“They are drawn-“
I stood up, away from the pillar. He did not move to aid me down from the mound, it was as if he were held prisoner there. But I came to him and held out my right hand, the left still grasping tight the prism.
“Your sword, champion.”
Herrel moved stiffly, as one who fought some force, to hand me that blade. So we waited by the fire. The moon lighted the road, but nothing moved along it that I could see. After a while Herrel spoke again-sounding as if he stood afar from me and not within touching distance.
“They are coming.”
How near, how far? When must I put on such armour as a few drops of golden liquid would give me? I thumbed the stopper out, held the prism to my lips.
“They are swift-“
I drank. It was acrid on my tongue, unpleasant. I swallowed quickly. The road was no longer empty. Beast and bird did not lope or fly as I had expected, in spite Herrel’s warning, but a multitude of shapes, ever changing-A mounted warrior who dropped to be a belly crawling thing out of nightmare. A scaled dragon who rose to be a man, but one with wings upon his shoulders and the face of a demon. Ever changing-I realized I had been over-confident. How could I find Halse in all this throng mocking me with their disguises? If the moly did not aid my undersight then, indeed, were we defeated before we ever did battle. I strove to fasten upon one figure, any figure in that weaving of dissolving and reassembling forms. And then-
From the hand which gripped the hilt of Herrel’s sword sprang runnels of blue fire, dripping down the blade. And I saw-
There was a web of changing forms, behind which was a company of man-like beings, concentrating upon holding the sorcery screen they had wrought.
“I challenge you!” Though I knew not the words of custom, I spoke those which came naturally.
“All or one?”
Did that buzz in my ears, formed by no man-voice? Or was it only a thought answer which came so to me?
“One, letting all rest upon that.”
“And what is’all’?”
“My other self-sorcerers!” Grimly I held to the undersight. Halse, yes, I had found Halse-to the fore and left of where I stood.
“Do you name names, witch?”
“I name names.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed in all?” I pressed.
“In all.”
“Then,” I pointed with the sword to Halse, “do I name among you Halse!”
There was a greater weaving of their shadow disguises, a rippling-Then it vanished and we stood facing men.
“You have named a name rightly,” Hyron stood forth. “How do you challenge now?”
“Not mine this challenge. It is another’s right, all resting upon it. “ My hand slid from hilt to blade. I passed the sword to Herrel so that his fingers could grasp the hilt and he took it from me eagerly.
“So be it!” Hyron spoke as if he pronounced a doom, and clearly he meant that doom to rest upon us and not those in his company. “Pack custom?” That he asked of Herrel.
“Pack custom.”
Men moved swiftly. Hyron took the cloak from his shoulders, laid its glossy horsehide lining down upon the pavement of the road, its dun-grey surface uppermost. Harl and three of the others doffed their helms, set one on each corner of the cloak, their crests facing inward.
Some feet beyond the edge of the cloak men set up four sword, points wedged well to hold them upright, and other cloaks, rolled rope fashion, were laid to connect each, forming a square.
Halse put aside his cloak and the baldric of his sword. He stepped now on to Hyron’s cloak and Herrel moved to face him. Halse smiled as I had seen him do and hated him for-as one who has only to stretch out his hand to take what he wants, no one saying him nay.
“So she has more power than we thought. Wrong-hand. But she has made her mistake now-in choosing a sword and you to wield it.”
Herrel did not answer, and there was no expression on his face. Rather did he watch-Hyron who had moved into the centre of the cloak between the two fighters.
“This is the field. You will match swords until blood flows, or one or the other of you be driven over the battle line. By moving so only one foot, it will be deemed he who does so had fled-and full right yielded to the other.”
Then he turned his head and looked to me.
“Should your champion lose, then you are fully subject to us. And what we wish shall be done.”
I knew what he meant-they would give the remainder of my life to their false Gillan. So did he lay the greater burden of more fear on me. But I hoped that he could not read that in my face, and I tried to make my voice steady and cool as I answered:
“When your champion goes down to defeat, my lord, then you shall render freely to me what you have stolen. That is our bargain.”
Though I had not made that a question, he replied.
“That is our bargain. Now-“ in his hand he held a scarf and this he flashed up and down in the air, leaping away from the cloak and its guardian square.
I am no warrior who knows the proper use of the blade, each nicety of thrust and parry, the art of sword mastery. And I had thought, after the brush with the Hounds, that the Riders went to war as beasts who needed no such schooling. But it would seem that though they used claw and fang, they also knew steel.
They circled, ever watching, now and then thrusting as if to try the enemy’s skill or strength. And I remembered a bit of war knowledge which I had heard at the Abbey-stead table when kin of the refugee ladies came a-visiting-that it was always best to watch a man’s eyes rather than his weapon-
The slow beginning erupted in a flurry of blows aimed and parried, a wild dancing to the clash of steel meeting steel. Then, retreating, they once more circled. Whether Herrel was accounting himself well, I did not know. But no blood flowed and, although he had put one foot off the cloak, he had beat his way back with speed.
For a short time was I so dazzled by that murderous play that I did not sense what else was going on. Perhaps it was the power of the moly which awakened that other acute sense in me. Halse willed his sword hand on the cloak, and so did Herrel. But outside there was a uniting of wills. Perhaps that ill wishing could not reach and weaken Herrel physically and prepare him for the finishing stroke, but it hung as a fog working for his defeat. And, if he were sensitive enough-A man’s belief in himself can be delicately poised. All his life Herrel had thought himself less than whole. His anger, our need had worked upon him to refute that. But should seeds of doubt begin to grow?!
I had used my will as a tool-to see-to hold the guard in the hall, to fight the Hounds, to carry me to Arvon. Now I strove to make of it a buckler against the desire of the Pack. And because I had my own fears, this was a thing nearly beyond my doing.
My undersight was failing. Monsters ringed in that fight. I saw not two men with swords in hand, I saw a bear reared upon hind feet, reaching great furry arms to catch and crush a cat which snarled and wove about it.
“You-“
So sharp was that demand for my attention that I jerked my eyes from the fight to look at him who so hailed me. A stallion-a man-a monster stretching forth great crab-claws to my hurt.
“Hyron,” I named a name and saw a man.
You can not win, witch, having chosen a half-one for your service-
The Captain of the Riders was turning his whip of defeat now to my beating, his thoughts thrusting at me as those swords thrust and cut on the cloak field.
I have chosen the best among you!-Confidence, and I must feel that as well as give lip, or thought, service to it.-This is a man!-
A man is not a Rider. He fronts those who are more than men-
Or less-I retorted.
You fool! Look upon your hand which had held the sword. In the moonlight my fingers were pale, thin, with an odd transparency about them. And swiftly Hyron gave me what he hoped would be the death blow to my aid for Herrel.
You waste. Each time you use your power now, witch, you waste. She grows the stronger! You will be shadow soon; she all substance. And what then will any victory here avail you?-