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Scanned by an unsung hero.
Proofed more or less by Highroller.
Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.
Flight of Vengeance by
Andre Norton, P.M. Griffin
and Marh H. Schaub
The Chronicler
ONCE I was Duratan of the Borderers—now what shall I call myself? I
am in part a Chronicler of the deeds of others, I am one of such as Ouen
and Wessel who help with the preserving of the framework of Lormt so
that those who come to delve there for knowledge have lodging, food, that
which will keep life in their bodies while they labor among the records of
the past they love.
I am also a seeker. Bit by bit I gain a little here, a fraction there,
striving to make clear to the questions within me answers of what I have
to do in a world which was overturned by Power and in which so many of
us have been set adrift.
When Estcarp stood in direct threat from Pagar of Karsten, and all who
were clear-thoughted could foresee (without any recourse to the uses of
Power) that we must be indeed overrun, it was the Witches who
themselves interposed all that they were or could be between the coming
of chaos and their land. Binding together in one embattled body and mind
they brought all their famed strength to bear upon the earth itself, forced
nature to bow to their united wills.
Those mountains, through which Pagar's forces moved to crush us,
were shaken, put down, raised up. The land split, was gashed, wounded,
scarred. Forests disappeared, rivers were rent from their age-old beds,
 there was a madness in the world.
For this there was a heavy price. Of the Council in Es City, there were
no survivors. Others were as husks, burnt out by the force they had
summoned. The Witch Rule died with the majority of those who had held
it. Though still along the borders there were enemies such as Alizon where
Witch Rule was considered an abomination.
The Kolders, who had come upon us through one of the gates, bursting
outward as might the vile flow from the lancing of a festering wound,
began the last travail of the world as we knew it.
But Champions arose. The Witches gave those their full backing. Simon
Tregarth, an outlander from another gate world, came. To him joined the
Witch Jaelithe, also Koris of Gorm (that ill-named place the Kolders had
first befouled), and Loyse of Verlaine; others also whose deeds the
songsmiths have wrought into many ballads.
It was Simon and Jaelithe who closed the Kolder gate. Yet war
continued, for the evil the Kolders had sown was far from harvested.
In the Dales of High Hallack there was fierce fighting, for the Kolders
had encouraged those of Alizon, aiding them in an invasion of that land
with strange weapons, that a path might be cut into storied Arvon beyond
where the Old Ones were rumored to have concealed treasures of power.
When the Kolders fell, Alizon's failure followed and her force was hunted
through the Dales to the sea and died there because there was no escape.
For the Sulcars, ever friendly to Estcarp, had swept away their fleet.
Yet Alizon was not yet defeated in the minds of those sword lords who
ruled there. They licked their wounds, ever looking south. For, though they
hated the Power, they also cherished secrets which were of the Dark.
Karsten arose out of the Kolder chaos under Pagar, but what happened
there after the Witches put an end to the invasion? Or was it a beginning?
For, just at the turning, the Tregarths again played a part. There were
three of them, the children of Simon and his Witch wife, Jaelithe, born at
a single birthing which was a thing unknown before: Kyllan, the warrior;
Kemoc, the warlock; and Kaththea the Witch. They broke the age old
block laid upon our minds and went eastward, over mountains, into
Escore, from which our race had fled a millennium before.
 However, their coming into Escore had troubled the ancient balance
held between the Light and the Dark. Once more war and fearsome things,
born of the filth of evil, broke forth. However, there were those of the Old
Race who arose, took their households, and kin-lieges, to cross the eastern
mountains and use their swords there, to bring once more forces of Light
to meet Dark.
I was in Lormt and not at the forefront of any battle when the turning
came upon us. Kemoc was my shield comrade and he had dwelt in that
storehouse of knowledge for a space before he had ridden to free his sister
from Witch hold. I had visited him there. Surely no geas was laid upon
me, still the desire to return to that place held me after I was sore hurt in
a rock fall and my fighting days so ended.
Though Kemoc was already gone, I stayed, sometimes torn two
ways—yearning for the Border life I had always known, and again for this
seeking among the many old and rotting accounts of an earlier world and
time. I would have sworn while I was a warrior that I had none of the
Talent in me. It was always believed that that went only in the female line
among us. Yet I discovered that I did have strange gifts.
Since I was young and active, and not too hindered by my limp, I had
much to do with Ouen in Lormt after the Turning. Of the four towers of
that age-old fortress of knowledge, one and part of another fell as a result
of the great earth movement, taking with them the connecting wall.
However, though there were injuries among us, there were no deaths.
But what was the most surprising was that the structural collapse revealed
sealed chambers and crypts in which had been stored chests and great
jars filled with all manner of scrolls and books.
Our scholars were frantic and it took those of us who were more
level-headed and less wrapped up in research to make sure that none of
them came to harm in their assault
on
places where there was treacherous
rubble. Thus I was greatly busied in those first days and hardly aware of
what chanced, except for what was directly under my eyes.
We sheltered a trickle of refugees. Among them was a young woman
who had ridden to us in search of healing for her aunt. I did not see the
older woman, but I was told that she had suffered a head injury which put
her into a sleepwalking state. There was with the two of them a Borderer
whose troop had been scattered during the catastrophe and he had taken
 service to see them safely to us.
Those who employed him spent much time with Morfew, one of the
scholars always more helpful than others. Shortly the three of them made
a sudden departure, as I was told by Wessel who supplied them. Morfew
said that the maid Nolar had discovered among some of the newly
salvaged material reference to an ancient place of healing. I was a little
disturbed, for surely the many changes in the landscape might have
obliterated any landmarks they would travel by. Almost I was moved to
ride after them but there was so much to be done and I fully expected
them to return shortly in disappointment.
When I had first visited Kemoc at Lormt he had given me a bag of
colored crystals and I had discovered that these answered to some talent
of my own. When I threw them they would fall into patterns. Dwelling
upon those, thoughts and warnings sometimes became clear. So it became
my daily custom upon arising each morning to throw a handful and try to
read what might lie before me for the day.
There were no thoughts of the three who had gone on the morning days
later when I made my throw. But what lay there was indeed a warning.
That red which is near black (signifying the worst of evil) was centered.
Fronting it were three other sparks, one of green, which was small but
clear, and two others which blazed higher. One of those was blue, the
other a clear white, and from each came a beam to lick at that smear of
dark. As if I stood in sight of what passed I knew I witnessed a mighty
battle. My hand clenched upon the edge of the table. The hound Rawit,
who always witnessed my throw growled, and from the back of my chair
the female falcon Galerider screamed as she might when about to war.
Three lights against the dark—in my mind those three were the ones who
had gone forth from Lormt. Mightily I strove to reach them by
thought-send. Instead there was a rush of the crystals and not by my will.
I feared—unnaturally. Perhaps something had been loosed again, even
as the Tregarths had unwittingly loosed the Dark in Escore. Yet I thought
this was no warning from Escore, but what happened was not far from
Lormt itself.
That day and for four following, I rode the boundaries of our fields and
watched my crystals, throwing them twice, thrice a day. I visited Morfew.
He showed me a copy the maid Nolar had made from fragments of an
 ancient scroll which spoke of the Stone of Konnard. That this was part of a
dire ensorcelment I was sure, and I was angry with them for what they
might have loosed upon us.
Arming myself I gathered supplies, though what good I might do I had
no idea. Yet there was danger and I was still fighting man enough to be
drawn to it. For the last time I threw the crystals.
And this time I was successful. That which blazed with evil was gone.
There remained only the white, and those pulsed evenly like the beating of
a heart.
I heard the barking of Rawit and sudden sharp cry of Galerider. So I
looked out beyond that space where the gate to Lormt had once hung and
saw riding, with weary drooping of body in saddle, the two who came
again. Though at that moment I did not truly realize why there was such a
surge of gladness in me, I thought it was only because some threat was
past.
Urging my mount forward I went to meet Nolar and Derren. And
indeed they had for me a mighty venture to add to the Chronicles.
EXILE
by Mary H. Schaub
Something was wrong with the air. It wasn't visible, like a haze of
smoke or dust to stifle breathing. The late summer air was as clear and
fresh as usual in Estcarp's foothills nestled beneath the higher peaks. And
yet… there was a gnawing sense of unease.
Nolar thrust aside the herbs she had been sorting and strode yet again
to her narrow window facing south. She had felt uncharacteristically
restless all day, as if an undefined danger were looming just out of sight. It
was, she thought, like glimpsing the shadow of a hawk, and not knowing
just when it would swoop down to strike its prey.
She stepped outside for a better view of the sky. The sunrise had been
clear, but during the day, an ominously dark cloud bank expanded across
the southern horizon. In her efforts as a healer, Nolar had seen that same
black-purple hue on severely bruised flesh. She heard no distant thunder,
but she knew from experience how the worst high peak storms could
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