Three Hands for Scorpio (8 page)

Authors: Andre Norton

BOOK: Three Hands for Scorpio

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H
aving made very sure that we would not lose some part of our covering, though there were brooches enough in the bag to assure our decency, we eyed each other. Tam had used a chain of tiny links, each dotted with a gem, to anchor that errant lock of hair over her forehead.

In truth we made an odd appearance. “Hardly court garb,” I commented. “Did you look closely at any of these?” I indicated three of the brooches that latched the jerkin across my breast.

“If they were fashioned by any goldsmith of Alsonia,”Tam observed, “it was long ago.”

“They are lettered,” I returned. For I was indeed certain that some of the odd embossed turns and curves had meaning.

I saw Cilla squinting down at her own choices. She was frowning, and I sensed that she did not want such a guess to be the truth. It might be that the less she had to consider what she wore now, the better.

A glittering pile of treasure still remained, and I swept it back into the pouch, twisting the closing cord to keep it safe.

“Ready?” I asked, thinking that I would never be truly thus.

“Ready,” they affirmed, and we rounded the end of the screen, coming once more into the open part of the cave.

I had been sure that our nameless host would be waiting. He was not, however, nor was Climber to be seen. All that had befallen now seemed like a many-layered dream. As children who are unsure of new surroundings, we linked hands.

What did greet us was an aroma, more welcome than any costly fragrance from overseas: the scent of roasting meat. I looked to the graceless disorder in which we had left the food shelves; that had all been cleared away. But farther along, where we had not yet explored, a red glow shone at floor level.

We headed toward that gleam and discovered a fire-pit. Over it was suspended a cut of meat on a chain, which turned and re-turned for a different kind of roasting, needing no spit-boy to tend it. A sizzling arose now and then as a drop of grease struck the low flames.

The pit was dug very close to the cave wall, and not far away was cut another of the shelves. On that ledge lay knives and two long-shafted forks. I reached for the nearest blade, thinking it might offer some protection. Though the Nameless One had offered us no reason to feel anything but comfort from his generosity, I felt a little easier with a weapon to handâuntil I was able to inspect it more closely.

“Stone!” Certainly the blade was wrought of some mineral, albeit discolored by frequent kitchen use. In my hold it was heavy and ill-balanced.

“This also!” Cilla had taken up one of the forks and held it out. The two slender prongs were indeed needles splintered from rock.

“Stone or not, these have been carefully made,” I commented.

Tam had picked up the other knife and was testing the point carefully with a fingertip. “I'll wager a whole Rounder that this work is not primitive.”

“Done by the Nameless One?” Cilla demanded.

I had edged closer to the pit and now thrust at the meat as if delivering a death blow. The stone tip pierced the roast easily. I held up the knife in my other hand to squint along its edge.

Tam gave an exclamation and moved closer to the shelf, reaching to pull out a bowl large enough to hold all the meat before me.

“Let us eatâ” My words were a suggestion. I stabbed the dangling roast again.

“Can you cut a portion, Bina?” Tam wanted to know as she brought the bowl closer.

“We shall see,” I returned. As had all of us, I had received instruction in
household arts, but the handling of meat straight from the fire was usually the duty of a kitchen-man or an assistant cook.

The portion I hacked off with the stone knifeâit did have a surprisingly sharp edgeâwe took back to where the other stores were placed, below the queer blind figures. There we ate, mainly with fingers, as we had before, with additions from the shelves.

This time we remembered our manners and carried empty containers and the like to be washed at the stream, discovering that, the nearer to the falls we approached, the warmer the water was. When we returned them to their proper places, we settled cross-legged on the floor. During this time our host had not appeared, nor had we seen Climber. Whether it was day or night in the outer world, we had no way of telling; nor could we now more than guess how long it had been since we had been taken from Grosper.

Cilla introduced a subject far from the one that I was ready to present.

“Can this stranger be one we have heard ofâthe Lost King? That boyâhe was seven or eight, was he not? Some swore that he was killed and his body hidden. Maclan meant such a fate for us at the last, I am certain. It's common enough when a raiding party with a prisoner is hard-pressed. We would not have survived, had we not been found and freed by that beast.”

“A child of seven?” Perhaps Cilla
had
made a proper guess. I brushed the scaled legging stretched across my knee. “Though this Under Land has surely been used by Breakswords in the past to get rid of victims they must conceal. Let a ransom go unpaid, or their prey be one to be disposed ofâwhat more efficient place? The important thing is that there were legends. But is any account known of one who entered here ever leaving again?”

Tam, who had been oddly silent and had, as I noted, glanced regularly to the right as if expecting our host to return at any moment, seemed to be alerted by my question.

“You must have read the report from the Dackner clanâthe one preserved from the fifth year of Queen Marosa's reign. In that account, a Breaksword swore the Dismals housed monsters that fed upon men. When Black Bourne was taken after the burning of Mackiton Tower, he claimed he would have won free had it not been that near half of his men had been lured away by news of a treasure. He declared that they had descended into the Dismals, even as we were compelled to doâbut none returned.”

“This place,” said Cilla slowly, “is neither of South or Northâwhat do we know of it or the Nameless One?”

Tam spoke slowly. “He has Powerâit is not of our kind, but it is Power.”

“Soâyou would grant me that?”

He had appeared behind us as if summoning a body from the shadows to serve him. Even as my thoughts provided this suggestion, he turned toward me.

His Send struck as a strongly thrust sword. Heatâpainâ! My hands covered my ears, pressed against my head as if I needs must hold my skull together. This was a mind-casting that could be used as a deadly weapon.

The personal Ward I had trusted all my life was as nothing, and this blow had found me unprepared. But I had not been taken as was plannedâtaken, or killed. Perhaps what saved me from instant capitulation was the fact that my Talent was not akin to his. In spite of the increasing agony as he continued to feed his Power, I was able to callânot only upon the strength I could muster, but also upon Tam and Cilla.

They speedily found my resistance, building on that. ThenâI was not the attacker but Tam, who had always been the strongest among us for a sally, even as she could more skillfully wield a material weapon.

I was no longer aware of anything but the pull of Powerâunited Power. Before my mind's eye it was visible, writhing serpent-wise in a place of great darkness. The red-gold of our heraldic badge, a scorpion, tail upraised for a strike, while before it loomed another creature, larger, and much like a lizard, green and black.

So much I saw; then all vision was swept away, as if my mind had indeed been destroyed.

Tamara

HIS HAD BEEN a surprise attack, but we of the Talent cannot be easily taken thus. Our Ward remained, though in Bina's case the defense had seemed to crumble. However, the foundation of that protection remained: full strength in me and in Cilla. As Bina made a small mewing sound and sank forward, Cilla caught her, held her tightly. I was on my feet facing the Nameless One. Nameless indeed he must be, I thought furiously, and with his feet turned to the dark.

Our triad was gone, an emptiness gaping where Bina had been. But we could spare no time to be concerned for herânot now. We must Send,
allow both anger and fear to Send, with all the force we could draw and hurl.

Though my body's sight was dimmed by that struggle, I was able to see him stagger. Soâwe had reached him! Fortunately, we did not have to spread our weapon, for he was but one alone.
Sendâoh, Send!

He crumpled. The attacking Power was gone, blown out as a candle is snuffed. It disappeared so suddenly that I staggered forward; I might have been beating upon a door that was suddenly flung open. One of my feet toed his body as I controlled my Talent, damped it down.

The Nameless One lay on his back. His green eyes gleamed but no life appeared in them. Had we indeed ended him?

I dropped to my knees and fingered the pulse at his throat. His heart was still beating.

“Tam! Oh, Tam!” Cilla summoned me.

Bina was still cradled against her. I ventured a small probe even as I returned to them, but nothing answered, not a mind closed by will or Wardânothing!

Thenâwas she dead? Though we had not taken out our attacker, had he vanquished Binaâour level-headed, stouthearted sister, whom I always believed to be the anchor for Cilla and me? Did he for some reason hold us now enemies?

Cilla's right hand had slipped under the edge of Bina's jerkin. Now she looked up with relief dawning on her anguished face.

“She is alive?” Swiftly I knelt beside them, my arms striving to hold them both at once.

“Yes. And heâ?” Cilla donned a mask of hatred as she looked toward the recumbent man.

“He livesâor his body does.” That was the last great fear of all our kind: use of the Send past the point of safety could end with the destruction of the inner spirit, leaving only an empty human shell. Had we indeed turned that fate upon him?

Cilla slid out of my grasp, leaving Bina to me, and sped behind the screen once more. I watched the Nameless One. Why had he attacked, waiting until now? He could have taken us with ease, I was sure, while we were asleep. Unless he had a need to study us â¦

Talent of our sort is seldom found here in the North. It was never honed, honored, and made supple as it was in our land where, with very
few exceptions down the years, it was most often the gift of women, just as martial genius was of men.

The Power wielded by the Nameless One was, I felt certain, was not our kind but a Gift totally strange to the training we had received. Our attacker was alive, yet did only an emptied body lie before us? But now our task was Bina.
By the Great Power
, I pleaded silently,
let it be my sister, full and whole, who will return to us!

Cilla came back with bedding, and we established Bina as best we could.

“Bina knows the proper herbs better than we do.” Cilla stroked our sister's hair. “Only Mother knows the Center Callâ”

I nodded. We had not been deemed ready for that lessoning. It was rarely used, and then mainly for restoring the Talent to a wielder who had tried to use Power beyond her capacity, only to be immersed in the backwash of force.

“Since we cannot use that, we can only watch and wait.”

I arose and so did Cilla. However, without explaining what she would do, she headed again for the supply shelves. Taking up an extra cover, one not used for Bina's comfort, I folded it. Holding it so, I moved to the side of our host and raised his head to slip it underneath.

His skin felt warm to the touch, and his eyes were now closed. Could I believe that he was recovering? Perhaps it would be best to bind him while he was helpless. Yet if he relied on Talent as his weapon, we could not render him helpless by mere physical bonds.

Cilla returned from her visit to the shelves with a netted bag in the crook of one arm, two small lidded crocks in one hand and a bottle clutched tightly in the other. She stooped to place her selections on the floor, then sat down between them and Bina.

“Herbs?” We all had special refinements of Talent peculiar to each of us alone. Cilla not only had a strong command over needlework but she had the ability to concoct certain herbal potions. Those creams and scents we used for our needs were always of her distilling and making. Bina had herb-lore also, but dealt rather with healing, sometimes rivaling the skill of Duty, the true greenwife of our household.

Cilla did not look to me but rather stared at her selection. “It is a pitiful assortment, but it is the best here. I had to select by scent, and that is guessing, but there was no other way. Bina always wishes her court fragrances to be of red lilies. Here, smell thisâ”

She twisted the stopper from one of the clay pots and held it out. I obeyed and lowered my head to draw in a full sniff.

“Essence of red sun lilies,” I pronounced, but she shook her head.

“Not so. Look!”

Look I did. The liquid within was not the watery juice that could be pressed from the proper flowers; I had done such a task myself. This was a turgid, oily substance. Yet, when I sniffed again, it was true attar of red sun lily.

“And the others?”

Cilla pointed to the other stoppered pot. “Gascal sticks, I believeâbut I cannot be sure.” Then she dangled the net. It contained five lumps with a greasy glaze upon them.

“Razzel roots, fried. I am more sure of thoseâand this.” She dropped the net and picked up the bottle. “Vorfay wineâor its close like.”

“You would make a summons?”

“If I can.” Cilla frowned. “One can only try.”

She stepped again to the shelves, selected an empty bowl with a spouted side for the pouring of its contents, and began work. I thought it time again to visit the Nameless One and moved to do so.

He lay as I had left him, though his eyes were once more open. Onlyâthey were lifeless orbs. I shivered. Was the stranger now a spiritless husk? We had fought for our own livesâI quieted my conscience with that. Yet to deliver this worst of fates, than which clean death was far more to be desired, was an act that would burden any wielder of Power with guilt, shadow her throughout life's length.

Could we fight for him even as Cilla was doing for Bina? One of his hands lay limply along his body, resting on the stone. I knelt and grasped it. The flesh was warm, certainly that of a living man; still he lay totally inert.

Then, into my mind, with such force that my ears might have heard a spoken order, came thought, born of a mind-pattern strangely twisted. To learn its message was akin to dealing with an intricate foreign language.

A part of me obeyed. Still holding his hand, I bent until my lips met his, and I began to suck, as though drawing poison from a woundâwhy, I could not have told. I knew only that this must be doneâthat what our Talent had laid low, I must now cherish.

I was extracting nothing tangible from him; however, that I pulled forth
something
I was sure. Pain struck, its hot irons pressing into my forehead as if I suffered branding.

Sounds began behind me, very faint and far away, but I could spare them no heed for the world had narrowed to what I must do. My agony became a barrier, and I could draw no more remaining Power to me, into me. Raising my head, I looked into those eyes once again. No longer were they shallow, without life.

“Tam! Tam!”

Slowly, moving against a great fatigue, I placed the hand I held back on his breast. I had no energy left; to rise to my feet was beyond my strength.

“Tam!”

I could not move, yet I knew that I had not been raped of spirit. I was still Tamara Scorpy, Wisedaughter.

Cilla was kneeling beside me, her face very close to mine and her eyes shadowed by fear. With a great effort, I reached for her, clung that I might not slump to the stone of the cave.

She looked at the man. Still he had not moved, and his eyes had closed.

“Heâhe is emptied?” she asked tonelessly.

“No, I think not, but Binaâhow fares she?”

“She is ours once more,” Cilia was quick to assure me. “Comeâ”

Tugging determinedly, she pulled and lifted and got me across to where Bina lay.

Our sister had begun to cry, heavy sobs shaking her whole body. Her hands reached out to me and I kissed her, holding her tightly, doubly aware of what we might all have lost.

Cilla had a hand on each of us, and a thick fragrance wreathed us round. We might be cloistered in a bed of blooms; and indeed our sister began to singsong those old country names of blossoms that had been known to us since we were able to crawl and pull flower-plunder from our mother's garden:

“By Star-of-glory, Petalbright, Creeping Maids,
Weaving Stems, Better-worth, and Red-Gold Lily!
Great One, to us this treasure of Glory has been given.
In Thy Name shall a garden new be tendedâ
In this very land of darkness and despair.
This do I swear!”

It seemed as if the perfume that encircled us was spreading out, at the same time growing stronger, richer. Without speech I voiced my thanks to that Greatest of all Powers.

Then I heard a coughing. Bina twisted a little in my hold to look to its source. He was sitting up, one hand pressed to those lips I had met, as again he loosed a cough.

It was not I who spoke but rather Bina, for Cilla's eyes were closed, and she swayed silently to some chant that she alone could hear.

“Truce?” Bina's question was loud.

He was sitting up, braced by his arms and hands against the floor. His face wore an odd expression that I could not read, but he answered firmly.

“Truce!”

Bina wriggled free from my hold and stood erect.

“Weapon peace-tied?” came her second question.

He smiled then, and it was as if some mask cracked to show us one of kin.

“Peace-tied indeed, lady. I, Zolan, swear it so.”

His nameâof that I was sure, though it was no usual name of the North. So did he give it freely, breaking any usual Ward by imparting it to us.

“I be Sabina of the Scorpys,” she replied.

I must render trust also. “And I am Tamara of the Scorpys.”

Cilla stood up. “I am Drucilla of that line,” she added.