“Are there? I am too old to meet anything more troublesome than Drede.”
“Coren,” Sybel said, “I should go to Eld Mountain for my books.”
“I know. I have been thinking about that, too. We can leave tomorrow if you want, make a slow journey in this beautiful season.”
Rok’s voice rumbled in his throat. “It may be dangerous. If Drede does not trust Sybel, he may be lying in wait for her at Eld, expecting her to return for her animals.”
“I do not have to go for them,” Sybel said. “They can come themselves, when there is a place for them here. But I must have the books.”
“I could send Eorth and Herne for them.”
She shook her head, smiling. “No, Rok, I want to see my house again, my animals. I will call Ter, and he can spy for us. If there is any danger, he will warn us.”
They left for Eld Mountain at midmorning the next day. The winds came cold from the icy peak of Eld, raced across the unbroken plain of the bright sky. The trees in the inner yard were beaded with the hard, dark buds of new leaves. Rok and Eorth went out to watch them leave, their great cloaks billowing like sails in the wind. Eorth said in his slow, deep voice, holding Sybel’s stirrup as she mounted,
“Ceneth and I could go with you, Coren. It may be wise.”
“I,” Coren said, “would like a few days of peace and privacy with a white-haired wizard woman. Do not worry about us. Sybel will transfix with one eye anyone who dares accost us.” He turned his horse, one hand raised in farewell, and like a bolt out of the blue sky Ter landed on his arm. Rok laughed.
“There is your guard.”
Coren grimaced at the taut, heavy grip. “Go sit on Sybel; I will guard myself.” He glanced at Sybel and fell still, seeing the look pass from woman to bird like a bond. Sybel gave a murmur of surprise.
“What is it?”
“Tam. He left Mondor this morning for Eld Mountain. I wonder that Drede let him go. Unless—”
“Unless,” Rok said, “Drede knows nothing of his leaving. Extend an invitation of our hospitality to Tam, if you see him.”
“We had him once,” Coren said briefly. “And we lost him. Let it be.”
Rok smiled. “I am sure Drede has trained him well. Besides, when you reach the Mountain, he will no doubt be on his way home again. Go. Enjoy your journey. Send Ter to us if you need help.”
They rode slowly across Sirle, through the forest land, spending the night in a tiny farmhouse on the very edge of the Plain of Terbrec. They reached Eld Mountain in the early afternoon of the next day. The winding road was damp with melted snow; the Mountain blazed against the blue sky; winds, tangy with the scents of snow and pine, tasted like some rare wine. Sybel drew back her hood, let her hair stream like white fire in the wind; the brush of its chill drew blood beneath her clear skin. Coren caught her hair, wound it through his fingers, drew her head back and kissed her, and sunlight splashed hot on her closed eyes. They rode to the white hall and found the gate unlocked.
Tam came out to meet them.
He walked slowly, Gules Lyon at his side, his eyes wide, uncertain on Sybel’s face. She slipped from her horse with a startled exclamation.
“Tam!” She went to him, took his face between her hands. “My Tam, you are troubled. What is it? Has Drede—has he done something?”
He shook his head. Her hands dropped tight to his shoulders. “Then what?” His face was winter-pale, smudged; his eyes rimmed with sleeplessness. He put his hands on her arms, then looked past her to Coren, who had dismounted to take Sybel’s horse.
“Is he angry with Drede?”
Her fingers tightened. She said quickly, startled. “He knows nothing. But you, Tam, what have you learned? How?”
He shook his pale head wearily. “I do not understand anything. Drede said you were going to marry him, and I was happy, and then he—suddenly something frightened him, and he would not speak of you; and when I told him you had married Coren, his face went so white I thought he would faint. But I touched him, and he spoke, and—he is so frightened it hurts me to see him. So I came to you to see if—what he was frightened of. I knew you would come, if Ter told you I was here.”
“Tam, does he know you are here?”
“No. No one does.” He looked over her shoulder as Coren came to them and said stiffly, “I see one of the seven of Sirle. I am taught to fear you.”
Coren said gently, “Ter sits on my shoulder and takes meat from my fingers, leaving the fingers behind. To him I am only Coren who loves Sybel.”
Tam’s hands dropped from Sybel’s arms. He sighed, his face loosening. “I hoped she would marry Drede,” he murmured. “Are you alone?”
“Ter is with us,” Sybel said. “It is fortunate for you Coren’s brothers did not come. Tam, half of Eldwold must be looking for you for one purpose or another. You should not run around Eldwold as freely as though you were still herding sheep barefoot with Nyl.”
“I know. But Drede would not have let me come, and I wanted to see you, to know—to know that you—that you still—”
She smiled. “That I still love you, my Tam?” she whispered. He nodded, his mouth crooking a little ruefully.
“I still have to know, Sybel.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Sometimes I am still a child. Shall I take your horses?” He took the reins, murmured soothingly to the horses as he led them to the shed. Sybel dropped her face into her hands.
“I am sorry I ever brought him and Drede face to face,” she said tautly.
Coren drew her hair back from her bowed face. “You could not have kept him safe forever,” he said soothingly. “He was not destined by birth or the circumstances we created at Terbrec, for a quiet life.”
“I would bring him back with me to Sirle except he would not want to come. He needs Drede. And I will not use Tam to punish Drede.” She checked suddenly, hearing her words, and lifted her head to see the bewilderment in Coren’s eyes.
“Punish Drede for what?”
She drew a breath and smiled. “Oh, I am beginning to sound like Rok or Eorth, talking about Terbrec.”
“Have they been troubling you?”
“No. They have been very kind. But I do have ears, and I have heard the language of their hate.” She bent to Gules Lyon, standing patiently before her, and looked deep into his golden eyes.
Is it well with you?
Well, White One, but I have heard a disturbing tale about that King. Tell me what must be done and I will do it.
Nothing. Yet. I am taking all of you to Sirle.
We expected it.
She rose, a little taut smile on her lips. Coren said softly,
“You seem so far from me sometimes. Your face changes—it is like a clear, still frame, powerful, untouchable.”
“I am no farther than the sound of my name.” She took his hand and they walked to the house. “Gules said they expected to be moved. I am glad Rok wants them.”
“Rok, my sweet one, is shrewd.” Cyrin Boar greeted the opening door and he stopped, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Cyrin. You see how I have overcome a mountain of—glass.”
The silver-bristled Boar said in his sweet voice, “Have you? Or did the witch remove it herself for her own purposes?”
“No doubt I did,” Sybel said quietly. “For a purpose I could not resist any longer. Cyrin, we are going to Sirle.”
The Boar said privately, Does he know to ask why?
No. I will not have him troubled. Put a guard on your wise tongue.
Who will guard the tongue of the Wise One of Sirle when his blind eyes open?
She was silent a moment, her fingers tight on Coren’s hand. I ask only for your silence. If you cannot give it, and you wish to be free, I will free you.
Caught between the riddle and its answer there is no freedom.
“Sybel,” said Coren, and she came back to him. “The Lord of Wisdom is at times disturbing,” she said softly. “But you know that.”