to recognize and use them.”
“Strength of mind, strength of arm-that’s one thing, Arane,” said the king slowly. “But there is something going on in this world that I don’t like. Kardan’s Mirror-seer is gone, and, though I didn’t tell you this before, so is the Weaver. He’d been right there in his cave-or her cave, some would say-since I was a boy, and the stories say many generations longer than that, but when I went up to ask him where Roric had gone, it was as empty as though no one had ever lived there.”
Kardan lifted his head sharply from watching the waves. If wild creatures of voima were growing bolder and stalking this world, and if those who interpreted the powers of voima to mortals were retreating, then they might find not just danger ahead but the lords of voima themselves. He had already this trip seen a number of things he would not before have believed.
When they pulled into a cove that evening, Hadros said grimly, “Tonight I spend on land.”
“Are you not concerned for the rare forest sirens?” asked the queen with a small smile, but Hadros ignored her. He stepped fairly agilely into the skiff and allowed himself to be rowed to shore with a handful of warriors. Another trip brought Kardan and the queen, along with the awnings from the ship to rig as tents. The sun had set and the moon was low in the sky as they finished their bread and ale and lit a small fire.
Kardan slept only uneasily, although the other king fell asleep at once and filled the night air with loud snores. Kardan had spent just long enough on the ship that he missed its motion, and the solid earth beneath him seemed to keep slowly rising and falling, jerking him from his dreams. When he turned over, trying unsuccessfully to find a way to lie such that the pebbles did not bite into his rib cage or the cold sea breezes find the nape of his neck, the sounds of wind in the trees and waves on the shore could have been the hungry mumbling of some great creature, and even the coals of their fire looked back at him like living eyes.
The eastern sky, above the rocky ridge that followed this part of the coast, had just started to lighten with summer’s early dawn when he rolled over for the hundredth time, started to close his eyes again, and abruptly lifted himself on an elbow instead. That sounded different from the sounds he had been hearing all night.
He nudged Hadros, whose snores stopped in mid-breath, and closed his hand around his sword’s hilt. He could see them now: furtive, hunched shapes just beyond the ring of their tents. As he squinted in the faint light, he saw one cautiously lift a flap of awning and reach inside.
His first thought was for Arane, but the queen’s tent was on the opposite side from these creatures. He scrambled to his feet with a shout, Hadros only a second slower.
He could see now they were men, men almost naked, their hair thick and matted around their faces. “Do not attack us!” cried one as Kardan leaped toward him. His voice was low-pitched and rough, and he held up a pink palm. Yellow teeth showed in an ingratiating smile. “We just- We just want some food.”
The warriors had the little group of hairy men surrounded now. Kardan’s warriors especially seemed to be enjoying this. The hairy men certainly looked harmless, smaller than any members of the war-party, unarmed, eyes glinting in the dimness from out of their tangled hair. Gizor One-hand put the point of his sword under one’s chin.
“Thieves,” growled Hadros. “We ought to kill you on the spot as a lesson to all thieves.” But he slid his sword back into its sheath as he spoke and gestured to Gizor to do the same. After a moment he grunted and complied, and the rest of the warriors did as well. Kardan, however, kept his hilt clenched in a sweaty hand. “Do we have some stale bread or rancid butter we can give them?” Hadros asked over his shoulder.
That is when they attacked. With a cry that was more bark than shout, the one closest to Hadros threw himself on him. Sharp teeth glinted in a long snout, and the claws at the end of the fingers ripped at the king’s jerkin. Knocked off balance, Hadros staggered backwards, and teeth snapped at his throat as he went down.
The warriors, yelling, all scrambled for their weapons. Kardan, the only one with a sword in his hand, sprang forward, all his weight behind his thrust. His blade dragged on fur, caught on a rib, then slid into the heart of the creature about to bite the king’s neck.
It collapsed with a howl, falling backwards as Hadros scrambled free. He had his sword out now and leaped wildly at the next hairy creature, but it melted away before him. The warriors were all shouting and swinging their swords, just avoiding decapitating each other.
Kardan planted a foot against the dying creature before him and jerked his blade free. A touch came on his shoulder. He spun around ready to thrust again and found himself looking from a foot away into Hadros’s eyes.
“Back to back!” shouted the king, apparently unconcerned about nearly being run through by the man who had saved him only a few seconds earlier. But as Kardan whirled around, feeling the other’s muscular back against his, Hadros commented mildly, “Unless, of course, you planned to measure swords with me this morning.”
Their enemies were gone. They raced away on all fours, howling, and disappeared into the black and rocky woods before the slowly lightening sky could ever show them clearly. Gizor and the warriors, slower on two legs, pursued them.
But the one that Kardan had killed was still there. Hadros turned it over with his foot. The eyes were open, staring glassily, and a long tongue lolled from its sharp-toothed snout. It looked almost-but not quite-like a wolf.
Queen Arane, well wrapped in a cloak and with a knife in her hand, came out of her tent with her warriors on either side. She had for once nothing to say. Kardan eyed her suspiciously, wondering what powers of voima she might have that had, so far, protected her. The kings’ warriors returned from a brief and unsuccessful chase to stare at the creature Kardan had killed. “What is it?” one warrior asked in horror. Several turned charms over in their fingers.
“Shape-changer,” Hadros said. “I should have known better than to think these were the thieves and beggars they wanted to seem. But I haven’t seen a shape-changer in twenty-five years. Is it merely fate that we should meet both a siren and these shape-changers, in lands where I have never seen such creatures before, or did someone very powerful send them against us?
“If we keep on being attacked by creatures of voima,” he added when no one dared answer, “we’re going to have trouble catching Roric. At this rate, I’ll have to take a stint at the oars myself.” He kicked the creature, rolling it back on its face, exposing again the bloody hole where the sword had gone in.
King Hadros said nothing more for a moment but grunted and pulled off his jerkin, now black with the shape- changer’s blood. He ran a thumb thoughtfully beneath his jaw while looking at it. “You know, Kardan,” he commented, “you’ve now saved my life twice in two days. I should have given you better terms on that tribute, ten years ago.”
Kardan had started to reach for grass or leaves to wipe the blood from his sword, but found himself sitting on the ground. He fought the impulse to collapse further. He looked up at Hadros instead and for a second found himself grinning. “You should warn a man before inviting him along on one of your little trips,” he answered. “You certainly provide all the excitement a young man could ask for, but I may be getting too old for this game.”
2
The Wanderers gave Valmar a sword that sang.
It sang wordlessly but gloriously whenever he pulled it from the sheath, a song that drove straight to the heart with chords of courage, heroism, and undying glory. He discovered that if he loosened the peace-straps and kept it drawn even just an inch or so, it would sing to him as he rode.
Across seven rivers, across seven mountain passes, he rode the chalk-white stallion the Wanderers had given him. The wind was in his hair and the glare of the sun in his eyes. Black trees stood etched along the high ridges against an unending red sunset.
Neither the decaying algae at the fords nor the mountain fruit trees with their fruit all shriveled could detract from the mission he followed. The stallion seemed tireless, carrying him easily up and down hill. With the sunset before him and a never-repeating song of glory accompanying him he lost all track of time, stopping neither for food nor for sleep, until he saw the dark pine woods which concealed the third force.
Valmar pulled up the stallion then and found a place to settle down behind a hedge, where he hoped no one would spot him. He had not paused at any of the manors he passed, cutting around their fields with his mind already miles ahead. But he was now very suddenly weary and hungry. His heart hammered inside his armor, as he
