The Hammer of the Sun (23 page)

Elof spoke with difficulty. "None… none but this." And reaching inside his torn tunic, he pulled out the little oval of onyx that the great duergh Ansker had hung around his neck. Gnarled fingers plucked at it, rubbed it, the opalescent eyes peered closer and looked up in startled disbelief.

"Whence stole you this? By what right bear you it?"

Elof forced himself to stand upright, though the trees seem to be swaying too violently around him. He looked the dark one in the face, and demanded "I am the Mastersmith Elof Valantor. Will you not give me your name?
Ti shkazye khto
?"

Duergar voices rumbled their astonishment that a human should speak any tongue of theirs, and he relaxed a little; he had been afraid they would not understand him. The gold-crowned one glared at him a moment, then nodded curtly. "
Ieh tyak, uznye. Ildrya-nye korolye! Iye
!"

"Then hear my answer, Lord Ildryan. That stamp I was awarded by right as a journeyman, after two long years of service; and by the achievement of mastery was confirmed in that right!" Again he heard astonished words, mingled with disbelieving sniggers; but he concentrated his gaze on Ildryan. "For myself and my helper I claim the shelter of that right! Is it granted? Or do we tarry here till the man-eaters return?
Khazhto myetdylas
!"

Out of the shadows around they crowded in around him, and there were fewer sniggers. Elof saw for the first time that the gold-crowned one seemed surprisingly ill-clad for any of the Elder Folk, let alone one of authority; he wore a shirt of the fine-meshed duergar mail, ornamented in gold, but it looked to have been altered from one shaped to fit another's form, and the leather breeches beneath were worn and stained. But then the garments of the others were as rough, and even less clean; bags of game, bunches of roots, even a brace of hares hung from their belts, and many of their mail shirts were ill-fitting. Only their weapons were well made and richly ornamented, even when they hung from rawhide baldrics. He felt his mind whirling with the puzzle of it, and suddenly that dark face was all he could see; it seemed to hang unsupported in space, and he forced himself to hold those unreadable eyes with his own, until at last they lowered in a quick, unwilling nod. "We waste time indeed!" growled the voice. "The price is accepted!
Talyazkha na zyevar! Nazh skary-enje
!"

Elof let himself collapse with relief; Roc supported him, and demanded what had been said. "He said we should go with them," croaked Elof, and added, as quietly as he could, "Or ordered it, rather… and told us to hurry up!" The idea of that seemed suddenly hilarious to him; he could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and that stupid ringing in his ears was drowning whatever Roc was saying. Unease swelled in him. "But what did he mean, the price…" Suddenly the trees were whirling around him, and the ground surged up beneath his feet.

For much of the time that followed he hovered uneasily in the shadowland between consciousness and unconsciousness, dimly aware of being borne on some kind of litter, swaying on broad shoulders, of lines of tall trees looming over him, with moon and stars between them. At other times he was swirling once more in that awful tide-rush, or seeing Louhi's face contort with wrath, or feeling that sickening agony of the sword thrust, or walking paths that were darker and more confused still. Then, very suddenly, his eyes were staring up at a circle of blue sky, and he was wholly awake.

Roc was bending over him, waterbottle in hand; as Elof stirred he nodded as curtly as Ildryan and sat back against a tree, but gave no greater sign of relief. "Well," he said, "Had a good sleep, have we?"

Elof stirred and looked around him. All he could see were bushes, and above them, picked out between black outlines of limb and leaf, patches of deep blue sky strewn with the rose-hued clouds of sunset, and the high summit of some cliff or crag of greyish stone. It gave him a welcome sense of peace; uneasy and shortlived perhaps, but still peace. The air was full of a strong resinous scent, and as he moved he saw he was lying on a long heap of soft spruce tips, a comfortable woodland bed. There were trees in the background, but Roc sat at the base of the only one near, a substantial pine, with Gorthawer and their packs by his side. "Yes," Elof said, and though dry his voice rang already stronger in his ears. "Yes, I have. I feel… strengthened."

"And so you should," said Roc severely, "the rate you've healed. We guessed Louhi had muffed it; but she didn't did she?" He saw the look that crossed Elof s face, and sat back. "Calm down, my lad; take your ease. We're safe enough here for now. Ildryan and his lads say Louhi doesn't control this land. They're holed up in a nice shady place nearby, waiting for night; but I thought the sun might do you more good, and they seemed glad enough to be shot of us."

Elof sat up gingerly, feeling his head clear. "Roc, how did you fall in with that crew? What happened to you after -"

"After you lost hold of your shape? The Powers know how you held it that long, but I'm bloody glad you did. Well, I was swept off, whirled down; then I saw the Tarnhelm go by me…"

"You saw it? Did you get it? Roc, is it safe…"

"Easy does it, there! Aye, I found it; I saw it dashed away among the rocks, and dived for it as it sank. Got myself swept off in a current for my pains, but I brought it ashore all right. Much use I. thought it, without you! And I didn't know whether you were alive or dead. Then our friends found me." He snorted. "Friends I call them; that's giving naked truth clothes. They're not fond of men, those ones. They'd have settled me on the spot if they hadn't come upon the helm, and seen there was something about it; that made 'em more ready to listen. Afraid I sounded off a bit about it and you, to bait them into helping me look for you; they wouldn't have cared a toss otherwise. But the Ekwesh got to you before we could… Tried to warn you, but well, too late. And there you were, prisoner; and there we were."

Elof smiled. "My own fault! At least you tried."

Roc grimaced. "We saw you taken, but they wouldn't attack the patrol, not in that open land; can't blame 'em, there were too many others about. But they tracked you neatly, every step, and when the man-eaters took you to the castle we were near enough to see you then - and me close to tearing my hair out, or rushing into that tower after you. But they said we'd get closer round by the rear walls, and that I might scale them by the mountain's flank and slip in, that place being built to keep folk out to the front…"

"Slip in?" laughed Elof weakly. "Roc my lad, What'd you ever hope to do in there? You must've seen it's a crawling hive of the man-eaters…"

"Well…" Roc grinned, a little self-consciously. "I thought I might just nose around a bit; make myself out to be a thrall, like…"

"Ass!" growled Elof, to cover his real feelings. "Even after weeks on short commons you'd still look like the best fed thrall I've seen!"

Roc chuckled quietly. "Ach, maybe they fatten them up now and again. But I'm glad you saved me the swink, with that acrobatic act of yours…"

"You saw that?"

"From a ways downslope. Couldn't miss it, when it started raining Ekwesh! Then you. Hella's teeth, I thought you'd had it that time! Born to be hanged, you are. But it seemed as well to look a bit closer, just in case; and you saw the rest." He shrugged. "Mind you now, it's as well these tykes aren't friendly enough to be interested or they might start thinking, from a scar front of your breastbone and another back of your spine. Quite a wound; and we all saw it made. Might even say a mortal wound; yet here you are. It's happened again, hasn't it?"

Elof swallowed and nodded, remembering the unhappy gulf that strange incident had opened between him and his friends. "Yes. It has. And I still don't know why…"

Roc reflected. "See, now. You can be hurt, just like the rest of us, that's certain. Right from your first days prentice at the anvil, when you'd smite your thumb or burn your fingers, I've seen it. And you wouldn't so much as swear, not aloud, so bent you were on acting like our Master." He chuckled at the memory, though it made Elof shrivel. "But you bled right enough, and took as long as any to heal. And as a grown man, too. Except these two times. Now what was so special…" Then his eyes widened with wonder, and Elof began to see the drift of his thought. "Both wounds made with swords; and both swords from under your hand… You who so often make your work more powerful than you mean. As if you'd poured so much of your craft into them that they'll not wound you properly, but heal the breach they've made, seal it with the fire that forged them…" He whistled softly. "It sounds damned unlikely, but of you… aye, of you I could believe it."

Elof shook his head. "Ach, Roc! I set no such virtue upon either blade!"

"There's spells in your very blood."

"Then I've left the forest floor well enchanted! Listen, Roc, it may be as you suggest; who am I to say? But this I know, it did not stop me shedding that blood, I'm kitten-weak and starved; is there any food to be had?"

Roc chuckled. "Very well then, you're on the mend." He pulled over the packs, rummaged within them and handed over leaf-wrapped lumps. "Let's see, we've meat, bread, some kinds of root, strange but wholesome enough. At least they haven't stinted with food, our short friends; and no more they should, the damned price they - "

Elof, tearing ravenously at the tough grey bread, looked up sharply. "Price? And now I remember, Ildryan said something about a price being accepted. What price, Roc? And for what exactly?"

Roc twined a dangling lock of red hair around his broad fingers. "Well… That's the rough side to it. Hadn't meant to mention that till… well, till you were better."

"Roc, I'm better now. What price?"

"Better? Grey as that bloody bread you were, and weak you still are. Ach, what's the use? The price -well, it's that helm of yours - no, do you lie back there and let me explain!"

"You've got it?
And yet you're bartering it away
…"

"Elof, hear me out! It was the price of our lives…"

Elof exploded. "Roc, you stupid bitch's get, that helm's the most powerful thing left me! It's mine, and to Hel with your damn-fool bargaining! I've got to have it, d'you hear me?
Got
to! I can't hope to catch Kara without it - "

Roc's eyes screwed up till they almost vanished, and his cheeks flamed. "Catch her, is it? Where's all your repentance fled to, then, eh, sir cock-a-hoop? Haven't you thought a sight too much of catching already?
And would we he here in this stinking midden if you hadn't
?" Abruptly Elof bowed his head, and Roc blew out his breath impatiently. "Ach Mastersmith, I'm sorry. But what was I to do? I couldn't rescue you on my own; I can't work that thing! What profit in hanging onto it and losing you, then? They had it already, anyway; there was nothing to stop them just hanging onto it, taking it without another thought and leaving me high and dry. Or slitting my throat. And so far at least they've been honourable; they've taken nothing else, nothing we had in our packs or anything."

Elof nodded, though he was sick at heart still. He ate again, but without gusto, as the last sunlight faded above the bushes, and the first stars began to appear. The crag seemed to loom larger in the dark, a steep shadow against the luminescent twilight. He reflected that with the duergar also appearances could be deceptive. Their character had many facets, not all to be judged by the standards of men; they could be a dark and suspicious folk, selfish even towards their own, though he had never known them half as sheerly brutal as the worst among men. Perhaps in cases like this they were only being less hypocritical. Ansker and lis exerted themselves to respond to men on their own terms, and most younger duergar copied them. But even Ils, generous in heart as she was herself, might consider such a bargain only somewhat rigid, and in no wise dishonourable. "And as you say, Roc, they might have taken the helm away, with no risk… But much good may it do them! For though they have smithcraft enough to use it, they do not know the ways. Let them only try!" he added grimly.

"Dark comes!" said a harsh voice. He looked up sharply. There stood Ildryan and his gaggle of followers, and in the deepening shadow the lined faces seemed even less human, the black eyes stony and opaque. From Ildryan's fingers the precious helm dangled, and Elof's heart leaped and laboured; he could see some damage, dents, and links offset here and there. To his fury, another had caught up Gorthawer in its scabbard. The duergar lord motioned to one of his men, who pushed through the thorny bushes to the root of the crag, parting them gently: the thorns seemed to make no impression upon the leathery hands. What more he did was hidden, or else it was another of the duergar beyond their sight, but his intent became apparent. For as they watched, the shadows upon the rough face of the crag deepened and darkened, and seemed to flow into one another; a whole section of the stone, apparently unbroken a heartbeat since, was inching silently back, swinging aside upon some hidden hinge. Even as it opened one of the duergar stepped into the blackness, tinderbox in hand; light kindled, a mote of red he touched to the wall, and suddenly it grew to a flower of mellow gold that sparked off another and another, a racing line of trembling flames shining a dim, warm light upon a wide chamber of stone, long and deep also, its bare walls ornamented with dark-hued scenes of beasts and the chase. Old and faded they seemed, but at the rear a great grille-work of metal shone untarnished by time, and the lamps themselves glittered in their own light.