The Stone of Farewell (37 page)

The priest seemed to float above his companions. As the soldiers laughed and talked, Pryrates looked neither right or left, his hairless head rigid as a spearpoint, his black eyes fixed on the gate before him.

Things had truly begun to go wrong when the red priest arrived—as if Pryrates himself had put an evil spell on the Hayholt. Rachel had even wondered for a while if Pryrates, whom she knew had not liked Morgenes, might have burned down the doctor's rooms. Could a man of Mother Church do such a thing? Could he kill innocent people—like her Simon—for a grudge? But the rumors did say that the priest's father was a demon, his mother a witch. Rachel made the sign of the Tree again, watching his proud back as the party ambled past.

Could one man bring evil down on everyone, she wondered? And why? Just to be doing the devil's work? She looked around carefully, embarrassed, then spat in the mud to ward evil. What did it matter? There was nothing an old woman like her could do, was there?

She watched Pryrates and the company of soldiers ride out through the Nearulagh Gate, then turned and began trudging toward the residences, thinking about curses and cold weather.

The late afternoon sun slanted in through the trees, making the thin leaves glow. The forest mist had finally burned away. A few birds trilled in the treetops. Deornoth, feeling the pain in his head diminishing, stood up.

The wise woman Geloë had nursed Einskaldir's terrible wounds all morning before leaving him at last to the ministrations of Duchess Gutrun and Isorn. The Rimmersman, feverish and raving while Geloë had applied poultices to the arrow-spites in his back and side, now lay quietly. She could not say if he would live.

Geloë had labored the rest of the afternoon on the other members of the company, treating Sangfugol's festering leg wound and the many injuries the rest of the party had suffered as well. Her knowledge of healing herbs was wide and her pockets were well-stuffed with useful things. She seemed certain that all except for the Rimmersman would be quickly improved.

The forest on this side of the hill-tunnel was not much different from that which they had just left, Deornoth thought—at least in looks. The oaks and elders grew close here, too, and the ground was powdery with the remains of long-dead trees, but there was something different in the heart of it, some faint grace or inner liveliness, as if the air were lighter or the sun shone more warmly. Of course, Deornoth realized, it might only be that he and the others in Prince Josua's party had lived another day longer than they had expected.

Geloë was sitting on a log with Prince Josua. Deornoth started to approach, then hesitated, unsure of his welcome. Josua smiled wearily and waved him over.

“Come, Deornoth, sit down. How is your head?”

“Sore, Highness.”

“It was a cruel blow,” Josua said, nodding.

Geloë looked up and briefly surveyed Deornoth. Earlier she had scanned the bloody wound in Deornoth's scalp where the tree limb had struck him, then pronounced it “not serious.”

“Deornoth is my right hand,” Josua told her. “It is good that he should hear all this, against the chance anything should happen to me.”

Geloë shrugged. “Nothing I will speak of is a secret. At least, not the kind we should keep from each other.” She turned for a moment to watch Leleth. The child sat quietly in Vorzheva's lap, but her eyes were fixed on nothing visible, and no words or caresses from Vorzheva could arouse her attention.

“Where do you think to go, Prince Josua?” Geloë said at last. “You have escaped the vengeance of the Norns, at least for a while. Where will you go?”

The prince frowned. “I have not thought of anything but winning our way to safety. I suppose if this—” he waved his hand at the forest clearing, “is a place of refuge against the demons, as you say it is, we should stay here. ”

The witch woman shook her head. “Of course, we must stay until all are well enough to walk. But then?”

“I have no idea yet.” Josua looked at Deornoth, as if hoping for some suggestion. “My brother stands victorious over all the lands of the High King's Ward. I cannot think of who would hide me under peril of Elias' anger.” He slapped his left hand against the stump of his right. “All our chances seem to have come to nothing. It was a poor game.”

“I did not ask the question innocently,” Geloë said, rearranging her seat upon the log. She wore boots as a man did, Deornoth saw, and well-traveled boots at that. “Let me tell you of some important things and you will be better able to see the possibilities. First of all, before Naglimund fell, you sent out a party in search of something, did you not?”

Josua narrowed his eyes. “How could you know?”

Geloë shook her head impatiently. “I told you when we met that I knew both Morgenes and Binabik of Yiqanuc. I also knew Jarnauga of Tungoldyr. We were in communication while he was at your castle and he told me much. ”

“Poor Jarnauga,” Josua said. “He died bravely.”

“Many of the wise have died; there are few left,” she answered him. “And bravery is by no means the province only of soldiers and nobles. But since the circle of the wise is growing smaller with each such death, it has become more than ever important that we share knowledge among ourselves and with others. So it was that Jarnauga passed on to me all that he did after reaching Naglimund from his home in the north. Ah!” She sat up. “I am reminded of something.” She raised her voice. “Father Strangyeard!”

The priest looked up at her call, uncertain. She gestured for him to come and he rose from the harper Sangfugol's side and approached.

“Jarnauga thought highly of you,” Geloë said. A smile crossed her weathered features. “Did he give you anything before he left you?”

Strangyeard nodded. He produced a glittering pendant from beneath his cassock. “This,” he said quietly.

“I thought so. Well, you and I shall speak of it later, but as a member of the League of the Scroll, you should certainly be part of our councils.”

“A member . . .” Strangyeard seemed astonished. “Me? Of the League... ?”

Geloë smiled again. “Certainly. Knowing Jarnauga, I'm sure it was a careful choice. But as I said, we shall talk more of this later, you and I.” She turned back to the prince and Deornoth. “You see, I know about the search for the Great Swords. I do not know if Binabik and the others have succeeded in their search for Camaris' blade Thorn, but I
can
tell you that as of a day or so ago, the troll and the boy Simon were both still alive.”

“Aedon be praised,” Josua breathed, “that is good news! Good news in a time that has been short of it. My heart has been heavy for them ever since they set out. Where are they?”

“I believe they are in Yiqanuc among the trolls. It is hard to explain quickly, so I will say only this: my contact with young Simon was brief and did not allow much discussion. Also, I had a message to give to them that was most important.”

“And what was that?” Deornoth asked. As pleased as he had been at the witch woman's arrival, he now found himself a little resentful at how she had stolen the initiative away from Prince Josua. It was a foolish and presumptuous worry, but he wanted very much to see the prince leading in the way that Deornoth knew he could.

“The message I gave Simon I will also give to you,” Geloë responded, “but there are other things we must speak of first. ” She turned to Strangyeard. “What have you found of the other two swords?”

The priest cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, “we ... we know altogether too well the whereabouts of Sorrow. King Elias wears it—a gift from the Storm King, if stories we heard are true—and it goes with him everywhere. Thorn, we think, is somewhere in the north; if the troll and the others still live, I suppose there is hope they may find it. The last one, Minneyar, once King Fingil's sword—but dear me, you must have known that, of course—well, Minneyar seems never to have left the Hayholt. So two ... two ...”

“Two of the swords are in my brother's hands,” Josua finished, “and the third is being sought in the trackless north by a troll and a young boy.” He smiled worriedly, shaking his head. “As I said before, it is a poor game.”

Geloë fixed him with her fierce yellow eyes and spoke sharply. “But a game, Prince Josua, in which surrender is not an alternative, a game which we must play with the pieces we have drawn. The stakes are very large indeed. ”

The prince sat up straighter, raising his hand to silence Deornoth's angry response. “Your words are well-spoken, Valada Geloë. This is the only game we can play. We dare not lose. So, is there more you would tell us?”

“Much you know already, or can guess. Hernystir in the west is fallen, King Lluth dead and his people taken to the hills. By treachery, Nabban is now the dukedom of Elias' ally Benigaris. Skali of Kaldskryke rules Rimmersgard in Isgrimnur's stead. Now Naglimund is cast down and the Norns haunt it like ghosts.” As she spoke she took her walking stick and drew a map in the dirt before them, marking each place as she spoke of it. “Aldheorte Forest is free, but it is not a place for men to come together in resistance, except perhaps in the last hope, when all else is denied them.”

“And what is this, if not the last hope?” Josua said. “This is my kingdom, Geloë, as you see it, all gathered here within a stone's throw. We may hide, but how could we challenge Elias with so few, let alone his ally the Storm King?”

“Ah, now we come to what I said should be saved for later,” Geloë answered, “and also where we speak of matters stranger than human wars.” Her gnarled brown hands moved quickly, sketching once more on the ground beside her boots. “Why are we safe in this part of the forest? Because it is under the ward of the Sithi, and the Norns dare not attack them. A fragile peace has stood for countless years between the two families. Even the soulless Storm King, I should think, is in no hurry to rouse the remaining Sithi to action.”

“They are
families?”
Deornoth asked. Geloë turned her fierce stare upon him.

“Did you not listen to what Jarnauga told you at Naglimund?” she demanded. “What use is there in the wise giving up their lives if those for whom they sacrifice do not listen?”

“Jarnauga told us that Ineluki—the Storm King—was once a prince of the Sithi,” Strangyeard said hurriedly, flapping his hands as if to fan away strife. “That we knew.”

“The Norns and Sithi were for eons one people,” Geloë said. “When they went their separate ways, they divided Osten Ard between them and promised they would not cross over into each other's fields without warrant. ”

“And what use is this knowledge to we poor mortals?” Deornoth asked.

Geloë waved her hand. “We are safe here because the Norns tread carefully along the borders of the Sithi lands. Also, even in these diminished days there is a power in such places that would make them hesitate in any case.” She looked fixedly at Deornoth. “You have felt it, have you not? But the problem is that we ten or eleven are not enough to fight back. We must find some place safe from the Norns, but also a place where the others who resent your brother Elias' misrule can find us. If King Elias tightens his control over Osten Ard, if the Hayholt becomes an unbreachable stronghold, then we will never pry loose the Great Sword we know he has, or the other that he may have. We do not fight sorcery only, but also a war of position and placement.”

“What are you saying?” Josua asked, his eyes intent on the witch woman's face.

Geloë pointed at the map with her walking stick. “Out here, beyond the forest to the east, run the meadows of the High Thrithings. There, near the site upon which the ancient city of Enki-e-Shao‘saye once stood, along the border between woods and grassland, is the place where Norns and Sithi parted ways forever. It is called Sesuad'ra—the Stone of Farewell.”

“And ... and we would be safe there?” Strangyeard asked, excited.

“For a time,” Geloë responded. “It is a place of power, so its heritage may keep us safe from the Storm King's minions for a short while. But that is good enough, for time is what we need most—time to gather those who would fight back against Elias, time to bring our scattered allies together. But most importantly, we need time to solve the mystery of the three Great Swords and find a way to fight the menace of the Storm King.”

Josua sat and stared at the line-scratched dirt. “It is a beginning,” he said at last. “Against all despair, it is a small flame of hope.”

“That is why I came to you,” the witch woman said. “And that is why I told the boy Simon to come there when he could, bringing any who were with him.”

Father Strangyeard coughed apologetically. “I'm afraid I do not understand, Goodwoman Geloë. How did you speak to the boy? If he is in the distant north, you would not have been able to get here in time. Did you use messenger birds, as Jarnauga often did?”