The Key of the Keplian

18

Mayrin was fumbling at the chains. “I can’t see any locks. How are they sealed?

Jerrany had picked up a link and was following it around his friend. He circled, circled again, traced the links over an arm and around the chair. Finally he looked up at them.

“There are no locks. The chain has no end.”

“Damn!” Eleeri snarled. “They were put on; there has to be a way to take them off again.”

The prisoner smiled bitterly. “You are assuming that my master wanted to take them off. He plans to use me until all I am is gone. Then he will have no need to open the chains. I will no longer be within them.”

But Eleeri came of a people to whom there were no impossible problems, only unfound solutions. Touching the chains with the daggers brought reaction. The chains tightened until Romar gasped for breath. Lift the touch of silver and they slackened once more. At length she stood back.

“Romar, if the Dark lord created these, they must be wholly of the Dark. That is why they react to the silver and to anything else we bear that is of the Light. But they are stronger than anything we bear.”

She paused, thinking. Perhaps their guide could help them. “What is stronger than the Dark?”

“Love,” the creature answered.

“What buys freedom?”

“Sacrifice.”

She leaned forward, her eyes holding his, watching for the slightest evasion now. “What breaks chains to free a living captive?”

“That which you hold in common.”

Into her mind came the answer then, like curtains raised to show the sun. Her dagger flicked into her hand and with one sweep she opened the skin of her arm. Blood spilled over the chains. For one instant they tightened—she could almost hear the creak of Romar’s ribs. Then the black bindings withered, smoking away to nothingness. Her hands went out to lift him up as he took one tottering step forward. Then he was in her arms as his sister and sword-brother crowded about, holding them both.

His face bent to hers. “Tsukup?”

“Indeed.” She was half laughing as tears slid down her face. His finger gathered one in.

“Tears for me? No, now is no time to weep.” He hugged her savagely. “The three of you have done the impossible. Let us compound this and see if we cannot leave this place.”

Their guide cleared his throat. “I can return you to a certain place, should you ask it of me.”

It was Jerrany who understood that first. He straightened. “We ask that you take all four of us to a gate from whence we might come to our own lands again.” Their guide held out a hand and at a touch they were gone. They stood swaying on short thin grass as their heads cleared. Ahead of them a faint mist alternately obscured and partially revealed a dull gray structure. Weathered stone blocks showed in a lichen-daubed archway.

Mayrin stepped back a pace. Her eyes met those of the guide. “I do thank you, good lord of this land. For your courage and your aid. Is there aught we could do for you in return? Your help has been far beyond any poor debt you might have owed us for releasing you from the brambles.”

He hesitated, then nodded. His eyes drifted to the dagger that gleamed softly at her belt. Mayrin freed the sheath, handing it to him, then she drew the dagger.

“This weapon of Light do I freely give to you. Use it with honor. May it serve you as it has served me.” She handed it to him, watching as it was sheathed once more. He bowed low to all of them in turn, then he was gone, loping away over the gray moorland. But as he went, it seemed as if his figure changed yet again, so that they stared at each other in silence.

To Eleeri it appeared as if a coyote had turned to study her with amusement as it left. She knew not what the others might have seen, but in her heart she smiled. The trickster came in many guises, as Far Traveler had always said. But they had dealt fairly and so been treated well in turn. That was as it should be, and as all legends told.

Her friends were studying the gate. It loomed, gray and massive, forbidding above them. Through the ancient arch they could see only mist.

“Well, shall we return?” Romar’s voice was almost happy.

“We can; you cannot.” Mayrin blinked. “We were told that you are only here in spirit. It takes both spirit and body to pass the gate.”

He stared at them blankly. “Then must I remain here?”

But Eleeri’s eyes had opened wide in sudden knowledge. At last there was a purpose for the clay from the canyon keep. Quickly she ran from bush to bush, then dragged out her dagger, cutting free a piece of her tunic. It was Romar who first understood. He nodded, taking the dagger from her to cut a length of his hair and spit upon the clay.

Eleeri twisted grass into thin cord, sewing rapidly. Then she held up the figure modeled from the clay. It bore a tiny dagger rough-carved from a silver wood, and was dressed in leather tunic and breeches.

“And something from all of us,” Eleeri said as she dappled her own blood across the clay, then bound her dagger lengthwise along the cut she had given herself to free Romar. Mayrin added a long strand of her hair, Jerrany spat on the clay even as his sword-brother had done. Eleeri nodded.

She beckoned Romar. “Hold this and do not let go, no matter what may happen. Lead us, Jerrany.”

He strode through the gate, sword at the ready. Behind him Romar was flanked by the women, each fierce-eyed. Light flamed about them in a blinding aura, heat seared, cold burned. But the women’s hands remained clamped to Romar’s arms. They were battered, tossed from side to side. Their fingers ached; it was as though they were dragged time and again against their hold.

Then it was over. Three people stood swaying on a stone floor within a great hall. Above, banners stirred. Mayrin shrieked.

“Romar! Romar! He didn’t come with us.”

Eleeri stooped to take up the clay figure. “He did, you know. Now all we have to do is defeat the Dark lord. Return his spirit, which is contained in this, to his body here, and go home.” She sighed elaborately. “All in a day’s work.”

The giggles that greeted her words were a touch hysterical, but better than outcry. In her hand the clay moved. She placed it on the paving, then watched as it marched forward.

“Where’s he going?”

“In search of his body, I should think. He’d have a better tie to that than any of us.” They fell in behind at a slow walk. None of the passages they traversed were dark. Runes sparkled from the walls as they paced on. The small figure was tireless, but by now Mayrin was beginning to show her own weariness, and Jerrany and Eleeri were slowing. A glance from a window as they passed told them that time had halted in the shadowlands, but now it moved on again, albeit slower than outside the tower. By the sun they had entered this place no more than two hours ago, although days seemed to have passed. Hunger and thirst plagued them all, so that they passed dry tongues over drier lips as they walked.

The pace quickened until the tiny figure before them was running. It halted the flight at a door. Eleeri groaned.

“Not another door. What do we have to do this time?”

Jerrany had opened his mouth to reply when the heavy wood trembled. The door crunched open, as red-tinged light spilled from the room within.

The clay figure darted past Eleeri. She gave a yelp of protest as she followed it in—only to pull up facing a long broad desk. Leaning back in a magnificent chair, the tower’s lord glared at them. At his side Romar lolled, body and face slack. In one swift glance Eleeri saw the clay figure lurking under the Lord’s desk. She moved to the right, drawing the lord’s eyes. The figure scurried forward into hiding behind the chair. Red coals met hers, holding her in their gaze.

“You trespass too greatly on my kindness, woman. It seems I must take stronger action to be rid of you and yours.” He spoke a word of binding. Just inside the doorway, Mayrin and Jerrany froze into immobility. Eleeri herself felt as if her body were wrapped in chains.

She must play for time. Time in which Romar might reunite body and spirit. She yawned.

“Why waste strength on one who could be an ally, Lord? I came to this land and it is barren. I have little, who would have more. What could a mighty lord offer one who could be useful?”

His look shifted to a sudden interest. “You are not of this world. Came you through a gate?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, leaning back thoughtfully. “That explains why you have been hard to take, woman. Your thoughts do not follow quite the same paths. Your gods are different, your beliefs strange. But I am powerful. Do not think to challenge me.”

“I do not. Not yet . . .” she added under her breath. “I merely ask what such a one as I could be worth to you.”

He deliberated. From the corner of her eye Eleeri could see the mannequin climbing Romar’s chair. A strange feeling distracted her then, something familiar. She kept her face blank. Somewhere within these walls friends came to their aid. The sense of knowing grew until she could recognize it.

By now the Dark lord was deep in his considerations. This woman would be most useful to him. With her power, his plans could leap forward. She could not be trusted, but then it appeared she held some value to these with her. He held them motionless, could slay them if he wished. A promise of their safety might bend her to his will. If not, he had other powers.

Eleeri shifted her head a fraction. Jerrany was held still by the Dark lord’s power, but his eyes met hers and swiveled toward the door. So he, too, felt the approach of those they knew. Her eyes shifted back to the chair where Romar lolled. The mannequin came briefly into sight as it reached the top of the chair’s back. It slid into hiding behind the body’s cloak collar. Good. Now if only they could distract the tower’s master for a few vital seconds, they might have something of a chance.

Outside, hooves thudded along paved floors, nearing the doors. Eleeri studied the Dark one. He had made a simple error with her. Even though he himself had said she was different, and although he had seen his powers did not hold her so well, he had still not seen where that might take her.

Her mind focused, tightened into a narrow beam directed straight at her friends. *Hold! Until I give the word.* The sounds outside the door ceased. Sunk deep in greedy thought, the one before her had noticed nothing. Not yet an adept, flawed by pride and vanity, it did not occur to him any could withstand his commands. Finally he lifted his head to stare at her.

She moved her arm, drawing his attention. Blood! She was injured. He could draw on that to bind her now, at once. There was no need to offer her any foolish promises. He swelled in pride as he gathered his strength.

He remembered the day he had stood in the canyon. He had endeavored to use the remnants of power left there and it had backlashed, destroying him. Only his body had died. But it had taken many generations before a wandering hunter had come within reach and he had gained enough strength to take over the man’s body as host for his unhoused spirit. But all the time he had waited, he had grown in bitterness and hatred. Once he had been an adept, then a Dark adept. Then no more than a bodiless spirit howling in the wind. With his new body came growing power—and growing viciousness. But he refused to understand the lesson he should have learned from his past. Still more, he refused to see that his power was only a shadow of what it once had been.

He faced Eleeri, and his mind whispered warnings. He flung them off. What! Was he who had dueled other adepts to fear some wandering outworlder from an unknown people? He would take her spirit, break it to his will. Use her power to augment his own. Her friends would be useful to replenish his strength as well. They could have no ability to match his. They’d returned to him empty-handed; his slave remained chained.

He eyed Eleeri thoughtfully. There was something about her. Some vague familiarity. Then he snorted silently. What of it? She was nothing; they were all nothing. He’d regained a body, regained his own tower. Now they would pay. He flung back his head, laughing openly. Pride roared through him. He was master here. Let the insignificant ones bow to him—before he laid his power on them to compel. His eyes met hers and again the odd familiar feeling stirred. He stared angrily at the three.

Jerrany strained to move; Mayrin beside him struggled and failed even as he. From the corner of her eye Eleeri saw and understood. This task was hers. Her far-kin had opened the path to her; perhaps this was why. The Dark lord was not able to hold her entirely. This last act which would seal her heart and spirit to the land she had grown to love. She concentrated. Her foot slid across the floor.

Seated behind the desk, the Dark one noticed nothing at first. It was not until she had advanced several feet that he saw she moved. But even as he would have laid another spell on her, Eleeri, too, acted.

*Now!*

Hooves crashed against the door as four Keplian heads appeared briefly. The door sprang open a little, then slammed closed in spelled obedience. The Dark one jumped slightly, covering the movement by leaning forward.

“You have friends. They won’t help you. They will merely provide me with more power when I take them.” Hooves slammed solidly into the heavy wood, distracting him. He frowned, bringing his hands up to weave a spell. He’d make the door impregnable. Then he could deal with these inside first. After that, he would go out in his wrath to show those other fools what it meant to storm the tower of a Dark lord.

Eleeri felt his spell against her fade. Not much, just enough to allow her speech now. Under her breath she began to chant. From somewhere in the depths of memory she recalled the words. A plea to the gods to grant strength to a warrior who confronted the Dark forces.

“Earth Mother, aid your daughter. Sky Father, help a warrior.

“Ka-dih, speed my arrows, let my bow not break in my hands.”

She strained to break the power that held her captive. Blood pounded in her head—becoming the drums of starlight. Within that light she could see those who watched. Warriors, black eyes gleaming from where they sat proud horses. Warriors who nodded to her in recognition, war shields and lances upraised to acknowledge another of their blood. Her eyes widened at the salute. The starlight drums rolled louder as deep within she knew pride. Those who were gone returned to account her as child of their blood, true-born Warrior of the Tshoah.

Louder spoke the drums, and louder yet until her head rang, her body swayed to the raging beat of blood and drums. Deeper in her mind than she could ever have recalled consciously, a door slid open. From behind the barrier, words flowed, no ritual chant but one that built on she herself and all she was, and thus its power was greater.

Her feet lifted a little as she swayed, stamping lightly to the surging rhythm. She allowed them to carry her forward a fraction with each stamp of a foot. Strength seemed to trickle into her with each tiny movement forward.

The Tower’s owner was layering the door with spells against the slamming hooves which threatened to smash the ancient wood. His words bound splinters together, froze hinges, jammed locks. Eleeri’s chanting grew louder as she called on the gods of her blood. She felt the answer as power poured into her. For a fleeting moment she knew the fierce pride of those who had ridden the plains, who had been known to all as Tshoah, the enemy people.

Her head came up as her chant grew. The man spelling busily broke off his efforts. His attention slammed back to her as he shouted a word. Eleeri’s voice slowed, but she forced herself to speak. It picked up speed. Now she moved forward, sword wavering in her hand. Despite further spells, her grip remained firm. The Dark one flung in all his power to hold her motionless. He failed. She slowed, but still she came on, his death glinting in her storm-gray eyes. Panicked at last, he lashed out at the wound on her arm. He would drain her blood; that would end this farce. She would learn what it was to confront a superior.

But Eleeri had bound her silver dagger over the injury as she left the shadowlands. On that the Dark one inadvertently drew, so that for seconds he convulsed in agony, silver’s spirit invading his mind. He cried out, concentration quailing, and as it did so, the clay mannikin leaped out from the chair.

The tiny body powdered against the stone flooring. From it Romar’s spirit rose up, entering his body as it lay flaccid against the carved wood. He remained still. He must take all the time he could to become used to it again. To allow strength to flow back into the once-empty shell. His eyes swiveled downward and his lips curved in the shadow of a grim smile.

About him yet he wore his sword belt with scabbarded sword in place. So, the evil one had been amused to allow this empty body to retain the trappings of its warriorhood. Well enough, that carelessness might come to destruction if Romar had his way—and time enough to recover. He relaxed. If there is nothing you can do, do nothing. Fretting wastes strength, or so his arms master had always taught him. He would wait. Hooves still struck at the door so that again and again it shuddered, booming hollowly. The very noise was infuriating the tower’s master. So, too, was this female who dared to move against him. Nor did all his shouted words of power halt her snail’s progress.

He moved back unconsciously, her grimness making him nervous. It was impossible she could reach him, quite impossible. But this silent inching advance was upsetting, as was that thrice-damned noise from the door. He fed power into halting her movements, drawing more from the spell which bound her friends. They appeared frozen in terror. They would keep. It was sufficient to give them back their voices, however, and Jerrany managed to turn his head slightly toward Mayrin.

“Be ready. If they can slay him, remember the gift.”

She allowed her gaze to drop down to where the faint bulge in her tunic betrayed Duhaun’s crystal.

“Yes.”

The increase in power had done nothing. Still chanting softly, Eleeri continued her slow advance. The room was wide, but she had covered more than half the distance. His chair grated against the stone as he shifted it backward once more. The door boomed again and again. He cursed viciously. He would stop that sound if it was the last thing he did. It offended him by its very sound, implying as it did that he was unable to enforce silence. In a fury he drew power from the spell holding Eleeri. He flung it wildly against the door. That would teach those who dared batter at the entrance when he had bade them be quiet. Silence fell at the door, but from where she stood Eleeri’s chant rose again.

She staggered a whole pace forward as the lord of the Dark Tower gaped at her. The sword length gleamed in her slender hands.

“Ahe!” The coup cry of her hard-riding line. The sword’s point brushed the Dark one, the keen blade slicing through cloth and leather to score across the hairless chest. Blood trickled down. In shock, fury, and a sudden deadly terror, the Dark one stared at his own blood. She had injured him—she had dared! He flung himself back as the sword hummed toward him again.

He fell back still farther, frantically searching for something which might halt her creeping advance. With her gone, he could deal with those others who dared oppose him. It was only this one he feared.

The sword sliced at him once more. Again he shifted back, giving ground. The word of power came to mind then. It was risky. It might take him with it, but he had no choice. At least they’d all die with him; none should survive to count a victory. He opened his mouth to shout it in triumph—and choked. The agonizing pain in his back was more than he could bear. He choked again, his head turning sideways to stare at the figure behind him.

Romar had risen to his full height. In two hands he had taken his unsheathed sword and driven it home. Now he slumped against the seat that had been his for too long. The Dark one glared at him in hatred and drew in a final breath. He would not die alone; he would take a revenge such as would be remembered down all the years to come. He opened his mouth to shout the word.

But even as Romar had struck, Eleeri had drawn back her blade again. It sang in flight, the tip slicing across his throat, destroying unspoken the word that might have doomed them all.

Drum thunder bellowed in her head. Somewhere beyond the room she saw the stone-headed lances toss high in salute to true-kin. Her voice lowered, deepened with triumph as she chanted the final words.

Before her the body of the Dark one spilled blood. The light of hatred had faded from his eyes, life from his body as it slipped slowly, bonelessly toward the chill floor. Across the table, her eyes met those of Romar. A faint smile moved his lips. Hers curved in answer.

Released from the spells, Mayrin moved first. Her fingers flashed to tear open the lacings of her tunic. From within she lifted the crystal sent her. Raising it above her head, she dashed it against the floor, watching as bright splinters flew. About them the tower began to shudder. All that had been wrought by the one they had slain was failing. Only Romar knew how much that would be. It was he who seized Eleeri and his sister by the hands.

“We must leave, now and swiftly. There is a backlash of power when a master dies. Best we are gone before it builds too high.” His own strength was still small, but with the women’s aid he could stagger.

Eleeri grabbed at him. “No, look.”

Where the body of the Dark one had lain, mist was rising. A growing mist that shaped into the face of the man it had once been. His eyes flamed rage, hatred, vanity challenged and beaten. But from where the bright rainbow splinters lay, another mist arose. It wrapped the face in mist, enveloped it, closed in smaller and smaller until at last it thinned to reveal—nothing.

Romar breathed in deeply. His voice broke then. “That which was here is gone forever. The tower is cleansed. We have still to evade traps that may remain. But my master is no more.” His hand tightened on Eleeri’s. “I hail a warriorborn. I greet a friend.”

Eleeri grinned. “Save the speeches for when we are out.” Her head jerked around as the door boomed and splintered. Four Keplian heads poked inside.

*Sister, are you going to stand and talk forever, or may we leave this accursed place?* Tharna sent.

Eleeri grinned again and strode to join her friends. Behind her, Romar gaped. They had spoken of the Keplians. She told him of her belief that they had once been created to stand with humans in friendship. But never had he realized the majesty of the great beasts with their now sapphire eyes. Eleeri was hugging all four at once and checking for injuries. She wasn’t sure what that last silencing spell might have done.

*Nothing, battle-sister. It simply forbade the door to make sounds when struck.*

“And he wasted power for that? It killed him.”

Romar chuckled. “Thus does evil often defeat itself—with a foolish indulgence. The noise maddened him so that he used power to silence it. That power used released you somewhat, and your sword in turn drove him back to mine.” He reached out to take her hand. “You know my name, but as yet I do not know yours—only that you have called yourself Tsukup. Will you favor me with it?”

His eyes were warm on her so that she felt her spirits rise. This was a warrior, wise in that he gave credit to another. She had not been able to tell him all the story. He knew not as yet that they were far-kin. But for now that was not what he asked. In turn her fingers tightened on his hand.

“I am Eleeri,” she said quietly. “Now let’s get out of here.” Laughing, he leaned on her shoulder as she guided him through the door.

“I shall look forward to a round tale later. Also the Valley of the Green Silences must hear of all that has happened. But”—his face sobered as he gripped her arm—“I know what you risked to save me. Thanks are pitiful in contrast, but they are given.”

“And unnecessary.”

“But spoken nonetheless,” he insisted gently. “But I would share more than gratitude.”

She glanced up, to meet a look that sent blood to her face. She smiled up at him then. Well, she’d wondered if she was to be the only barren one in her canyon. It now appeared this might not be so. With a light heart, she shouldered more of his weight as they moved down the passage. There was much still to do, and perhaps in times to come, still more to be. But for now let them concentrate on escaping this trap.

Behind them, Tharna sniffed. *I scent water. Battle-sister, would it not be well to drink? The male you aid is weak from thirst.* Eleeri turned and nodded silently, gesturing the mare to search for the source. Hooves thudded lightly on marble pavement as Tharna moved to seek. Her nose poked out toward a circular spot in the blank wall.

*Here.*

Eleeri stepped up to lay the dagger against it. The wall seemed to writhe, then opened in a slow twisting motion. A basin protruded with a spout above. Water poured into the basin as the girl swirled her knife through it.

“No change.” Her eyes questioned the others. “Safe to drink?” Romar nodded slowly, then bent forward, holding the dagger within the basin as he drank. “It seems so. Let us drink lightly and move on.”

They drank one by one as the basin continued to fill. Then all shied back as from overhead came a faint slow creaking. It was as if the roof groaned at the weight of the keep above it. Jerrany glanced up worriedly.

“I think it best we move on. Sometimes when the owner is defeated, the building he commanded falls completely.”

Eleeri shivered. “Then let’s try to keep marching. I’d prefer not to be under this amount of stone if it does fall.” The last of the Keplians had slaked its thirst and Tharna sent agreement. The corridors passed by as they marched. Eleeri had shouldered Romar’s weight again; he could continue to walk, but only if he was aided.

Yet although she was growing weary, she continued to support him, trying to share with him her own strength. Hunger grew, both of body and heart. She felt warmth flow through her where his body leaned against her own. She had little to offer him, perhaps. He was son to a wealthy man, even though that one in his folly had scorned him. She was stranger, not of his blood completely. Would that matter to him? She recalled the moment when their eyes had met over a slain enemy. Nothing had mattered then, nothing but that the enemy was dead and the captive freed.

She prayed silently to the gods now: Let it continue so. Let us be one as more than far-kin.

The corridor was slowly opening out into a wider hall with great windows high along one side. Through these, sunlight streamed, making pools of warmth on the chill paving they walked.