The Golden Sword (40 page)

Raet/Uritheria saw me, raised gory head upon sinuous neck. The men and threx were as yits, upon which we stepped. Uritheria rose up from his play. I opened wide my fanged mouth and jumped for him, ice-breath before me, meeting flame, combusting. His great leathered wings snapped under my stiff-spread paws. Claws dug, into those useless wings, my own flapping for balance. I sought his neck. Closed upon air. Writhing, twisting, screaming, he turned his head, straining, to snap at my throat. I was not truly quick enough. I felt his burning teeth, deep. Enraged, I tore my flesh from his bite and screamed into those eyes. Blinded, the ice crystals that were once orbs glittered upon his scintillant scales. A roar of pain singed me; knives in my ears made me wish deafness. Those great jaws closed upon my shoulder. I twisted back my head, and bit out Uritheria’s throat, He quivered, his teeth grinding upon my bones. The roaring became a gurgling, the gurgling a pulse. He did not fall. He faded. His jaws locked upon me in his death throes. I stood, looking around me, until those teeth were out of my shoulder, back where they belonged reformed into the space they once had been. I licked my chest. It pained me. Raet/Uritheria faded, his substance sucked up by the continuum from which it had been stolen.

From my great height, calmly I observed the tiny men, all fallen, upon the place that had been the plain of Astria. It was a different place; the nightday-sky here flickered undecided, and, sometimes the day was no Silistran day. Upon their backs and stomachs the fallen rolled and crawled, the ground heaving under them. A great circle, some hundred neras in diameter, had my standing place as center. And beyond it—a sharp drop—lay the rest of the Silistran lands. And I knew, though I had not seen it, that those edges were sheer and clean, and devoid of life. Whatever had stood there, stood no longer, destroyed by the convergence of alternate, planes—Astria had not come back to time-space, fully. The hole that with its suction had brought about this disjoint in time still wailed.

The sky raged with storms of light. The men screamed and cried and called upon their gods, for each had been dragged from sequential time. They cowered, the bravest of them, at the cold. The atoms of their being had been hurled from one universe to another, and there is great pain in that returning. I felt sorry for them. Almost gone was Raet/Uritheria. In my throat I felt a rumbling growl of pleasure. I sniffed his presence, what was left of it. A great, concussive explosion filled the sky with white light, then another, off near the north star. I purred to myself when I realized how far into space the disruption extended. Far enough. Anything coming upon those convergent alternatives would be translated into energy, the constituents of which are the common denominator of life.

I lowered my head, that I might see how they fared, the little ones, when Raet/Uritheria no longer bound me there with his jaws. I saw my body and it called. With a farewell it could not hear, I let my rightful place, that hole yet to be plugged, take me.

Easier than descending, it was, fitting back into that space between the stars. I licked my damaged shoulder once. My tufted ear tasted star breath, my tail flicked into place. And the keening of the rupture ceased, settling the balance once more.

My shoulder hurt terribly. I tried to rise. I could not move my arm. Pain made my sight grainy with red dots. When I could, I closed my eyes, that they might not burn and tear, And then the rain began. I felt it, falling sharp upon me, bouncing. Sluggish, I tried to think what it could be. Through my pain, I realized only that ... that I could not think. Eyes closed, the pelting of sharpness upon me, I struggled to my knees, and to my one good arm’s support. I wondered dully if I could crawl with only one arm. Then I wondered where I would crawl.

Eyes, open for me! They did so, grudging. The ground I saw, beneath my dangling head. And upon it, a dozen small crystals, glowing apulse on the grass. Helsars. A rain of helsars, as the shifting edges of time-space rubbed each other in their settling.

With what little strength I could muster, I raised my head. The plain of Astria was ablaze with them. Atop the bodies, men moaned and murmured to their wounds. Women crawled about upon their hands and knees. In places, threx stood, four legs spread wide, weaving. And some helsars, I saw, those brightest glowing, had already found their pupils. So many. Enough for the whole of Astria. I began, slowly and without understanding, to crawl through them. It was a hobbled crawl, upon only one arm, over dead and dying, and some who fondled helsars even in their pain. All of these had been where one must go, and returned to claim what they had created there. No helsar attached itself to me. One, and only one, is the rule.

But I did not understand that, as the day came once again upon the plain of Astria. I only crawled, in my pain, among the wounded. The sod, torn up, was muddy with the blood of man and beast, and my good hand was covered with a gory clay. What I sought, I did not know until I found it. All I knew was the ground, still heaving under me. It threw me to my back a dozen times, like some unbroken threx. It made the helsars jitter and dance upon the grass. It made women, even men, cry in fear. That and the wind: deracou, perhaps, is as strong. It ripped at us, pushing the weak down to the ground. It pelted men with helsars; certain men, certain helsars.

My knees were bruised and torn. In my shoulder were great toothmarks; in places my flesh was chewed pulp. At one point I stopped and regarded it. It occurred to me that I must stop the bleeding.

I did so, and was too exhausted to do more. Then I crawled on.

I put my good hand upon a dead man’s chest, riddled with arrows I had not seen fly. I looked at the face that was not there. I shuddered, seeing the vacant stump of the man’s neck. He wore upon him a green device. I stared at it, thinking of why I should mark it. Some of my fog lifted from me then. It was the device of Coseve; more, of its cahndor. And I crawled over the body of yellow-eyed Omas of Coseve, whose head lay nowhere about.

Then only did I seek Sereth. I screamed his name across the plain. None answered me. I found strength to rise to my feet, and stumbled among them, the wounded and the dead. Up ahead were threx, a dozen of them, still standing. I ran there, hoping, crying, calling Sereth’s name over and over.

It was by the threx, they were. Chayin, leaning upon Saer, heavily, cut in a hundred places, his cloak gone, torn for bandage. At his feet were three heads, disembodied. A little way from him, Jaheil bent over Celendra. His left arm was in a sling wet with blood. He turned his head at my stumbling approach. The cahndor of Dordassa had no left eye. I screamed, and put my good hand to my mouth, biting it.

For I saw him. He lay face down on the grass, the Shaper’s cloak still upon him. Krist stood with all four feet over him, his eyes rolling, froth dripping red from his mouth. The beast was badly injured. A broken sword hilt protruded from his chest.

“Estri!” Chayin croaked, reaching out a hand to stop me. He staggered toward me, forgoing Saer’s support, and had barely the strength to hold me back.

“The beast is crazed. Let him be. Sereth is dying; he would not want to see you pummeled before his eyes.” I could feel Chayin wavering. His voice was husked with pain.

“No! He is not! I will not allow it!” I screamed, and tore myself from his grasp. He looked at me, shrugged, and limped painfully to Saer. He leaned there, tears unashamed upon him, watching.

“Krist,” I called softly, extending my good hand. “Krist; it is me. Estri. Let me help him. Let me see him.” And it was not what I said, but the tone, and my mind-touch, what little there was to spare. Krist snorted and tossed his head. He let his bared teeth come together, cocked his head to me. He extended his great-jowled jaws, chin which his reins dangled. I scratched him, as I had seen Sereth do, where neck meets head. He groaned pitifully, snuffled my hand. “Sssh,” I told him. “It will be over soon.” For that valiant beast, it would be over within the enth.

But he let me back him from his stance over Sereth. At his master’s feet, Krist was content to stand, his brave head raised, ever watchful.

I was beside him, upon my knees. His face was to me. With my left hand, my good one, I brushed his blood-matted hair from his eyes. They were open.

“Estri,” he said softly. He coughed. “Little one, come here.” And he raised his arm, that I might be under it, against him. I saw what wound he had sustained.

“Sereth,” I sobbed, “oh, please, no.” And I crawled into the shelter of his arm, against his blood-soaked side.

“Do not be sad,” he said. “The sun is again upon the land.”. And he kissed my temple, and his eyes closed. Pressed to him, I shook with loss. I could not breathe; my chest choked me, my guts froze into a tight fist. And I went into him, with all I had. Of my diminished life force, I gave him all there was. I turned him, somehow, and pounded upon his chest, and gave until all I saw were gray shadows before me. Until I could no longer hold my body upright. As I fell forward, atop him, in the grayness I heard voices, somewhere above.

“There they are! Take them!”

And something shimmered toward me out of the mist.

It hurt, very much, whatever they were doing. I could not see. My whole head seemed constrained. Sound other than breathing was muffled, and breathing itself was a great effort. My shoulder, surely, would soon consume me.

A time later, when the pain lessened, I sensed my body, upon something soft. I heard voices then, but no words. With my mind, I tried to get a sense of my surroundings, and shrank back, a scream in my throat. If one had raised up a molten sword hilt, dropped it, and tried to use the same hand again to grasp the red-hot hilt, the anguish might have been similar. A cold began to grow within me as I knew the silence for what it was. I began to assess my damages, needlessly. I felt hands upon me. Nothing else. No glimmer of to whom or what those hands might belong. Deaf, dumb, and blind I was. Those eyes, ears, and tongue that are mind’s had been burned badly. Perhaps even burned away.

The knowledge still remained. One cannot see without eyes, though one knows how to see. One must have data to interpret. My shoulder did not hurt at all.

Once before, I whispered to myself, I had been without my skills. Upon Mi’ysten, in the cubes, I had been so stricken. It had passed. I tried to speak aloud, and found I could not. Then I began to remember how I came to such a pass, and shrank back into unconsciousness.

And came up screaming Sereth’s name. A hand pressed, muffling, over my mouth. I could not see: a cloth was bound around my head. It came to me that I was supported, upright.

“Will you be still?” I heard. I nodded. The hand was removed.

“Walk, if you can,” the voice said. Upon either side of me were hands, bodies, men surely.

Staggering, I tried. The supporting arms kept me upright. There was no pain whatsoever in my shoulder. I could get no sense of where I was, or how long it had taken to arrive here. I saw no sort I could not choose. I merely grabbed tight to consciousness and struggled with my weakened body. Twice my companions changed direction. In those moments, my ears, straining, detected more than three pairs of feet. My need sent to me to try my skills once more—I sought Sereth. The pain was excruciating. I sagged between those who held me. They did not slacken their pace, but dragged me with them.

There was a scuffling behind us.

“Hold still, savage!” I heard. Then a grunt, then only footfalls, and the whisper of bodies moving. My heart lightened. Both voices I knew. The Ebvrasea lived. This place was the Lake of Horns, doubtless. The voice that had spoken was that of Carth. His peculiar lilt was unmistakable. Carth, arrar to the dharen of Silistra, would surely take my part, if he could.

And I understood my blinders. Mere Silistrans do not walk in the dharener’s city. The high ones lived here. Those who never go about in the land, those shadowy, almost mythical figures who rule those who rule Day-Keepers, reigned here. And Carth had said to me seek him when I came to this place. I had thought it some special invitation, in thanks for his freedom.

We stopped. There was motion before me, a moving about. A gentle hint of air crossed my cheek. Then my guards, for that they were, moved forward.

Five hundred and three steps before they stopped once again. Their hands were no longer upon me. I stood alone. I reached up to free my eyes, and none obstructed me.

My first sight was blurry, from lids pressed tight too long. The room was seven-cornered, of blue-black northern thala. Light came from tiny fireballs like miniature suns that floated near the vaulted ceiling. That ceiling was of hammered gold, soft and ruddy, gleaming.

I squinted at the figure before me, and slowly it took focus. I rubbed my unmarked shoulder.

“I am Khys,” said the first male of my own race I had ever seen. His red-gold skin shone softly; his eyes had the fathers’ fire in them. His hair was copper, thick-waved strands that just brushed his wide, black-robed shoulders. He wore no ornament but a weighty chald, within which was woven every strand attainable upon Silistra.

No I said shaking my head. I could not move. With the barest narrowing of his eyes, he held me still. If I could have moved, I would have bitten his throat out. I hated him upon first sight, that intolerably perfect mate for whom Estrazi intended me.

“Yes,” he corrected, looking clown through eyes as old as Silistra. He had Estrazi’s size and build, but with some subtle difference. Never would I let such a one touch me. I would die, first.

“You do not have that choice. Be silent.” I had not spoken aloud. I tried to quiet my thoughts. A shield was beyond me. I could not move, but he had left me able to speak. “Little savage, I need not restrain you, if you will restrain yourself.”

He looked at me, dropped his hold. Then, only, could I peer around me and see where I stood. In the center of that strange room, upon the glyph of the Shapers, was I. I saw Chayin, with Carth. And Sereth, between two massive guards. His hands were bound behind. Thee wound that should have killed him was dressed with clean bandages. Other than that, he wore only breech. He leaned heavily upon his guards, but he lived. I went to him. Carth, who held Chayin, caught my arm and returned me to the glyph’s center, facing Khys, dharen of Silistra.