Free Trey of Swords (Witch World (Estcarp Series)) by Andre Norton

within the heart of an ice pillar in one of their innermost caverns. It was my strange sword, which he himself had named “Ice Tongue,” that had freed him when that stranger battling for recognition within me had forced my attack against the pillar with the blade. And he had also called me “Tolar.”
    He stood now, studying me from beneath the shadow of his helm on which hunched the jewel-eyed dragon of his crest, his great ax resting head down upon the rock, but still gripped by both his hands. My uneasiness again awoke as I stared defiantly back. He must have been an ancient enemy of the Thas, yes. But that did not necessarily mean, in these days of war, that the enemy of an enemy was a friend or an ally. And of Uruk, in truth, I knew very little.
    “She has been far under the Shadow,” he said. “Perhaps she so gained a clearer sight than most—
    “I am Yonan,” I said grimly. Now I jerked Ice Tongue from my scabbard, and I would have hurled the blade from me. But I could not.
    “You hold Ice Tongue,” Uruk said. “Having been born again, it carries its own geas. And that has been transferred to you—whoever you may be or how you name yourself. It is one of the Four Great Weapons, and so it chooses its own master.”
    With my other hand I fought to unflex my fingers, break the hold they kept upon the crystal hilt, which was no longer clouded, as it had been when first I found it, but rather shone with that sparkling of light which had fired up in it when the blade had been once more fitted to the grip. But I knew within me that there was no use in what I tried; I was not the master, but rather the servant of what I carried. And, unless I could learn the mastery I lacked, then I would—
    I saw Uruk nodding and knew that he could read my thoughts, as could any wielder of the Power.
    “Time is a serpent, coiled and recoiled upon itself many times over. It can be that a man may, by some chance or geas, slip from that one coil which is his own, into another. If this happens he can only accept—for there is no return.”
    “Tolar out of HaHarc—“Crytha was nodding too, as if she had the answer to some puzzle at last.
    HaHarc? That was a tumbled ruin which lay beyond the Valley, a place so eroded by time (and perhaps beaten by the Shadow) that no living man could make sure which was house, which was road, if he passed among its shattered blocks.
    Men said that the hills themselves had danced when it fell; but that they danced to a piping out of the dark. Even the legend concerning it now was a very tattered one.
    “I am Yonan!” I slammed Ice Tongue back into my sheath. “HaHarc is long dead, and those who lived there are forgotten by man and monster alike.”
    “So HaHarc is gone,” Uruk spoke musingly. He no longer watched me so closely; rather he looked into the Valley lying below us. “And this is your stronghold, Tolar-turned-Yonan?'’
    “It is the stronghold of the People of Green Silences, their allies, and we who come over-mountain.”
    “Those are they who now come then?” He freed one hand from the hilt of his ax, to make a slight gesture downward. And I saw that aparty was indeed climbing the rock wall toward us.
    Crytha gave a sudden little sigh and sat down, as if her legs could bear her no farther. And Tsali flashed away, down to meet those climbers. When I would have moved to follow him that I might speed help for Crytha, I discovered I could not go any nearer to the drop than where I still stood.
    In me there was a rise of fear. The valley was guarded, not only by the valor of those within its walls, but by most ancient and strongest signs of the Power. If any carried on him the brand of the Shadow, he dared not cross its lip, unless he was an adept of the Dark.
    Which I was not—not of the Shadow! Unless—I looked at Uruk and my lips flattened against my teeth. I had freed this man against my will, but I had done so. Was he of the Dark, such an act would have besmirched me