“But if there is a war, they will have assigned their loyalty and you could not find followers,” Ethutur objected. “Or those you could find would not be men to whom you could trust your unarmed back—”
“Now there may be an end to war—for a time. Such a blow as was dealt to Karsten in the mountains would also prove a shock to Alizon. I will not know unless I go to see.”
“Why?” This time the question was Dahaun’s, and I made frank answer.
“I do not know why I must do this, but that I am under geas of that I am sure. There is no turning for me from this road—”
“Geas!” She rose and came to kneel before me, her hands tight upon my shoulders as if she would hold me past all escape. Her eyes probed into mine, a kind of searching deeper than that Ethutur had used, deeper than I had thought possible. Then she sat back on her heels, loosing her grasp.
Turning her head she spoke to Ethutur. “He is right. He is under geas.”
“How? This is clear land!” Ethutur was on his feet, staring about him as one who seeks an enemy.
“The land is clear; there has been no troubling. Therefore it must be a sending . . .”
“From whence?”
“Who knows what happens when a balance swings? That this has happened we cannot question. But—to bear the burden of a geas is not easy, Kyllan of the House of Tregarth out of Estcarp.”
“I did not believe that it would be so, lady,” I replied.
* * *
* * *
XV
WE MIGHT BE riding across a deserted land, we who had been harried and hunted before. No sign of that frightening crew that had besieged us in the menhir-guarded refuge showed; even their tracks had vanished from the soil. Yet I sensed our going was noted, assessed, perhaps wondered over, and this was only a short lull with very false peace.
Ethutur’s men rode at my back, and, beside me, against my wishes, Dahaun, who had taken no discouraging from that journey. Before us were the western mountains and the gateway between the lands.
We did not talk much—a few surface words now and then as she pointed out some landmark, either as a guide or a thing to beware in crossing the country, with always an unspoken assurance that I would return to have need of such information. But as I rode my own confidence was not as great. I was a man under compulsion—the way of it I did not understand. Because I would not have Kemoc and Kaththea join their fates to mine in this perilous business I had ridden while they still lay in healing slumber.
That night we camped among the trees which were not as fine or tall as those of the Green Valley, but were of the same species, thus friendly to those with me. This time I did not dream—or at least not to remember—yet with my morning waking the need for going was more deeply rooted, spurring me to speed. Dahaun rode on my right and this time she sang, soft and low, and now and then she was answered, by the green birds, or by Flannan in bird form.
She looked at me from the corners of her eyes and then smiled.
“We have our scouts also, man of war. And, even though they know their duty well, it sometimes goes even better if they are alerted. Tell me, Kyllan, what chances have you on this man quest of yours?”
I shrugged. “If matters rest as they did when I fled Estcarp, very few. But with an end made to any Karsten invasion, perhaps that has changed.”
“You have those who will come to your horn—your own shield men?”
I was forced to shake my head. “I have no shields pledged to me as overlord, no. But the Borderers among whom I served are landless and homeless. Years ago they were thrice horned as outlaws in Karsten and escaped with only their lives and the bare steel in their hands. Odd, when we came hither we spoke of that—that it would be a land won by swords.”
“By more than swords,” she corrected me. “However, these landless warriors might well be reckless enough to follow such a quest. In the final saying most of us seek a place to set roots and raise house trees. Here they will pay sword weight instead of tribute. Yet—our seeking is based on guesses, Kyllan, and guesses are light things.”
I would not look at her now. I had no dispute for what she said, and the closer we drew to a time of parting the more I rebelled against the invisible purpose which had been laid upon me. Why me? I had no power to command respect, no gift of words such as Kemoc could summon upon occasion. My position as eldest son of Tregarth was nothing to draw any support to my shield. Nor had I made a war name to gather any followers. So—why must I be driven back to a fruitless task?
“To break a geas . . .” Had she been reading my mind? For a second I resented, was ashamed of, what she might have picked from my thought.
“To break a geas, that is courting complete disaster.”
“I know!” I interrupted her roughly. “And it can recoil on more than he who breaks it. I ride to the mountains, not from them, lady.”
“But not in any helpful spirit.” Her tone was a little cold. “Right thinking can draw good fortune, and the reverse is also true. Not that I believe you have any easy path. Nor do I understand why . . .”
Her voice trailed into silence. When she spoke again her words were pitched lower, hurried. “I do not know what force can aid beyond the mountains. You leave those here who have reason to wish you well, would will what they can in your behalf. If you fall into danger—think on that, and on them. I can promise you nothing, for this is an untried, unmarked wilderness. But what can be done in your behalf, that I promise will be! And with your sister and brother—who knows indeed!”
She began to talk then of little things which were far apart from my purpose, things which opened for me small sunny vistas of her life as it had been before we came to break the uneasy peace of Escore. It was as if she took me by the hand and welcomed me into the great hall of her life, showing me most of its private rooms and treasures. And that was a gift beyond price, as I knew even as I accepted it, for now she was not the awesome controller of strange powers, but instead, a girl as my sister had been before the Wise Ones rift her from us and strove to remodel her into their own pattern.
Then in turn Dahaun coaxed memories from me. I told her of Etsford and our life there, more of that than of the hard years which followed when we rode mailed and armed about the grim business of war. And the sweet of those memories, even though it carried always a hint of bitter, relaxed me.
“Ah, Kyllan of the House of Tregarth,” she said, “I think we two understand each other a little better. And that is to your liking, is it not?”
I felt the warmth of blood-flush rising up throat and cheek. “I cannot hide all thoughts, lady—”
“Is there a need to?” Her question was sober enough, yet under that soberness lurked amusement. “Has there been any need to since first we looked, really looked upon one another?”
She was not bold; it was fact she stated. Then there roused in me such fire that I clenched fists, fought myself, lest I reach for her in the instant, the need to have her in my arms nearly breaking all control. But that would be the false step, the wrong path for both of us. How did I reckon that? It was like the geas, knowledge out of nowhere yet not to be denied. And the hatred of my task grew with that constraint so holding me now.
“Yes—and yes—and yes!” she burst out, equaling my own inner turmoil. “Tell me—make me see what path you shall take when you leave us!” Thus she tried to cut that too taut cord between us.
I sought my memories on our trip over the mountains, recalling it all for her.
“You will be afoot in a wilderness.” Dahaun put that into words as if it presented a problem for careful consideration.
I wore Kemoc’s mail and helm, and carried his dart gun—though ammunition for that was near exhaustion. My sword and gun had been lost in their flight after leaving the river islet. Yes, I would be afoot and poorly armed in rough wilderness on the other side of the mountain. But how to better that position I could not see.