"Cold, Hammeth?" Ylia asked her companion.
"No, girl. I"ll manage if you will. Is it much further?"
"Half a day"s march to Nadia City yet, I"m afraid," Ylia said. "We could rest if you wish."
The man was extremely old by Tarthian standards, probably three hundred and fifty years old. He wore a snow-cape of _purullian_ fur which the wind whipped about his bony frame and up over his completely bald head. "I"m sorry, Ylia," he said suddenly. There were tears in his eyes which the cold and the wind did not explain.
"What for? You came to the cave. You accompanied me here to Nadia."
"When Retoc the Abarian almost killed the White G.o.d, I fled with the others."
"If you didn"t flee you too might have been slain, Hammeth."
"Yet you remained behind."
"He still lived. Someone had to tend him."
Hammeth"s breath came in shallow gasps. He once had been a strong, big man, but the life and the strength had fled his frame when Retoc destroyed Ofrid, a hundred years before. As a wayfarer on the Plains of Ofrid, he had aged in those hundred years. And he had shrunk and shriveled with approaching senility. "Tell me, Ylia," he asked, panting, "is this Bram Forest you speak of indeed the--the G.o.d of the legend? The G.o.d of the Tower come to right the ancient wrongs?"
A frown marred the beauty of Ylia"s matchless face. "At first," she said with a far-away look in her lovely eyes, "at first I thought he was. Hadn"t he come, suddenly, from nowhere, at the ordained moment?
But then when he did not slay Retoc, when instead he allowed Retoc the use of his whip-sword and was almost slain by Retoc, when he bled like any mortal, when he--" All at once Ylia was blushing.
"What is it, child?" Hammeth asked.
"Nothing. It is nothing."
"Ylia. You were the infant daughter of a lady in waiting of the royal court of Ofrid. I was a captain of the Queen"s Guards. When Retoc"s legions brought their death and destruction, I fled to the wilderness with you. I raised you from infancy. I--" the old man"s eyes clouded over with emotion--"you have no secrets from me, child."
Ylia was still blushing. But a serene smile replaced the frown on her face. "Very well, Father Hammeth, I will tell you. There in the cave as I nursed the stranger back to health, as he grew stronger and could move about, as we conversed and came to know each other, I--I desired him."
Hammeth said nothing. His face was stern.
"Please," said Ylia, laughing now that her secret was out. "It wasn"t the kind of desire that could make me a candidate for the Golden Ape, but--I desired him. It was a pure, sweet emotion, such as I have never felt before. I wanted him. I wanted to serve him. I wanted to spend my life helping him and ... Hammeth ... Father Hammeth ... loving him.
There, I have said it."
Hammeth only muttered. They plodded on through the snow, which here was deep and powdery so they floundered sometimes to their knees.
"But a girl shouldn"t feel such desire for a G.o.d, so I told myself he was mortal." Abruptly and for no reason that Hammeth could fathom, Ylia began to cry.
"What is it, child? What is it?"
"He--he fled. He had lost much blood and he was weak, yes, but he didn"t even stay to protect me. He fled from Retoc. Is that a G.o.d? Is that even a man who can bring retribution to Retoc? Is it, Hammeth? Is it?"
"Yet you"re taking the road to Nadia even as legend says the White G.o.d will take the road to Nadia."
"Nonsense," said Ylia, wiping away her tears. "Someone has to tell the Nadians what really happened to poor Jlomec, that"s all. Retoc, Retoc will have them eating off his hand. He"ll have them believing whatever he says. They"ll never know that he killed a prince of their royal blood."
"But what can Bontarc of Nadia--or anyone--do against the power of Retoc"s Abarians?"
"The White G.o.d could--"
"Ah, you see? Then perhaps you do believe, after all."
"The White G.o.d or whoever he was," said Ylia coldly, "fled a coward from Retoc." She pouted. "And yet, and yet he seemed so confused."
"Perhaps he fled so that the Ofridians might live again in the pride of their greatness," Hammeth declared with vehemence.
"You believe, don"t you, Father Hammeth?" Ylia asked simply.
"I want to believe, child."
"You"re panting so. You"re tired. We"ll have to stop and rest."
They were traversing the deepest part of the valley where the Nadian wind, funneling through between the hills flanking the depression, had piled the snow into drifts twice the height of a man. They hunkered down in the lee of one of the snow-drifts, where the wind could not reach them. With stiff fingers Ylia withdrew strips of jerked stadmeat from the inside pocket of her snow cloak, sharing them with Hammeth.
They munched the tough cold meat, Ylia looking at the old man with tenderness and affection. Her foster father, he had been the only parent she had ever known. She closed her eyes and for a moment thought back over the years they had spent as wayfarers on the Ofridian Plain, the years dreaming of revenge and succor which would never come, the years....
"Ylia! Ylia!"
Father Hammeth was calling her name, urgently. She shook herself from her reverie. They were seated with their backs to one of the great snow-drifts, where it fell off suddenly like a suspended, frozen sea wave. With a trembling hand Hammeth was pointing before him, out across the ice fields.
There in the soft snow which mantled the ice of Nadia to a depth of only a few inches, were footprints. They were not old prints, deposited there when some wayfarer had pa.s.sed. Incredibly, they were being made even as Hammeth and Ylia watched, as if by some creature with no palpable existence. The icy wind seemed intensified.
"It--it"s coming toward us," Hammeth said, his voice a croaking whisper. Ylia knew that he was afraid again. Somehow with the advancing years, the steel and fire had gone from Hammeth"s heart. Or perhaps, she thought in sympathy, the terrible defeat and destruction of Ofrid a hundred years ago had done this to him, had turned one of the Queen"s proven champions into an aging craven wayfarer.
"We"ll have to flee," Hammeth said breathlessly.
Behind them was the frozen wave of snow. To the right, far away across the snows, Abaria and the Plains of Ofrid. To the left, not half a day"s journey, Nadia City. Ahead of them, the advancing footprints.
"Your whip-sword!" Ylia cried. "Quickly."
"I carry it, but I can"t use it now," Hammeth protested. "I"m an old man, Ylia. An old man."
"Then let me have it."
"You? But you"re just a girl. You couldn"t--"
"Don"t you see, Father Hammeth? It"s only a man. An Utalian. It can"t be anything else. If he comes in peace, well enough. Otherwise ...
here, give me that sword."
But Hammeth shook his head with unexpected pride and pulled the weapon from its scabbard.
Just then the footprints became wider s.p.a.ced and appeared more quickly in the snow. The invisible Utalian was running toward them. Awkward, cursing at his own impotence, Hammeth fumbled with his weapon.
_You who call yourself Bram Forest_, Ylia thought, _White G.o.d or whatever you are--help us, help us_! Then she hated herself for the unbidden thought. Bram Forest had deserted her once, hadn"t he, after she had saved his life? What help could she expect from a man like Bram Forest? Or was Father Hammeth right? Perhaps Bram Forest had fled so that Ofrid might one day live again to see the wrath of the G.o.ds fall on Retoc and his Abarians.