Year of the Unicorn

5 Trial by Spell

“I give you good fortune.” Herrel was smiling too as he raised cup in formal courtesy and sipped of the sparkling amber fluid it held.

“But,” I returned, low voice, “that may not be...is that what you must say? If so—why?”

He drank out the cup to complete the fair-wishing, and I drank in turn, but over its rim my eyes held his.

“For several reasons, my lady. First, this was not meant be worn, by any of you—” Herrel put his hand to the cloak which still spread a shimmer of glory about my shoulders. “By Pack Right they could not deny any the weave-spell. But neither did Halse, or Hyron, believe that mine would draw a bride. You have chosen ill, Gillan, for in this company I am the least—”

He said that easily, as if no shame or hurt lay behind his words, but as if some sentence had been passed upon him and accepted.

“That I do not believe—

“Smile!” He broke a bit from a cake. “You speak from courtesy, my lady wife.”

“I speak what is mine to say.”

And now it was his turn to fall serious, and his eyes searched my face, looked into mine as if he would indeed enter into my mind and shift the thoughts there, both those I knew and what other lay beneath them. He drew a sudden deep breath—

“You are mistaken. I have been wrought in such a way that I fumble where others move easily to their goals. I am of their blood, yet within me something has gone awry so that the powers I use may sometimes be as I wish, and other times fail me. Thus, you have come to a man who is held by his fellows to be less than they.”

I smoothed the cloak about my shoulders. “It was this which drew me, thus it would seem that this time your power did not fail.”

Herrel nodded. “So have I stepped where I should not tread—”

“And this is a reason to fear disaster?” But I did not think he feared, this was no rear-line warrior, whatever else he might deem himself.

“You know not.” He did not say that sharply. “But I would have you learn at this first hour that there may not be a clear road for our riding. Twelve and one brides did we bargain for, but near twice that number are in this war band. We left it to the spell that our destiny be read, but there are those who will not accept what does not match with their desire. Also—war captive from overseas you have named yourself, and then fosterling in the Dales. But you are not of High Hallack blood, none of them have the true sights. Therefore you may be far kin to us—”

And not of humankind therefore? questioned that within me which had awakened and thirsted to grow.

“I know not who I am, Herrel, save that my memory is of being captive on a vessel of Alizon, thereafter being taken by raiders from the port. I came here of my own choice, replacing one who dreaded it—”

“Let no one else suspect that you possess the true sight. In these late years that which is not of us is mistrusted—perhaps doubly so for one who took up my cloak.” He looked down into the wine in the cup as if some picture of the future might be mirrored there. “Walk softly in the night when the enemy sleeps nearby. Do I fright you with raider talk, Gillan?”

“Not greatly. I do not think I need hold a mirror before you for my protection.”

“A mirror?”

“A mirror to kill demons. Seeing themselves their fright kills or repels them. See, I am learned in the ancient lore.”

And this tune his laugh was no matter of study and need, but came lightly.

“Perhaps I should have the mirror, my lady. But I think not, for one so fair need only look in such to learn how much she pleases.”

“Is this—” I was warm of cheek from such a speech as had not ever been made me before, “your camp?”

“For an hour or two.” Still he smiled and I knew he read my discomfiture—which added to it. But courteously he spoke now of other things.

“If you look for a snug keep to sit between you and the air, or the walls of a great hall, then you will search in vain, my lady—for the while. We have now no home save the waste—”

“But you go from here—that was part of the Bargain! Where then do we ride?”

“North—yet farther north—and east.” His hand was on his belt, fingers upon the milky gems of its buckle. “We are exiles, now we are minded to turn homeward once again.”

“Exiles? From what land? Overseas?” It might be true then that we were distantly of one blood.

“No. Afar perhaps in space and time, but not sundered from this land. We come from a very old people, and those of High Hallack from a new. Once we had no boundaries on our far-faring. All men and women held a sway over powers which could build, or serve according to their wishes. If one wished to savour the freedom of a horse running before the wind, then one could be that horse. Or a hawk or eagle in the heavens. If one wished raiment soft and silken for one’s wearing, jewels for the bedecking, under will they were his, to vanish when he tired of such. Only, to have such power and use it ever brings with it a great weariness, so that in time there is naught left to wish for, no new delight for one’s eyes and heart and mind.

“This then is a time of danger, when those who grow restless turn from the known to the unknown. Then may doors be opened on forbidden things and that loosed which can not be controlled. We grew older, and more weary of mind. And some of the restless and yet curious tried other ways of amusement. Indeed did they loose what they could not rule, and death, and worse then clean death, stalked the land. Men who have been brethren now looked upon their fellows with suspicion, or hate. There was killing, sword-blooding and with it another kind of killing which was worse.

“Until, after one great battle there was set upon us all a bond. Those who were born among us from that time forward with a restless spirit, they must issue out of the land to which our kin withdrew and became wanderers. Not by choice—though some did choose so—but because they were deemed to be disturbing to a peace which must be kept or our breed would perish. And they must wander for a set number of years, until the stars moved into new patterns. When that was accomplished, then once more they might seek out the gate and ask for admittance. And if they could pass the testing there—then they would know again the homeland of their kind.”

“But the men of High Hallack say that always since they have pushed into this country have they known the Riders—”

“The years of man and our years are not one and the same. But now the day comes when we may essay the gate. And whether we win or fail, we shall not let our breed die. Thus we take brides from among men, that there will be those after us.”

“Half blood is not always as great as full blood.”

“True. But, my lady, you forget that we do have powers and arts. Not all the changes we can make are to confuse the eye only.”

“But will their eyes continue to be confused?” I glanced about me. Those who had preceded me were rapt, ensorcelled, so that they looked only upon those with whom they shared cup and plate. Whether this was for good or ill, I could not tell.

“For now,” he said, “they see what they are designed to see, according to the desires of those whose cloaks the wear.”

“And I?”

“And you? Perhaps, if more than one will was bent to the task, you might see at another’s bidding—‘but that I do not know. I only say, with all my cunning as a warrior, it is best that you pretend to see. There are those within this company who would not welcome a will they believed they could not dominate. Fortunately, my lady—”

His change of tone and word were so abrupt that I was startled and then alerted. Someone approached us from behind. But taking my cue from those about me, I showed no sign of knowing this, and I looked only to Herrel as if he alone meant anything in a narrow world.

He who had come up behind me stood silently, but from his very presence there flowed a vast, disquieting cloud of—hate? No, this emotion was too contemptuous, too self confident for hate. That we save for those who are our equals or superiors. This was the kind of anger one directs at lesser things which have crossed a will which believes it should have no limits. And how I knew this I could not have said, save that within this enchanted place perhaps emotions were made keener by design, and mine, not having been snared in the set trap, thus scented out the stranger’s.

“Ah, Halse, come to drink bride cup?” Herrel looked up to the one who stood behind me. There was no unease open in him. But once in Norstead village at a feasting I had watched a wrestling match. And it was said that those who pitted their strength against one another so bore ill will, so the battle was not in sport or play. Then I had witnessed that small narrowing of the eyes, that stiffness of shoulder for the instant before they sprang at one another. And so was I sure that this Halse was no good friend to Herrel, but one of those whom he expected might show anger that his cloak-spell had succeeded. But still I schooled myself to watch only Herrel, with the bemusement of the other girls.

“Bride cup?” Derision on that, laid over anger. “For once it would seem, Herrel the Wronghanded, you set a spell aright. Let us see how well you set it—what kind of a bride came to your cloak!”

In one fluid motion Herrel was on his feet. He was weaponless yet it was as if he stood with bared steel to take up the challenge the other had so plainly flung at him.

“My lord?” Had I put into that the proper amount of wonder? It would appear that I must continue to play the part of one I was not. Putting forth my hand I caught at Herrel’s where it hung by his side. Under my touch his flesh was cool and smooth. “My lord, what’s to do?”

Exerting unusual strength he drew me up and then I was at last able to turn and face the other. He was perhaps a finger taller than Herrel, and, of the same slim and wiry breed. Yet his shoulders were the wider. In general appearance though he differed only from his troop-mate in that his breeches and boots had been fashioned from a rusty brown fur and the belt around him had small red stones to its clasp. But beneath the general resemblance of one to the other—for they might have been brothers, or at least close kinsmen—there was a parting of spirit. Here indeed, I thought for a moment almost wildly, I might well raise my demon repelling mirror. Anger, arrogance, a self-belief so great that he deemed naught in the wide world could withstand his will were Halse’s. And to me he was one whom I would have fled as a small frightened mouse-thing would flee the strike of a hunting owl. But that very fear worked within me to build ramparts for defence.

“My lady.” Herrel’s hand still held mine in a warm, sustaining grip. “I would make known to you this my fellow Rider. He is Halse, the Strongarmed.”

“My lord,” I strove valiantly to play well my role, “friends and comrades of yours are high in my sight and regard—” The words were formal but perhaps that was not wrong.

Halse’s eyes glowed not green but red. And his smile was like a whip laid upon bare skin for those who could see.

“A fair lady indeed, Herrel. Luck has played you good wisher this time. And what think you, my lady, of luck’s efforts?”

“Luck, my lord? I do not know what you mean. But by the Flame,” thus did I retreat upon the language of the Dales, “I have grasped great happiness this hour!”

Now I had aimed whip lash, though I had not intended so. He continued to smile, but under that stretching skin and lip boiled emotion he kept in check—so much emotion that I began to wonder if more lay behind him exchange with Herrel than that explanation given me

“May it continue, my lady.” He bowed and stepped aside, going with no more farewell.

“So be it.” commented Herrel. “Now, I think, we face war. And for your own sake, Gillan, guard your tongue, your smiles, your frowns, your very thoughts! Never did Halse believe that he would be one to ride hence unaccompanied by a cloak-mate, and to have me succeed where he failed sets him double afire.”

He held out his hand again and I noted that those about us were also rising, their feasting done.

“It is time to go?”

“Yes. Come—” He set his arm about my waist and drew me with him, walking as all those other couples under the flowering trees and out of the bower, to a place where horses stood.

A shaggy pony of the hills, sure footed and yet slow of pace, had carried me here. But these mounts were far different. They were strangely dappled of coat, grey and black so intermingled that unless they made some movement they were hidden in plain sight because of their melting into the winter landscape, for we had passed once more from spring to winter.

Tall were these horses of the Riders, thinner of body, longer of leg than any I had seen in the Dales. Their saddle cloths were furred and the saddles smaller, less cumbersome. All suggested a need for speed. Some wore packs, though I noted that, just as we had left behind all that had been in the tents, so also we appeared to abandon that which had refreshed us in the bridal valley.

Herrel brought me to one of the mounts and it swung its head about, surveying me as if it were no mere beast, but carried intelligence akin to mine in its narrow head.

“This is Rathkas, and she will serve you well.” Herrel told me.

Still the mare looked upon me in that measuring fashion. I stepped forward and laid hand upon her shoulder. She shivered throughout her body, then throwing up her head she whinnied. Around the other horses looked at me.

Herrel moved quickly, laying his hand above mine on the mare’s neck. She dropped her head and looked no more at me, while the others also lost interest. But I saw Herrel’s lips were tight set, and once again his eyes held the wrestler’s watchfulness.

“Guard.” he made a whisper of that word as he aided me to the saddle. And he glanced over his shoulder, but it would seem that none of those near us had marked that small happening.

Thus we rode from our wedding. Though I did not feel that I was truly bride, nor Herrel groom. It was plain that such doubts were not shared elsewhere in that company. So once again I was set apart from those whose life I was destined to share. This was no amble of a pony in the hills, this was a swift, tireless covering of ground at a pace I had not thought possible for any four-footed creature. Though none of the mounts showed any signs of distress at holding to it as time passed. Time, also, took on a different rhythm—hours—what hour held us now? I could not truly answer that. It had been morning when we come to the place of the cloaks—was it even the same day? For I had the feeling that the Riders might, with their bedazzlement also alter time at their pleasure.

Perhaps there was that in the food and drink which we had shared that banished both fatigue and hunger for a space as we did not rest nor eat. We rode—through the night, and into the day, and again into night. Horses did not tire and the hours were part of a dream, flowing together. I do not believe that any of the others marked any passing of time, for they rode with tranced faces in which a kind of delight had frozen. And this also I tried to maintain, though it was hard, for I could not hold long to the surface sight, my will not being equal to my desire.

Those such as Halse, who had gone unpartnered from the wedding, mustered at the head and rear of our party, as if set on guard against danger. But though the land was wild and barren, we saw no life through the miles. Bleak though that country was, I saw so little difference between it and the lesser dales, that I wondered why it was spoken of always as “the waste”, a word which brought to mind desert unfriendly and sealed to man. Here were open plains with the brittle brown grass of yesteryear covering them, showing in hillocks through light snow. And there were tree copses and brush.

No, it was not the land itself which did not welcome man, it was rather what brooded over that territory. For as we rode I knew a heaviness of spirit, a fear, of what did not know. This grew the more with every mile, until I had to summon power of will against crying out, that my voice might break that shadow spell.

We came at last to higher ground and here I saw first the handiwork of man, for a wall of boulders had been yet up, standing perhaps the height of two men or a little ore, roofed above with an untidy thatching of tree limbs and brush. Or so I saw it. For I heard Kildas say:

“My lord, fair indeed is this hall!” Then once more I put will to the task of seeing as the Riders would have me see. Thus I, too, rode into a court—where stone was cunningly wrought and finely carved wood roofed the buildings set around. Herrel arned to me, saying:

“This is our biding place until we go hence, my lady.” As I dismounted all the fatigue which should have been mine from the hours behind rne, struck, and I think I would have fallen had Herrel’s arm not been there to steady me. Of the rest, it was a dream of which I could not sort out true or false, a dream which became sleep indeed...

Until I awoke in the dark! And beside me there was quiet breathing so that I knew I had a bedfellow. I lay taut and tense to listen. Save for that come and go of breath there was no sound. Only I had come from sleep at some summons, the call was still clear.

It was very dark, I could see only denser shadows against the lighter. Moving with caution I sat up in bed, harking ever for any change in that small sound to my left. The room was warm as if a fire blazed on a hearth where there was neither flame nor fireplace. I wore my shift only yet I was not chilled—not outwardly. But in my body there was a spreading cold. All of a sudden it was very necessary to see—to see not only the room, the bed, but most of all what lay upon that bed and slept so soundly. My bare feet were on deep fur, skins must make a carpet. I moved on one step at a time, sweeping my hands before me lest I stumble against some piece of furniture. How did I know that somewhere before me lay a source of light and that would satisfy my desperate need?

A wall—across its surface my hands moved with haste which was not of my conscious willing. A window—surely this was a window—shuttered and with a bar across. My fingers tugged at the bar. I thrust at the shutters, sending them flying open. Moonlight—it was very clear and brighter than I had ever seen it before, so bright as to dazzle my eyes for a moment. “Ahh—” Voice—or snarl?

I turned to look to the bed I had left. What lifted heavy head and looked at me green-eyed? Fur, sleek and shining fur, the fanged mask of awakening fury—A mountain cat, yet not a cat—but also death. The lips wrinkled, showing even more the fangs meant to tear, to devour—It was horror beyond any horror I had ever dreamed upon.

This—this you have chosen!—

In that moment by the words which rang in my head did evil defeat itself. Maybe with another it would have succeeded—but for me that broke the spell. And what I looked upon now was two, one over lying the other, furred hide above smooth skin, a beast mask over a face—only the green eyes were not two but one. And if they had flashed battle on their opening, now did they show intelligence and knowledge.

I went towards that thing which was now beast, now man. But because I could see the man I was no longer afraid of what shared my chamber. Though of that which had awakened me, sent me to the window—of that I was frightened.

“You are Herrel—” I said to the beast-man. And with my speech he became wholly man, the beast vanishing as if it had never been.

“But you saw me—otherwise—” He made a statement, he did not question.

“In the moonlight—I did.”

He moved, out of the bed until he stood at its foot.

Faced towards the door I could now see, he moved his hands in the air, at the same time uttering words in a tongue I did not understand.

There was a glow by the door which was not silver clear as the moon, but carried the green tinge of the Rider lamps, and from that glow were two small runnels of light, one to the bed where he had lain, the other to my feet.

Once again I witnessed the mergence of man and beast, this time because of anger burning in him. But control won and he was man again. Herrel caught up a cloak and threw it about his shoulders, went to the door. Then, his hand already set to the latch, he looked back at me.

“Perhaps it is just as well—” he could have been arguing with himself. “Yes, it is better—Only,” now he did speak to me, “let them see that you have had a fright. Can you scream?”

What play he intended I could not guess, but I had faith in his wisdom for us both. Summoning up what art I could, I screamed, and surprised myself with the shrill note of terror I put into that cry.

No longer was the building silent. Herrel threw open the door and then ran back to me. His arms drew me dose as one who would comfort and his whisper in my ear suggested further display of terror on my part.

There was more outcries, running feet, and then lamp light Hyron was there, looking at us. Captain of the Riders I had seen him only at a distance, now he wore the face of a man wanting a satisfactory explanation.

“What chances here?”

Herrel’s moment of counselling aided me. “I awoke and was warm—too warm. I thought I must open wide the window—” Now I raised my hand uncertainly to my head as if I felt faint. “Then I turned and saw a great beast—”

There was a moment of silence and Herrel had the breaking of it.

“Look you—” that was more order than request. He pointed before me to where that green line crawled across the floor. Faded now from our first sighting though it was, it was still visible.

Hyron looked, and then, grim faced, he raised his eyes again to Herrel.

“You want sword right?”

“Against whom, Captain? I have no proof.”

“True enough. And it would be well not to seek it—in these hours.”

“Do you lay that upon me?” Herrel’s voice was very cool and remote.

“You know where we must ride and why. Is this the time for private quarrels?”

“The quarrel is none of my provoking.” Hyron nodded, but I felt that his assent was given reluctantly, that he had taken the matter ill, as though this was some trouble pushed upon him which only duty made him consider seriously.

“This game or others like it must not be played again.” Herrel continued. “There is no nay-saying cloak-spell. Did we not all swear to that, weapon-oath?”

Again Hyron nodded. “There will be no trouble.” And that also rang like an oath.

When we were again alone I faced Herrel in the moonlight.

“What arrow was aimed at us this night?” But he did not answer that, rather did he look at me very searchingly and ask:

“You saw a beast, yet you did not flee?”

“I saw a beast and a man, and of the man I had no fear. But tell me, for this was clearly sent by malice, what chanced?”

“A spell was set, to disgust you with me, perhaps to send you running to another who waited. Tell me. Why did you seek the window?”

“Because I was—ordered—” That was it! I had been ordered from my sleep to do just that. “Is it Halse?”

“It might well be. Or there are others—I told you, none believed that you or any woman would choose my cloak. Having accomplished this. I have in a little belittled their power in their own eyes. Thus, they would like to see me fail now. By frightening you with shape change they would drive you away.”

“Shape change—Then you do wear this guise when it is needed?”

But to that he did not answer at once. He went to the window and looked out into the silence of the night.

“Does it give you fear of me to know this?”

“I do not know. I feared, yes, when I first saw—But with the undersight perhaps you will always be a man to me.”

He turned back to me, but his face was now in shadow. “I promise you this weapon-oath, Gillan, willingly never will I fright you!”

For an instant only did I see fur on his shoulders, a mountain cat’s muzzle in place of his face? But I willed to see a man, and I thereafter did.