Silent, Mayrin crouched to write it in the dust that drifted now in a thin film on the stones. Eleeri understood. She had long since learned the power of a spoken word in this land. She drew it into her, spoke it in her mind several times over until she was sure of it. Then she straightened and approached the pillar. The light had settled so that she could see there were runes indeed. The last of them was the name. This she traced gently with her finger, then she sucked in a breath.
She spoke it. Light came then in a rush like lightning. Power roared and it seemed as if some presence opened drowsy eyes to study them. She stood firm, allowing it to see, to know who they were and what they did in this place. It was gone, but in turn she saw Mayrin stagger, then Jerrany as it searched out truth. It withdrew as quickly as it had come.
At their feet runes brightened one by one, showing a path. There was a sense that while they were not unwelcome, their absence was to be preferred. But to Eleeri there was yet one thing to do.
She stepped forward, speaking conversationally as if to a friend. “You did not ask, but I am far-daughter to those you might have known.” Into her mind she brought the faces of those who had once held the canyon. She felt the sudden surge of power, of interest. Carefully she allowed her mind to picture all that had happened on the day the mists had permitted her entrance. She shared her grief that she had not known more of them, had kin for less time than her heart had asked.
Now the power was alive, seeking to know her whole story. It winnowed swiftly, seeing her arrival into this world, her meeting with Tharna and Hylan. Then it returned to watch and listen again as her kin acknowledged her as far-daughter and heir to their place. It sifted through her dreams of Romar and she could feel a dim anger that evil dwelled above its resting place.
As Romar had said, sharing is a two-way road. In turn she knew that there was little here of the person who had long since gone. Most of the power had drained away. The man this had once been had moved on seeking another home, but still some remnant had remained in the place he had loved. The man could not return, but his power had been very great. He could yet be a giver of gifts.
Her head shook slowly. “We ask nothing save passage and no ill-wishing.”
Amusement at her pride. Then a memory. Her far-mother had been kin to him. Let the daughter of his line take up her right. Light motes rose to fall gently across her, weaving themselves into a covering that wholly embraced her before fading. Into her mind came words. She listened, agreed. If this one was truly of her blood, then kin-right was laid upon her. She raised her dagger and watched as the light motes sank into it. Her head turned.
“Jerrany, Mayrin, unsheath your weapons.”
In turn they, too, saw the glittering points of light drift out to cover first them, then the upraised daggers.
Eleeri faced the pillar, now bowing but as befitted a warrior. “Sleep well, far-kin of my far-mother. What I can do, I will.” She lowered her dagger until it pointed at the stone. “Earth, Mother. You heard my promise.” The dagger lifted to point upward. “Sun, Father. You heard my words. Let me die within a season if I lie.” Her hand came up in a brief warrior salute before she turned, leading the way forward.
Behind her there was a gentle sliding sound as the pillar crumbled to dust. The runes still held light, but the three humans and Keplian must hurry, already it began to fade.
They trotted swiftly. Where the stones allowed it, they ran, dropping back to a trot when the path roughened again. Neither of her friends asked what that last speech had been about. It was none of their business, and power was an ill thing to offend. The stallion had made no sound and now he merely paced before them. Eleeri grinned to herself. They were a motley group, in truth, but maybe their very diversity would help to confuse their enemy.
Now of a sudden their road sloped upward. They passed through an arch and halted abruptly. All turned to look. At their very heels a rough rock wall faced their gaze.
“Well.” Jerrany ran fingertips across the harsh surface. “I gather we won’t be coming back this way. There’s even a different feeling in the air.”
Mayrin nodded. “This is no longer the place of our friend’s far-kin. This is the enemy’s home and our battleground. Let us go forward, for now there is no retreat even did we desire it.” Her face hardened. “And that I do not. Romar is ahead. He shall be freed or I shall die in the doing of it.” Her eyes met those of her husband.
He nodded grimly. “Your brother, my friend and sword-brother, neither of us turns back now. But what of you?” His gaze touched Eleeri.
She sought for words to make them understand. Then—“I am geas-ordered and bound by my own oath. Better I die in battle than betray either.”
Before they could ask further, she strode forward. Shod in soft calf-high moccasins, her feet were soundless on the smooth floor. Her friends followed, and none of them thought it strange that the stallion ahead made no sound as his hooves met the hard marble. He seemed rather to glide, nose seeking toward the walls. Then he signaled.
“A door?” Jerrany moved up to look. “Yes.” He thrust gently with no result. Studying it, he hooked fingers into a carved rose and pulled back. The door swung open, allowing them a glimpse of a roiling mist that began at once to creep toward them. With a shiver he allowed the door to swing closed again.
“Not that one, I think. Spread out. Look for others.”
They obeyed, something in the feel of the long corridor making them keep silence. Twice more they opened doors which showed them nothing they sought. One opened into a vast waste of scrub, sand, and hard-packed pebbles. The air was dry and heat smote them savagely. The other opened into snow, whirling in great flakes above a black and bitter sky.
Eleeri had been walking, running her fingertips along the wall. Under them a break caught her attention. She moved in, eye intent. A prancing Keplian was carved deep into the door’s surface. She beckoned Pehnane. He looked at it. Something in his eyes was sad as his nose touched the nose of the carven beast. The door swung open.
They gazed in. Mayrin would have cried out then and run forward but for Jerrany’s grip.
“Be still, beloved. Bait a trap with what the prey desires most. Better we look this over well before we walk into a spider’s den.”
He tugged her backward, a jerk of his chin sending Eleeri to the doorway to look within. She studied the figure that lolled in the chair. To her eyes it was Romar, but—she peered closer. This Romar looked a little too well fed, too well cared for. His clothes were of good quality, his hands soft. She nodded at that. Soft, yes, but not the softness of one who had done no work with them these last months. They were the softness of one for whom they had never been bruised on labor. The wrists were not the strong-tendoned sinewy strength of a horseman, but lay weak and limp in the figure’s lap. Softly she pointed this out to Mayrin as the woman strained against her mate’s grip.
“It is not Romar.”
“Then who?”
Jerrany guessed, “A fetch, a made thing to lure us in.”
His wife shook her head. “Perhaps not. I have heard of images made without features. Look you at the way it is dressed. That could be the clothing of either sex.”
Eleeri raised her gaze and began to concentrate as she ordered, “Turn your eyes away, quickly. Do not look until I say.”
She called Cynan to memory. He was gone, his spirit in the lands he sought. She could do it no harm, but his memory might now aid them. Slowly she drew from her mind the memories. Cynan as he sat cross-legged teaching her the languages of this new world. Cynan as he groomed one of the ponies, big hands gentle on the rough hide. Cynan as she had seen him last in life. His arm upraised in farewell, his body clad in her gifts. Into that last she allowed her grief to flow. Then she stepped to front the open door. Before her on the seat Cynan lifted his head to beckon her in.