In these mountains, where Terransare never seen, a Terran willing to pass as a Darkovan would be safe from anything human, andattract no unusual attention from nonhumans…
Barron shook his head. That’s enough of that . He wasn’t interested in the Darkovan mountains exceptfrom the viewpoint of doing his job well enough to redeem himself with the Empire, and get his own job,or something like it, back, and start over again on another planet, in a spaceport job. If Larry, or Lerrys,or whatever he calls himself, wants to amuse himself living with a family of weird, Darkovantelepaths and learning more than anyone else cared to know about nonhuman and such, that’s hisbusiness; everybody gets their kicks in his own way and I’ve known some dillies . But he wasn’thaving any.
He clung to that with an uneasy concentration all that day, doggedly ignoring the beauty of the flowersthat lined the mountain road, snubbing Larry’s friendly attempts to pick up the conversation. Towardevening, as the ride steepened. Colryn whiled away the time by singing Darkovan legends in a tunefulbass voice, but Barron shut his ears and would not listen, closing his eyes and letting his horse take theroad along the mountain trail; the horse knew more about it than he did.
The sound of hoofs, the slow jogging in the saddle, the darkness behind his closed eyes, was firsthypnotic, then strangely familiar; it seemed normal to sit unseeing in his saddle, trusting himself to thehorse beneath him and his other senses alert—the smell of flowers, or conifers, of the dust of the road,the sharp scent of some civet-smelling animal in the brush. When Lerrys drew abreast of him, Barronkept his eyes closed and after a time Lerrys spurred his horse and overtook Colryn. Colryn went onsinging in an undertone. Without knowing how he knew, Barron recognized that the singer had shifted tothe opening bars of the long Ballad of Cassilda .
How strange it sounded without the water-harp accompaniment. Allira played and sang it well,though it was really a song for a man’s voice:
The stars were mirrored on the shore,
Dark was the dark enchanted moor,
Silent as cloud or wave or stone,
Robardin’s daughter walked alone.
A web of gold between her hands
On shining spindle burning bright,
Deserted lay the mortal lands
When Hastur left the realms of light.
Then, singing like a hidden bird…
He lost track of the words, hearing a far-off hawk-cry and the small wounded scream of some animal in
Page 43
the bush. He was here, he was free, and behind him, ruin and death .
The song went on, soft and incessant;
… A hand to each, he faltering came
Within the hidden mountain hall
Where Alar tends the darkened flame
That brightened at Cassilda’s call…
And as his brilliance paled away
Into the dimmer mortal day,
Cassilda left the shining loom.
A starflower in his hand she laid;
Then on him fell a mortal doom:
He rose and kissed Robardin’s maid.
The golden webs unwoven lay…
His mind spun in a strange dream as he listened to the song of the love of Cassilda, the sorrows of Camilla, the love of Hastur and the treachery of Alar. It must be strange to be Comyn and Hastur,and know oneself sib to the God …
I could use a god or two for kinsmen now !
What are these old gods really? The forge people used to say that Sharra came to their fires — and they didn’t mean the spirit of fire, either! The old telepaths could raise powers as far beyondmy bird forms, or the fire shields, as these are beyond a trailman’s knife !
“Barron! Don’t fall asleep here, man; the trail gets dangerous!” The voice of Gwynn, the big Darkovan, broke into his dream, and Barron shook himself awake. Was it another hallucination?— No, only a dream. “I must have been asleep,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Gwynn chuckled. “And to think that five days ago you’d never been in the saddle. You learn fast, stranger. Congratulations!
Barron shook his head. That’s enough of that . He wasn’t interested in the Darkovan mountains exceptfrom the viewpoint of doing his job well enough to redeem himself with the Empire, and get his own job,or something like it, back, and start over again on another planet, in a spaceport job. If Larry, or Lerrys,or whatever he calls himself, wants to amuse himself living with a family of weird, Darkovantelepaths and learning more than anyone else cared to know about nonhuman and such, that’s hisbusiness; everybody gets their kicks in his own way and I’ve known some dillies . But he wasn’thaving any.
He clung to that with an uneasy concentration all that day, doggedly ignoring the beauty of the flowersthat lined the mountain road, snubbing Larry’s friendly attempts to pick up the conversation. Towardevening, as the ride steepened. Colryn whiled away the time by singing Darkovan legends in a tunefulbass voice, but Barron shut his ears and would not listen, closing his eyes and letting his horse take theroad along the mountain trail; the horse knew more about it than he did.
The sound of hoofs, the slow jogging in the saddle, the darkness behind his closed eyes, was firsthypnotic, then strangely familiar; it seemed normal to sit unseeing in his saddle, trusting himself to thehorse beneath him and his other senses alert—the smell of flowers, or conifers, of the dust of the road,the sharp scent of some civet-smelling animal in the brush. When Lerrys drew abreast of him, Barronkept his eyes closed and after a time Lerrys spurred his horse and overtook Colryn. Colryn went onsinging in an undertone. Without knowing how he knew, Barron recognized that the singer had shifted tothe opening bars of the long Ballad of Cassilda .
How strange it sounded without the water-harp accompaniment. Allira played and sang it well,though it was really a song for a man’s voice:
The stars were mirrored on the shore,
Dark was the dark enchanted moor,
Silent as cloud or wave or stone,
Robardin’s daughter walked alone.
A web of gold between her hands
On shining spindle burning bright,
Deserted lay the mortal lands
When Hastur left the realms of light.
Then, singing like a hidden bird…
He lost track of the words, hearing a far-off hawk-cry and the small wounded scream of some animal in
Page 43
the bush. He was here, he was free, and behind him, ruin and death .
The song went on, soft and incessant;
… A hand to each, he faltering came
Within the hidden mountain hall
Where Alar tends the darkened flame
That brightened at Cassilda’s call…
And as his brilliance paled away
Into the dimmer mortal day,
Cassilda left the shining loom.
A starflower in his hand she laid;
Then on him fell a mortal doom:
He rose and kissed Robardin’s maid.
The golden webs unwoven lay…
His mind spun in a strange dream as he listened to the song of the love of Cassilda, the sorrows of Camilla, the love of Hastur and the treachery of Alar. It must be strange to be Comyn and Hastur,and know oneself sib to the God …
I could use a god or two for kinsmen now !
What are these old gods really? The forge people used to say that Sharra came to their fires — and they didn’t mean the spirit of fire, either! The old telepaths could raise powers as far beyondmy bird forms, or the fire shields, as these are beyond a trailman’s knife !
“Barron! Don’t fall asleep here, man; the trail gets dangerous!” The voice of Gwynn, the big Darkovan, broke into his dream, and Barron shook himself awake. Was it another hallucination?— No, only a dream. “I must have been asleep,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Gwynn chuckled. “And to think that five days ago you’d never been in the saddle. You learn fast, stranger. Congratulations!
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