“And, becoming so entranced with such a quest for knowledge, may not concentrate upon us?” Kelemark asked. “A welcome thought, but not one we dare to build too much upon.”
“Look!” Rizak pointed to the northeast. The beacon was on, but this time it did not beckon from the garthland but turned in the direction of the port.
“Still gathering in,” Jarvas said softly. “First the garths, now the port, or maybe from a ship there—”
Watching that beam, Ayyar wondered at their own rashness in believing that they could dispose of that, put down even so small a portion of the Enemy’s works. And he could not see any success for the party pledged to try it.
They trotted on, glancing now and then at the distant beacon, which showed no change. There was no other sign that That was awake and aware. The Waste appeared deserted. At daybreak they sighted the glitter of the White Forest’s ruin, and Ayyar picked up one landmark after another. The green valley could not be too far ahead.
“Scout first.” He drew level with Jarvas. “I have been thinking if That does look for true Ift within its country, It could use the valley for a trap.”
“True. Take the point then, Ayyar. I will come in from the north. The rest of you, move with caution.”
There were five others. Kelemark, his small bundle of healing supplies humping one hip under his cloak; Lokatath; Rizak—of their original company; Drangar and Myrik, another Ift volunteer, from the overseas party. Now they all faded into obscurity, using shadows and the rough ground to cover their passing.
Ayyar moved out, intent on reaching the valley, not from the direction of the road but from the south. The shattered spires and stumps of crystal rose about him, and he had to pick a careful way, not as concealed a one as he could wish. He relied upon his nose, and so far none of the stench of the false Ift or That’s other servants had come to his nostrils. But an early morning breeze blew, now and then raising a weird sound in its path across the crystal needles, and those forces might be downwind.
On this side of the green valley the rim was higher. He saw none of the welcome, leafed branches showing above it. Then he reached the edge of the drop, staying as close to the earth as he could huddle, searching all that lay below with a probing eye. To his most suspicious examination there was nothing to signal danger. He found a place that could be descended and started down, these few moments when he would be open against the cliff the most perilous.
He landed, in a leap that brought pain shooting through his thigh, almost knee deep in green growth. Before him were bushes, and he believed he was near that spring with the small pool. Looking up to where Jarvas must come in, he saw a hand raised and lowered and signaled back.
Ayyar moved on under the canopy of the trees. He had rounded one trunk when he came across a trail, and the sight of the crushed and broken vegetation stopped him short. Whoever had passed that way had paid no attention to any obstruction less than a tree, plowing ahead to beat and break a road. And Ayyar did not need to sight those footprints deep in the moss to enlighten him as to the identity of the invader.
One of the space suits, probably of the humanoid type since it left clear footprints, had stamped that path down the valley, one set going and then returning, or so the over-trodden prints spelled out—and some time ago, for growth not quite crushed was rising slowly.
Along that trail Ayyar ran, heading for the narrowed point of the valley, already knowing in his heart what he was destined to find. Those stones he had worked with such care to pile had been scattered in all directions. And the hollow wherein Illylle had been left was empty.
Ayyar stood there, not wanting to believe the evidence of his eyes. His the blame! If he had not left her— Perhaps he could have devised some way of getting her out. But, no, he had gone, leaving her to be found by some servant of That, taken off in bondage. If indeed she was still alive—
“She was there?” Jarvas joined him.
Ayyar nodded dumbly. How long had it been since they had taken her? Perhaps if the Iftin force had left the bay before nightfall—had he done so—it would have been in time.
Jarvas’ hand on his arm tightened, anchoring him solidly to this spot where the earth was scarred by those ponderous beating feet of the space suit.
“Steady!” That was an order, delivered so sharply that the word pierced Ayyar’s turmoil. “What is done”—Jarvas’ words were slowly spaced, as emphatic as that “steady”—”is done. We go on from here—”
“To the mirrors in the burrows.” Ayyar, remembering what he had seen there, twisted in an effort to throw off Jarvas’ grip.
“Perhaps. But what good will it do us—or her—Ayyar, if you run headlong without thought? I do not believe that they can do aught with her while she lies in that sleep—”
Ayyar rounded on the other. “What do you know about it!”
“She fell asleep when she gave unto you what the Mirror had placed within her,” Jarvas replied quietly. “I may not remember all that Jarvas who was once Mirrormaster knew, but I know this much, one who has been a vessel of that kind of power and emptied herself of it for the use of another is still under the protection of Thanth. Remember, you once saw the force of Thanth in action. And around you now, above this valley, lies the evidence of how it wrought here. The nature of That is a mystery. So also is the nature of Thanth, save that we of the Forest know that to call upon it wholeheartedly in peril brings an answer—”
“I am no Mirrormaster,” Ayyar flung at him. “And the memories I hold from the mists of time long past are of death and defeat. Where was Thanth then?”
“Who knows? But dare you, having stood and watched the Mirror rise to our call for aid, say that there is not power to challenge That? You carried that power within your body, did you not? And could you deny it then? I say to you, there are paths ordained for us, each with a purpose beyond our reckoning. If it is possible, then we shall bring Illylle forth again. Do you want my formal oath on that?”
Ayyar’s eyes blinked, but they did not drop. He nursed this new rage in him, drawing from it a kind of strength that cast out all but the shadow of fear.
“At least this thing has left a fresh trail to follow—”
“Which we cannot take now.”
It needed an instant or two for those words to register. When they did, Ayyar jerked free from Jarvas’ hold.
“You may not take it,” he cried, “but I shall!”
“No!”
Again so full of authority was that word that Ayyar paused.
“First the door and then—”
“No!” It was Ayyar’s turn to cry out in denial.
“Yes!” Overriding his refusal, somehow by its very tone holding him there when he would be gone, came Jarvas’ command.
“Show Drangar and the others the rightful door. Then we shall go for Illylle. Do you doubt me?” There was an undercurrent of emotion in the other’s voice, enough to hold Ayyar.
In the end Ayyar won. The sun was rising, and its glare had long since deadened their sight of the beacon, so that they could not know whether that other party had had any success against the sinister rod of light.
Every nerve in Ayyar’s body urged him on, but in the broad day, with goggles for only four of their number, such a journey was impossible. They must wait for night or be fatally handicapped from the start.
He tried to work out some of his restlessness on sentry-go at the rim of the valley, keeping a wary eye on the crushed road that led through the ruined wood. This time no spacesuit sentries rewarded his vigil, nothing stirred on the land or in the air. It might almost be that the forces of That were as bound by day as the Iftin. But there was an expectancy in the air, a tension such as a man might feel while waiting at a barrier for the rush of attack, as if the Enemy drew now upon all stored strength, marshaling forces, moving out Its pieces on the game board that twice in his dreams Ayyar had faced.
The noontime glare was so great that he had to retreat into the valley and seek out green shade to rest his eyes. Lokatath came to him.