The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [118]
When he left Graemyn’s dun, Rhodry had no idea of which way to ride. For the first day, he went west, but at sunset the gray gnome appeared at his camp and threw itself into his arms to cling to him like a frightened child.
“There you are! Here, my friend, where’s Jill?”
The gnome considered, pointed east, then disappeared. I’ve wasted a whole blasted day, he thought. Then, even in the midst of his despair, he felt that strange sensation of being watched.
For three days more, he rode east. He felt more like a storm than a man, his rage and desperation mingling to drive his mind this way and that, tearing his reason to shreds as he swept down the forest road. At times, he wanted to find her only to slit her throat; at others, he swore to himself that if only he could have her back, he would never ask a single question about what she’d done with Perryn. Gradually he felt more hopelessness than rage. Perryn could have taken her any way at all, slipping deep into the forest where he’d never find them. His one hope was the gnome, who came to him at odd moments. Always it pointed east, and it was filled with fury, gnashing its teeth and clutching its head at any mention of Perryn. Sooner or later, or so Rhodry hoped, it would lead him back to Jill.
Late on a day when white clouds piled in the sky and threatened rain, Rhodry was riding along a narrow track when he came to a clearing. Beside the road was a small wooden round house with two oaks growing in front of the door. He dismounted, led his horse over, and called out a halloo. In a few moments an aged man with the shaved head and golden torc of a priest of Bel came out.
“Good morrow, Your Holiness,” Rhodry said.
“May the gods bless you, lad. What troubles your heart so badly?”
“Oh, by the hells, do I look as wretched as that?”
The priest merely smiled, his dark eyes nearly lost in wrinkled folds of pouched eyelids. He was as thin as a stick, his ragged tunic hanging loose, his fingers like gnarled twigs.
“I’m looking for someone, you see,” Rhodry went on. “And I’ve about given up hope of ever finding her. A blond lass, beautiful, but she always dresses like a lad, and she carries a silver dagger. She’d be riding with a skinny red-haired fellow.”
“Your wife left you for another man?”
“Well, she did, but how did you know?”
“It’s a common enough tale, lad, though I’ve no doubt it pains you as if you were the first man ever deserted by a woman.” He sighed with a shake of his head. “I haven’t seen her, but come in and ask the gods to help you.”
More to please the lonely old hermit than in any real hope of getting an omen, Rhodry followed him into the dim, musty-smelling shrine, which took up half the round house. On the flat side stood the stone altar, covered with a rough linen cloth to hide the bloodstains from the sacrifices. Behind it rose a massive statue of Bel, carved from a tree trunk, the body roughly shaped, the arms distinguished by mere cuts in the wood and the tunic indicated only by scratches. The face, however, was beautifully modeled, large eyes staring out as if they saw, the mouth so mobile it seemed that it would speak. Rhodry made a formal bow to the king of the world, then knelt before him while the priest stood to one side. In the shadowy light it seemed that the god’s eyes turned his worshipper’s way.
“0 most holy lord, where’s my Jill? Will I ever see her again?”
For a moment silence lay thick in the temple; then the priest spoke in a hollow, booming voice utterly unlike his normal tone.
“She rides down dark roads. Judge her not harshly when you meet again. One who holds no fealty to me holds her in thrall.”
Rhodry felt a cold shudder of awe laced with fear. The god’s eyes considered him, and the voice spoke again.
“You have a strange Wyrd, man from Eldidd, you who are not truly a man like other men. Someday you’ll die serving the kingdom, but it’s not the death you would ever have dreamt for yourself. Men will remember your name down the long years, though your blood run over rock and be gone. Truly, they’ll remember