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Ten: A Necessary End

 

1

Sunlight filtered down through greenery. Dew sparkled on every blade of grass as if the world were a virgin bedecked in diamonds and come to her wedding. Fresh scents of summer promised a long, hot, carefree day. Horses grazed nearby with steady crunching, while somewhere on the blue doorstep of Heaven a skylark sang plaudits to the mom.

Roasted, that lark would make a delicious start to breakfast.

Ylo turned his head in a crackle of dry leaves and peered one-eyed at Eshiala. Her jet-black tresses were a tangle of mystery, her long lashes lay on her cheeks like combs. Sleep seemed to have brought her peace, while his had been tortured by nightmares. He could not touch her, for Uomaya lay between them, sheltered from the night's chill.

Now morning had come but the nightmares remained. There lay the woman he loved, the only one he had ever loved for longer than a week. She carried his child already. He would do anything to win a smile from his lady. All he possessed in the world—wits, half a bag of gold, a fit body, a certain charm—all those were hers for the asking, plus all the remaining days of his life if she would accept them. And he had brought her to this.

Hungry.

Sleeping under hedges.

Hunted.

You have failed, Ylo. Failed!

Today seemed certain to consummate that failure in disaster. Never again would he waken to see her loveliness beside him. She would be returned to the palace and he dispatched to jail. That was the best that would happen to her and the least that might happen to him. Uomaya would rule the world as puppet for Zinixo.

In a mad chase across Qoble, they had eluded the legion for almost three weeks. That was a triumph for them, especially for Ylo himself, but a humiliation for the legionaries. He had been a hero and he had betrayed their trust, or so they would have been told. He could never hope to make them believe the truth. They might not know his crime, but they would not deal easy with him when they caught him, as catch him they must. His very success in evading capture for so long would count against him.

He felt Maya stir, Impress Uomaya. In its time the Impire had known perhaps a dozen reigning impresses, but surely none of them had ever had to sleep under bushes. Some of the imperors had done so, doubtless, but never an impress regnant. For the sake of the child this chase must end.

And for the sake of the other child, also—his, the unborn babe.

End it must. End it would. Yesterday the fugitives had ridden north, no longer daring to ask directions, but hoping to find a pass through the mountains. The road had petered out at a goatherd's hovel. They had retraced their path, but any prey, when it backtracked, was headed into the jaws of its pursuer.

A league or so down me road lay a hamlet whose name he had not bothered to ask. The legionaries would be there by now, or if not there then at the first crossroads beyond. They would have maps and me Cooperation of Law-abiding Citizens. They must know that their quarry was just ahead, trapped in this dead end. They would be ready to move out at dawn.

Dawn had already come. The day had begun.

He was hungry, filthy, and unshaven. His clothes were ragged and dirty. No longer could he overawe the peasants by playing gentleman. Now he looked what he was, a hunted outlaw.

"Mommy?" a small whine said.

Eshiala's eyes opened. She could not have been as much asleep as he had thought.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm hungry."

Eshiala looked at Ylo—without reproach, but without illusion, either. Sadness and resignation. Interrogation.

"I was thinking about roast skylark," he said.

She smiled faintly. "We could eat gold."

"So we could," he said, stretching. "We'll go and buy a meal at the nearest farm and linger over it. One, big, satisfying bloat!" He thought about the fare in Imperial jails. That was the second-best way to get rid of an appetite.

* * *

Toilet was easy, consisting mainly of brushing leaves off. The two horses looked up reproachfully as their owners emerged from the thicket. Kindly people, their sad eyes said, do not hobble us.

Ylo scanned the landscape, seeing a dismal vista of empty fields and pasture, with no houses close. The Qoble range was a hard white bulwark to the north; he had learned to hate it. He should not have come so far into the hills. Nearer the coast there was cover. He should not have strayed into the countryside at all, for concealment was easier in cities. He should never, never, never have come to Qoble; it had been a trap from the start.

Two arms came around him from behind and hugged.

"You are giving up?" she said softly, her head against his shoulder.

"We must give up. For the children's sake."

"I do not want to give up. Another day will not kill us."

This day might.

He turned within her grasp so he might embrace her also. "Look at us! Bedraggled serfs! Who will trust us? Who believe anything we say? I have run out of credible tales to win assistance."

"If you use gold you can buy anything."

"And risk being knifed?" He sighed. "My darling, I have failed you. The perils grow worse."

"What's over there?" Eshiala pointed to the rising sun.

He had no idea. He was hopelessly lost without a map, but to say so would only worry her more. The land rose gently to a crest not a league away.

"Another valley, I assume."

Eshiala set her jaw. "Let us go and try it, then. It cannot be worse than this one, can it? If they are waiting for us there, then we can give up there. If not, then we have won another day."

Yes, but—

"Mommy, I'm hungry!"

"She is hungry," Ylo said, conceding defeat.

"Those cows have calves."

"So?" he said.

"You think of me as an impress still? Sir, I am but a humble grocer's, daughter and granddaughter of farmers. I can milk a cow even if you can't, Signifer Ylo!"

He laughed. "I catch 'em, you milk 'em?" Cheer faded. "We have no bucket."

Eshiala's eyes glinted angrily. "We have two soft leather bags! We can put the gold back later. We can leave it lying in the grass for all I care! Saddle up, Signifer!"

* * *

The cows were reluctant and a couple of times Ylo thought he was about to be gored. He had no experience with cattle, but desperation was always the mother of innovation and he was prepared to wage all-out war. The taking of hostages had always been one of the army's preferred strategies, and it worked with calves. In the end the cattle paid ransom of enough warm milk for breakfast—and morning showers, also, for the bag leaked. When the day grew hot the fugitives would all reek of sour milk. Nonetheless, the world brightened when hunger was banished, at least for a while.

Maya was very tired of riding. She wanted to go home, she said, although she probably could not remember a home. She became difficult when Ylo wanted to lift her.

"Give her to me," Eshiala said. "You can ride with Mommy for a while today, pet."

Ylo was worried about the roan. The previous evening he had suspected it was favoring its right foreleg, and although he could detect no trouble now, he wanted to keep careful watch on it. He mounted Eshiala on the sorrel with Uomaya before her. He kept the roan for himself, thinking he might dismount later and walk for a while.

Eshiala smiled down at him triumphantly. "Eastward ho!" she said.

"Eastward it is," he agreed, swinging into his saddle. It had been eastward all along—always eastward, as if they were some strange birds that migrated at right angles to all others, as if they fled the sunset.

They set off over the pasture at an easy trot, staying close to a hedgerow as high as a small forest, alive with dog roses, figwort, and golden cinquefoil. Eshiala was an accomplished rider, well tutored by the experts of the palace. She rode without apparent effort, laughing and coaxing her daughter to good spirits. Ylo stole miserly glances at her face. His realization earlier that she must soon be taken from him made him greedy for more memories of it, and yet he already knew every jot of it better than he knew anything in the world.

He had seen that face inflamed with passion and racked by ecstasy. He had seen it gentle, adoring her child. He had seen it kind, winning worshipful aid from peasants. Back in the palace days he had seen it coldly imperious and known that the spirit within was terrified beyond reason, but hiding that terror from all but the most perceptive. In Yewdark he had seen it desperate but unvanquished. He had never seen it sulk, never petty or spiteful or selfish.

And now their danger was greater than ever. He did not say so, and he had not argued against this new course, because their cause was now so hopeless that any risk was worth taking. True, the next valley might grant them a few hours' or days' more freedom. Yes, but—

Travelers on the road were inconspicuous to anyone except their pursuers. Cutting across country attracted everyone's attention, and the farmers' ire. To leave the roads was always a fugitive's last resort. This was the final lap.

His concern was well founded. They had ridden hardly a furlong over the pasture before their way was blocked by another hedge, its thorny tendrils reaching higher than a horseman and thicker than a wagon. They turned aside to flank it and with surprising good fortune soon found a place Ylo thought they might break through. He dismounted and persuaded the roan that if he could do it, a horse could follow. There was hawthorn in the hedge, and wild roses, and stinging nettles. Both man and horse got well scratched, but not fatally. The far side was pasture. He looped the reins round a branch and went back to fetch the sorrel.

A flash of light far-off caught his eye and he knew at once that it was sunlight on armor. They were distant, two fields away, but he could make out the dust they were kicking up. He counted eight or nine riders, already spread out as if they had been in hot pursuit for some time.

"There they are," he said numbly. "See, darling?"

Eshiala must have seen. With a wild scramble her horse exploded through the hedge, screaming in alarm. Ylo leaped back out of the way. Maya, clasped tight before her mother, uttered a wail and lifted tiny hands to fend off trailing branches. The sorrel catapulted into a gallop.

Common sense said that the game was over. The hounds had their quarry in sight at last and now they could run it down.

Common sense be damned—Eshiala's maternal instincts had taken over. Her child was in danger.

"Ride, Ylo!" she shouted, her voice fading into the distance. "Ride like the wind!"

 

 

2

Archon Raim built his own furniture with adze and chisel. The exiled king of Krasnegar preferred sorcery. Rap had constructed two admirably debauched lounging chairs to adorn the lawn outside his cabin, outfitting them with comfy pallets in an eye-catching purple. They would have swallowed a pixie whole, but they let him stretch out to his full length and degenerate in comfort. They were on the large size for Inos, and she had made some fitfully disparaging remarks about his color sense. If the Gods were truly insistent that he must wither away into senility in this gilded prison, then he would have ample time to do something about such matters.

But not now. Now was still for talking, and smiling, and strange feelings of thankfulness. It was only two days since he had brought Inos to the Rap Place at dawn, feeling much less like a romantic knight rescuing his lady than a plowman carrying his peasant bride home to his hovel. Years ago she had given him a palace; now he had landed her in a two-room cabin. Being Inos, she had sensed his mood and praised the quarters beyond reason. Being Inos, she made that hovel feel more homelike than any castle.

Two days were not enough to wipe out eight months of separation, eight months of not-expecting-ever-to-see-again. Two days were not enough to exchange tales of all their strange adventures. Two days were not enough to erase the feelings of miracle upon waking to find the wanted one lying alongside, or looking up to meet the remembered eyes again. Two days were nothing and yet infinitely precious.

Now they lay under the shade of the elm and smiled at each other in bone-deep contentment.

"What was the worst?" she said suddenly.

He shrugged. "When the sorceress caught me in Casfrel, I suppose. Or when we had to let Olybino die. But he must have known that would happen. I feel guilty that I always underestimated him."

"He probably underestimated himself until he needed to be more than he had been. And the best part?"

"Silly question."

She chuckled.

Later, she sighed. "What happens next. Rap?"

"Here? Nothing. The Keeper will see to that."

"Can she? Can she really keep the Covin away for ever?"

"She thinks so. Or says she does. It is in the laps of the Gods. If anything brings Zinixo's full attention to bear on Thume, he will realize that it is not what it seems. Otherwise . . ."

Otherwise the two of them remain here in exile for ever, moldering away into old age.

"No escape?" Inos asked, knowing what he had not said.

"Not without her consent. I expect she has bespelled us so that we cannot escape. She probably foresaw what happened in the djinn camp, or else she had a prophecy to guide her. She knew I would return. She knew—you can bet on that. I don't think the Keeper takes any risks at all." He glanced around. "We have company."

Kadie and Archon Thaïle came strolling across the grass. One had short fawn hair, one long black hair, but they wore identical skirts of blue and green, identical white blouses, identical sandals. Gold eyes and green eyes, but their smiles were equally strained.

Kadie had elected to remain at the Thaïle Place. She came to call twice a day, but she never stayed long. She was improving, yes, but even her mother had failed to effect a cure. That was going to take time, and Rap had an uneasy hunch that Kadie made those visits only because Thaïle sent her. Today she had brought her instead.

Rap clambered out of his chair and summoned two more chairs from the cabin. He spoke formal greetings to the pixie, and hugged Kadie. He tried to believe that she was less wooden in his arms man before. He thought he even detected a hint of the old Kadie, a faint trace of devilry as she inquired sweetly if her mother had slept well.

"Of course not," Inos said blandly. "Do sit down."

Alas! Kadie was startled by the reply, so she had not been needling. Her green eyes flicked from Inos to Rap and back again. She was of an age to start appreciating her parents as people and not natural phenomena, but she seemed shocked to think they might still do that at their age.

The four of them settled in a circle, the youngsters insisting that the older folk take the more comfortable chairs. Rap invited Thaïle to provide refreshments according to local taste, and she magicked up a cool and tantalizingly bitter fruit punch. The meeting was all very civilized and fraught with undertones. Was this merely a rehabilitation visit for Kadie, or was there a deeper purpose?

"Papa?" Kadie said with almost the old primness she had displayed when plotting mischief. "Tell us how the war is going."

"I doubt if Thaïle wishes to talk of such somber matters."

"Oh, she does. I mean—" Kadie caught her friend's eye and sniggered. "I mean, I am sure she won't mind."

Deeper purpose!

"She probably knows as much as I do, or more," Rap said cautiously. He was certain that the Keeper had instituted the meeting with Toom and Raim that had triggered his visit to the caliph, but he did not think Thaïle would be so cooperative, not with the woman who had slain her child and lover. Nothing was certain with sorcery, of course.

"The djinn army is still withdrawing, your Majesty," Thaïle said quietly. "The caliph still rides in a litter."

"I am delighted to hear it. Please call me Rap unless you see me actually wearing my crown. I left it on the bedpost today."

She nodded solemnly. "So Thume is out of danger, thanks to you."

"But can it stay that way?"

She shrugged. "Probably, for only sorcery can expose us and we have defenses against sorcery. How does your war go? Have you and, er, Inos had time to compare notes?"

"We have," Rap said, wondering who else was listening to the conversation. "I doubt if we know as much as the Keeper does, but here is what we do know. Of the four wardens. East is dead and West, Witch Grunth, has been coerced into joining the Covin. Lith'rian is sulking in his sky tree, determined to throw away his life in futile defiance, and Raspnex we believe to be holed up in a Zarkian jail."

Kadie said, "Jail, Papa?" in scandalized tones.

"A shielded jail. It is probably the safest place he could be. Every sorcerer seems to agree that open hostilities will break out on Longday, the day after tomorrow. That happens to be when the thanes of Nordland gather in moot to proclaim war against the Impire."

Kadie bit her lip. "And that's where Gath went?"

"He went to Nordland," Inos said soothingly. "It is extremely unlikely he will manage to attend the moot."

"And all the longships will be loaded with warriors when they head south," Rap added. "They certainly won't carry tourists. So Gath will remain in Nordland. He may actually have found himself a very safe stall."

Kadie looked from one face to another, obviously wondering if she should believe this. Her concern for her twin was a good sign, though. Yes, she was better since that record-breaking weep with her mother.

"All sorcerers in the world know of the impending struggle," Rap said, continuing his review, and wondering if the right word was struggle or just rout. "How many will elect to join in remains to be seen. If the first clash goes badly, I expect most of them will remain in hiding—no one joins lost causes. If we can put up a good show initially, we may enlist more support."

Who was we? Who was left? He suspected Zinixo was picking off the opposition like flies on a window. Olybino had gone. Grunth had gone. There had been no groundswell of support for them. Now he was out of it, also, unless the Keeper relented.

Thaïle had been studying her hands, hunched in her chair like a woman four times her age. She looked up now with a frown.

"You don't have any idea of numbers?"

"None. I don't know how strong the Covin is. Hundreds, I expect, and it includes at least two of warden rank. Zinixo raided the Nogids and snatched more than half the anthropophagi. He must have collected a majority of the dwarves in his twenty years of plotting. Probably all goblin sorcerers were votaries of Bright Water, so he would have inherited them, apart from the two Raspnex found at Kribur. But Azak's private little covin of djinns is still at liberty, as far as I could tell. Shandie unearthed—I use the word advisedly—a sizable contingent of gnomes, who indicated that they might support him under the right circumstances."

It sounded even worse put into words than it did when he thought about it in private.

He sighed. "I admit that it looks bad, Archon. Thaïle, I mean. The anthropophagi and trolls who went to Dragon Reach must have been betrayed by Grunth, or most of them. The rest of the trolls would much prefer to stay in their jungle. Imps . . . I have no idea, although imps probably outnumber other races in sorcerers, so there must be many still at large."

"But less than half?" Thaïle said coldly.

"Very likely. The elves won't fight, except to defend their sky trees. The pixies won't fight, either."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you still say we should?"

Put like that, the question had a horribly obvious answer.

"That leaves jotnar and merfolk," Rap said, avoiding it. "The merfolk I know nothing about. Jotnar? I doubt that Nordland has many sorcerers. Jotnar despise sorcery."

Silence.

A pair of butterflies danced across the shadowed circle and waltzed away into the sunshine again. Rap thought of pixies. The Keeper was right. You should not try to turn butterflies into hornets.

"You have omitted one factor from your appraisal. Rap," Thaïle said quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. She seemed so young and so much an innocent country maid that it was easy to forget the wisdom her great power must have brought her.

"What's that?"

"That you have been removed from the battle."

"Me? I doubt that I would make any difference at all. I must be the weakest sorcerer in the world."

"But you are the acknowledged leader of the counterrevolution. So now it is leaderless. What of the imperor?"

"As far as we know, he is in jail with Raspnex."

Inos intervened. "Shandie cannot be the leader. First, he's a mundane. Second—Raspnex says—the other races will never rally behind an imp, and especially that one."

"And I'm a half-breed?" Rap said. "A mongrel? Is that what he implied?"

"Not at all."

"I never wanted to be leader."

"Exactly. He said that it was only because you had repeatedly refused a warlock's throne that everyone would be willing to accept you."

Now there was perverse logic! It sounded more like an elf's than a dwarf's. So what was the purpose of this discussion? Was Thaïle hinting that she might be able to help Rap escape from Thume if he still wanted to go and take charge of the war? And did he really want to? His review of the situation had emphasized just how horribly hopeless it was. Every race in Pandemia seemed to have lost more than half its sorcerers to the Covin, which meant that his cause was mathematically hopeless already. The few exceptions were hardly encouraging: djinns and merfolk totally unknown quantities, the jotnar probably of little account. That left gnomes. What hope of them ever even showing up?

Common sense said he should accept the safe haven he had found in Thume and let the world fend for itself.

"Thaïle . . ." He stopped. "Something wrong?"

The pixie was staring blankly into space. She muttered an apology and rose to her feet.

Kadie jumped off her chair. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Thaïle murmured. "Have business to attend to . . ."

She faded away like smoke. Kadie screamed in alarm.

 

 

3

The sorrel gelding was a big, strong fellow, although he had a lazy streak. Ylo had been delighted to get him and had paid a ridiculous price for him. The roan was gentler, a placid little mare with a good seat, chosen for Eshiala. Now he could see that he need not have been so fussy—that woman could ride a whirlwind!

Try as he might, he could not catch up. The mare was just no match for the sorrel, especially bearing Ylo's weight. The two horses smoked across the hayfield with Eshiala steadily drawing out in front Faintly Ylo heard little Maya's howls over the thunder of hooves. The next hedge was coming up ahead, and Eshiala had obviously seen the gate in it. It wasn't a gate, though, just a gap blocked by a wicker hurdle. She put the sorrel straight at it and soared like a bird. Then she was gone.

Ylo's heart turned over. Gods, woman! Think of our child!

Think of badger holes.

Don't think of badger holes.

Then he was coming at the hurdle and gathering the mare for the jump. From the way her ears flattened, he guessed she'd had no training in jumping, but she took his orders and cleared it like a veteran. They came down in unripe grain and Eshiala was farther in the lead than ever.

Utter insanity! Didn't the woman know she was pregnant!?

He looked back, but saw only the hedge, which was already fast receding into the distance. Here he was on the crest of the divide. He could see nothing in any direction but corn below and blue sky above, plus more hedges. This time there was no gap ahead. Eshiala did not seem to have realized that. She was still kicking for more speed, humped over to hold her child tight, holding the reins with one hand.

When he'd first met her, she'd seemed just a delicate wild-flower wilting in the sultry hothouse of the court. He had soon discovered that she was a wild animal caught in a cruel and intricate trap, and had adjusted his plans accordingly. Before he could make his move, the collapse of the old order had thrown her into terrible danger, but it had also released her from her captivity. Since then she had shown no fear that he had been able to see. Even after he had rescued her from Yewdark, the flower had not been ready for the picking, nor the trophy for the wall. She had made him wait for his reward until she was ready to grant it. Then she had given herself without stint.

Were Shandie to return from the dead, he would not recognize this new Eshiala, this confident, courageous concupiscent woman. Her palace terrors had been forced upon her because her inappropriate marriage had compelled her to be something she was not. She had been required to feign affection for a man she had not loved, a man incapable of loving her as anything except a mythical ideal. No one could be brave in the face of the unknown or the inexplicable, and Eshiala would rather face armored legions than a gaggle of corseted dowagers. Against danger she could understand, she was valiant as any battle-hardened warrior.

And she was riding the pants off him! He would never have expected the gelding to put out for her like this. Still, in her condition this was rank insanity. He would catch up with her at the hedge and tell her so.

She was riding straight at the hedge.

By the Powers, woman! Stop! It's too high. You don't know what's on the other side, or how wide it is. The horse will balk and throw the pair of you straight into the thorns. Make that all three of them! The wind blew cold on his sweat. He wanted to scream at her and the distance was too great, and he might distract her anyway. The hedge was a windbreak, full of trees, and Eshiala had chosen a gap between trees but the thorns and shrubbery were higher there, taller than a man. The horse would refuse . . .

The horse didn't. It showed momentarily in the gap against the sky and then Ylo was riding alone through the corn. And he couldn't tell if his love was alive or dead on the far side.

Well, if she could do it, he could. He patted the roan's neck. "Did I mention that I am an extremely skilled horseman?" He got no reply. He risked one last glance around and saw no pursuit yet. The hedge loomed over him.

He thought of Star, his first pony, and how Big Brother Yshan had set up a knee-high hurdle and dared him to try his first jump. He had done it and lived and had never truly feared a jump since—until this one. A blind jump with an untried horse too small for his weight. Even jail seemed good, suddenly.

He took the poor roan over it by brute force, and aged about ten years. They went through the top in a blizzard of thorny branches. She stumbled on landing and recovered, then he felt the sickening jerk of a limp in her right foreleg. Bloody blasphemy!

Well-cropped pasture sloped down into another valley. Eshiala was halfway across, angling to the left with cattle stampeding out of her path. She was aiming for a gate in the north boundary.

Beyond this field lay more fields, no cover in sight, very few buildings. Water glinted in the valley bottom, but beyond the river—forest! Suddenly there was hope. The silvery chain of the stream divided the valley into vastly different halves. This side was all cultivated and pastured. The far slope seemed like uninhabited wilderness, stretching for leagues. If the fugitives could cross the river, they could hide from anything but dogs. They might starve to death, but someone must live in that forest. Charcoal burners or game wardens—such men could be bribed with much less gold than still jangled at Ylo's saddle.

Eshiala was almost at the gap, another hurdle. Remember you are jumping him downhill, love! There was no field beyond it, just a narrow lane and another hedge. She could jump, but did she have room to land? Why did she not just wait for him to come and move the hurdle? He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the gelding was gone and must be presumed safely over and heading to the right, downhill. Oh, bravely, bravely done! That sorrel was a steeplechaser born. They would have a clear run down the lane to the river. Just don't drop Maya now, darling!

The roan was slowing, limping harder. All Ylo's training in horsemanship screamed at him to let her stop before he killed her. His father's ghost pounded on him. Yshan and Yyan, long-dead brothers, howled in his ears. He kicked and kicked, urging the mare onward toward that exit.

Again he took a quick glance back, and there were three horsemen in the pasture with him. A fourth came over the hedge even as he looked, then down and down, crumpling and rolling in disaster on the grass. One less—but that didn't matter. Three would be enough. He had a sword, but he couldn't fight three.

Gate coming up. The roan was too lame to jump. He wasn't going to make the river on a lame horse.

 

 

4

"For gods' sake, Kadie!" Inos said, hugging her frantic daughter. "Thaïle's only gone away for a few minutes. Stop making such a scene!"

She transfixed her husband with a penetrating green stare.

Rap said, "Huh?" and "Oh, yes. Well, I was thinking of going for a swim. Anyone else fancy a swim? No? Be back shortly, then."

He strode off across the glade.

Women!

Kadie's problem must be even worse than he had realized if she became hysterical every time her heroine left her for a moment. She was still only a child and he was her father, so he eavesdropped, knowing that Inos would expect him to, or at least would have no objection. As he pushed through the scrub and poplar saplings, his eyes and ears were back at the cabin—in a manner of speaking.

"Now come and sit here with me," Inos was saying sternly. "Your father doesn't know the difference between a chair and a double bed. I've always wondered if he was color blind and now I'm sure of it. There. Well, we might as well lie back."

They stretched out side by side on the cushions. Kadie had not stopped whimpering and weeping on her mother's shoulder.

"Mph!" Inos said crossly. "Perhaps a good slap was what you needed. What sort of princessy behavior is this?"

Rap came to the edge of the bank and slithered down in a shower of pebbles. The tide was out, exposing a wide expanse of white sand punctuated with slimy rocks. Wind stirred his hair. He began to trudge seaward and returned his mind to the conversation.

"Family is family," Inos was saying, "and friends are friends. Good friends are more precious than fine jewels, and greatly to be treasured. But you never own your friends. They're not pets. They have their lives to lead, too."

Reaching damper sand, he paused to strip and put his clothes in a heap. Cool salty wind caressed his hide. The entire bay was empty as far as he could see. Perhaps in the real-world Thume it was inhabited, but not in this one, the College Thume. He padded forward again, enjoying the wetness under his feet.

Inos had not yet managed to start Kadie talking, apparently.

"You were very, very lucky that she found you, and she has been very kind to you. I understand why you feel as you do. But tell me this: What does Thaïle get out of your friendship? What do you provide her in return for all the help and care she has given you?"

Kadie just sniveled.

"I said you can't treat a friend as a pet, Kadie. You can't behave like a pet, either. If you pester Thaïle too much, she may not want to be quite as friendly. You must be considerate in return for her kindness."

Rap was wading into the sea, eyeing the big breakers ahead. He'd learned to body-surf back at Durthing, years ago, and it would be fun to try that again. Perhaps not today, though.

Kadie now: " . . .doesn't mind. She's told me so lots of times." Sniff! "Says I'm good company for her 'cause she—" Sniff! "—doesn't have any friends here, either. They killed her baby!" Weep.

Undertow sucked at his knees and a glistening green wall rose up menacingly in front of him.

"Do you know why sorcerers never marry other sorcerers?" Inos asked.

The breaker hung in the sky, light shining through it. He dived into the base of it and was snatched underneath, through cool green silence.

Inos still: "I don't suppose she could. Words of power don't let themselves be talked about. But I can tell you. I'm probably the only person in the world who can tell you!"

Rap's head broke surface and he struck out seaward, hearing the crash of falling surf behind him.

" . . .don't know any words now. I'm the only ex-sorcerer in the world, and so I'm the only person who knows these things and can also talk about them. So listen. Four words make you a sorcerer. In most cases a fifth word will destroy you. Almost nobody has enough control over magic to stand the power of five words. It's an overload, too many bales on the camel. Anyone who can survive, though, is a demigod. Like the Keeper. Like your father was once. Demigods are enormously strong, far beyond ordinary sorcerers, but they live in constant pain, fighting the power trying to destroy them."

"Destroy them how?" Kadie whimpered.

"Well, I saw a sorceress learn a fifth word and she burst into flames like tinder."

The next swell lifted Rap heavenward in cool bliss, hot far from a bobbing white bird, a feathered boat with a cynical gold eye.

"Yes, it was horrible," Inos said. "She burned away completely. And that's why sorcerers mustn't fall in love with other sorcerers. They daren't! Men and women making love are not always, er, well, not always quite in command of what they do or say. It would be too easy to share a word of power at such a time."

"Thought they were hard to say!" Kadie objected, watching her mother with red-rimmed green eyes.

Rap sank downward into the trough, relishing the effort and unfamiliar exercise.

"In this case it's different," Inos was saying. "Because there's love involved. It's a special case. Maybe sometimes sorcerers do fall in love and deliberately do share five words, but then something completely different happens."

Inos was doing remarkably well! Rap took a deep breath and submerged.

"Your father and I had this problem, you see. Two people plus five words plus love . . ."

"What's the matter?" Kadie demanded.

Rap chuckled to himself, fighting himself down into deeper, darker green. He'd been expecting this. From the expression on Inos' face, she was experiencing a sudden attack of nausea.

"There's more than just the words keep that secret, dear. The Gods don't . . . Ouch!"

In the depths of the sea, Thaïle appeared to him.

"Rap? Your Majesty?" she said. She was perfectly audible, and apparently completely dry down there.

"What—" Taken aback by this apparition. Rap released a cloud of bubbles and began to choke.

"We need your help. Rap. Come, please."

Suddenly he was standing in a forest—stark naked, soaking wet, convulsively coughing up seawater.

 

 

5

Ylo checked the lathered roan and slid from the saddle. He landed her a grateful pat or two on her wet neck, for the poor brute had given him all she could. He tied the reins to the hurdle. It was a nasty thing, woven from thorny branches and lashed to the hedge at both ends with strong-looking rope. He had no time to take his dagger to it, and no need. He squeezed through under one end of the barrier, scratching himself mightily in the process. He took off down the road.

As soon as he was hidden by the hedge he doubled back to the edge of the gap and waited, his heart a pounding hammer in his chest.

He glanced behind him. Eshiala was nowhere to be seen. Then she came into sight out of a dip. She was well down the lane and still going, although the gelding was obviously tiring. She twisted around to look for him and he froze, resisting an urge to wave—if she saw him dismounted she might be stupid enough to come back for him.

Hooves drummed on the turf and the roan whinnied. He stooped to find a rock, a heavy rock, the sort of rock that might knock a rider off his horse. He had left the mare blocking the gap—would the horseman dismount to move the barrier? The hooves slowed. Then the hurdle creaked as the frightened roan tried to back out of the way. The hooves drummed harder and ceased abruptly. Ylo hurled the rock. As soon as it left his hand he knew it was aimed too low. Man and horse came through the air and the missile struck the horse just below its eye.

It was enough to throw the beast off its landing. It came down on knees, neck, shoulder, rump high in the air, mount and rider one huge mass of flesh toppling together. The mailed man clanged on the road and the horse rolled on him.

That left two. In a momentary silence Ylo heard more hooves coming.

The man he had felled was obviously no longer a threat. If the Gods were feeling kind, then his horse might just be well enough to ride. It struggled to right itself, hampered by its rider's foot caught in a stirrup, then collapsed again. Dog food! The Gods were not benevolent. Ylo felt much worse about the horse than the man.

He looked for Eshiala. She had reached the bottom of the hill, was heading for another gate. One more field to cross and she would be at the water. He wanted to cheer. Don't stop now, my darling! Go! Go! Go!

The sound of hooves grew louder. The roan mare whinnied and backed away, ripping off half the hurdle and leaving a barrier scarcely knee-high.

Ylo drew his sword.

* * *

Rap stood in the shadow of a forest, mostly beeches and chestnut. Beside him were Archon Thaïle and several other people. Nudity in other people was nothing to sorcerers, who could see through stone walls. Nudity in oneself was something else. Even before he had stopped throwing up saltwater, he created a pair of trousers on himself. They turned out the same surprising shade of purple as the chairs back at his Place, but that didn't matter. Beechnuts prickled his feet, but shoes could wait, also.

Thaïle he recognized, and Raim, and the other two were archons, whose names escaped him. They were standing at the top of a low cliff, sheltered by bushes. Below the cliff, trees sloped gently to a river. Beyond the river lay fields and farmland that could only be the Impire, probably Qoble.

He stopped coughing. "You called?" he gasped.

"Can you see what is happening?" Thaïle demanded. Everyone was studying something on the far bank. Tension crackled in the ambience and his levity had been misplaced.

"No." His farsight range was sadly restricted now..

He was granted power in a surge that shocked him. It brought vision that would make a hawk blink, and then he saw everything. A woman was riding a chestnut horse, clutching a child in front of her and going down a lane at breakneck speed, heading for the river. Farther away, half a dozen horsemen came in pursuit, spread out all the way to the skyline at the height of land. They all wore the chain mail of legionaries and at least three sported the white crests of centurions. One man had come a cropper trying to jump a hedge and was sitting on the grass clutching his right ankle. His horse grazed peacefully nearby, seemingly unharmed.

There was another horse and another man, a civilian. He had dismounted at a gate and left his horse behind in the field. He was waiting in obvious ambush for the first of the pursuers. What chance did he think he had against horsemen?

"Fugitives?" Rap said. "You must get them through here all the time, surely?"

"A woman with child!" Thaïle said. "She has a child with her and she is herself with child. There is a prophecy!"

He wanted to shrug. He wanted to say: But I helped you three nights ago, and what good did it do me?

Instead he said, "What do you want me to do? Again I point out that you must get fugitives dropping in all the time. Why four archons for this lot? Why me?"

"You do not see?" Raim said. "Look in the ambience."

Powers preserve us! Faint, like smoke, two great eyes hung in the sky. They were insubstantial, and yet stony, a ghost of a cliff face, a hint made up of cloud and shadow against the blue. Of course it was illusion. It was only Rap's own mind trying to make sense of the inconceivable, but the image was enough to chill him to the marrow. It was the same symbolism his brain had used when the Almighty had come searching the ambience for him in Ilrane. He was sensing the Covin. The Covin, too, was watching the drama unfolding in the valley.

Why?

The audience grew larger as more archons materialized at his side.

"Well, it seems you do have a problem," Rap said. "Not an hour ago Thaïle was telling me that only sorcery could injure Thume. Those folk down there are all mundane, aren't they?"

"Seemingly," Thaïle said. "But why are they of interest to the Almighty?"

"You expect me to know?" Rap exclaimed. "Just like that?" Had the pixies any idea of how big the outside world was or how many people lived in it?

The first pursuer jumped his horse over the gate by the watcher and went down in a gruesome tangle. Certainly that man was—or had been—no sorcerer.

It was the Azak problem all over again. If the Keeper used power to repel the invaders, then the Covin would notice. If the fugitives were allowed to cross the river they would vanish behind the inattention spell, and the Covin might wonder.

Who could these runaways be that they should merit such a pursuit and such an observer? Rap focused his superhuman vision on the woman. His shock alerted the other sorcerers.

"Who is it?" Thaïle cried.

He could not believe it himself, but he said it. "It's Impress Eshiala. The child is her daughter, the princess imperial."

How in the world had Eshiala managed to come to Thume? Shandie had left her in a safe house close to Hub. Why would she have come here?

"And the man?" one of the archons demanded.

The man? The civilian by the gate? He had his sword out. He was making no attempt to rescue the injured legionary, whose horse was obviously now crippled and who might be dead himself. Had the civilian contrived that fall? If so, he was fighting a very dirty battle.

Gods have mercy—it was Ylo! Signifer Ylo. His face was scratched bloody and streaked with dust and sweat also, but there was no mistaking it. Good looks like that were rare enough to be unforgettable.

Oh, of course.

"The man is Shandie's signifer." Thumian lacked such a word and Rap spoke the impish term. "That's an assistant . . . He's a lecher, a woman chaser. When I met him, he was after the impress. Apparently he got her."

Ylo had been with Shandie when the goblins caught him. Rap had not thought to ask Inos what had happened to him. There had been many, far more important things to discuss than Shandie's signifer.

"Then it is the woman the Almighty hunts?" Raim asked.

"It must be. Or the child. Ylo's a pretty lad and he has some good qualities, but there's nothing much to him." Rap pulled his wits together. "Look, call my wife here."

"Why should we need her?" a quiet voice in the background asked.

Without turning his head, he glanced behind him. The Keeper was standing back under the trees, a dark shape leaning on a staff, a shadow in the shadows.

"I am only trying to be helpful. Holiness," he said. "I am a friend of Thume's, remember?"

"Bring her," the Keeper said.

But the second legionary was nearing the gate, and apparently that civilian was about to tackle an armored, mounted opponent. Nothing much to him? That could not be the same Ylo Rap had met. Or else he'd gone crazy.

The impress cleared the gate into the water meadow and her horse stumbled and went down under her. The child rolled free.

"Good!" the Keeper said.

* * *

The opponent approaching would wield a legionary's short sword. Ylo wore no chain mail and his rapier was a gentleman's weapon. He must use his advantage in reach immediately, before his blade could be knocked aside or perhaps even cut through. He was on the man's right, and much would depend on whether the man had already drawn his sword. This battle was turning into a very dirty fight, but the Imperial Army had never cared much for rules except the one that said The good guys must win and we are always the good guys.

The knell of hooves slowed. The rider must have seen his predecessor go down and might be expecting an ambush. Or perhaps he was merely watching his footing. The fragment of hurdle remaining was no great barrier, but it could trip a weary horse.

He put his mount over it in proper jump style, which meant he was crouched low in the saddle. Possibly his attention had wandered to the casualty sprawled in the dirt, or possibly he expected a conventional attack from the left. Ylo leaped forward and lunged upward. The point of his rapier screeched on chain mail and went through the gap in the armpit. That was not a stroke to kill a man instantly, but it could do a lot of damage and it certainly served Ylo's purpose. The rider keeled over with a bubbling scream. The horse shied from the sudden attack and bucked. Ylo's sword came free. The downed horse tried again to rise and again collapsed on its motionless rider.

The second horse reared, tipping the legionary off completely. The wounded man flailed and screamed as he fell into the hedge. Ylo grabbed the cheek strap. There was a wild skirmish with clattering hooves and loud cursing. Then Ylo more or less had control of his new mount. Holding its reins, he grabbed up the rapier he had dropped. The horse backed away from him, whinnying with terror and rolling white-rimmed eyes. Fortunately it backed itself into the hedge; he was able to move in close and mount from the wrong side.

In the saddle he was master.

The wounded man had fainted, or was stunned. He was probably fated to drown in his own blood anyway.

Fury roared in Ylo's head. He felt wild exultation. Two down! He was invincible, irresistible!

The third rider was coming, galloping across the pasture, crouched over his horse's neck. Another two had come over the skyline. Eshiala . . .

Eshiala was staggering across the meadow on foot, carrying Maya, heading for the river. Oh, Gods! She had fallen? She could not be seriously hurt if she was walking. Could she? She had a long way to go.

For a moment Ylo dithered.

Then he turned to face the pursuit. There was no hope of faking any more accidents, but he must hold the gate to give Eshiala time to reach the forest. The good guys always win!

Beyond the hedge the third opponent reined in and straightened up in his saddle. Ylo saluted with his rapier.

"You crazy popinjay!" Hardgraa roared, drawing his sword with a blood-chilling scrape. "Think you can stop me, do you?"

* * *

There were ten watchers in the forest now, for all the archons had arrived.

"That is the one!" the Keeper said. "That soldier is the one the Covin watches."

How she could tell that, Rap had no idea and no chance to ask. With a squeal from Inos and a shriek from Kadie, his womenfolk appeared at his side, still huddled together as if lifted straight out of their chairs. They staggered. He clutched Inos' shoulders to steady her.

"Shandie!" he said. "When he was captured—did he say anything about Ylo, his signifer?"

Inos glanced over the audience and the geography and raised her eyebrows. "We have another emergency? No, not then he didn't."

"Later?"

"Kadie!"

Ignoring her mother's exclamation, Kadie rushed to Thaïle's side. The pixie gave her a distracted smile and put an arm around her.

Inos said, "Later he said he thought that his companion had escaped."

"Nothing more?" Rap asked. "Not that he had given Ylo any special instructions, for instance?"

Inos frowned in annoyance at being thus interrogated when she did not know what was going on. "He hinted that he didn't trust Ylo not to go chasing after his wife. That was all."

Rap groaned. There was no other explanation, then. "Ylo did. Did go after her. They're here."

"Here?"

"Over there. Across the river. The impress is heading for the water—see? And Ylo's up that road there, facing off with . . . God of Mercy!"

With Centurion Hardgraa.

* * *

"Gladiator scum!" Ylo bellowed. "Come and get me! You think an Yllipo is scared of you, you dreg?"

Last of the Yllipos! Bred of mighty warriors! His heart soared. He was exultant with bloodlust. He was fighting for his woman and his unborn child. Chain mail or no chain mail, that stinking legionary was never going to get past Ylo.

Hardgraa turned to stare back up the hill. His two minions were still coming, but one horse was obviously lame. Ylo fought down the temptation to charge while his opponent was apparently distracted.

"I don't fall into those traps, cretin!"

Crazy with terror and the stench of blood, his horse skittered and danced, and he held it in place without a thought. He had the advantage and was going to keep it That poxy-eyed no-good centurion had to come by him, and there was half a barrier still. Hardgraa was good with a sword and knew every dirty trick ever invented, but he wasn't in Ylo's class with a horse.

Still staring behind him, Hardgraa slammed his spurs into flanks already bloody—typical sneaky tactics! His horse hurtled through the gap as if to clear Ylo's mount out of its way by brute force alone.

Ylo rose in the stirrups, leaning forward, lunging at the centurion's eyes, trying to use his greater reach. Hardgraa parried contemptuously with his heavier blade. The two mounts collided with screams, swords clanged again, rapier against gladius. Ylo tried to back off, then realized his error. As the better horseman, wielding the longer sword, he would normally try to keep his distance. Conversely he had expected the centurion to keep the fight close. But Hardgraa wanted only to get by, so Ylo must seek to block him. For a moment the match was a melee, with knees and heels and hooves doing far more than arms. Dust swirled in choking clouds.

Then Ylo ducked below a stroke that would have removed his head, and Hardgraa's horse bucked, throwing him forward. The point of Ylo's rapier scraped over his helmet. Damn, that had been close! Fast as a viper, the legionary recovered and swung his gladius upward. Ylo felt the wind of its passing on his face as he swayed aside. Before he could even draw back his elbow for another lunge, Hardgraa spurred forward and struck again. Ylo parried a blow that would have taken off his sword arm, but a rapier was not meant to be used that way. It bent like an earthworm. Hardgraa's sword screeched along it and sliced deep into Ylo's thigh. The impact on the bone was stunning—pain and fear and nausea. As the horses danced apart, he threw both arms around his mount's neck and his rapier clattered to the dirt. Blasts of pain shot through him like thunderbolts. A hot tide of blood poured down his leg. He held his breath, waiting for the quietus.

"I'll finish you off later!" Hardgraa bellowed, spinning his horse around. He dug in his spurs and was off at a gallop down the road.

 

"He got him!" Rap cried.

"Who got him?" Inos shouted, squeezing his arm. "Ylo? The one on the gray is Ylo? Who's the other?"

"Hardgraa."

The archons were muttering. The ambience flickered in aurora of emotion. In the sky the illusion of eyes persisted, cold, stone eyes watching the tiny drama below. The impress was still staggering on foot across the meadow, burdened by her load and obviously close to collapse. And Hardgraa was racing down the hill.

"I think the emergency is over," the Keeper said in a small, satisfied whisper.

"Who is Hardgraa?" Inos demanded.

Rap kept his gaze on the chase. "One of Shandie's men. He was Eshiala's guardian. Looks like he followed them all me way here."

"You mean she ran off with this Ylo man?"

"She probably thinks that Shandie is dead," Rap said. "Of course she does! All of them do! They think that child is reigning impress! That's why Hardgraa's here!"

"Rap!" Inos shouted. "What do you mean?"

"He's after the child." Rap stared at those monstrous eyes in the sky. Hardgraa was probably in the power of the Covin. Mundanes could be votarized just as sorcerers could. That must be what the Keeper had detected. Knowingly or not, Hardgraa had brought the Covin with him.

It looked as if he was certain to win.

Except that Ylo was coming in pursuit.

 

He lashed the gray with the flat of his dagger. The world was fading in and out of gray mist. Every hoofbeat sent waves of agony up from his thigh, and he knew he must be spilling a trail of blood along the road. He had very little time before he blacked out. The world was disappearing from the edges of his vision and drums beat in his ears. All he could see was the hateful back of Hardgraa ahead of him. All he had to do was catch up. All he had to fight with was a dagger, against an armored legionary.

Yllipo! Yllipo! Last of the Yllipos. Father, Yyan, Yshan help me! Let me live just that long.

Hardgraa must have thought the hooves were one of his cronies coming to help. At the last minute he turned his head and an expression of comical shock showed even under his helmet By then it was too late—his foe was to his left and he could not bring his short sword to bear.

The centurion spurred again, started to pull out ahead.

Using his hand to move his useless leg, Ylo pulled his right foot from the stirrup. He raked his horse with the point of the dagger. It spasmed forward. With a final, killing effort, clutching the mane, he let himself slide over, wounded leg drooping, and he struck at the only target he could be sure of, Hardgraa's mount Even as his grip failed and he began to fall, he felt the dagger bite into the hamstring.

He thought, Eshiala! and that was all.

Hardgraa's horse went down. Ylo's fell on top of it. The centurion rolled free, stunned. Ylo was somewhere in the middle.

The impress plodded grimly toward the river.

* * *

Nauseated, Rap and Inos put their arms around each other.

"Rap of Krasnegar!" the Keeper cried from the shadows. "You must go down and make her turn back. I shall cloak you again in the spell of inattention."

"Me?" Rap shouted. "Never! Let her in, you heartless old bitch! If you do not pity her, then have mercy on her child!"

The archons reeled back in unison like a ballet corps. Inos said, "Sh!" nervously.

"It is the woman with child of your prophecy!" he said, just as loudly. He had no idea what the prophecy said, but obviously it mattered. "I think the Gods have rolled your dice, Keeper!"

She wailed. "No! We must stop her!"

Rap pushed Inos aside. His temper blazed out of control, jotunn fury. "You think that would save you? Two days ago an army turned back in the east. Today a fugitive is turned back in the west? Do you call Zinixo an idiot? You think he will not wonder now? Thume is exposed. Keeper! The trumpets are sounding!"

A yell of triumph from the Keeper and archons made Rap spin around. The impress had fallen. The child was sitting up, howling, but the woman lay still, not far from the riverbank. The two horsemen were racing down the hill, almost to where two prone men and two struggling horses marked the scene of the second battle. Rap's heart sank without trace.

"We are saved indeed, faun!" the Keeper cried.

The first horseman jumped from his mount and knelt beside Hardgraa. Rap saw the centurion speak, though he could not make out the words. The second horseman was almost there, his mount limping. The first straightened, beckoned to him, and vaulted back into his saddle. Hardgraa had told them to catch the woman before they tended to him.

"It's all over!" Inos said.

Rap nodded grimly. Nothing he could do, and Ylo's gallant battle had been in vain. Ylo was almost certainly dead.

Failure.

No! The Keeper howled like a dog—two more players had come on stage. Two girls were splashing across the river, going to help. White blouses, long skirts . . .

Rap had felt nothing in the ambience, but he had known that Thaïle was a mighty sorceress. She had moved Kadie and herself down to the edge of the barrier without a flicker that he had detected. She had even evaded the Keeper.

One of the archons cried, "Stop them. Holiness! They will be seen!"

They had already been seen. The ghostly eyes in the clouds narrowed at the sight of these mysterious newcomers. How long would the Covin be content to watch and do nothing?

Inos threw her arms around Rap. "That's Kadie, isn't it?"

He nodded and hugged her. "Nothing I can do," he muttered miserably. Nothing anyone could do without making things worse, and nothing would draw the Covin's fires more certainly than Rap himself appearing. But he felt like the worst sort of coward. Sweat trickled cold down his face.

Side by side, Thaïle and Kadie leaped up the Qoble bank and ran to the fugitives. Kadie lifted the little princess, Thaïle raised the impress. The two horsemen had stopped at the gate and seemed engrossed in struggling with the fastening. Thaïle, you are using sorcery in the sight of the Covin!

"Holiness!" the same archon protested. "You must stop her!"

"Me?" the Keeper screamed. "I can do nothing now. It is not my fault! I told you! Why do you think she goes to rescue a child? Did I not warn you that the Gods might yet be wroth for what you did? This is your doing, you fools! Childslayers! See what you have made of the Chosen One!"

Archons tumbled to their knees before her fury. Kadie and the babe were halfway back across the stream. Leaning heavily on Thaïle, the impress was close behind. The horsemen were heading back up the hill toward Hardgraa.

Overhead, the watching eyes turned their gaze on Thume itself. The Almighty's frown darkened the sky like an imminent thunderstorm—puzzled, searching. Rap's scalp prickled and his arm tightened around Inos. He knew those eyes of old. Obviously they could not see him, though. If Zinixo had detected Rap he would have attacked at once, so the spell was holding.

Then the cloudy vision faded away. Either the dwarf had realized that he was being observed, or he had gone off to think over these peculiar events. Certainly he had seen enough to arouse his suspicions. It had never taken much to do that.

The fugitives had emerged from the water, safe on the Thume side. Safe for now, at least. The two horsemen were loading Hardgraa onto a mount as if he were hurt but conscious. They had cut the injured horses' throats. Ylo lay like a corpse in the lane, ignored.

Rap turned. The archons still groveled before the Keeper. His fury boiled up again. "Keeper, you have failed! Now the Covin knows that there is power and mystery in Thume!"

The hooded figure seemed to shrink away from him. "No!"

"Yes!" he roared. "You can hide no longer! Join the battle now, before it is too late!"

She raised her head and howled. "It is already too late! Your cause is hopeless! I have failed my people! Keef forgive me!" Her wail soared higher and higher, a thin shrill note of despair that cut like a knife.

Rap clapped his hands over his ears. The archons were doing the same. Power flooded the ambience, brighter and brighter, unbearably bright. The Keeper's bones shone through her flesh like the sun in mist. He turned his back on her and shut off his farsight. He did not want to watch.

"Rap!" Inos cried. "The Keeper! It's like Rasha, isn't it? She's burning! What happened?"

"It's the Gods' justice," Rap said. The Keeper had given up the struggle. Seven years of unrelenting pain, leading inevitably to this—he should feel sorry for her, but he could find no pity. "Good riddance!"

Behind him, the Keeper's death cry faded away.

He stared miserably at the carnage beyond the river.

Slumped in the saddle, Hardgraa was being led away toward the nearest farm, past the bodies of the two men Ylo had slain.

Ylo's body lay abandoned in the dirt between the slaughtered horses. Two ravens floated down from the sky.

 
A necessary end:
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, II, ii

 

 

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