"That was kind of him."
"He wishes to wed you."
"I know."
"And?"
"I am afraid I am ill-suited to be Lom's wife. Anyone's wife, for that matter," she added with a trace of bitterness.
"No one? What of the boy Collun?" asked Hanna.
Brie shook her head. "I doubt whether he even calls me friend." She swallowed the rest of the hot cyffroi.
As they broke camp Hanna said to Brie, "Where do we journey, Biri?"
She told Hanna about the bell tower.
"And where does this bell tower lie?" asked Hanna as they mounted their horses.
"I have no idea," Brie answered, her good spirits restored.
But each night Brie dreamed the bell tower again. And each time the figure came closer, though its face was yet obscured. It appeared to be moving across water, on top of it, and she thought it was a man.
***
They had turned inland, heading east as well as north, at a diagonal. It was familiar terrain to the Traveler. They stopped in only two villages, preferring to keep to the countryside. The Dungalans they encountered were fearful. In addition to rumors of sumog infestations up and down the coast, many reported seeing bands of goat-men moving north. As yet there had been no gabha attacks on Dungalans, but many had lost farm animals to them.
Hanna and Brie crossed the meandering Tyfed River several times, once by means of an enormous moss-covered tree-trunk bridge. And they passed through the Stags of Menhooley, a cluster of large standing stones atop a flat-topped, grassy mound.
Hanna did not seem concerned that they followed no set course, though she occasionally teased Brie. "I've always had an affectionate spot for the horse Araf," she said, "though I'm not sure I would have chosen her as trailblazer."
"Better Araf than me," muttered Brie. But they both guessed, without speaking it out loud, that it was the fire arrow that led them.
***
It was twilight, a murky, fog-laden twilight. They made camp in a stand of trees, aged wild oaks with crinkled leaves and fissured bark that had a wizened air of secrecy. Hanna and Brie were both quiet as they ate. The animals were quiet, too, and there was a muffled stillness all around them.
When Brie slept that night, it was deeply.
She was gazing down into a valley. In the center of the peaceful valley lay a lake and from the lake rose the bell tower. The figure of the man was stepping off the surface of the lake onto the grassy turf. He gazed up at Brie and beckoned. Come.
Brie awakened and rose, taking care not to disturb Hanna. Quietly she picked up her bow and quiver and began to walk through the sessile oaks. She moved deliberately, silently. After walking some time, she finally arrived at the edge of a bluff, where she could see down into the valley below. The murky predawn light faintly illuminated a tall stone building with a cone-shaped roof rising from a small islet in the lake.
The bell tower, she thought, half certain, half unbelieving.
She started down the slope, her legs knifing through wisps of fog as she descended. The tower rose straight and bare with only a few windows, narrow black rectangles placed irregularly along its length. Brie could see a tall arched entrance door at the base.
As she drew closer, through the drifting fog, Brie could make out the figure of the man standing at the edge of the lake. Just as in her dream, he moved slowly toward her.
Her eyes were fixed on the man's face. But even as other aspects of him became clear—his black tunic and soft gray trousers, the golden sword buckled at his side, even his gold hair—his face remained obscured. At first Brie thought it was the fog, but then she thought something must be wrong with her vision. The harder she tried to focus on his face, the less she could see it, as if spiderwebs were stretched over her eyes. She rubbed them, but the filmy blur remained.
"Welcome." The voice was deep and rich and warm, promising unbounded hospitality: a haven of comfort, ease, and refreshment after a long journey. But there was an undercurrent of something else.... What was it? she wondered. Satisfaction, as though something planned for a long time had come off as expected.
FIFTEEN
The Man with No Face
The man's warm, caressing voice wrapped around Brie, drawing her closer. But still his face was blurred, shifting.
"I have waited long," he said, and Brie's hand was enveloped in his. She was being propelled toward the lake. Somehow the man with no face had taken control of her limbs, the effect reminding her of the paralysis caused by a morg's touch, except that this was not a cold, spreading numbness but a hot prickle, as if the blood inside her veins were being heated by a flame. Terror caught at her somewhere deep inside, but she could not stop herself from moving forward.
The benevolent voice said, "Here, let us cross to the bell tower."
Even with the stunned, burning feeling in her limbs, Brie faltered. Perhaps the man with no face could walk on the water, but she could not.
He gave an indulgent laugh. "There is a pathway made of stone just under the water. An underwater wall, if you like, an amusing contrivance wrought by the original owner. I will not let you fall."
And indeed, like a master puppeteer, he guided Brie's feet across the stone pathway. The water came up almost to her knees and was so opaque she could not see her boots. The path had been constructed with a devilish ingenuity, twisting and turning in such a way that, on her own, it would have taken half the day for Brie to navigate it.
Finally they stepped up onto the islet, and the man led her to the tower's door. There were carvings above the arch, faces with protruding eyes and tongues thrusting out, and the surface of the door was covered with runes.
The door was slightly ajar, and the man pushed it open, leading her into a round, dim room lit by flickering lanterns. The man pulled the large door shut behind them, then went around Brie to a spiral stairway. Unaccountably, Brie's legs bore her up the stairs behind him. It was a narrow, claustrophobic, unlit space, barely as wide as her shoulders. Once they were out of sight of the entryway, they moved upward in complete darkness.
They climbed silently, the only sounds their breathing and their feet on the gray stone steps. On and on they climbed. Surely we will soon reach the top, Brie thought. But they did not. Instead they came to a landing, which was lit by lanterns that revealed three closed doors. Even here they did not pause, continuing their ascent of the circular stairway. They passed many such landings and many closed doors. It did not seem possible to Brie that the tower could contain so many.
At last the man stopped, on a landing that had only one door. Unlike the others, this door bore a mosaic inlay of gleaming white and gold tiles. Withdrawing a large golden key from a leather pouch at his waist, the man opened the door.
Inside was a sumptuous, beautiful room, gleaming everywhere with gold: gold brocade curtains, elegant enormous tapestries worked with golden thread, luxurious gold velvet rugs, tables and chairs with ornate gilt legs. A soft warm light glowed from dozens of intricately wrought, gold lanterns. A golden table was spread with plates of biscuits and cakes, and carafes of honey-colored wine. ;
"Please," the man with the blurred face said, pulling out a chair, "you must be weary after your long journey."
Brie wanted to protest, but even as she tried to form the words, her legs were moving, bearing her across the room to a gold velvet chair with golden legs.
Before she sat, the man took her bow and quiver. "You will not need these." He placed them on a gilt table near the door.
Again she tried to protest and again she could not.
Returning to the table, the man filled two plates with food, poured two golden goblets of the honey-colored wine, and said with a smiling voice, "Do eat. You will find you can move your arms now." The hot prickly feeling suddenly left Brie's arms, though remained elsewhere. But she did not eat.