simon demanded.

“They come—or at least their servants come—up the inner river in one of their ships.”

“But there is no river linking Tormarsh with the sea!”

“No outer one,” she agreed. “The marsh drains under ground. They have found that way to us, they have already visited us by it before.”

By submarine down an underground river, Simon faced that. Even if the promised message reached Es in time to send a small force to the rescue, they could not ferret out the enemies’ pathway, or help the prisoners borne so along it. The Guard of Estcarp would not be the answer.