Spell of the Crystal Chair Page 10

  For one long moment, Beorn stared at his father’s face. He had always loved and respected his father, but something had happened to Balog since the contact with Zarkof. He’s not the same man. He’s not himself, Beorn thought. He left without another word. Even as he went out, he knew what he had to do.

  Beorn went to the prison and said to Deur, “Bring out the princess.”

  “You’ve already walked with her today!” the archer snapped.

  “You hear me, Deur? Do what I say!”

  As the other guard watched, Deur finally nodded grudgingly.

  The princess looked at Beorn in surprise. It was the first time he had come twice in the same day. “What is it?”

  “Come. We must talk.”

  The guard placed the rope around her neck as she stepped outside and, as usual, handed the other end to Beorn.

  “You can wait here,” Beorn told him, “or take a break. I’ll be responsible.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  It was useless, of course, to talk to Deur.

  To Fairmina, Beorn murmured, “We’ll walk down to the river.”

  They walked the path that they always took, and Beorn was silent. When they got far enough ahead of Deur, he said quietly, “You must leave this place at once.”

  Fairmina gave him a startled look. “How can I do that?”

  “You must trust me. I will make a way. I will take care of Deur, but you must go at once.”

  Fairmina continued to stare at him. “What has happened?”

  Struggling with the truth, Beorn finally said, “My father is not himself. He is under the power of the pale wizard.” He hesitated, then said, “A message has just come from Zarkof—an order to execute you at once. Even now my father is probably giving the orders. You are a fleet runner. Let me tell you what to do. When you leave here, follow the river for three miles, then cross over it at …” He gave her instructions. “The warriors will be after you with dogs, but if you use the edge of the river from time to time, that will wipe out your scent. Follow what I’ve said, and you’ll have a chance.”

  “But what about you?”

  “There’s no time, Fairmina.” His voice lowered, and he said, “You are a lovely girl outside and inside even more lovely.”

  Fairmina seemed unable to say a word.

  Then he said, “We’re almost at the river. When I tell you, jerk the rope off your neck and run like the wind.”

  “What about Deur?”

  “I will take care of Deur.”

  They were at the river now, and he said, “There’s the river path.”

  “Yes, but I can’t let you do this, Beorn.”

  “You have no choice. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” she said, and her eyes were warm. “I will never forget this, nor will my people.”

  “May Goél be with you. Run fleet as the deer, and may you be safe.”

  Suddenly Beorn stopped, turned around, and called, “Deur, come here.”

  The archer’s face grew suspicious. “What is it?”

  Beorn did not answer. He let the small archer get within five paces and then, still holding the end of Fairmina’s rope, asked, “Is that a good arrow you have? Does it fly true?”

  Deur looked down at his arrow with puzzlement. “Why, of course …”

  He never got to say another word, for suddenly strong hands seized him. His bow was ripped from his hands, and he found himself pinioned face down, unable to move.

  “Run, Princess! Run!”

  Deur struggled frantically, but Beorn was strong.

  He watched until Fairmina disappeared, then got to his feet. “Come, Deur. You must tell my father what happened.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Beorn? He’ll have you killed in her place!”

  “We will see what kind of a man I have for a father. Just come. Pick up your arrows and your bow.”

  Thirty minutes later the council was hurriedly called together. Beorn’s mother was present. Magon was there. Balog was shouting and screaming.

  “Do you know what he’s done, this traitor son of mine? He’s let her go!”

  “Good. The best day’s work he ever did,” Magon said, his face alive with pleasure.

  “Father, be quiet! You are not the chief any longer. I am!”

  “Be careful how you speak to your father, Balog,” Olah said softly. “You know what is said about showing respect to the elders, especially to a chief.”

  “He is not the chief! I am the chief, and my orders have been disobeyed!”

  Beorn said nothing. When first challenged, he’d simply said, “It was wrong to keep her here, and it would be a terrible crime to have obeyed the orders of Zarkof to kill her.”

  “If you were anyone except my son, I would have your head taken from your shoulders!”

  “I knew that might be my fate,” Beorn said calmly.

  Balog pulled at his hair. “Leave this place! Take what you can carry, and I never want to look upon your face again! Out with him!”

  Two warriors roughly seized Beorn, and ten minutes later he started off with what he could carry.

  His mother and his grandfather were waiting at the edge of the village. Each took one of his hands and held him.

  “Do not be discouraged, my boy,” Magon said. “Things are dark now, but these things have a way of working out.”

  “And do not hate your father.”

  “I don’t, Mother. I know he’s under the spell of the evil wizard.”

  “Exactly,” Magon said, “and some day we will find a way to get him back.”

  “Never give up, Beorn,” Olah said. Tears rose to her eyes. “May you be safe wherever you go, and may you be back soon.”

  “Good-bye, Mother. Good-bye, Grandfather.”

  As Beorn left the village that he had grown up in, a sense of loneliness came over him. He knew not what to do, so he began to drift toward the west. Deep in his heart he knew that he could not rest until he put himself before Princess Fairmina one more time. Her face was in his mind as clearly as a picture, and somehow he felt lighter and more joyful as he walked on—away from home and toward strangers.

  12

  Beorn and the Stranger

  I fear you have made a grievous error, my son.” Balog could not meet his father’s eyes. He’d been sitting alone outside his house, ignoring the cold, when Magon approached and spoke to him. Now Balog was flooded with a guilty feeling. “He ignored my commands!” he muttered. “I had no choice.”

  Magon came closer. “You and I have often disagreed, and many times you have been right, but this time I fear that you have gone against your own heart.”

  “What else was I do to? The whole village knew that I would have done worse to any other man. If he had not been my own son, he would have been killed.”

  “Ordinarily, my son, I think that your action might have been the right one, but I have been concerned about this whole matter.”

  “You’ve been against me from the very beginning.”

  “Only in this one thing,” Magon said quickly. The snow was falling now in light, grainy flakes, but he did not pull up the hood of his parka, and the white flakes hardly showed against his silvery hair. He suddenly put a hand on Balog’s shoulder. “And, my son,” he said, “you have not been the same since you made that bargain with the wizard.”

  “I’m the same.”

  “No, you are not. Everyone has noticed, and I fear for you.”

  Indeed, Balog felt that there was some truth in what his father was saying. And he was secretly pleased with the weight of his father’s hand. Just now he was feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life. He had never been comfortable with his decision. And since visiting the palace of Zarkof, he’d been having bad dreams about the pale wizard. He glanced up and said, “I did what I thought was best for our people.”

  “I know you did, Son. You always do that. No one has ever questioned your loyalty.”

  “What else could I have done with Beo
rn? What would you have done if I had disobeyed your order?”

  He knew the question put Magon in a hard place. His father had always been a strict man concerning the laws of the tribe. The silence ran on. Only the hissing of the snow across the ground and the keening of the wind around the side of the house could be heard.

  Finally Magon said heavily, “I cannot help you now. But your wife and I both believe your decision to join the Dark Lord was hasty. As you know, we have both been followers of Goél for many years. We feel that his is the way of honor, and we were grieved when you chose to go with Goél’s enemies.”

  Guilt shot through Balog, and he could only mutter, “I did what I thought was right.” He got up and walked away quickly, unable to bear any more criticism. All his life he had respected his father. He also had put great trust in the insight of Olah. She had never pressured him to do anything, but there was gentle wisdom in her that he had often availed himself of. Now with these two both standing against him, he distrusted his own judgment.

  “What am I going to do?” he asked himself. “Why do I feel so miserable?” He could not answer either question. After walking for what seemed hours, he went home, where he expected Olah to reproach him.

  She said nothing, however. She merely set his meal before him.

  “You’re not eating. What’s the matter? Are you sick?” Olah asked.

  “I’m just not hungry.”

  She looked carefully into her husband’s face. She always seemed to know when something was troubling him. Now as she filled his cup with hot tea, she said quietly, “You’re worried about Beorn.”

  Balog was tormented. If he said yes, he was confessing that he had done the wrong thing. If he said no, that would be an outright lie. To cover his confusion he drank the tea and then said, “He’ll be all right. He can take care of himself.”

  He got up then and went outside, unable to bear the eyes of his wife. He looked toward the west, where his son had disappeared. He had watched his father and Olah say good-bye to Beorn, and now he wished with all his heart that all of this had never happened.

  “How did I get into this?” he muttered. “And how do I get out of it?”

  The storm was unexpected. Beorn tried to ignore the snow, but it was coming down harder now. He shifted the bundle in which he bore his few possessions from one shoulder to the other.

  Got to find shelter soon, he thought. It’s going to be bitter tonight.

  He made his way across the frozen ground, scarcely taking heed to which way his feet led him. Overhead the sky was slate gray, and he could barely see it for the snow that was now falling in large and downy flakes. On the ground before him a snow carpet was building up. His feet sank into it, and he regretted that he had forgotten to bring snowshoes.

  It will soon be hard going if this doesn’t let up.

  But mostly his mind was not on the snow or on the cold but on his family. He had always loved and respected his father, and now there was a great wall between them. Beorn grieved over this, but, thinking on it, he said aloud, “What else could I have done? It would have been dishonorable to have killed the princess.”

  He realized then that he had spent much time of late thinking of her. Even as he plodded through the snow that was beginning to fall in long, slanting lines, he summoned up a picture of her face. He could see her long fair hair and her strange green eyes. Despite his plight, he felt a sudden burst of joy over what he had done. “No matter what happens to me, I saved her life. I’ll have that even if I freeze to death out here.”

  For the next hour, the storm continued to build. The winds howled like a banshee, and Beorn leaned against the gale as a man would lean against a solid wall. It buffeted him, and his face was numb. His eyes burned from the fine, grainy snow that blew into them.

  Got to find some place to get out of this. He looked around for an opening in a cliff, for a hollow tree, or for even a clump of trees that would offer shelter. But he could see nothing. He began to think seriously that this could indeed be the death of him. Many travelers had frozen in circumstances like this.

  Beorn beat his cold hands together and stumbled on. He did not know how long he had walked, but he knew that he was tired and was moving slowly now. He dared not stop to rest, for he knew that would be the end.

  Abruptly, a shadow appeared before him, and he did stop. His first thought was that he had been found by a polar bear or a saber-toothed tiger, but then a voice came out of the storm, saying, “Come this way.”

  Beorn staggered and would have fallen, but a strong hand came under his arm and supported him. He could not see his new companion’s face. He was a tall man. At first he did not have presence of mind to think whether this was an enemy or a friend. But then he thought, If he were an enemy, he would have killed me already. He must be a friend, although I don’t recognize him.

  With a firm hand, the stranger led him to a snowy thicket where, among the trees, stood a small hut. The man stripped Beorn of his burden, said, “Quick, get inside!” and then left him.

  Beorn fell to his hands and knees but managed to crawl into the hut. He had strength to do no more, and he huddled on the floor, shivering.

  Soon the man was back, carrying a handful of twigs and some dead wood. He quickly kindled a fire by using flint and steel, and just the flickering of the red and yellow flames seemed to bring life into Beorn.

  He held out his hands to the warmth as the smoke curled upward through the fireplace chimney. Being out of the wind was a blessing, and although he continued to shiver, the warmth that came from the fire soon brought feeling back to his hands. He beat them together and rubbed his face. Then he gave his close attention to the man who sat feeding small sticks into the flames.

  “I thank you, stranger. I would have died, I think.”

  “You were in grave danger. I should think you would know better than to travel in weather like this, Beorn.”

  “You know my name? I don’t think I know you, though.” He looked closely at the man in the flickering light of the fire. But the stranger was wearing a heavy cloak with a hood that partially shaded his face. Beorn repeated, “I do not know you.”

  “No? We have met before. But you were only a child then when I visited your grandfather.”

  “My grandfather Magon?”

  “I know him very well. I also know your mother and your father.”

  “May I have your name, sir?”

  The stranger threw back the hood from his face. The cheekbones were high, and the eyes were deep-set under brown brows. There was strength in that face.

  Beorn said, “I’m sorry. I cannot remember you.”

  “I am Goél.”

  A shock ran through Beorn. This was the fabled Goél of whom his grandfather and his mother had spoken for so many years? He could not speak for a moment, so great was the surprise in him. Finally he was able to say, “Now I do remember. You came to our village once. I was still small.”

  “You were six years old, and we had quite a talk together. You’ve probably forgotten, but we went for a long walk, and I told you several things.”

  Memory came back then, clearly. “I do remember now. I’ve thought of that time since then and spoken of it to my grandfather.”

  “Do you remember what I told you?”

  “It’s been so long ago …” Beorn muttered, thinking. The hut was growing warmer now, and he loosened his parka. “I remember you talked about honoring my parents.”

  “I did. You have a fine family, Beorn. Your father is quick-tempered sometimes, but he is a good man. Few warriors are greater than he. And he chose a wife well. Olah, your mother, has been faithful.”

  “I do remember one other thing. It was the last thing you said, I believe.” Beorn struggled with the memory that was indeed faint now. “I think I asked you how I could always be sure I was doing the right thing.”

  “You did.” A smile turned the corners of Goél’s lips upward. “I was surprised and pleased that so young a boy w
ould ask such a thing. Do you remember what I said?”

  “That I have never forgotten,” Beorn said, smiling. “You said that if I did what pleased you, I would always be right.”

  “Exactly so. And I know, from talking to your grandfather, that you took that path well. You have been a good son, and you have been faithful to your grandfather, one of Goél’s best servants.”

  Beorn could not believe this was happening. “But how did you find me? How did you know I would be here?”

  Goél smiled, too. “I try to keep up with my servants and be sure they are safe.”

  “Then you know what happened—at home.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “I could do nothing else, Goél. I didn’t want to go against my father’s orders but—”

  “But you knew it would be wrong for Princess Fairmina to die.”

  “Yes!” Beorn said eagerly. “Exactly! I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “You have a good heart, my son, and you have done the right thing. You pleased me.”

  “But I’ve offended my father.”

  Goél said quietly, “Your father is having a difficult time. Right now he needs you and your grandfather and your mother more than at any other time in his life. He is in grave danger of falling under the complete power of the Dark Lord. If that happens, he will be enslaved forever.”

  Beorn leaned forward. “That must not happen! I must do something.”

  “We must all do something, for I value your father. He has it in him to be one of the finest men alive, but he is just now being tested.”

  “What will I do? What can I do?”

  “Where were you going when I found you, Beorn?”

  “I don’t know. I—I was lost.”

  “I think not,” Goél said. “You had something in your heart.”

  Beorn could not meet Goél’s eyes. He dropped his gaze to the fire and muttered, “Well, I did think I would go to see the princess and be sure she reached her home safely.”

  “And then what would you do?”

  Confused, Beorn shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know,” he admitted finally. “Everything is confused, and I’m unhappy.”