Time of the Eagle (31 page)

Then, near Taroth Pass, I saw a faint smudge like dust, or smoke. I looked through the telescope again, in my excitement aiming it too far, then too close. Struggling to calm myself, to conceal my feelings from Jaganath, I looked across the lands. I caught a glimpse of red-brown towers and walls. Taroth Fort. I moved the sight down, to the right a little, to focus on the pass. It
was
dust I had seen—dust that rose from hundreds and hundreds of riders. Through the narrow pass they came, pouring in across the Shinali lands like a brown flood, spears and knives and bows bristling through the dust. More came, and more! They rode fast, spreading out across the Shinali land on both sides of the river, steadily approaching the small army they had come to fight beside. The land was covered with horsemen, teeming with them, rank upon rank of warriors. It was the entire Igaal nation, surely—that, and the Hena!

I looked up from the telescope, joy-wild, laughing, crying. “It is come!” I cried. “The Time of the Eagle is come!”

J
aganath was already rushing for the instrument. I moved aside, all fear gone. I saw his face unbelieving and dismayed as he gazed down at his army hopelessly outnumbered, at the battle he could not possibly win, the first sign of his defeat. After a few moments he stepped back.

From behind him I looked across the lands below; only a few minutes more, and the Hena and Igaal nations would be with the Shinali, and the battle would be all but over. I did not need the telescope to see that Jaganath's army was already in disarray. Some were standing firm, fighting Embry's men and the Shinali warriors, but many were already fleeing from the hordes that bore down on them, that were more than halfway across the land. But even then, with victory for my people certain, I protected them with all the force of my mind. As I did so I slowly became aware of a vibration in the air, a power that gathered, deadly and inexorable, beside me.

I looked at the Emperor. Terrible he was, motionless as he gazed down across the battleground, all the power within him
bent upon one final act of utter destruction; and that power streamed from him like shadowed forces, dark tendrils that flowed out across the morning air, and down, down upon the fighters far below. It was an evil he wove, the harnessing of demon-strength, something terrible beyond swords and muscle and army power. I knew he was sending the dark forces to the battleground not to win—that was impossible now—but to wreck what havoc he could upon the Shinali race he hated. And I knew, too, where my next fight lay.

I became very still, all my mind turned on that great skill I had been taught, of going in my spirit to where my body could not. So quickly I went! Suddenly the turmoil poured over me, the clashing of steel on steel, and battle shouts and screams. Horses neighed in terror, and the swift sound of arrows flew all around. At first everything was confusion, chaos; then I saw that I was with my people, and they were fighting fiercely in a close band, firing their arrows over the heads of Embry's men, who protected them, or through the spaces between their horses. I saw my mother and Yeshi. And then time seemed to slow down, to almost stop; I saw horror on Yeshi's face as he reached behind him to take another arrow, his hand going wild, clutching at the air, though there were still many arrows. Then I saw my mother, felt her despair and shock as she reached for her arrows, seemed to find nothing there. Around them others from my tribe showed the same panic; for them their arrows, too, had vanished. In battle they were helpless. And they stood there, their bows useless in their hands while Embry's men fought closely all around, defending them. But even they were in strife, their eyes full of agony as some of them flung away their swords. The swords
glowed red-hot. And then I knew Jaganath's trick.

And as I knew it, I was aware of him with me, in the midst of the battle. I almost saw his form; it was wavering, his skin and robes and all of him gray like a man made of shadow and smoke, a great wind streaming his tattered shades about him; and I—I was myself, yet not myself, a spirit-form that clung to him to keep him close, yet fought him, too. Even then he seemed not to be aware of me. But I raised my right hand and made a sword of light, as potent and real as the armor I wore; and I poured its brightness across the illusion of empty quivers and the red-hot swords, and gave back truth. But I gave an added force: the swords I changed so that their blades glowed with an unearthly power that would not only strike terror to the eyes of their enemies but also give courage to the hands that held them; and the arrows my people found again—those arrows, too, flamed with a holy light and left light where they flew, so the battleground became crisscrossed with paths of fire. And all the time a thunder shook the earth, a mighty clamor came nearer and nearer, and I heard the high, wild battle cries of the approaching warriors from the north.

My people were still in a close band, surrounded by Embry's mounted soldiers, and around all of them were the troops of Jaganath's men. But many of Jaganath's soldiers had got through the close circle, were closing in on the Shinali. I saw my people shoot their horses first, forcing Jaganath's men to fight on foot. Many of the soldiers were armed only with swords, useless against the arrows of my people; yet some had the deadly Navoran crossbows, which could shoot farther than our arrows, and many
times I shielded Shinali warriors, causing the arrows against them to fall against a wall of light. Sometimes I fought with them, wielding my sword of light, warding off what would have been fatal blows from Navoran blades. I saw the looks in my people's faces, as it came into their knowing that they were protected; and they were transfigured, empowered, almost joyous in their battle strength. One after another, Jaganath's men fell, pierced with Shinali arrows, or sliced through by the swords of Embry's men. I saw Embry fighting like one possessed, his left hand tight on the reins of his horse, his sword leaving great arcs of light where it swung.

And then the thunderous tide of Hena and Igaal warriors arrived, closed about them, long spears and curved knives flashing in the morning sun; and soon that tide overran all, and Jaganath's soldiers were utterly overwhelmed. Navoran horns blew their signal for surrender, and hundreds and hundreds of soldiers knelt down on the churned ground, some risking trampling by the enemy horses, and placed their hands across their foreheads.

There was a Shinali cry for peace, and it was taken up by all the warriors until it rang across the land and back from the mountains, and slowly the battle ceased. For a time it was just men on horses milling about the thousands of kneeling, surrendering soldiers. There was a trumpet call, and Embry's soldiers, and twenty thousand warriors, all turned to face the west, the road to Navora. Then Embry, holding high a bright blue Navoran banner, led the warriors away, and they streamed down the road between the farms, trampling the nearest crops, and then
poured, an irresistible wave, down the wide white road toward the city. And on the battleground, on the place where my people would begin a new life, were strewn dead horses and severed limbs and abandoned weapons and the corpses of soldiers and warriors beyond counting, and the surrendered men still kneeling, and the wounded crawling on grass that was black with blood.

Then the shadow-form with me turned on me with an almost unbearable hate; I could not look at its eyes. It turned all its force on me, pouring over me shades too terrible to describe; yet they could not touch me, for the light that was over me. It seemed then that a strong wind pulled me back, and I was drawn up and up, and then knew myself to be standing again beside the window ledge, with the defeated Emperor beside me. For a long time neither of us moved or spoke, but I sensed the awful rage in him, the intolerable defeat, the desolate wish for death.

“Do not even think of jumping from the window,” I said.

“You have no power to hold me,” he said. “I am the Lord Jaganath, Emperor of the Navoran Empire. I will not be taken prisoner; I will die first, by my own act.”

“I am Avala,” I said. “Daughter of Gabriel Eshban Vala, the man whose death you caused, whose brother you murdered. I am daughter of the Shinali, the people whose land you stole, the people you would have wiped from the face of the earth. I am Avala, and in the name of all these that I love, I take you my prisoner.”

He turned toward me, his lips curved, mocking, his whole
bearing proud, even in what he believed were his last moments. And then I captured him.

I did not even need to touch him. Just a slender shaft of light, no thicker than my little finger, sent from my mind to play on his skin on the back of his neck, then going in, swift and fine, like flame, following the nerves of his spine, blocking them, stopping all feeling. He did not realize, at first, what it was; but he rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at the ground hundreds of feet below, intending to leap. He moved toward the window ledge, stumbled, fell. Crawling, he dragged himself to the ledge, gripping it, trying to pull himself up. He could not. His fingers locked on the stone ledge, stayed there. He tried to speak, but his words were slurred. Then his whole body slowly collapsed, and he sank lower onto the floor, inert and feeble inside his fine garments, like a grand puppet whose strings had been let go. But he could still move his head a little, and he gazed on me, the most terrible hatred in his eyes.

Quickly, I blocked the tiny blood vessels to his brain, muddling his thoughts, crippling his ability to concentrate, to gather up the forces necessary to create illusions. Confused, his powers scattered and undone, he tried to move, his face red from the effort, and sweat ran down him. Then he wept, probably from sheer rage; I felt no regret from him.

“You were right,” I said. “The mind is an awful and marvelous weapon. But the body, too, is a marvelous thing. All it takes is a little pressure on a nerve or two, a tiny tear in a vital part, and a man can be rendered totally helpless, paralyzed. It will wear off eventually, but not before Embry comes with his
soldiers, and they carry you off to your trial.”

I sat on the edge of the wide window ledge, not far from him, to wait.

After a time a mighty roar reached the city, and there was the sound of the vast wooden gates being hammered upon; then they crashed and splintered, and across the city came the sound of Navoran horns, and the cries of the countless warriors, and the clamor of that huge army entering the city.

Looking down, I saw, in the distant streets, Embry's blue banner, and under it the soldiers with their blue sashes, and the blue-painted Shinali, on foot and orderly before him. And behind them, high because they were on their horses, were the ranks and ranks of Hena and Igaal warriors. I saw them halt not far into the city, as many people rushed down the streets to welcome them. I saw the crowd struggling past Embry and the Shinali, to be picked up by the Hena and Igaal warriors on their horses, and I realized they were the liberated slaves, united at last with their own. Soon the warriors rode away, taking their freed kin with them, and after their going the place seemed deserted. Parts of the city closest to the palace were burning, and the dark smoke drifted across a few bloodied bodies in the streets, smashed statues, and broken fountains. The uprising of the slaves in the city had not been without its cost.

Then Embry and his soldiers came on toward the palace, on foot with my people and some of the Hena and Igaal. I heard the clear, silver tones of Navoran horns blowing, and a distant voice raised in proclamation. Then Navoran survivors of the
slave revolt began to come out of the houses. Seeing the Navoran soldiers, and hearing the announcement, they must have been emboldened, for soon the streets were crowded. I heard a great applause, and cries of welcome. They came, my people and the people of Navora, and Embry's liberating army, along the smoke-blown streets to the palace gates below. As they approached, more and more people joined them, and more, until they poured out from every street and house, singing and cheering. They reached the palace, and then the cheering ceased, and there rose a mighty chant. Insistent and compelling and full of hate, the chant rose on the smoky morning air to our high window, and I heard the words clearly: “Jaganath! Jaganath! Death to Jaganath!”

I glanced at the man crumpled at my feet. Hearing the cry coming up from below, he raised his eyes. He looked confused, weakened, like a man who had drunk too much
kuba.
But his black eyes were still aware, and now they filled with fear.

At that moment I heard footsteps on the stairs, and leaped up just as Embry entered, with Ishtok. Behind them were several soldiers. Embry's face was taut with fear. “Where's Jaganath?” he demanded, not noticing the crumpled form behind me.

“Here,” I said. “At your feet.”

In silence they crowded in, and Ishtok came and bent his forehead to mine, his eyes telling his relief. Behind him, the soldiers gathered, swords drawn, their points to Jaganath's back.

Embry crouched down and looked into his Emperor's face. Then he glanced up at me, his eyes worried and questioning.

“He's totally paralyzed,” I said. “He'll stay that way until dark,
I'm thinking. Don't be afraid; I've lessened the blood supply to his brain, too. He can't perform any tricks. You'll have to carry him out.”

Embry stood up. He came over and shook my hand the Navoran way. There was blood on him, but not his own, and his face shone with sweat and triumph and tears, for he had seen those who lay on the red carpet in the throne room below. But he smiled as he said, still gripping my hand, his voice hoarse with emotion, “Greetings, Avala of the Shinali, on this morning of the Eagle!”

He said something else, but I was watching Ishtok. He was standing directly in front of the Emperor, his face bewildered. Turning to me, Ishtok asked, “This man, he's the one they all feared? The great Jaganath?”

I nodded. Slowly, Ishtok crouched down, his face level with the Emperor's. Jaganath's head was bent, his oiled and perfumed ringlets falling over his face. Slowly, Ishtok lifted his hand, gripped Jaganath's hair, and pulled back until the Emperor was looking straight into his eyes. With his free hand, Ishtok withdrew his knife. At the same moment Embry and his soldiers moved, their swords raised, but I held up my hand. They stopped, watching.