Wizards’ Worlds (23 page)

These were such that I followed. And it could well be that, since they were hardy
enough to lair within the Waste, they might not be wholly human either. Rather be
possessed by some emanation of the Dark which had long lurked here.

For the Old Ones, when they withdrew from the Daleland, had left behind them pools
of energy. Some of these granted peace and well being, so that one could enter therein
timorously, to come forth again renewed in spirit and body. But others were wholly
of the Dark. And if he was destroyed at once the intruder was lucky. It was worse,
far worse, to live as a creature of a shadow’s bidding.

The ghostly light streamed on before me. I lifted my head, turned this way and that,
as might a hound seeking scent. All traces of trail had been wiped away by the wind.
However I was sure that I followed the right path. So we came to two stelae which
fronted each other as if they might once have formed part of an ancient gate. Yet
there was no wall, just these pillars, from the tip of which streamed cloudwards thin
ribbons of a greenish light. And they had been formed by men, or some agency with
intelligence, for they had the likenesses of heavy bladed sabers. Yet on their sides
I could see, half eroded by time, pits and hollows which, when the eye fastened straightly
upon them, took on the semblance of faces—strange faces—long and narrow, with large
noses overhanging pointed chins. Also it seemed that the eyes (which were pits) turned
upon me, not in interest or in warning, but as if in deep, age-old despair.

Though I felt no emanation of evil, neither did I like to pass between those sword
pillars. Still it was that way my road ran. Quickly I sketched with my hand certain
symbols before I stepped forward, drawing Fallon on rein-hold behind me.

These pillars stood at the entrance of a narrow gash of valley which led downwards,
the steep sides rising ever
higher. Here the dark had full sway, for there were no more of the luminous stones.
So that I went with that slow caution I had learned in the years I had ridden to war.

I listened. Outside this valley I had heard the murmur of the wind, but here was a
deep quiet. Until my straining ears caught a sound which could only be that of running
water. And there was a dampness now in the air, for which I was momentarily grateful.
Fallon pushed against me, eager to slake his thirst.

But where there was water in this desert land there could also well be a camp of those
I pursued. So I did not hasten, and I held back the pony. He snorted and the sound
echoed hollowly. I froze, listening for any answer which might mean my coming was
marked. But if the wolves I followed were human, certainly their sight here would
be no better than mine, even more limited for they did not have—or so I hoped—the
Talent to aid it.

On we went step by hesitant step. Then my boot, slipping across the ground, struck
against some obstruction. I stooped, to feel about with my hands. Here was a cluster
of small rocks, and beyond that, not too far, the water. I felt a path as clear as
I could. As far as I could tell, a spring broke ground on my left, some way up the
wall of the valley, and the water poured from that into a basin which in turn must
have some outlet on the other side.

I scooped up a handful of the liquid, smelled it. There was no stench of minerals
or of other deadliness. I splashed it over my face below the edge of my helm, washing
away storm grit. Then I drank from my cupped hands, and squeezed aside to let Fallon
have his way. The noise of his gulping was loud enough, but I no longer feared detection.
Those I sought had come this way, yes. My refreshed mind assured me of that. But there
was no camp hereabout.

“Jervon!” I pressed both hands over my eyes, pushing back my helm, reaching out in
mind search again. For a moment it was as if my touch found a weakness in that mist
I had encountered before. I touched— He was alive, mauled yet not badly injured! But
when I tried to deepen
contact, that I might read through him the numbers and nature of the force which
held him, there was once more a cutting off of communication, as suddenly as a sword
might descend between us.

The nature of that interference I could judge. There was that ahead which was aware
of me, but only when I tried to reach Jervon. For as I hunkered there, my mind barrier
up, I did not sense any testing of that. In me now fear was lessened; instead another
emotion woke to life. Once before I had fought against very ancient evil—with love—for
the body and soul of a man. Then I had sought my brother Elyn trapped in a cursed
place. Though what I felt for Elyn, though we were of one blood and birth, was but
a pale shadow to that which filled me when Jervon looked upon me. I am not one who
speaks easily of what she thinks the deepest upon, but in that moment I knew how completely
Jervon’s fate and mine were rooted together. And I experienced fury against that which
had cut the cord between us.

Recognizing that fury, I drew deep upon it, used the hot emotion to fill me with new
strength. For, even as fear weakened that which was my own, so could anger give it
sword and shield, providing I might control that anger. And there in the dark, by
that unseen pool, I fashioned my invisible armor, sharpened those weapons which no
one but myself could ever wield. For they were forged out of my wit and my emotion
even as a smith beats a true-edged sword out of clean metal.

2

The Shadow Hunter

I
T
was folly to advance farther into the dark. I dared not risk a fall and perhaps a
broken bone for me or for Fallon. Though every surge of emotion urged me on, I held
to logic and reason. Here dark was so thick it was
as if the ground about generated some blackness. Above hung clouds to veil even the
stars.

I fumbled in my saddle bag and brought out a handspan of journey bread, hard enough
perhaps to crack teeth gnawing it unwarily. This I soaked in water and fed the greatest
portion to Fallon, whose lips nuzzled my hand to search out the smallest crumb. Then
I used my will and forced upon his mind the order that he was not to stray, before
I settled in between two rocks and drew my cloak about me as poor protection against
this damp chill.

Though I had not thought to sleep, the fatigue of my body overcame the discipline
of my mind and I dropped into a dark even deeper than that which enfolded me here.
In that dark, presences moved and I was aware of them, only not clearly enough to
draw any meaning from such fleetings.

I woke suddenly, into the gray of early dawn. And I awoke because I had been summoned
as if someone had clearly called my name, or a battle trumpet had blown nearby. Now
I could see the dim pool with the runnel of water leaping down the rocks to feed it.
On the other side of that Fallon grazed on clumps of tough grass, which were not green
but sickly ashen, withered by the chill of the season.

There was indeed an outlet for the pool basin, a kind of trough which ran on into
the morning fog beyond. I moved stiffly, but, now that my mind was once more alert,
I cast ahead for that blankness which hid Jervon and his captors.

It was there and this time I did not make the mistake of trying to pierce it, and
so alert whatever I had touched the night before. At any rate, for the present, there
was only one road, that walled by rises of stone on which I could not even see finger
holds. Yet there were markings there—eroded and time-worn as those upon the stelae
guardians—too regular to be nature’s work, too strange to be read by me. Save that
I misliked the general outlines of some of
those symbols, for with their very shape they aroused misgivings.

As I broke my fast with another small portion of water-soaked bread, I kept my eyes
resolutely turned away from those shadowy scrawls. Rather did I strive to see into
the mist which filled this cut in the earth. And again I listened—but there was nothing
to hear save the water.

Having filled my two saddle bottles I mounted, but I let Fallon for the moment take
his own pace. For the way was much cluttered with rocks, with here and there a landslip
over or around which we crept with care.

The sense of new danger crept slowly upon me, so intent was I on keeping contact with
that peculiar blankness which I believed imprisoned Jervon. This was first like a
foul smell which is but a suggestion of rottenness, but which gradually grows the
stronger as one approaches the source of corruption. Fallon snorted, tossing his head,
only kept to the path by my will.

Oddly enough I could not sense any of the ancient evil in this thing, though I bent
my mind and my Talent to test it by all which I had learned from Aufrica and the use
of my own power. It was not of any source I knew—for the taint was that of human not
of the Old Ones. Yet also during our hunting of the Waste outlaws this I had not met
either.

Now my flesh roughed as if more than the chill of the fog struck at me. Fear battled
for release from the iron guard I had set upon my emotions. With that fear came a
disgust and anger—

I found myself riding with hand upon sword hilt. Listening—ever listening—but my ears
caught nothing but the thud of Fallon’s hooves, now and again the ring of an iron
shoe against an edge of rock.

The fog closed about, beads of moisture dripped from my helm, shone oily wet upon
my mail, dampened Fallon’s
heavier winter coat into points.

Then—

Movement!

Fallon threw up his head to voice a shrill squeal of fear. At the same instant that
which I had sensed struck and lapped me round.

For, through the rim of the fog, came horror unleashed. The thing was mounted even
as I, and some trick of the fog made it loom larger than it was. But that which it
rode was no horse of flesh and blood—rather a rack of bones held together by a lacing
of rotted and dried flesh. And it was as its mount, a thing long dead and yet given
a terrible life.

Its weapon was terror, not any sword. As I stiffened and drew deeply upon my power
I realized it for what it was—a thoughtform born out of ancient fear and hatred. So
did it continue to feed upon such emotions, drawing in to it at each feeding a greater
substance.

My fear, my anger, must have both summoned and fed it. But it was real. That I could
swear to, as much as if I laid hand upon that outstretched arm of bone. And Fallon’s
wide-eyed terror was meat to it also. While it trailed behind it, like a cloak, a
deep depression of the spirit.

Fallon reared, screamed. That mount of bone opened wide its jaws in answer. I struggled
with the panic-mad horse under me, glad for a moment that I had this to fight, for
it awoke my mind from the blast of fear the spectre brought with it.

I raised my voice and shouted, as I would a battle cry, certain Words. Yet the rider
did not waver, nor did the mount. And I summoned my will to master my own senses.
This thing needed terror and despair to live, let me clamp tight upon my own and it
would have no power—

Fallon sweated so that the smell was rank in the narrow defile of that way. My will
had clamped upon him also, held him steady. He no longer screamed, but from his
throat issued a sound not unlike the moaning of a man stricken close to death.

It was a thing fashioned of fear, and, without fear . . . I made myself into a bulwark,
once more spoke my defiance. But I did not shout this time, rather I schooled my voice
into obedience, even as I held Fallon.

The thing was within arm’s length, the stench of it thick in my nostrils, the glare
of its eyeless skull turned upon me. Then . . . it faded into the mist. Fallon still
gave forth that unanimal-like moaning and great shudders ran through his body. I urged
him forward, and he went one unsteady step at a time, while the fog coiled and spun
around as if to entrap us.

It was enough for a moment that the horror had been vanquished. I hoped dimly that
what I knew of such was the truth, that they were tied to certain places on earth
where raw emotions had first given them birth.

As we paced along beside the small stream I heard sounds, not from ahead, but from
behind. Faint they were at first, but growing stronger—there was the beat of hooves
in such a loud tattoo that I thought some rider came at a speed far too reckless for
the stony way. I heard also voices calling with the mist, though never could I make
out the words, for the sounds came muffled and distorted. Still there reached me the
impression of a hunt behind. And a strange picture flashed into my mind of one crouched
low on a wild-eyed horse, behind him, unseen, the terror which drove him.

So keen and clear was this picture that I swung around when I reached a pile of rocks
against which I could set my back. And I drew my sword. There was a rushing past where
I crouched, my left hand tangled within Fallon’s reins, for he was like to bolt. But
nothing material cleared the mist. Again ancient shadows had deceived me.

Though I waited tensely for whatever pursued that lone rider of the distant past,
there was nothing. Nothing
save the uneasy sense that here were remnants of ancient terror caught forever in
the mist. Then, ashamed at my own lack of self-control, I started on again, this time
leading Fallon, stroking his head and talking softly to him, urging into his mind
a confidence I did not wholly feel.

The walls about us began to widen out. Also that mist was tattered and driven by a
wind which whistled down the valley, buffeting us with the frost it carried. But also
it brought me something else, the scent of wood smoke, of a fire which has been recently
dampened out.

We came to a curve in the near wall which served as a guide through the now disappearing
mist. I dropped Fallon’s reins and ordered him to stand so, cautiously crept forward;
though the probe of my Talent picked up no whisper of a human mind. Still so strange
was the Waste that I could believe those who harbored here might well have some defense
against my power.