She turned away. This thing was a mockery of her old friend. She longed to destroy it, but her duty as a warrior was to her friends. She would have explained, but they had guessed.
“It wears now the face of the one you called?”
“It does.”
“Then the question is, do we attempt to destroy it or pass by?” Jerrany queried softly.
“Pass by. I think it is only bait; it has no power of its own. If we are not called by it, it will wait for others to come,” Mayrin answered. “The true question is, does it have some way of telling its maker that a trap has failed? If so, it is best we hurry.” Wordlessly Pehnane moved on. They followed in haste and silence.
The corridor wound on without windows, but Jerrany was sure it rose a little with each circle. A feeling of apprehension began to possess him. About him as he walked, the walls glowed. At first the light was unnoticed; then it brightened. Eleeri gave a small cry as Pehnane faded. She ran forward to pick up the pendant.
“Why? Why would he leave us now?”
Jerrany turned, searching for a reason. “The walls,” he said quietly, “look at the walls.”
Fire crawled up the ancient stones. It smoked, leaving filthy black trails behind the dull crimson glow. He advanced a hand cautiously. “That’s power, not real fire; there’s no heat.” He glanced ahead, then back at the pendant in her hand. “Maybe he can’t pass this as he was. You can carry him past as a pendant, though.”
“Maybe.” Eleeri was worried. “But I don’t like the look of it.”
Mayrin stirred. “Nor I, but we have only two choices. Go back or go on. I will not leave here without Romar.”
Eleeri shrugged. “We go on, then, and the Light be with us.” She marched forward, followed by Jerrany, Mayrin in the rear, daggers at the ready. They padded slowly along as the fire grew about them. The blackness spread rapidly until the whole of the way through which they now walked was black laced with the fire trails that formed runes on which they did not wish to look. From the floor a mist began to rise. It, too, was black, shot with the lacing of dull crimson that was now all that gave light. Eleeri drew her dagger and dropped the pendant into the empty sheath. She was drawn. Now that she thought about it, she had had the feeling for several minutes. Ahead lay the caller, Romar or another.
She reached out with her mind as she had learned to do with the Keplians. The calling seemed to strengthen, but she could not be sure. She allowed his face to rise in her memory. Then, walking slowly, she brought up the image of her dagger. This she touched to the face. The power flowed in with a rush.
She caught a warning. There was danger ahead, but here in the tower time was not as it was outside. If they moved forward steadily, did not falter, there was yet a chance they would be in time. Romar’s strength was draining; that which dwelled here drew hard on him in its efforts to halt the battle far to the north. It would take much to turn its attention back now. Many of the tower’s defenses were automatic. If they could pass them, they might come to its core unnoticed.
The sending faded, but not before Eleeri had read the weary disgust at his being so used. She clenched her hands. Better dead than enslaved to the greater Dark. If all else failed, she would pray to Ka-dih she could give a clean death as her only gift.
She turned to speak to her friends. Behind her the mist curled and shifted. There was no sign of them. She cursed savagely.
She’d allowed herself to be distracted. Could she have taken a turning they had not? Or had something crawled out of the walls and dragged them in? In a place like this, you couldn’t be sure. She would have walked back, but something told her then it would be a mistake. Maybe that was the idea, get her tearing back along the way they’d come so she would forget why they were here. She set her teeth. She’d made a promise. She’d go on, alone if need be, and pray her friends found her again. She gripped her dagger and marched on, face toward the faint thread that called her.
The mist deepened, darkened, as out of it figures came. For a moment her steps faltered, then sturdy common sense came to her aid. These were dead or in another world. They could not be here. They were scarecrows raised to turn her back. She would not be so turned. Ahead of her Cynan bent a bitter smile upon her face.
“I loved you as a daughter. I trusted you and you left me to die alone.” The accusation stung. She had thought long and hard before she had left the Karsten hold. Had she gone to be free of him? Her head came up. No! Her reasons had held then as they held now. Cynan himself had agreed, sent her on her way with goodwill.
She faced the figure now. “I grieve that I left you. I grieve that you died alone. But I bear no burden for my choosing. It was yours also.”
“Because I saw I could not turn you aside.”
She shook her head. “Because you loved me. Love shuts no doors, holds not the loved one captive. I have not called you here. Go now with my love and good-wishing.” She walked resolutely forward as tears ran down her cheeks. The figure faded back into the mist and was gone. Another formed ahead. She flinched as the mean eyes fixed on her: her uncle. Mist formed a second figure to stand by him: her aunt. Cynan she had loved, therefore she had spoken gently to his image. These she had hated.
She walked forward, giving no way to them. They must let her pass or halt her as they could. She met them breast to breast as chill crept through her. Their hands gripped her wrists. Long-remembered insults hissed into unwilling ears. They despised her.
But she was no longer a child. This was a trick, an evil that sought to turn her from the proper path. She would not be driven back by these tatters of an outworn pain. She willed their fingers to loosen. Her dagger lifted to lie as a bar between them.
“I owe you nothing,” she said quietly. “As you gave nothing, so I owe nothing. I did not call you; I do not hold you here now. Be free of me as I am free of you.”
She knew then that it was true. They had feared her strength, hated her for the spirit that did not break. She had been the stronger all along. An unwilling pity rose as she met their gaze. They thinned and were gone as her emotion made itself known. Against fear or hatred they could stand; against pity they had no shield.
Then came the figure she had expected. Far Traveler with the eagle feathers in his braids. Before her he twisted into horror. Rotting flesh on brown bone. Breath stank from exposed teeth as his voice slid into her ears. Behind him came another: the pinched face of the social services woman. It was her voice that overrode.
“Now I’ve found you, you’ll have to come with me, girl. The law says you can’t live alone so young.”
Eleeri hit back with an angry retort. The power below had given warning. Emotions could be both a weapon and a danger. She reached for calmness.
“I’ve lived here for years now. I am not a child anymore. The law has no claim on me and you have no power here.” She felt the old fear as the figure seized her arm. “The law is against you,” she repeated. “You have no law to back you in this. You stand alone.”
The figure hunched its shoulders nervously. It looked at her in disbelief. Eleeri gathered herself and flung her words at it.
“You walk in the paths of legality. Would you act against it now?”
The figure shrank back. With a look of puzzled anger, it shook its head. She was a social worker; the law was her work.
“Then leave, or you shall face the law itself that you break.” It seemed to shiver, falling in until there was no more than another coil of mist.
Eleeri faced her last challenge as her hands went out to take those of her kinsman. Tears flooded down her face as she embraced him. She ignored the stench, the appearance; this was her protector, her teacher, her blood. She listened as he began to speak.
“Eleeri, Eleeri I named you, and strange are the paths you have chosen to walk. But there is no need for further struggle. Come with me and rest. Be my daughter’s daughter once more.”