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

also.
    “You—!”
    He did not give me time to add to that threat, or accusation. In answer he strode past me, lowering himself a little over the rock rim, only to return and bend over Crytha, lifting her gently to lean against him, where I was helpless to move.
    Fear and rage warred in me. It was plain then that the danger to those of the Valley lay not in Uruk—but somehow in me—or in the sword! Yet the hilt of that I had dug out of the very rock of its walls, and that had companied me down into the heart of our defense, meeting then with no barrier. Save that I had dreamed thereafter, horribly, of how it had come to an end and me—or someone who had once been me—with it.
    Now I set, with trembling fingers, to the unlatching of the buckle of my sword belt. I could try once more to rid me of this encumbrance, this threat to the Yonan who was. Perhaps if I did not touch the sword itself I could succeed.
    And it would seem that in that speculation I was right, for when sword and bell fell from me, I could step over them to the same cliff edge as Uruk had done. But I heard his voice from behind me:
    “No man can so easily set aside the fate laid upon him!”
    “So,” I snarled like a snow cat, my anger blazing high as I had seldom felt it before. “We shall see!”
    I would kick this sword, send it flying back, away from this place. The rock broke in many crevices; let it fall into one such and be buried, even as the hilt had been hidden before.
    But, before I could move, those from below reached us. The Lady Dahaun moved quickly, nearly as swiftly as Tsali, and she was the first to reach us. Behind her came Lord Kyllan and with him, Imhar, and three others—two of the Green People, one of our own men.
    Crytha pulled away from Uruk with a weak cry of joy, such as I would have given the pain of a wound to hear had it been uttered for me. She fled into the open arms of the Lady Dahaun; there she wept with sobs which tore at her young body.
    The Lady Dahaun whispered gently and that sobbing ceased. But Lord Kyllan, with Imhar at his shoulder, moved forward to face Uruk and me. And it was to my companion that they looked the first, their glances flitting quickly by me.
    Uruk was smiling, a small smile which lifted lips alone and did not reach his watchful eyes. I saw that Lord Kyllan was as much on guard in his own way. But Imhar scowled. However, neither was the first to break silence—it was as if they were not quite sure which words to choose at this moment.
    It was Uruk who spoke, and not to them, but directly to the Lady Dahaun.
    He swung up his ax, holding its double blade at the level of his breast in what was plainly a salute.
    “Hail, Lady of the Green Silences—Merhart that was!”
    Still holding Crytha close to her, she raised her head to stare at him as if she would reach his every thought.
    “It has been long since that name passed the lips of any being—”
    “So I have guessed, Lady. But it has been long since I was able to walk this earth. Whether you be in truth she who bore that name, or one come later of her bloodline, still you must know me.”
    She nodded gravely. “Uruk of the Ax. But the years fled past have been very many.”
    He shrugged. “To me they were a dream. I was captive to Targi—one of his choicer jests, or so he thought it. I have even been a god—to the Thas—if one can conceive of the Thas wishing a god to bow to. But I would guess that even this long toll of years you speak of has not yet resolved our warring.”
    “That is so. For a while we dwelt in the waste, to allow the Shadow to grow dim, rent by its own many furies. Most of the Great Ones are gone. But what some of them left spots the land now as diseased fungi will spot once solid wood. And the war sword has gone forth to raise us again.”
    Uruk laughed. “Then it would seem that I have been roused in time. Uruk of the Ax never refused battle.”
    Lord Kyllan broke in then, and I believed he still looked at