"The Mirror of Worlds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

HERE APART FROM YOUR UNIVERSE. BUT WE HAVE KNOWLEDGE, AND THAT WE WILL

SHARE. A vast sigh stirred the air of the chamber. Perhaps it came from the assembled creatures, things once human but fallen from that state when they reached the Messengers. It seemed, though, that the world itself had breathed out its despair. YOU WISH TO KILL THE COERLI, the voices said. WE WILL SHOW YOU HOW… She was no longer seeing the whirling lights. Instead- A band of Coerli, two handsful less one, ringed a human family. The father held a spear. He lunged at a warrior who leaped aside with contemptuous ease. Warriors to either side spun out hooked lines. One wrapped around the man's throat and jerked him backward; the other line lashed the spear shaft to the man's wrist while the beast who'd thrown it pulled in the opposite direction. The man thrashed and choked until a third warrior stabbed him up through the diaphragm with a flint knife. Then- A group of Coerli chieftains-grizzled, bearing the scars of age and harsh living-sat on a circle of rocks. Around them stood more of the beasts, too many to count. They were howling in blood-maddened passion. Then- A female Corl even older than the chiefs stood in a roofless wicker enclosure. She chanted and marked time with an athame carved from slate. Around her paraded images, ghosts of ghosts to Ilna's eyes.

Most were man-shaped black creatures like the corpses Ilna'd seen when they found Temple. In the distance, though, a nude woman poised at the edge of a pool. The black things seemed to ignore her. Then- Coerli were devouring their prey. The band's fur was subtly different from the spots and striping of the first catmen the Messengers had shown her, though few other humans would've been sure of that. A beast stuck an infant's arm into his mouth and drew it out, stripping the flesh from the bones the way a man might eat a chicken wing. Then- The Messengers hung in the center of the cavern again, pulsing at the rhythm of blood. Their voices said, BRING HER A KNIFE. "A knife for the wizard," chorused the rat voices. There was motion in the carpet of hunched foulness. "She must have a knife, and we will bring it." "I have a knife if I need one!" Ilna said, taking the bone-cased paring knife from her sleeve and drawing the blade. It was fine steel, worn thin but sharp enough to split hairs. A golden sickle appeared at the entrance to the passage; it shimmered forward from hand to unseen hand. One of the creatures bent closer, depositing the blade in the cleared space around Ilna. He shrank back into the mass of his fellows. The curved blade reflected the light of the Messengers as a putrescent hue that Ilna wouldn't have thought possible from gold. "I said I have a knife!" she repeated. BRING HER THE SACRIFICE, the Messengers said. The light they cast clung like treacle to everything it touched. SHE WILL GAIN HER DESIRE. SHE WILL KILL ALL COERLI. Ilna used her foot to deliberately shove the sickle back into the crowd of servitors. She looked up at the spinning pink blurs. "Why must I sacrifice to you?" she said harshly. "She will kill them all!" mewled the servitors. "Oh, such power, power beyond any other's!" YOU DO NOT SACRIFICE TO US, WIZARD, said the voices. THE BLOOD IS POWER. YOU STAND WHERE THE WORLDS TOUCH, SO YOU ACT THROUGH ALL WORLDS. Ilna heard a rustle. She turned to see the gray once-men handing toward her what she first thought was a bundle of fur. It stirred in the pink light: it was a Corl, a kit no more than four or five weeks old. Its eyes were still closed. When the servitors deposited it in the cleared space, it mewled uncomfortably. TAKE THE SACRIFICE, the Messengers said. CUT THE CORL'S THROAT. Then they repeated, THE BLOOD IS POWER.

"She will kill it," the servitors whispered exultantly. "She will drain the blood of the Coerli, every one of them!" A gray creature pushed the kit with an arm or leg, Ilna couldn't be sure which. The little victim yowled and tried to bite. "Get away!" Ilna said, bending forward. If the servitor hadn't instantly flung itself back into the crowd of its fellows, she'd have slashed it open with the knife she still held. Ilna paused, then scooped the kit up with her left hand.

She expected it to snarl, but instead it writhed against the warmth of her bosom. YOU MUST LET OUT THE BLOOD OF THE SACRIFICE, said the thunderous voices. ONLY WITH ITS DEATH CAN YOU GAIN YOUR WISH AND GO FREE. Over the years Ilna had killed unnumbered animals-mostly doves from her own cote, but sometimes chickens bartered from other householders in the borough. Since she'd set off on her mission of wiping out the catmen, she'd killed them too, old and young; as young as this. She'd mostly knocked the kits' brains out against rocks; their teeth were too sharp to hold by the head and snap their necks as she did with poultry. She could use the paring knife easily enough, though she'd have to hold the kit so that its blood didn't spurt on her tunics. Ilna looked up at the Messengers. "I won't make a blood sacrifice!" she said, thrusting her knife into its case and putting it away in her sleeve. She took out a hank of yarn. "Tell me another way or I'm leaving here." YOU MUST LET OUT THE BLOOD OF THE SACRIFICE, said the voices. YOU CAME TO US. YOU CANNOT RETURN UNTIL YOU CARRY OUT YOUR TASK. "She must kill the Corl," the servitors cheeped. She heard laughter in the high-pitched tones. "She must comply or she will join us-s-s…!" Ilna held the kit in the crook of her left elbow. Its presence was a handicap, but not a great one; she began knotting a pattern. The gray creatures had eyes. Her skill could reach them, paralyze them as she ran back up the passage that had brought her here. The passage that had returned her to Hell… She held up the pattern. HER WEAKNESS HAS BETRAYED HER, the Messengers boomed. SHE IS YOURS. The pink light vanished, leaving total blackness. "She is ours!" squealed creatures as numerous as waves in a storm. Warm, probing foulness swarmed over Ilna in the dark. *** "Run for the cliff!" Cashel shouted. The crabs could climb, but at least it'd slow them down a bit. Here on the shingle they were nigh as fast as a man. From the top of the corniche, he and Tenoctris could figure out what to do next. They could try to, anyway. If they let those crabs get hold of them, there wouldn't be anything left but picked bones. Tenoctris had said something here didn't like them. That was true enough, not that he'd doubted her before. The low cliff was less than a stone's throw away, but even though Tenoctris was young again, she wasn't much of a runner. It wasn't something ladies did as often as village girls like Sharina, Cashel supposed. He kept behind her, which was a good thing because she tripped just short of the cliff. She'd have slammed straight into the rock if Cashel hadn't grabbed a handful of tunic right between her shoulder blades. He yanked her back. Crab pincers carved into his heel. That hurt, which didn't matter; but they could've caught him a few fingers' breadth higher and cut his hamstring, which'd cripple him for life. There wasn't time to talk or plan or do anything but act. One-handed-the other held his staff-Cashel straightened out his right arm fast and threw Tenoctris onto the corniche the way he'd have flung a heavy stone. He turned, stamping on the crab that'd caught him. It was good to feel it splash his callused foot with juices as cold as the sea it'd crawled from, but there was more crabs than he could count coming right after it. He'd raised his staff, thinking he might be able to smash the crabs as they came toward him, but they were way too close and too many. A crab closed both pinchers on his right calf, well above the ankle. More crowded close beside it. There was no time to plan… Cashel slammed a ferrule down on the crab that was holding him. He jumped upward, using his grip on the staff to lift him as he twisted his body around. If he'd had a running start, he might've been able to swing over the lip of the corniche. Flat-footed he was lucky to grab the top with his left hand. He hung there by one arm, supporting half his weight by the other balanced on the quarterstaff like it was a pillar. Tenoctris was chanting. Cashel didn't know what she had in mind, but it was going to have to happen quick for it to do him any good. His right leg was bleeding and felt like he'd been whacked with a club. A pincher was still clamped in the muscle though the rest of the crab was mush down there on the shingle.

Crabs crawled over each other, piling up at the base of the cliff, but some were starting to climb. Cashel didn't have enough strength to lift himself over with one arm alone. He could make it if he let go of the staff, but he wasn't willing to do that and let it slip down into that mob of clicking yellow monsters. It wasn't just that the staff was a weapon that he'd need if he managed to get up the cliff. Cashel and that length of hickory'd been in a lot of hard places together and'd gotten through to the other side. He wasn't going to leave it with the crabs. He was starting to wobble, though. Strong as he was, he couldn't hold like this forever. He guessed if he had to he'd drop down onto the beach and smash as many crabs as he could before the rest pulled him under. "Schaked!" shouted Tenoctris, waving the sword she used for a wand. Cashel expected a flash of wizardlight, but instead he heard the bugle of a hound that must be bigger'n he could believe. Cashel looked over his shoulder. Around the headland came a beast with shaggy red hair and a skull longer than a man's arm. It was as big astwo oxen. Its canines, upper and lower both, were long, but the teeth farther back in the jaws were built to shear or crush. It loped toward the mass of crabs, spraying back the shingle with its flat-clawed feet. The crabs began to scatter, toward the sea in spreading ripples. The great dog-thing bugled again and was on them, lowering its long jaws to scoop them up on the run. It went through the scuttling yellow mass like a scythe through grain, slamming slavering its jaws to crush the crabs it'd caught in the moment previous. Legs, pincers, and parts of shell flew out the sides. Sea birds and surviving crabs would clean the shingle later. The great beast wheeled, making the beach tremble. It weighedtons. Cashel dropped to the ground. The only crabs near the cliff now were ones that'd been trampled in the first rush. Those still alive either twitched or tried to crawl back to the water; they weren't a danger.

He couldn't get up on the corniche any better than he could've a moment before, and this big dog-thing could snatch him from where he hung as easy as a man plucks a pear from a low branch. The beast whuffled. Cashel started his quarterstaff spinning, feeling twitches in muscles that he'd worked hard at awkward angles just a moment before. The beast bugled again; it must eat carrion or else a lot of each meal stayed between its teeth to rot. It loped off in a curve along the edge of the water, sweeping up a second helping of crabs.

"It won't harm us," Tenoctris said. Cashel took a deep breath. He brought the quarterstaff to a halt at his side, then turned and looked up. Tenoctris smiled at him from the corniche. "If you'll help me," she went on, "I'll come down. I don't want to jump onto the rock." "No ma'am," Cashel said. "And I don't want you to do that." He leaned the staff against the cliff. When Tenoctris wriggled over the edge and hung by her hands; he gripped her around the waist and lowered her gently to the shingle. Cashel felt himself blush. "I'm sorry about the way I, well, tossed you," he said, taking his staff again. The dog-thing snuffled along the sea's margin now, licking up crabs it'd crippled. It didn't seem to notice the humans. From this angle Cashel saw that its hindquarters were brindled. "You saved our lives in the only possible fashion," Tenoctris said sharply. "I don't see that as being something you should apologize for." She grinned. "I always knew you had a great ability to do things by art," she said. "By wizardry.

And of course I knew that you were strong the way laymen judge strength. But until I had a healthy young body of my own again, I didn't really appreciatehow strong you are, Cashel." "Thank you, ma'am," he said, keeping his eye on the beast that Tenoctris had called to save them. He started to say something more but caught himself. Tenoctris laughed. "And yes, we'll get on with our own business," she said. "So that you can return to Sharina. Come, the altar's not far at all." Together they set off again for the headland.

Cashel stayed between the wizard and the dog-thing. It bugled again, that was all. Maybe it was saying goodbye. *** Sharina entered the pool cleanly and pulled herself deeper with paired strokes of her arms. She'd expected a shock, but the water was blood warm. Rasile's viewpoint plunged also, apparently looking over Sharina's left shoulder but seeing farther down than eyes-man or Corl either one-should've been able to do. The water, the distorted fish which nudged close to Sharina before darting away with flips of their tails, and the distant mud shimmered with the red tinge of wizardlight. The pool was a thousand feet deep, but Sharina was seeing the bottom through the wizard's eyes. She couldn't possibly swim down that far, but she kept stroking toward it. She expected to fail, but she wouldn't quit. The layer of silt and decay carpeting the pool became transparent in the rosy glow. Sharina saw the tiny blind animals living in it, worms and less identifiable creatures with shells or legs or jointed feelers. She swam downward. She didn't need to breathe as she should've done. Her spread hands drove her deeper against the resistance of something, but she no longer believed it was water. The stones on the floor of the pool, eggs of granite that a stream had tumbled smooth in past ages, began to appear through the layer of muck. At first they lay in a scarlet shimmer. Wizardlight brightened around a single stone, a sphere of quartz the size of Sharina's fist. It was very close. It was- Sharina's arm plunged through the mud she could no longer see and grasped the First Stone.

It was cold, then hot; shefelt her burnt flesh slough away and the bones of her hand turn black and crumble, though she could see with Rasile's eyes that she was uninjured. She kicked against the bottom and began to swim upward with her left hand alone. The surface was a point of sunlight far above, but still she didn't need to breathe. The sunlit circle swelled; she could see ripples, the remains of the disturbance she'd made diving in. Six distorted blacknesses were spaced around the margin of the pool, soldiers of the Last drawn by the splash. Even if they didn't seeher, could they see the turbulence her body made in the water? Sharina reached across her body with her left hand and drew the Pewle knife. She didn't want to take the stone in her other hand. She might drop it, or worse-she might cripple her left hand also, burn the flesh and bones away. Both her wrists would end in blackened stumps… She felt a great shock. The pool bubbled; the detritus that'd settled on the bottom over millennia swelled upward in a dark, spreading cloud. What had she done when she removed the First Stone? She porpoised up through the surface. If there'd ever been a stone curb, the Last had removed it when they prepared the pool for their own purposes. Sharina braced herself on the margin with her right elbow and the butt of her knife, then swung out of the water. The two nearest of the Last sliced at the pool.

Their swords were so keen that the edges scarcely disturbed the water.

Neither struck her. All the Last were alert now, their skin flaps folded. Sharina dodged between two who must've sensed the movement.

They slashed toward one another, but their strokes cut only air.

Sharina was past, and the perfectly placed blades came within a hair's breadth of each others black flesh without touching it. Sharina sprinted for the entrance. Her tunic lay on the ground where she'd dropped it. Her mother, Lora, would be furious with her; Lora'd never understood the concept that reality was sometimes more important than appearance… When Sharina thought of Lora, it was always at a time like this: when she or Garric were doing something necessary for mankind which their mother wouldn't have approved of. She grinned despite the situation. Maybe Lora was a good mother after all. She showed us what to avoid. The Last formed a line across the width of the fortress, standing shoulder to shoulder. The roiling pool wouldn't provide them with reinforcements for at least some minutes, but stolid black soldiers were returning from the siege lines through the west entrance. They must speak mentally to one another. Sharina reached the east entrance by which she'd entered. Five of the Last stood across it, filling the space completely. Their swords were raised to slash downward. No time to think… Sharina stabbed the warrior in the center through the eye. He convulsed, swinging his sword and shield out to the sides; his legs kicked upward like a frog's. Sharina jerked back as his neighbors struck. The line of warriors forming behind her ran toward the entrance. Choosing her time, Sharina leaped over the thrashing body. She sprinted out of the fortress and ran full tilt toward the human lines because she didn't need to hide her presence now. To her surprise, Attaper and a troop of Blood Eagles stood at the base of the wall; they'd climbed down by a sturdy ladder. Rasile stood on the parapet. "There she is!" Attaper shouted. "Get around your princess, troopers!" Sharina was seeing with her own eyes, which meant she could be seen. She didn't care about men, not for the moment, but the Last could see her. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find a column of them rushing toward her. There was no artillery to support the troops who'd be pitting their flesh against swords which could cut steel. The Last weren't following her. Something was going on in the fortress, though; a pair of distorted black bodies flew high in the air and dropped back. A soldier swung a cloak over Sharina's shoulders and clasped it. It was a military garment and perhaps his own, but Rasile must've told him to bring it for the purpose: none of the other men were wearing them. Sharina climbed the ladder, balancing without using her hands. She couldn't sheathe the Pewle knife until she'd wiped the purplish ichor off the blade, and she didn't have any way to carry the First Stone except in her hand. The Blood Eagles formed in front of the ladder. They only started climbing when she'd reached the parapet. Rasile took the quartz sphere. Sharina's right hand felt as though it'd been frozen, but she could see her fingers move when she tried to wiggle them. She stepped to the side so that the Blood Eagles had room to mount the parapet; Attaper was predictably waiting on the ground until all his men were up. "What do we do now, Rasile?" Sharina asked. She looked around for something to clean her knife on, a rag or a wad of dry grass. There was nothing in sight, and she didn't want to foul some trooper's cloak. The wizard stepped into a bay from which the catapult had been removed. She spread her yarrow stalks into a figure on the floor of packed turf.

"Now," she said, "I will deliver the First Stone a person who's capable of using it properly, Princess. Because I certainly am not."

"Your ladyship?" said Trooper Lires, a man who'd regularly stood beside-and in front of-Sharina in bad places. He was offering a chammy, probably the one he'd used to bring the blackened bronze of his armor to a mirror gloss. "Use this. It'll wash out." Sharina reached for the swatch of goathide. Another face was reflected beside hers on the shield boss. She jerked back. "Sharina, you must come with me now!" cried Prince Vorsan. "There're only minutes remaining for you. You've loosed the creature that the First Stone drew to it. Dear Princess, it's grown beyond anyone's control!' "Get away from me!"

Sharina shouted. Lires had been looking puzzled, trying to find where Vorsan's voice was coming from. Shocked by Sharina's words, his jaw dropped and he straightened to attention. "Sorry, mistress!" he mumbled. "Shouldn't have spoke, won't happen again." "Not you, Lires, the-" "Sister take you, Lires!" shouted Attaper as he came up the ladder. "You've got a face on your shield and it's talking!" "Sharina, there's no time to waste. You must-" The fortress of the Last burst outward with a deafening crash. Plates that no human agency could harm now split and buckled, breaking across rather than where seams joined the individual pentagons. A cloud of opalescent smoke was rising from the wreckage. Sharina blinked: it wasn't smoke. It was the carapace of a crab bigger than she'd have dreamed possible. It wasn't really a crab. Tentacles around its mouth writhed, and the single eye at the top of the headplate was larger than the pool from which she'd taken the First Stone. The creature squirmed toward the human camp. Each pincer was the size of a trireme. One of the small ballistas remaining on this end of the siege lines snapped out its bolt. If it hit, the impact was lost in the immensity of the target. "Sharina, you must-" cried Vorsan. Lires spun his shield off the parapet into no-man's-land. "Guess not having that won't make much difference now," he said nonchalantly, drawing his sword. "And the talk was getting on my nerves." "Sharina, on your life, come!" cried Vorsan from beneath the wall. The shield had landed with the mirrored boss upward. "I don't want to live eternity without you!" The creature came on.

Sharina glanced at Rasile, who chanted in a four-pointed star and held out the First Stone. Wizardlight played about her, blue and then scarlet. I wonder if she'll have time to finish the spell, Sharina thought. She looked at the Pewle knife. She still hadn't wiped the blade, but it didn't matter now. Lady, be with me. Lady, gather my soul to you when I leave this body. The creature lurched forward, far overtopping the parapet.

Chapter 16 "The Telchines stole the sign that takes a user to the Fulcrum," Tenoctris said, looking toward the slab of black stone which the water lapped. "They didn't dare use it themselves, of course. They just wanted tohave it." "Leisin of Hardloom Farm was a miser," said Cashel. It seemed a very long time ago that he'd lived in the Borough and hadn't seen any city bigger than the straggle of huts making up Barca's Hamlet. "He didn't exactly steal, but he'd short your wages if he thought he could." He'd never understood Leisin, a wealthy farmer who didn't eat any better than Cashel himself or even as well. They started with the same cheap fare-whey cheese, oats or barley, and root vegetables-but Leisin didn't have Ilna to prepare and season it with wild greens. Still yet he'd cheat a twelve-year-old orphan who'd spent three summer days resetting a drystone wall that'd collapsed in a storm. Cashel smiled at a memory. "Did Master Leisin amuse you?"

Tenoctris asked with a guarded expression. "No, ma'am," Cashel said, embarrassed now. He kept looking across the strait so he didn't have to meet her eyes. There was another headland about a mile distant, rising higher than it did on this side. "I was thinking that though I didn't have my full growth when I was twelve, I was still too big for Leisin to threaten whipping me if I didn't get off his farm without my pay." "Ah," said Tenoctris. "I suspect Leisin and the Telchines would've understood each other better than you or I understand either one of them." She glanced toward the strait again; Cashel followed her eyes. The slab rose waist-high above the surface, but they'd need to wade a furlong of water to reach it. There was no way of telling how deep it was. The salt water'd make his cuts sting, though folks said a salt bath helped them heal quicker too. Cashel thought about the crabs and whether they'd be waiting just out from the shore. He'd know quick enough, he guessed. "I can carry you over," he said. "It might be best if you rode my shoulders, so I'll have both hands free. If they need to be, you know." "I'll walk, Cashel," Tenoctris said. She gave him a funny sort of smile. "I'm not an old woman any more, you know. I won't shrink." She turned to the sea again. "A wizard standing there can shift the worlds," she said. "Just as the Telchines said. If she's powerful enough." She raised an eyebrow toward Cashel. "Yes, ma'am," he said. It wasn't really a question, but it seemed she wanted him to say something. "That's why you wanted to be here, isn't it?" "Many wizards have wanted to be here!" Tenoctris said. She sounded angry, though why at him he couldn't imagine. "For a wizard with sufficient power and the proper tools, everything is possible. She could rule worlds. All worlds, Cashel! Not just this one." Cashel looked around, moving his hands a little on his quarterstaff. The water was a dirty gray and colder even than the air, which he knew from stepping through leads the tide'd left. The corniche behind them and the hills on the other side of the strait were volcanic and too raw for anything to grow on. The big dog-thing that'd saved them must live on what the sea cast up, if Tenoctris hadn't brought it here from some place else entirely. He thought of getting out his swatch of raw wool and polishing lanolin into the pores of the hickory, but Tenoctris might think he was pushing her to get on with things. She seemed in a bad mood already. "You'd have to want to rule things awful bad to be willing to live here," Cashel said. "I guess I'm not the one to say.

Though there've been times I wished I could get sheep to show a little better sense." "I don't think the world has much to fear from you, then, Cashel," Tenoctris said softly. She raised the alien sword and looked at it critically, then lowered its point to the ground again.

She was smiling as she met Cashel's eyes again. "We'll cross to the Fulcrum now," she said. "And I think I'll have you carry me after all.

In the crook of your arm. There's no danger in the water, I assure you." "Yes, ma'am," Cashel said, making a seat of his left arm. She reached around his neck and he gripped the inside of her knee so she didn't roll off. He splashed in. The water was cold, sure, but nothing that'd be a problem for a short hike. It didn't come up to the middle of his calves. The only problem was he had to walk slower than he'd have liked to because otherwise he'd be splashing onto Tenoctris' legs. Cashel grinned. He was used to following sheep, so walking slow wasn't a new thing either. He strode on. *** Garric stepped onto the high tor. Shin's altar must be the cube of quartz beside the opening that gave down into the cavern. The broken rocks of the ridgeline were beige and russet, and the dry grass in cracks between them had a sere absence of color. The sun was setting in the west, and on the southern horizon the strange white star gleamed like a demon's eye. The wyvern looked out from the edge of the cliff fifty feet away, peering into the wind that roared up the rock face. From Garric's viewpoint it looked like a gigantic bird of prey. Its tail was rigid, trembling up and down to adjust the creature's balance. Its hide was the color of sullen flames. The altar was nearly as tall as Garric and apparently equal in all dimensions.

From a distance he'd have said ithad to be artificial, but with the cube in reach he couldn't see any seam between its milky presence and the sandstone it rested on. Garric started to his left, keeping his distance from the wyvern. It must've heard him, though, because it spun around and for a moment reared upright, spreading its stubby wings to make itself look bulkier. It glared, then stretched its long neck toward Garric and screamed. Its tongue was black, and its teeth were the color of old ivory. "It doesn't really need wings to look big," Carus said calmly. "It's the size of a thirty-oared ship already. Well, nearly." They were eye to eye with the wyvern. In turning it'd halved the distance between them. Garric kept his sword slanted across his body. His dagger was low and out to his left, ready to strike upward. The wyvern's body lowered as its legs contracted to spring. Garric continued to circle slowly. He was just as tense as the monster, but his feet glided like snakes. His smile mirrored that of the warrior-ghost in his mind. Kore stepped up from the staircase.

Garric'd been wondering if the ogre'd thought better of her offer to fight the wyvern with him, but she'd simply waited to make her entrance when it'd most disrupt the creature's timing. The wyvern screamed, angry this time instead of threatening; the second opponent had confused its small brain. It hopped sideways along the edge of the cliff; despite its size, it was as agile as a robin. The ridge shook when the clawed feed landed. Sunset deepened the creature's natural color into that of drying blood. The ogre slouched to the right, slanting minusculely toward the wyvern the way Garric did from the other side. The beast jerked its head from one to another. It had the narrow face and forward-focused eyes of a predator; with its opponents so close, it couldn't keep them both in its field of view. "He's not used to being hunted," Kore said with a laugh. "The change'll be good for him." Shin came up from the cavern and mounted the altar. He moved almost tentatively instead of calling attention to himself with acrobatics. "Not if things go as I intend," said Garric. He moved closer to the wyvern. If he and the ogre separated too far, the wyvern would leap on one before the other could intervene. The aegipan raised both hands as if pointing to the sky and began to chant. Wizardlight rippled between his index fingers. Kore laughed again, then hunched.

The wyvern lunged at her, pivoting on its left foot. Its splayed claws gouged the sandstone surface, scattering grit and pebbles. Kore leaped twenty feet backward from a flat-footed stance. Garric drove in, thrusting into the side of the wyvern's knee. He missed the cartilage because the leg was flexing, but the sword's impossibly keen point ripped into the thigh bone. The beast screamed and whirled on Garric.

Instead of dodging back, he slashed across its beak. It lifted its head out of range, spraying blood from where the cut had reached the quick. The wyvern sprang at Garric, leading with its right foot. He dived to the side. The beast twisted in the air to follow him, but Kore seized its stiff tail in the air. The ogre's weight snapped the tail around, and the wyvern crashed down on its left hip. Garric got up. The creature buffeted him against the rock with its wing. The pinion was stubby in comparison to the long body, but it was still a ten-foot club of bone and cartilage. Garric blinked. He'd almost stabbed himself with his dagger when he fell. Had it not been for Carus' reflexes, he'd be bleeding like a stuck pig and dead within minutes even if the wyvern didn't bother to finish him off. A line of wizardlight sizzled from horizon to horizon, supported on Shin's raised index fingers. Though the sun had almost set, the blue glare lit the ridge as clearly as noonday. The wyvern lashed its tail, trying to batter Kore loose. The ogre didn't let go at first, but the second stroke flung her to the edge of the cliff. The wyvern lurched to its feet. If Garric'd been in better shape, he'd have doubled his legs under him and sprung up immediately. Instead he rolled onto all fours, then rose to one knee. The wyvern shrieked and stamped to crush Garric like an olive in the press. Garric thrust into the descending foot, driving half his long blade up into the ankle bones. The wyvern's claws clenched reflexively, contracting on edges sharp as sunlight. The creature gave a great cry and sprang upward, pulling itself off the sword. Garric staggered upright and backed away. He was seeing double and he'd lost the dagger, Duzi knew where. It might be sticking in him for all he knew. He didn't think his left shoulder and ribs could hurt more if therewas a long knife buried in them.

"Frog-brain!" Kore shouted. She waggled her arms out to the side, palms-backward. "Pimple-brain!" The wyvern turned and pecked down, using its hooked beak like an assassin's dagger. Kore slammed both sides of the birdlike head with the chunks of sandstone she'd concealed in her huge hands. The wyvern stumbled. Garric minced two steps to put himself in position, then thrust at the right knee again.

This time he got home in the joint. The wyvern tried gracelessly to snap at Garric; Kore hurled the stone in her right hand, bouncing it off the back of the creature's skull. The wyvern tottered. Garric advanced and thrust again, aiming this time for the left knee. He missed because the wyvern stepped back. As it put its the weight onto its right leg, the knee buckled. The creature gave a despairing cry and toppled sideways. The ogre stepped out of the way and fell also; a claw had torn deeply into her left leg. The wyvern crashed onto the sandstone, rolled, and rolled over the edge of the cliff. Garric could hear it screaming in frustrated rage for what seemed an impossibly long time. The ground trembled when the wyvern struck an outcrop partway down, then trembled again when it hit near the base and was thrown well outward. The third impact was on the track at the bottom of the valley. Garric sank to one knee again; it took less energy than remaining upright did. Shin stood like a furry statue on top of his altar. The line of light he balanced had grown to a tube in which a man could stand upright. Astride the horizon at either end was a colossal figure. To the north was an ancient Corl female holding a glowing ball of quartz. To the south stood a young woman who reached toward the ball. The woman's features were hauntingly similar to those of Tenoctris. *** The creatures crushing Ilna down wailed like a fetid wind.

The weight came off her. As it did, clear white light flooded the chamber. She staggered to her feet, squinting against the dazzling brilliance and her tears of rage. The kit wriggled deeper into the crook of her arm. She saw blurred figures approaching and tried to spread the pattern she'd knotted for defense. Karpos closed his big hand over the fabric before Ilna could stretch it to life. "Mistress, it's all right," he said. "We're here. We'll get you out." "What are those things?" Asion said in obvious disgust. "They're filthy as possums, by theLady they are!" "Temple'll get us out, I mean," Karpos added. "Say, is that one of the cat-things you got there?" "They would've made me one of them," Ilna said. She opened her eyes; when they were closed, she thought of the future she'd just avoided. The light was that of noon on a sunny day, bright but not unusually so. It was only by contrast to the pink dimness that it'd been so shocking.

Ilna put her yarn away, then tucked the loose fabric of her sleeve over the little cat-beast, not so much for warmth as to protect it from the hunters' eyes. She said, "Don't worry about the kitten. It'll be all right." The light came from Temple's shield. He'd slung it on his left shoulder, so its brilliance blurred from the walls of the cavern instead of blazing directly on Ilna and the hunters. Even when reflected from colored sandstone it kept its white purity. "How do you do that?" Ilna blurted. "And how did you get here?" Temple smiled. "I think we'd best leave now," he said. "Since I don't think there's any reason to stay, is there?" "No," said Ilna, suppressing a shudder.

"Nothing's keeping us here." Temple gestured her toward the passage back to the surface. "I'll follow the rest of you," he said. "That'll be best." Two of the servitors lay on the stone floor, ripped by Asion's knife. The clean light shrank their bodies to twists of gray rags, and it'd driven the remainder of the creatures into the depths of the cave. Asion wouldn't have needed to strike any of them, but Ilna well understood why he'd chosen to. She forced herself to look at the Messengers. All she could see was a shimmer in the bright air.

They'd cursed her to an eternity of foul oblivion; where had their power gone now? Ilna turned. "Thank you for rescuing me, Temple," she said. "I should've said that sooner. Thank you all." "It was a pleasure," said Temple. He smiled. "It was something that should've been done a long while ago. But now…?" "Yes," said Ilna, striding toward the passage. "I'll lead," said Asion, uncoiling the strap of his sling. "I'd like both of you to go ahead, if you will," said Ilna.

"I have some business to discuss with Master Temple." "Yes, mistress," said Karpos meekly. He joined his partner so they entered the passage together. Despite shadows, the shield on Temple's shoulder lighted the way as brightly as it'd been when Ilna came down this way. "I never thought I'd get out," she whispered. "I thought I was in Hell.

Forever." The kit mewed and rubbed against Ilna's arm. Temple said,

"We wouldn't have left you here, Ilna." He was walking beside her, his right shoulder to her left. She turned and said quietly, "How were you able to come? I'd blocked the mouth of the cave." When Ilna'd blurted similar words on first seeing her rescuers, they'd been more an accusation than a real question: howdare you come here when I forbade it? It embarrassed her to remember that, but her memory was very good.

She had many things to recall painfully in the dark hours before dawn, so one more wasn't a great additional burden. Temple reached under his sash and took out a skein of cords. Ilna knew that if she spread it instead of simply picking out the knots, she'd find the pattern she'd left to close the passage. "Would this have stopped you?" Temple said.

She frowned. "No, of course not," she said. "Nor did it stop me,"

Temple said in the same mild tone as before. He handed the skein, twisted and harmless, to Ilna. Their eyes met as she took it from him.

Temple looked away, up the passage to the hunters several double-paces ahead of them. Softly he said, "In a very distant… world, let us say, there were humans and Coerli, as there are in the Land. They'd fought and killed each other for generations." He turned slightly and met Ilna's eyes. "Go on," she said. The kit kicked away the sleeve that covered it. She touched it with her right hand to calm it. She wondered if it'd been weaned. Probably not.` "A man was born," said Temple to the passage ahead. "The greatest warrior of his time, perhaps of all time. This man decided that the fighting should stop, that humans and Coerli should live together in peace." "Did anyone listen to him?" Ilna said. She too faced straight ahead. "I shouldn't expect that they would." "Only a few did at first," said Temple. "But he was a great warrior. He fought those who opposed him and crushed them, killed them often enough. Men and Coerli both. In the end, he had his peace, and his world had peace." Temple looked at her. "He wasn't a saint, Ilna," he said, his words taking on a harsh burr. "He was nothing like a saint. But he brought peace to his world." Ilna licked her lips. They and her mouth were dry as lint. "I know a man like that," she said. "I thought you might," Temple said with a smile.

"And perhaps the same thing will happen to him as happened to the warrior I'm speaking of. After he died, people-both humans and Coerli; they thought of each other as people now-put statues to him in their temples. They forgot he'd been a man, a very terrible man when he needed to be. He became a sun god, with a priesthood to tell later ages about how he'd brought the light of peace to the world." Ilna could see the cave entrance close ahead of them, past the shoulders of the two hunters. "And then?" she asked. "The Change sewed many times and places into a patchwork," Temple said, still smiling. "Among them was a sacred pool from the warrior's world. When the Last came there, the priests fought them. They prevented more of the creatures from arriving." Temple grimaced. "They were priests, not warriors," he said harshly. "They didn't have weapons or the skill to use weapons, but they had courage; which in the end was enough." He looked at her.

"They prayed to their God, Ilna," he said. "Not for themselves, but for this Land to which they been brought to die." "Let me tell you!" said Asion cheerfully. "Iam glad to see the open sky again. I surely am!" "We all are, my friend," Temple said. He gestured Ilna ahead of him, stepped through the narrow entrance himself, and turned. He gestured. The ridge snapped and shuddered. Dust blew out of the crack in the rock; then the jambs of the entrance smashed together. The whole trembled again as it settled into silence. "What about the Messengers?" Ilna said. Temple shrugged. "They remain," he said.

"They'll remain for all eternity. But though I'm sure men will find a way to reach their vault again, I don't think that will happen soon."

"Ah, Temple?" said Asion. "What do we do now?" "I thought that for the time being you might want to stay with Ilna," Temple said with a smile. "And Ilna? I thought you might want to go home. Return to the friends you left after the Change." Ilna looked at him without expression. The kit mewled and tried to nuzzle her breast. That wasn't going to do any good, but there'd be a milch goat or even a wet nurse in Valles or wherever Garric was. "Yes," Ilna said. "I'd like that."

Smiling like the statue of a God, Temple raised his arms toward the sun. *** "All right, here you go," Cashel said, standing beside the black slab. He lifted Tenoctris with his left palm; his right hand, clenched on the quarterstaff, gave her shoulder something to lean back on. "I can't put you up on your feet, though." Saying that reminded him of the way he'd tossed her onto the corniche. He felt embarrassed all over again, though at the time, well… as she'd said herself, he didn't see there being any choice. "I can stand, thank you,"

Tenoctris said. She swung lithely upright and walked to the center of the block, her wooden soles clacking. Running his fingers over the Fulcrum made Cashel wonder what it really was. He'd thought rock when he saw it from the shore, but it had the chill of metal to the touch.

It was as smooth as the blade of an axe, and even the color was wrong.

He didn't have Ilna's eye for that sort of thing, but he could see the black was too pure to be natural. Well, that was a question for some other time. Cashel thrust the staff into the sea and wriggled it, making sure it was butted firmly in the bottom. With the hickory for a brace, he took a tall step onto the slab himself. Though he wasn't going to slip, he'd still rather've been back in the cold salt water than walking on this slick surface. "What would you like me to do, Tenoctris?" he asked. She'd been looking over the slab carefully, the way Cashel'd check the grain of wood before shaping it into something.

Whatever it was made of, it was not only polished but perfectly round.

"I won't need to scribe a figure after all," Tenoctris said. "If I could, even with this-" she waggled the sword "-which I'm rather inclined to doubt, now that I'm here." Tenoctris drew back her arm and flung the sword into the sea. "There," she said. "I've never liked to use athames. There's an implied threat in them, though they're effective in their way. Do you understand what I mean, Cashel?" "I think so, ma'am," he said. "But it makes no matter. There's a lot of things Idon't understand, but it all works out anyway." She gave him a cold smile. "Simply remain close, then," she said. "That helps more than you may realize. And one more thing?" "Ma'am?" "I gave you my locket to hold," Tenoctris said. She held out her right hand. "I need it back now. I must be whole to accomplish this task." "Oh," said Cashel. "Right, it'll take me a moment." He leaned the quarterstaff into the crook of his elbow so he had both hands to work with. The iron cap was likely to skid on the slab, so he held it between the toes of his right foot. "Are you just going to give me the locket?"

Tenoctris said, her voice sharp and rising. "Yes, ma'am," Cashel said, concentrating on what he was doing. He had to be careful or he'd pull the thin chain in half. "Here you go." He held out the locket and chain in the palm of his hand instead of dropping it into hers. That'd let her use both hands to put it on without snagging her hair.

"Cashel, I have a demon inside me!" Tenoctris said. "Didn't you wonder where my new power came from? With this locket in my possession, there'll be nothing and no one who can control me!" "But you'll control yourself," Cashel said. He felt silly holding the locket and her not taking it. She'd even lowered her hand so he couldn't just drop it in her palm after all. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Tenoctris," he said, "I saw the demon. He didn't want to try conclusions with me, and I don't guess he got very far with you either. At any rate, you're still Tenoctris. So here's your locket back, if you need it." Tenoctris took the locket. "You were a very good shepherd, weren't you, Cashel?" she said. He smiled. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "And I hope I still am." He took the wool out and wiped his staff, especially the part he'd stuck into the salt water.

He hoped he'd be using it for many years to come; and if he wasn't, well, at least at the end he wouldn't have to be ashamed that he hadn't taken care of his tools. Tenoctris starting chanting words of power. A disk of wizardlight flickered between her upraised arms and began to extend into a tube Cashel put away his wool and watched his friend. He just stood where he was, smiling faintly with his feet braced. To anyone looking at him, he was as solid as the Fulcrum of Worlds itself. *** "All right," Lord Attaper said. He sounded irritated and a little bored, but certainly not frightened of the behemoth crawling toward them. "Captain Ascor, get her highness out of here fast. Get her back to Valles, I think. I'm afraid you'll have to improvise on logistics." "No," said Sharina. She nodded to the Corl wizard. "I need to stay with Rasile." The ground shook as the creature lurched toward the siege lines. Four paddle-like legs drove it, so it as much swam as walked. It's certainly not a crab, the back of Sharina's mind noted.

Her mouth smiled at the way people think about trivia when they have only moments to live. "Ascor, I said-" Attaper roared, blasting his anger out at his subordinate because he couldn't, even now, shout at the Princess Sharina. Sharina stepped between the men, facing the guard commander at inches distance. She was tall for a woman, tall enough to meet his eyes or nearly so. "Attaper," she snapped, "the world will live or die because of what that wizard-" She pointed toward Rasile without turning her head. "-is able to do right now. If she needs help with her art-with herwizardry, Attaper-are you going to understand what she's asking for?" Attaper edged backward. His expression had gone from furious to neutral; when his eyes flicked to follow Sharina's gesture, he frowned in concern. A few of the Blood Eagles were comfortable around wizardry, but their commander wasn't among them. "Right," said Sharina, turning away. "You do your job, milord, and leave me to mine." And the crab would do its job or anyway take its pleasure, and then Sharina wouldn't have to worry about the problems of ruling the kingdom or much of anything else. She stood with one hand on the wicker battlement, facing Rasile. If the wizarddid unexpectedly request something, Sharina'd be ready to supply it. Rasile held the First Stone out at arms' length as she wailed her chant. A faint azure circle began to sparkle in front of her. Sharina had the feeling of depth and distance, but the incantation was obviously far from complete. Removing the talisman had freed the creature. She wondered if it was following the stone. There was no one to ask save Rasile, who'd shortly be as much beyond answering as Sharina herself would be beyond asking the question. The monster hunched thunderously closer. It could've ripped the siege works apart with its pincers; that it didn't was likely out of contempt for them as a barrier. Sharina glanced up at it coldly, showing the soldiers nearby that she wasn't afraid to face the thing. Shewas afraid. It was like looking at an avalanche sweeping everything before it. But she was Princess Sharina of Haft, standing with men who'd repeatedly put their lives on the line, literally, for the kingdom they served. She served it also. "Sharina, I can still save you!" cried the face from the gleaming shield on the ground. Sharina looked down and said,

"Vorsan, if you deserved the title 'Prince,' you'd have saved your own world or died with it!" Like Attaper, she was venting her anger and fear on someone it was safe to attack. "Now, leave me to my duties!"

Rasile stood at one end of a tube that spanned more than merely space.

At the unimaginably distant other end hulked a gigantic figure, shadowy but sharpening as the wizard chanted. The blue wizardlight joining the termini sparkled brighter with each syllable. "I can't live if you die," Vorsan said, but Sharina wasn't looking at him any more. It looked as though the rock of Pandah itself were crawling toward them. The monster's single glittering eye swept the world from horizon to horizon. It was too high to hit with even a catapult stone.

Attaper shouted, "Loose!" The volley of javelins his troops arced out was as harmless as a spray of rain. For the most part the missiles glanced off the thick headshield; the few which stuck wobbled like whiskers on a giant's chin. Each time Sharina looked from the monster to Rasile or the reverse, she felt disoriented. The tube which the wizard held didn't lead in any direction of the world where Sharina stood in the shadow of a creature bigger than anything alive could become. The figure holding the other end of the tube was equally out of scale with present reality. It grew clearer as the wizardlight brightened. It was human, was a woman- By the Lady, that's Tenoctris since she made herself young! The monster's paddle legs tensed, preparing to lift the massive body onto the siege works and beyond.

Nearby soldiers held their swords ready; they'd thrown their javelins.

A small ballista cracked; its crew had reloaded it in time to snap out a final bolt which drove to its wooden fletching in the headshield.

That was a testament to courage and professionalism in the face of certain disaster. "I'll save you, Sharina," Vorsan called from the fringes of Sharina's consciousness. Then- Everything turned amber, as though she were viewing the world through a sheet of thin tortoiseshell. The crab-thing shrank- But it didn't. The shield Lires had thrown off the parapet was the size of the sky. An iris opened in its face. The monster flowed into it the way salt vanishes into water.

Soldiers were shouting in amazement and fear, though they'd been stolid in the face of oncoming death. The monster was gone. Remaining was the broad track its advance had carved from where the fortress of the Last had been. Sharina looked down. The shield lay as it'd fallen, gleaming in the bright sunlight. "Maybe he's…," she whispered, but she didn't finish the foolish comment. The antediluvian princewasn't all right, couldn't possibly be all right. Even now she couldn't pretend she liked Vorsan, but he'd given her reason to respect him. "Lady, take unto You the soul of Vorsan, who sacrificed himself for others. Nonnus, be a brother to one who died for me as you died for me." Rasile's long muzzle worked as she shouted the final words of her incantation, but a hush had fallen over the scene.

Neither the wizard nor the troops could break it. The tube of light became a pulsing sapphire bar, so intense it was almost opaque. Rasile thrust the First Stone into it, while the colossal figure of Tenoctris reached from the other end. Their hands met at the midpoint. There was a thunderclap. The tube vanished. The Corl wizard staggered forward and would've fallen if Sharina hadn't caught her. It was midday on the plain outside Pandah, from whose walls men and Coerli stared down in wonder. Nothing remained of the Last who'd been attacking the city, save body parts at the edge of the pit from which the crab-thing had emerged. On the surrounding horizon, scarlet wizardlight trembled. *** Tenoctris stood like a statue, her upraised arms touching a tube of wizardlight as dark as the depths of the sea. Instead of the sparkles and flashes Cashel expected from wizardry, this blaze was dense, almost solid. Part of him thought he ought to look outward in case something crept up on them, but there hadn't been anything that way since the crabs scrambled back into the water. Even if they returned, they couldn't climb up the slab's slick wall. Cashel watched Tenoctris instead. Whatshe was doing was dangerous and no mistake. He didn't pretend he'd be able to help much if things went wrong, but he'd try. "Astraelelos!" Tenoctris shouted. "Chraeleos!" At each syllable, the little wave-tops flattened in a circle expanding away from the Fulcrum. Tenoctris hadn't grown but she seemed larger; like a mountain, even. An ancient Corl female stood like a mirror image of Tenoctris at the other end of the tube. She was chanting too, but in her right hand was a ball of crystal with red pulsing fire at its heart. Tenoctris shouted again, but there was only silence in Cashel's world. The cat woman held the crystal and Tenoctris reached to take it. Their hands met. Red, roaring wizardlight absorbed the world and expanded. Cashel stood with Tenoctris. Together they looked into the heart of the cosmos. The wizard's face was a calm as a god's. With her left hand cupping the blazing crystal, she pointed her right toward a star. Its white light turned scarlet and swelled from a speck to a shimmering ball. For a moment the Last continued to crawl across the world on which Cashel had lived. He saw everything. Lines of fierce black figures marched from the icy crater where they'd arrived in the Land. The light of the red star fell on them and they burned, igniting forests and plains. Those who'd been crossing deserts melted sand into glass as they dissolved. The lens of ice where the Last stood shoulder to shoulder exploded in steam as violent as a new eruption from the volcano's cold heart. Tenoctris lowered her hand. The red star burst, then vanished like smoke in a gale. She turned and looked at Cashel, smiling faintly. She held the crystal out in her left hand. Is she asking me to take it? "No, Tenoctris," he said, but he couldn't hear the words even in his own head. Still smiling, Tenoctris pointed her right index finger toward the crystal. Ittwisted, shrank, and was gone. The scarlet light disappeared with the crystal. Tenoctris fell forward. Cashel caught her and lowered her carefully. Rather than lay her head on the polished black slab, he sat also and pillowed it against his left thigh. A gull high overhead called. There was a breeze from the west. Cashel wondered if it'd been there all the time but he hadn't noticed it before. There'd been a lot going on. "I couldn't trust myself with the First Stone," Tenoctris whispered. She opened her eyes, but just a little bit. "I couldn't trust anybody but you, Cashel. And you didn't want it." She must mean the crystal.

"Well, I don't need it, Tenoctris," he said. "Are you comfortable here? I could take you ashore." Tenoctris laughed. "No, I suppose you don't," she said. "And after I rest a little while, I'll take us back home. Back to Sharina." Cashel beamed. "That'll be nice," he said. The gull called again. Funny. Even the bird's cry sounded cheerful to Cashel just now.

Epilogue The priest Nivers rose from a couch of green velvet so old that the pile was worn to the ground in many patches. "They're returning!" he shouted in a cracked voice. "If you're planning to invite somebody to dinner, Nivers," said Salmson, "then they'd better like turnips. The rats got at the last of the ham, but it was going bad anyway." Salmson was officially an underpriest of Franca, the Sky God; in fact he was Nivers' steward. He'd entered with a carafe of watered wine when he heard Nivers awakening from his prophetic trance.

Those two and an old cook who mumbled to herself in the dialect of the hinterlands were the only residents of the priestly mansion attached to the Temple of Franca. "No, you fool!" Nivers cried. "Franca and His Siblings are returning! There'll be blood running on the altars for Them to drink, and the finest delicacies for me!" He stumbled on the sash of his robe; it'd become untied while he sent his soul in quest of a future better than this ruined present. He went through the ritual at every new moon, but never till now had his dreams reached a destination. "Come!" Nivers said, hiking up his garments. "Help me find my sandals. The good ones, mind! I have to see the Emperor.

Palomir will be great again!" "And pigs will fly," Salmson muttered, but he set the carafe on a stone-topped table and followed his master down the corridor to the suite they lived in. This hadn't been one of Nivers' ordinary dreams fueled by sniffs of lotus pollen. Those fantasies didn't last as long as it took the priest to get up from his couch. Arched windows here on the third story looked out on the city of Palomir, set like a jewel against the dark mass of surrounding jungle. Light glittered from thousands of spires and peaks. Because the sun was so near the horizon, shadows and refractions concealed much of the ruin of the glass towers. But just perhaps…, thought Salmson. A rat ran down the corridor ahead of him. *** Garric stepped from a sunlit mountaintop into the shade of the tarpaulin covering the Regent, Princess Sharina, and her council.

The camp was behind very impressive field fortifications, but he didn't have the faintest ideawhere it was. "That's Pandah, but it was an island in my day," said Carus, whose eye for terrain was unmatched in Garric's experience. The ghost's image frowned. "In yours too."

"Prince Garric, you've returned!" Lord Tadai said enthusiastically. He was seated across the council table, two doors resting on trestles and covered with baize, so he saw Garric appear. "I'll bet he thinks you just walked into the tent, though," said Carus, grimly uncomfortable with wizardry even now. "Garric!" Sharina said, whirling and jostling the table as she tried to get up. Liane simply kicked her stool over and threw herself into Garric's arms. She wouldn't have done that if she hadn't been very much afraid… "And she had reason," Carus said. "Though it worked out pretty well. There's not much a good sword can't take care of when a man swings it." Spoken like a common trooper, Garric thought, but he was too happy to be tart. Carus was being ironic, after all. Hedid feel that way-but he knew he'd brought his kingdom down when he'd behaved that way as king. They were all babbling greetings and congratulations. Garric let it go on for a time because he was drained by the sudden relief from stress. Holding Liane was all he wanted to do, and letting other people talk permitted him to do that. But I've got a kingdom to run… Garric gave Liane a final squeeze and broke away. She righted the stool and seated herself primly. Sharina offered a chair-made here in the camp from stakes and wicker like the fascines, though covered with red baize-but Garric didn't want to sit just yet. "You've marched to Pandah to put down the renegades?" he said, remembering the reports about the island from before he went off with Shin. He hoped he'd kept disapproval out of his tone, but this wouldn't have been the wayhe'd have used such a large proportion of the kingdom's resources. "To put down a bridgehead of the Last, your highness," Lord Waldron said, forcefully enough to show that he'd understood the implied criticism. "We were meeting on how to deal with Pandah itself now that Princess Sharina has destroyed the Last." "Rasile destroyed the Last," said Sharina. There was something odd in the way she said it, though. Garric didn't know who Rasile was, but he was sure he'd learn soon enough. "And Tenoctris," said Cashel from beside Garric. "She just brought us back." Garric turnedfast. His ancestor's reflex took his hand to his sword, though he didn't draw the blade. His friend stood with a pert young woman whom Garric didn't recognize. This time it was Sharina knocking her chair over as she leaped up to hug Cashel. Garric moved aside, smiling and glad something'd happened to take folks' minds off the way he'd gone for a weapon when his best friend appeared. "My way you can apologize if you're wrong," Carus said, this time in dead earnest. "If something takes your head off because you thought it was harmless, you don't get a second chance." "Garric was as responsible for success as any of us," said the woman who'd arrived with Cashel. When he heard the voice, Garric recognized Tenoctris-butmuch younger. "The kingdom's very fortunate in its ruler." "Your highness," said Admiral Zettin. "I was just pointing out that we have an opportunity to make an example of Pandah by hanging everyone we find there." Despite Zettin's brashness he must've seen something in Garric's expression, because he quickly added, "Or all the males, of course, pirates and Coerli both."

"Milord," said Garric. Since Carus took residence in his mind, he'd learned that he didn't have to raise his voice to make it clear when he was angry. "I think we'll make a different sort of example of Pandah. We'll spare everybody, but we'll distribute the males among existing regiments with orders to the non-coms to watch them. And we'll hang the ones who don't take the warning." "We'll hang a great many of them, I shouldn't wonder," Lord Waldron said, but he wasn't arguing with the plan. He smiled as he glanced at Zettin, a protege of Attaper's and no friend of the army commander. "I shouldn't wonder either, milord," said Garric, "but it's important to give them a chance. You have Coerli units with you?" "We've got catmen," Waldron said, frowning. "I wouldn't call them units, but it seems to work all right for them to swan about in little mobs. They're under the sailor, there." He jerked his chin in the direction of Zettin. "Milord?" prodded Garric, because the admiral clearly wasn't going to speak-again-without being asked to. "Your highness, the Coerli make excellent scouts and foragers, especially at night," Zettin said, looking at some point beyond Garric's right shoulder. "Their discipline is improving rapidly since we started attaching petty officers, lead oarsmen or the like, to each, ah, war band." "Not a stupid man," Carus said with a chuckle. "For all he gets above himself." Garric smiled. He stretched, though not as high as he'd like to've done because there wasn't enough room under the tarpaulin. "Very good, then," he said. "Unless there's something critical for my eyes…?" No one spoke, though several councilors might've done so if he hadn't stepped on Lord Zettin so thoroughly. "Lady Liane, do you have anything?" "Nothing vital, your highness," the kingdom's spymaster said politely. "Our surveyors have reported an Empire of Palomir to the south." Garric frowned. "Palomir that the Scribe of Breen talks about?" he said, trying to recall just what he'd read in the chronicler from Cordin after the fall of the Old Kingdom.

The-nameless-scribe had mixed real millennia-old information with a great deal of myth. "Yes, I think so," said Liane, pleased that he'd caught the reference. "Palomir appears to be little more than a name in its present form, though. It can wait." "Then, honored Councilors," said Garric, smiling around the group, "I'll retire to my quarters.

I'm sure you'll all been busy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm about at the end of my resources right now." A thought struck him.

"Ah," he said. "Do I have quarters? I know you weren't expecting-"

"Yes, of course," said Liane, rising gracefully this time. "If I may, I'll guide your highness." Garric bowed and stepped out of the shelter. Blood Eagles fell in around him as smoothly as if they'd escorted him to the meeting. Coming toward Garric with a pair of hard-looking men was a trim woman he'd been afraid he'd never see again. "Ilna! he called in delight. Of all things, Ilna was carrying a mewling Corl kitten in her arms. *** Though the Last had long been reduced to sparkling coruscance, water continued to boil from the mountain crater. There was a sulfurous tang in the air: the volcano had awakened. Figures slowly melted from the ice which had encased them for uncounted ages.

The giant on the left shook out his long golden hair, laughed, and drew his sword. He was a beardless youth in all but size, lithe and heart-stoppingly handsome. His eyes were as cold as a viper's. The female on the right could've been his sister, save that her hair was a deep blue-black and she held a trident. Her laughter echoed the youth's; it had the timbre of a hunting cat. The figure in the center roused last. He wore a horned helmet, and his white beard spread over a scaled cuirass. He opened his gray eyes and paused for long moments before he raised his double-bitted axe. "We are free!" he shouted.

Thunder echoed the words. The giant forms swelled and vanished into the storm clouds which rushed from all directions to fill the sky. "We are free!" The gods of Palomir had returned.