The Door Into Fire (29 page)

(Your fear is killing it,) the elemental said softly. (I couldn’t have understood that before. Now I know. Freelorn has gone off to Osta without you, and there’s been no word all this month and more. You fear for him. I hear the terror singing while you sleep; it runs from you like blood. And you feel that you should be with him, though if you were, you couldn’t be working—)

“Some things are even more important than Flame.”

Sunspark was silent for a moment. (And the hralcin,) it said, (the matter of its unbinding that troubles you so. That fear is killing your Power too. I hear the sound of it every now and then: ‘If I
had
the Fire,’ you think, ‘what kinds of things would I be letting loose by my carelessness?’ You are working against yourself, my loved—)

“Sometimes, Sunspark, you hear too much for your own good.” The thought was a slap of anger, and Sunspark shrank away, out of Herewiss’s mind entirely, dwindling down to a few uncertain tongues of fire shivering among the coals. Herewiss sighed then, ashamed of himself, looking at the elemental in the firepit and realizing that it was the first thing he had really
seen
all day.

“Spark,” he said as gently as he could. “Love, I’m sorry. Oh, come out of there.” He put the hammer down on the anvil, atop the blank he had just finished.

(You are angry at me.) Its voice was subdued and fearful.

“It passed. Spark, you have to learn that around these parts it’s possible for two partners in a union to be angry with one another without the union being destroyed. Come out of there—”

It put up a few cautious tongues of fire and then flowed over the edge, a bright firefall that pooled and rose upward to envelop him. Silently the elemental wrapped its warmth around and through Herewiss, filling all his cold empty places with its glowing self. They were joined for a few minutes, and Herewiss looking inward saw all his fears flare into incandescence. He could see the shapes of them clearly now, and while the union persisted they were not fears any more. He saw them as Sunspark perceived them, as energies bound into strange fanciful shapes that meant little against the larger scale of things. The sensation was pleasant, and Herewiss stood there for a long while, eyes closed, letting himself be cared about and reassured.

“You matter, Spark,” he said softly. “You matter very much.”

It pulsed warm within him, a deep silent flare of fulfillment.

“But I have to work…”

It unwrapped itself, slowly, regretfully. (Let us work that sword to red heat again, so you can quench it, and I’ll go watch the binding.)

“That sounds fine. Back in the pit then…” Herewiss tried to chuckle, but the sound came out wrong. All the places that Sunspark had filled and warmed so thoroughly with itself were bleak and cold again, and his fears were back, all the more shadowy for having been so bright.

He laid the blade of the sixty-third sword in the forge and turned away, wishing that Sunspark would melt it accidentally.

•

The grindstone was useful for times when Herewiss didn’t want to think. The noise of it rasped on his nerves, and the vibration rattled so far down his spine that any session with it left him in a state of profound and unfocused irritation. For this reason he usually didn’t use it, preferring to blow up the sword before putting a good edge on it. Today, however, anything that would shut out thoughts of the hralcin was welcome.

He sat there behind the stone, pumping away at the pedals until his legs threatened to cramp (which diversion he would also have welcomed). The irritation fed on itself, making him pump faster and press the sword harder against the turning stone, until sparks sprayed from it, and again and again it grew too hot to handle. By the end of a couple of hours, the sword had an edge on it that was much better than it needed, and in some places had become wire-edged and would have to be stropped.

(Herewiss?)

“Mmm?” He was working at it with the horsehide strop now, holding the sword between his knees as he worked and taking a certain cranky pride in the quality of his work. The blade would need some finishing work with oil and smoothing stone, but the edges had already acquired that particular silvery sheen that swordsmiths strive for, the mark of a blade that will cut air and leave it in pieces.

(We have company.)

He looked up from his work. “Who?”

(From the feel of them, Freelorn and his people. They are in high good spirits. No one else would be feeling that way out here, if the Waste is as ill-omened as you say.)

Herewiss frowned, and then smiled. “He has a talent for showing up when I have a piece of work in hand.)

(But then you’re always working, loved. How could it be otherwise?)

“Hmph. True, I guess…” And Herewiss became cold with fear. “But, Spark, that binding…!”

The elemental shrugged. (I’m watching it. So far none of the conditions you described to me has changed. The hralcin hasn’t bothered testing it in a while.)

“That could be good—and then again—”

(Probably it will be all right if you don’t get in another fight with Freelorn. The extra stress of having more people around might wear it a little, but you can reinforce now and again.)

“Yes…”

(So keep things subdued. I for my part will do the same. There’s a stand of brush to the north of here that could use a fire, and I could use a meal. Maybe I’ll be away for the night; that might decrease the stresses.)

“It’s a thought. How close are they, Spark?”

(Some miles. You have time to finish that, at least.)

“All right. Watch that door. . .“

(Oh,) Sunspark said dryly, (if anything comes out of it, you’ll know shortly...)

Herewiss thought of slime and the smell of burning, and stropped harder.

•

The polished outer walls of the hold had a walkway recessed into the top surface, a double noncrenellated battlement, accessible by a long flight of those oddly staggered steps which led up from the inner courtyard. Herewiss leaned on the outer battlement and watched Freelorn and his people approaching. Sunspark, beside him, wavered palely in the sunlight like heat-shimmer above a pavement in summer.

“Look at all those mules. I wonder who he stole them from?”

Sunspark made a don’t-know-don’t-care feeling. (There’s something,) it said, (something that I couldn’t catch while they were further away—can you hear it?)

Herewiss reached out with his underhearing. Because of his fatigue, all he got was a faint confused impression of a number of emotional systems going about their business, and a fainter one of two specific systems somewhat at odds with themselves.

“Slight unease,” he said to Sunspark. “I’m a bit off today, and I don’t usually do too well anyhow unless I’m at close range. They’re half a mile away.”

Sunspark shrugged. (Freelorn,) it said, (and Segnbora, I think.)

Herewiss nodded slowly. “It didn’t take long for what I saw to start happening, alas. This isn’t good, Spark, their negative emotions are going to fray at the binding—”

(Work on Freelorn, then,) Sunspark said. (You would anyway—)

Herewiss caught a sudden pang of jealousy, a flurry of angry, swift-moving brilliances like swords flashing in sunlight. Sunspark was trying to conceal it, and Herewiss laughed softly.

“I bet you’d like to burn him.”

The elemental flinched away in chagrin. (I would,) it admitted.

“I think I’d have been suspicious if you hadn’t wanted to. We all do as our natures dictate, Spark. I know it’s hard for you to understand how I can love you both, but believe me, I can, and I love neither of you the less for loving the other more—”

(I’m not sure I understand this.) Sunspark sounded ashamed.

“Trust me, Spark. I will not give you up for him.”

(Neither will you give him up for me—)

“That’s right, little one. Firechild, trust me. You haven’t done wrong yet by doing so. Nor have I,” he added with a gentle smile, “in trusting you. By rights and the Pact you could have parted company with me after you saved me from the hralcin.”

(It would seem,) Sunspark said, smiling back, (that there are some things more important than even the Pact. Do what needs to be done, loved. I’ll be within call till this evening.)

It vanished. Herewiss looked over the wall at Freelorn, alone at the head of the approaching line, and went down the stairs to meet him.

At the bottom of the stairs Herewiss paused, slightly irritated by the sight of the dust lying thick all over the courtyard’s polished gray paving. He was usually a tidy sort, but lately there had been too much to do—swords to be forged, doors to be looked through. And then the hralcin had come. He thought of cleaning the courtyard now, but he was too tired to want to do it by sorcery, and he didn’t have a broom.

He walked across the court to where there appeared to be a solid wall, facing west. It was only a small illusion, rooted in where the wall would have liked to be, where it had been before Sunspark disposed of it. The illusion, which he’d erected earlier in the month, was a sop to his own insecurities. It made him nervous to live alone, or nearly alone, in a hold that had a great gaping hole in it. Herewiss looked up at the wall, reached out with his arms, and spoke the word that severed the connection between was-once and seems-to-be-now. The wall went away.

Freelorn and his people were very close, and Herewiss leaned against the wall and waited for them.
They’re all there; thank You, Goddess. I couldn’t cope with one of Lorn’s guilts right now, if one of them had been hurt or killed. Or my own, now that I think of it...

Blackmane whickered a greeting at Herewiss as Freelorn dismounted.
No Lion coat? Interesting!
Herewiss thought as Freelorn hurried over to him, his eyes anxious. Freelorn reached out hesitantly, took Herewiss’s hands in his and gripped them hard. They stood that way for a long moment, each of them searching the other with his eyes, almost in fear.

“Well,” Freelorn said, gazing at the ground and pushing the dust around with one booted toe, “I’m back.”

Herewiss reached out and drew Freelorn close, and hugged and kissed him hard.

For a few minutes they just hung on to one another, sniffling slightly. “I, uh,” Freelorn said, his voice muffled by talking into Herewiss’s tunic, “I was—oh, Dark, loved, you know how I am when I can’t get my way.”

“It’s not as if I wasn’t being stubborn myself. Or snide—Lorn, I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Freelorn gave Herewiss a great bone-cruncher of a hug and then held him away, peering at him with concern. “Are you all right? You look as if somebody smote you a good one in the head. And look at your eyes, they have circles under them.”

“Smote me—” Herewiss laughed. “I feel like it. It’s been a busy week. Come on in, I’ll tell you about it later.” He looked at Freelorn, noticing something that hadn’t been there before, a look of tiredness and discomfort and depression. “Are
you
all right?” he asked.

The expression on Freelorn’s face partook of both relief and loathing. “Later,” he said. “It’s been a lively month.”

Freelorn’s people were leading their horses into the courtyard, and as Herewiss glanced toward them he saw Segnbora passing through the gate. Her expression was hard to make out clearly, for the late Sun was behind her; but she looked pained, and puzzled as well. Herewiss looked back at Freelorn, took him gently by the arm and began to walk back into the hold with him.

“Lorn, where did all those mules come from?”

“Osta.”

“You
did
go ahead, then—”

“Yes indeed.”

They passed into the coolness of the hold. “And you made it out all right.”

“It’s just as I told you, no one knew about the secret way in from the river. We didn’t even have to kill any of the guards. By the way, we brought a plains deer in with us. Didn’t see any reason why we should use up your supplies.”

“You always were a considerate guest. Lorn, what are all the mules for?”

“I was getting to that. They’re for the money.”

Herewiss led Freelorn into the great lower hall, and they sat down beside the firepit in chairs that Sunspark had brought in from the village to the north.
“Six mules?
How much did you get?”

Freelorn made a smug, pleased face. “Eight thousand talents of silver.”

“Eight thou— You mean you went into the Royal Treasury and
stole
all that money and got
away
again?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Freelorn said with mock-righteousness. “It’s
my
money.”

“My Goddess, maybe I should listen to you more,” Herewiss said, reaching down for a brown earthenware bottle and the lovers’-cup. “Lorn, you should’ve killed the guards. It’d be kinder than what Cillmod’s probably doing to them.” He broke the seal on the bottle-stopper, opened the jug and poured.

“Maybe. But I have the money now. We can have a revolution.”

“Just like that,” Herewiss said with a laugh, and drank from the cup. “May we be one, my loved.” He passed it on to Freelorn.