Free Wizards’ Worlds by Andre Norton Page A

his hand—his fingers. It was as if
     his flesh were nerveless, numb—But he formed a fist. Then he brought up his arm, so
     slowly that had he allowed himself to waver he might have despaired. But he knew that
     he must not relax the intense drive of will centered in that simple move. Weapons—what
     good would his bow, his sword be against what dwelt here? He sensed dimly that this
     menace could well laugh at weapons forged and carried by those of his kind.
    Weapons—sword—steel—there was something hovering just at the fringe of memory. Then
     for an instant he saw a small, sharp mind picture. Steel! That man from the Waste-side
     dale who had set his sword as a barrier at the head of his sleeping roll, plunged
     his dagger point deep in the soil at his feet the night they had left him on the edge
     of very ancient ruins with their mounts. Between cold iron a man lay safe, he said.
     Some scoffed at his superstition, others had nodded agreement. Iron—cold iron—which
     certain old Powers feared.
    He had a sword at his belt now, a long dagger at his hip—iron—talisman? But the struggle
     of possession of his fist, his arm was so hard he feared he would never have a chance
     to put the old belief to the proof.

    What did they want of him, those who abode here? For he was aware that there was more
     than one will bent on him. Why had they brought him? Trystan shied away from questions.
     He must concentrate on his hand—his arm!
    With agonizing slowness he brought his hand to his belt, forced his fingers to touch
     the hilt of his sword.
    That was no lord’s proud weapon with a silvered, jeweled hilt, but a serviceable blade
     nicked and scratched by long use. So that the hilt itself was metal, wound with thick
     wire to make a good grip which would not turn in a sweating hand. His finger tips
     touched that and—his hand was free!
    He tightened hold instantly, drew the blade with a practiced sweep, and held it up
     between him and that riot of blending and weaving blue lights. Relief came, but it
     was only minor he knew after a moment or two of swelling hope. What coiled here could
     not be so easily defeated. Always that other will weighted and plucked at his hand.
     The sword blade swung back and forth, he was unable to hold it steady. Soon he might
     not be able to continue to hold it at all!
    Trystan tried to retreat even a single step. But his feet were as if set in a bog,
     entrapped against any move. He had only his failing hand and the sword, growing heavier
     every second. Now he was not holding it erect as if on guard, but doubled back as
     if aimed at his own body!
    Out of the blue lights arose a tendril of wan phosphorescent stuff which looped into
     the air and held there, its tip pointed in his direction. Another weaved up to joint
     it, swell its substance. A third came, a fourth was growing—
    The tip, which had been narrow as a finger, was now thickening. From that smaller
     tips rounded and swelled into being. Suddenly Trystan was looking at a thing of active
     evil, a grotesque copy of a human hand, four fingers, a thumb too long and thin.
    When it was fully formed it began to lower towardhim. Trystan with all his strength brought up the sword, held its point as steady
     as he could against that reaching hand.
    Again he knew a fleeting triumph. For at the threat of the sword, the hand’s advance
     was stayed. Then it moved right, left, as if to strike as a foeman’s point past his
     guard. But he was able by some miracle of last reserves to counter each attack.
    Hertha watched the strange duel wide-eyed. The face of her enemy was wet, great trickles
     of sweat ran from his forehead to drip from his chin. His mouth was a tight snarl,
     lips flattened against his teeth. Yet he held that sword and the emanation of the
     Toads would not pass it.
    “You!”
    The word rang in her head with a cold arrogance which hurt.
    “Take from him the sword!”
    An order she must obey if she was to