Horn Crown

16

“Iynne!”

That we must get from this place filled with a play of unknown forces was the first thought in my mind. The cup I clutched had cooled, no longer giving forth its own glare of light. Even the face on it was fading back into the dulled markings which concealed the power it wielded, in spite of my inept handling.

The girl pulled herself up on the altar stone, her motions still the slow ones of a person aroused from so deep a sleep—so far a venture into dreaming—that she did not wholly focus on what lay about her.

Her hands stroked down over her body to lie below her waist, clasped there as if they pressed against her some treasure past all believing. She began to croon softly, her eyes never lifting to mine, a soft murmur which spun me across years and distance. Just so had I heard long ago in my first childhood remembrances Iynne’s nurse soothe her charge—a sleep-song for a babe.

“Done—” Still she did not appear to see me, her gaze was either turned inward or flew out beyond this place, to fasten on a promised future richer than the moonlight, which was all that clothed her slender body. “It is done! The god has come to me and I shall bear his will. A child who shall be greater than any lord—greater—greater—” Her voice trilled away once more into that croon of a cradle song.

Were her wits utterly cleaved from her? I placed the cup carefully on the ground, shuffled from my shoulder the roll of travel cloak which had been buckled about the wallet cord. Shaking this loose I dropped it around her shoulders as she sat still on the altar stone, smiling so gently, her hands protecting the new life which she believed must lie within her body.

“A son—a son who will ride forth in time to summon Great Forces, who will draw power into his two hands and make of it what weapon is needful for the hour. Greatly have I been honored—”

“Iynne!”

I made her name as sharp a call as I could, wanting to shake her into awareness of where she was and that I was with her. Now her head jerked, turned in my direction. I saw her eyes widen and knew that the illusion which sleep had left her was breaking.

“Elron!” Recognition at last. Her hands went to the cloak, wrapping it about her swiftly. “But—” She stared around her, as if looking to see who had accompanied me here. Then she must have seen those monsters who still writhed, if now feebly, in the hold of the cup’s overpour. I saw her shock. She screamed, her voice shrill and high in the night.

“Elron! What are those?” Contentment was wiped away by a look of fear and loathing mingled. “There is—” I saw her nostrils expand, her head lift a little—”evil here! I must not be touched by that. I bear a god—a son of power within me!”

She scrambled down from the altar to draw back, away from the creatures who snuffled and uttered cries, not of an entreaty, rather of bafflement and weak rage. I eyed the dark beyond the borders of the Moon Shrine. Though the crone had vanished from sight, I could not altogether believe that she had been so easily bested. Anything might lurk out there.

“Elron!” Iynne held the cloak close about her with one hand, now seized upon my arm with her other. “Get me away!”

“Presently. When I am sure there is nothing out there waiting for us.” I could not shake off the grip of her fingers. Holding the cup before me as I would a sword—for in this place perhaps it was a greater weapon than any blade, I edged still farther away from the altar, striving not only to keep in sight the two struggling beast things, but also to make sure that those who had stood by the other two pillars did not return to deny us passage.

There was an odd feeling of lightness, of emptiness, here now. Was it that I had won freedom—if only for a space—from the sorcery that had sent me to make a part in these labors? I could only hope that this was true.

Though Iynne kept still her hold on me, she moved without urging to match her pace to mine. We reached the edge of the shining pavement without any interference. I took one backward step, drew her safely with me, and then half faced around to stare into the darker ways of the night.

It took a moment or two to blink the glare of the Moon Shrine from my eyes, to see what lay in the softer light where those silver rays did not focus so brilliantly. Unlike the smaller shrine I had seen in the dale hills, this was not surrounded by trees or growing things but pavement, though not of the silver-white. Raying outward like the spokes of a wheel were low buildings also of stone.

I half expected to find life there, gathered to watch the ceremony my own coming had so abruptly ended. Nothing stirred. This was a dead place—a long-deserted place—in which only the shrine had life or purpose left.

For the first time Iynne dragged back, twisted away. It was my turn to take her in hold.

“Raidhan!” she called. “Raidhan? Where is she? Why is she gone?”

“Keep quiet!” I did not like the way her call was echoed hollowly back from those silent buildings about us. That we were really free of any company I could not quite believe, and my wariness was warning enough.

“Let me go! Raidhan!” Again she called, and, short of stuffing one end of the cloak in her mouth, I did not see how I could silence her. The cup I must still keep in my hand; I was beginning to trust it all the more than any ordinary weapon. Also I feared if I freed Iynne now she would run from me. I had no desire to hunt her among those dark and empty buildings this night.

“She is gone,” I made what answer I could. If that was the name of the hag I had driven out of the shrine with the Horn cup’s aid, then that was the truth. “Listen.” I shook her a little, to gain her full attention. “You saw those monsters by the pillars, did you not? Well, their like may prowl here. We cannot draw them to us.”

Her answer came fretfully: “I do not understand you. What are you doing here? Raidhan said that the god would take me, that his power was meant to be born again from my body. The Moon Shrine drew me here for no other purpose. That is true! The god came—he took me—”

I had to choose and quickly. “You dreamed. They must have drugged you and you dreamed! There was no god—the Moon Shrine is not his—” I could only hope that what I said was the truth. What had happened before I had been thrust into the midst of that ceremony I had no way of telling, but I believed that it had not been carried to its intended ending. Had those monsters in the temporary shape of men been summoned by the Dark to father on this girl some greater and more evil thing? That appeared to me to be the reason for the rites.

“Let me go!” She was twisting like a serpent in my hold. “You cannot know the truth! Raidhan told me—”

Luckily she was less strong than Gathea. Even with one hand I could hold her.

“If Raidhan was that black-cloaked bag of bones back there,” I retorted, “then she is gone. I would like to hope to some distance! It is best that we do also—”

She fought me hard; I was forced to thrust the cup beneath my belt and use both my hands. Then I managed to turn her, spitting and crying out against me as she was, and march her down the nearest open way, hoping with all my heart that her continued cries would not bring upon us some attack.

The road we followed was paved, while the buildings set along it were low, one story only, and small, with gaping, dark doorways, but no windows. Also the way under us slanted upward, past the length of thirteen buildings before we came to open ground.

Iynne had fallen silent at last; she was crying, sobs which shook her whole body. I could not think but that she was frailer than I had known her. Her body in my hold seemed to be slighter, and I thought that her dragging steps now were not from her desire to remain but rather because she was weak and tired. Then she stumbled and fell against me, so that her head came against my shoulder as it drooped, and I felt her go limp.

This might be a ruse. But I needed a chance to get away from this place of ill omen. So I swept her up in my arms, and went on, climbing up the road at the best pace I could hold to. We reached the rim of the valley and there I was forced to rest, letting Iynne from my arms but keeping her supported against me as I looked back down into that strange place.

The gleam of the Moon Shrine was still bright. But I could no longer make out the two caught against the pillars. Nor were there any other lights, or stirring, in all of that town. The buildings squatted dark and heavy and the roads running between them were open and free. Nothing moved.

Iynne’s heavy sobs had become sighs; she hung in my grasp as if all will and strength had gone out of her. I moved slowly, bringing her with me, to see now what lay beyond.

The road we had followed ran out and on, a dim white line, into the distance. There was moonlight enough, now that my eyes had adjusted from the greater glare in the shrine, to see that the country round about was well covered with vegetation. Trees formed copses, even a small grove or two. There was brush which cast pools of shadow I eyed with growing dislike. Too quickly my imagination could conjure images it was better not to see at all. Though the road might be watched by evil forces, yet at this time it was safer, I believed, than striking off into the open land.

“Can you walk?” I demanded of my charge. To go on carrying her, unable to use my hands for any sudden defense, was folly. Nor had I the least desire to remain where we now were, so close to the shrine.

“You had no right!” She struck out at me and the cloak half slipped from her body. She gave a gasp and caught at it clumsily, huddling it around her. “Raidhan will come—she will not permit you to take me.”

“Can you walk?” I dismissed her warning, for that concern was already on my own mind.

“Yes,” her assent was sullen. But if she thought that I would release her so that she might elude me to flee back to the shrine, she was mistaken. I kept one hand heavy and tight upon her shoulder, pushing her a little before me down that road.

For a time we went in silence. Since Iynne now gave me no trouble, I paid more attention to the fields stretching on either side, alert as I could be to any movement there. So far there was none, save that brought about by the wind which brushed the trees and swept across the ground growth in a steady whisper.

“Why did you come?” The question from my unwilling companion surprised me a little. I had come to think of her as a burden which must be borne, and not a living person.

Why had I? I had never aimed for this place. I had swung off into the unknown because I still owed Lord Garn a debt, repayment for my own folly. That I had found Iynne had been none of my own doing. Nor did I understand why the forces which I perhaps could never truly understand had summoned me here.

“I am kinless, clanless,” I answered. “Rightfully my lord has judged me. Had I not kept silent when you sought the hill shrine you would not be here.”

For a long moment she was silent. Then, when she spoke again, her voice was very low.

“Thus you have come to clean your honor—as a liegeman would say.”

Her speech was not that of the Iynne I knew. It was sharp, quick, with a sly sneer in it.

“I am no longer liegeman, and, as you know, for the kinless there is no honor. I failed at my guard—there is no erasing that.”

“You think to take me back—back to those who do not look beyond the labor of their own hands, who have no power and do not know what witlings they truly are!”

Her voice was becoming louder, more shrill. “I am not a bond maid to be pushed here and there as if I had neither wit nor desire of my own. I am—” She fell silent and I was caught enough by her sharp protest to ask:

“You are what then, Lady Iynne?”

She surprised me with a laugh, again there was slyness, a sneering note in her voice: “Wait and see, kinless, clanless one. You have meddled with matters you cannot touch no matter how far and how high yon would reach. I bear within me now—yes, I a virgin—carry a child! A child of power, and such power as will make him ruler of this world. I was chosen—I am fulfilled! You cannot win me out of this land—try and see! I am a part of its greater force now—”

I thought of that crone and her evil mouthings, of the two things the cup flood had revealed at the shrine pillars. That these were allied, if not in a common bond, then in general spirit, to the Presence of the Black Tower I did not doubt. That Iynne would rejoice in such evil possessing her was a thought I could not hold. She must be truly englamoured; she had not openly chosen the Dark.

Now I slowed pace and taking from my belt the cup, never far from my hand, I held it out before her, turning it so she could look upon the Horned Man’s face. In the moonlight that was bright enough, an if the cold metal of its fashioning somehow sensed what I would do and would aid me in the doing.

“Do you know this, Iynne?”

“Yes, it is Kurnous—the Hunter. But what have you to do with him, Elron?” I caught sheer surprise breaking through the former harshness of her speech. “He is the warden, the protector of the Moon Lady. It was she who summoned me, whose bidding made me thus—”

No, that memory, foul as any stench upon the night air, which I had only partly understood, had certainly not been of Gathea’s Dians, nor of Gunnora, nor of the Horned Lord. Someone had perverted a rite to ensnare my companion. How deeply she was caught within that net I must discover, perhaps for the safety of us both.

“Dians summoned you?”

“Dians?” She repeated that name as if she had not heard it before. “Who is Dians? It was Raidhan—she who is the Elder, the ruler of the moon’s shadow. She is the Wise One, the one who would bring the Great Lord to life, calling me to form a body which he can use.”

“And Gunnora,” I tested yet further, “has she also spoken?”

“Dians, Gunnora!” The petulant tone was back in her voice. “Names which mean nothing—where did you learn them, kinless one? But more important, why do you carry the Horned Hunter’s cup?”

“It was a gift to me. Listen, Iynne, you have been used by Dark Ones. Dians—Gunnora—they are the rightful ladies of the moon. It is their power which this Raidhan of yours has usurped. Could you not tell when you looked upon those monsters back there that you were dealing with the Dark?”

“Your wits are awry!” Once more her tone was shrill. “You are of the Dark—not I! I tell you, I was summoned—I was chosen. I have slept this night in the arms of the Great One. I am his beloved—his chosen vessel—”

Almost she won free of me then, for she swept about and clawed at my face so suddenly I was not prepared. I was left holding only folds of the cloak. Then I lunged forward, pinning her arms, holding her so closely to me that I could see the expression of fear and loathing which distorted her face.

“I will not argue with you.” I knew that at this moment she could not be touched by any reason which I might offer. Gathea—Gruu—at that moment I would have given the sword at my side to have them with me. That they could still be caught in that place of complete dark gnawed at me now that my struggle at the shrine was over. “What remains is that we are alone in a land which is full of ensorcellments and we must stand together or we shall be pulled down.”

Her hands, which had been attempting to fight me off, fell to her sides. She looked from right to left and the moon was bright enough to show me that the shadow of a hunted creature had fallen upon her.

“I was safe—I am safe—Raidhan shall find me!” Only that did not ring as confident as she might have wished it to.

Still she seemed to be through fighting me, and I had no desire to stand in suspect openness on a road which ran directly into a place which, Moon Shrine or not, was befouled by evil. Thus once more, hand on her shoulder, I urged her on and she went without a struggle.

I needed some sanctuary. Everything behind me, dreamlike though some of that seemed to be now, had drained my strength. If I could find a temporary campsite, could I be sure that I might keep Iynne with me if I slept? Perhaps I must go to the limit of binding her hands and feet, thus making sure of her. Nor did I see any wrong in that considering what I had witnessed at the shrine in that forgotten town.

The road took a curve ahead and, out of the land, casting some very dark shadows, stood a series of hillocks which, to my mind, bore an unpleasant resemblance to grave barrows such as the clansmen will raise to a lord whose rule has proven safety in the midst of great disaster. If these were such memorials, the lords of renown here had been many indeed.

The wind, which had caused that constant whispering in the grass and among the leaves of the trees, changed its pathway. Now it came once more from my right hand which I star-judged to be the west. It brought with it a scent which was like that I had once found refreshing in the cup—keen, clear, and clean. Instinctively I faced in that direction, seeking what might promise some link (for so bemused by all that had happened was I that I would accept even scent as a guide now) with the Horned Lord.

A dim track broke away from the road, winding out among the barrows—westward. With no more promise than that scent on the wind should we take that way? It was dappled with shadows as I brought us both to a halt and looked down its length, for the barrows threw their half dark across it.

Again Iynne showed resistance.

“Where do you go?” she demanded. To me it seemed that she was two persons—sometimes the girl of Garn’s House, bidable, meek, but more often the other who was no friend to me and who lusted for strangeness and freedom of another kind.

I was right, the scent I sought was heavier down the vale between the looming mounds. Daring to loose my two-handed hold on Iynne, I brought out the cup and on impulse turned the face of the Horned Man to face in the direction of the path.

I had my answer, and, so accustomed had I now become to things outside my knowledge appearing to help or hinder, I was not too surprised when there was again an awakening of light in the eyes of the face. A twin set of faint beams picked out the direction which lay on into the heart of what might be a vast memorial to long-vanished lords—perhaps even armies who had battled here and buried the slain within the land for which they had struggled.

I heard a swift intake of breath from Iynne, but she made no more objection when I brought her with me from the smooth pavement of the road unto the beaten earth of the side way which was far more like the trails I was used to.

A shadow swept above us. I pulled her up short and against me, looking to the sky. There was a winged thing there, large—that vork which I had fought and which would not die came into my mind. It passed above us, seeming not to pay attention to anything below it. I could not make out its shape clearly; still there was an ominous suggestion that it was no true bird. Though it had been flying straight, it swerved suddenly directly above a barrow ahead, made a quick flapping turn northward. It might have run into some obstruction invisible to us. But the fact that the thing had been so deflected gave me heart, even though I could not be sure that was what had happened. When it had winged some distance away in a burst of added speed, I brought Iynne along as fast as she would follow, though she complained that there were stones which hurt her feet, and that we had no need to hurry.

In and out among the barrows wove that way which had plainly been made since the earth mounds were raised. Now as we passed I could see that great stones crowned some of these. From those there streamed skyward a thin bluish haze, though not enough light to aid us on our way.

I knew that we must find a refuge soon. My thirst was great, and also my hunper. I did not know whether Iynne was in a like state, but I felt her fuller, and it was past my powers to carry her.

At length we came to a burrow which topped the others, stonecrowned, with the bluish radiance rising from the four corners of that stone as if candles stood there, as was done among the kin, set at the four corners of the burial bed for our lords. Looking up I could find no other place where safety might be.

From that crown we could well view the land about, and there was a kind of Tightness in it. He who lay there might be long dead—but he still had his protections, and those who were of a like heart with him could well call upon such in their time also.

Iynne objected to my suggestion that we seek a camp place on the barrow, saying that it was well known that the restless spirits of the dead resented encroachment on their final resting places. Yet when the cup swung in my hand as she strove to pull free, and those twin beams of radiance not only turned toward the mound but grew stronger, she cowered and pulled the cloak tighter around her body, as if it were armor set against some stroke she feared. She said no more but, at my urging, began to climb the slope.

We found the top of the mound had been squared away, with the stone set in the middle of sodded earth like a low altar. As I came those candles of light bent like flames in the wind, pointing toward the cup.

Iynne cried out, falling to her knees and hiding her face in her hands, her tangled hair about her like a second cloak. But I stood tall to listen. For there came sound out of the night. I heard the ring of sword upon sword, the clash of blade meeting shield, shoutings, very distant and faint, some of triumph, some of despair. Then, above it all, rang the notes of a horn—a Hunter’s horn, not such as a keep lord carried as a battle signal. Excitement fired in me; my weariness of body, my hunger, my thirst, were forgotten. With one hand I held high the cup and with the other I drew my sword, not knowing why I did. I was not prepared to face an enemy. No—the enemies here were long gone, and only the triumph remained, clear and steady as the lights which lit the barrow tops. Rather my blade came up in a salute such as I would give an overlord to whom I was a liegeman, the hilt touching my lips as I held it so.

To what—or whom—I pledged myself then I did not know. Only that this was right and fitting. Around me the blue light swirled and spun, and the cup blazed sharply bright, though no liquid flowed from it.

Then it was gone. Swept away perhaps by a wind which was not chill, which carried with it the scent of the Horned Lord’s wine. I felt a loss, a pulling at me—a desire as strong as pain to pass on, to find those who had shouted, him who blew the Horn. Though my time was not yet, so I was left behind.

Slowly I let my sword slide once more into its scabbard. The blue of the candle flames had thinned, only the faintest trace of them remained. Iynne raised her head and stared at me. Her eyes were wide, there was both awe and fear on her face.

“What are you?” she asked.

I answered her with the truth, “I am Elron, the kinless, though—” My voice trailed away. The bitterness of being an exile—it had somehow been leached out of me by all I had met since my feet had been set on the path to the west. I looked back at that Elron and he seemed very young and very empty of mind. Though I knew but little more than he now, still I was aware of my ignorance and that was a step forward.

Iynne pushed her hair from her face as I hunkered down beside her and brought forward my water bottle, the little food which still remained in my wallet. She ate hungrily, making no comment that the food was stale, the water tasted more of the jar than fresh from any spring. We ate together there in the night, the moon and the grave candles giving us wan light. Each of us had our own thoughts, mine turning once again to Gathea and Gruu.

So when I had done I took the cup once more into my hands, brought it breast high and stared down into its hollow as if that were a window—or a mirror. I fastened my thoughts on the girl who had been with me in the Black Tower. This time I strove with all my powers of concentration to bring her to life in a mind picture, as I had the water and the fire of our ordeal in that other world.

It was so hard to hold the picture of her face. She was here and then it faded and was gone. I had finished the quest I had set myself in the beginning. Iynne was with me. Gathea had chosen her own way of her free will. I had no ties upon her nor had she any upon me. Not so! cried another part of me. There will be no rest for you until you are sure that she is again in this world—that she is free to reach for her desire. No rest—yes, that was true.