The Fortress of Glass coti-1

by David Drake

  It wasn't far away, but it was too far for Cashel to make before the trees reached him. Well, he didn't much care for running anyhow.

  "Keep going, Protas!" Cashel shouted. The boy was pulling ahead anyway; he ought to be fine.

  Cashel turned and faced the oncoming trees, spinning his quarterstaff in front of himself. Each of the however many trees there was had branches thicker than his hickory staff, but he'd do what he could. They squealed low like a forest flexing in a windstorm.

  The trees'd strung out some on the chase, but the big one that the woman rode on was closer even than Cashel'd feared. She stood in the crotch, laughing and gesturing, as the tree loped along. Its long branches had twice the reach of his staff.

  The demon let out a screech like a hog being gelded. Cashel didn't look over his shoulder; the trees were plenty to occupy his attention. As he readied to step forward and bring his staff straight out of its spin into the tree bole, the demon swooped in front of him.

  The demon swept its arms apart. Blue wizardlight streaked from its fingertips to draw a blazing arc between Cashel and the tree. Grass flashed into soft orange flames. The roots skidded the tree to a stop, plowing furrows in the hard soil. Dirt and gravel sprayed over Cashel's feet.

  "Begone!" the demon screamed toward the trees. "I will! I must preserve them!"

  Which it hadn't said before. If Cervoran was the reason this was happening, then he was a powerful enough wizard to scare even demons.

  The woman swayed awkwardly when the tree stopped the way it did. She likely would've fallen if it hadn't reached up a branch to give her something to grab onto. The rest of the grove was dragging to a halt too. Cashel didn't relax, not yet, but he drew in a deep breath. He hadn't seen any good way for things to work out.

  The crouching demon poised with its arms still spread. It turned its head and cried, "Get on, then! To the top of the rock. You can do that, can't you, climb onto the rock?"

  Cashel turned and started jogging again. He wobbled for the first couple steps; he'd been closer to being winded than he knew. Stopping something and starting up again was a lot harder than just to keep going the first time.

  Protas was waiting with his back to the rock. Cashel thought the boy was clenching his fists in fear, but when he got close he saw he had a stone in either hand.

  Cashel grinned broadly. Sure, flinging rocks wasn't going to do much good against trees the size of the ones chasing them, but neither was the quarterstaff he'd been ready to use himself. He was glad to see the boy thought the same way he did.

  "What do we do now, Cashel?" Protas said. His voice higher than it had been, but he was being brave just the same.

  "Drop the stones and let me boost you up!" Cashel said. He ought to've leaned the quarterstaff against the rock to free both hands, but instead he used just his left to grab Protas by the back of his garments-tunic, sash and trousers all together in a tight handful-and swing him up the side of the boulder. When Cashel let go, he realized he'd swung harder than he'd meant to, but the boy managed to grab on and not go sailing off the back side as he'd nearly done.

  Cashel looked back as he planted his staff arm's length out from the boulder. The trees stood in a tight arc just beyond where the grass still smoldered. When the demon saw Cashel and Protas had reached the rock, it spun and sprang into the air. The trees surged forward again, at first looking like they were bending in a storm.

  Cashel jumped with a twist of his shoulders on the staff to swing his feet to the top of the boulder. There he straightened and brought the staff up across his body again. The stone'd been scribed with a star so long ago that the grooves were the same dirty gray as the flat surface.

  He grinned. Mounting that way was a neat piece of work. It took timing as well as strength, but it took more strength than most any two other men could've managed.

  The demon circled them, glaring fiercely. "You've cost me a kalpa of torment to save you as I did!" it cried. "But better that than all eternity. Get on with you and bring misery to some other wretched creature!"

  Hovering, it stretched out its clawed hands toward Cashel and the boy. Cashel tensed, remembering the blast of blue flame that'd halted the grove now rushing down on them again; dust rose in a dirty plume as their roots scraped over the ground.

  The star on the boulder glowed azure. The surface within that boundary vanished and the world beyond as well. Cashel was falling through starry space, conscious only of Protas' desperate grip on his belt.

  Chapter 10

  "Oh Chalcus!" Merota cried. "It's all right! Ilna's here!"

  It certainlyisn'tall right, Ilna thought. Merota hugged her and she patted the girl's shoulder, but she was ready to act if there was need.

  Which there didn't seem to be. She'd stepped from the wizard's chamber into a maze with broad aisles. The hedges, twice her height, were holly, but trees and fruiting bushes grew among the interwoven, spiky branches.

  Underfoot the grass was soft and curly. The ends were pointed so it hadn't been cropped, but the blades were only high enough to brush Ilna's ankles.

  Chalcus was a double pace away, as close as he could be to Merota and still have room to swing his curved sword with reflexive speed. He didn't have his back to a hedge, either, which surprised Ilna till she noticed faint rustlings and the way leaves occasionally quivered in the still air.

  That might be ground squirrels, of course. It might also be a viper hunting ground squirrels, and it wasn't hard to imagine worse things than vipers here.

  "I heard the child call," Chalcus said. His mouth smiled but his cheeks were set in hard planes and his eyes went every direction in quick jumps like a bird hunting. "I tried to follow her, but I got dizzy. Do you know where it is we are, dearest?"

  "We're in the tapestry Double set you to look at," Ilna said. "It's a trap, or at least Double used it as one. The pattern the hedges make draws you into it if you concentrate. Which of course you did."

  Poking through the holly beside her was what looked like blackberry canes with the usual mix of purple, red, and pink fruit on them. She picked a ripe one and tasted it. It was an ordinary blackberry, tart and tasty.

  She looked at her companions. "It was my fault," she said. She stood as straight as she'd have done if she was about to be hanged. She'd rather be hanged than to have made the mistake she had. "I should've looked at the tapestry myself. I would've known."

  "Dear one," said Chalcus with real affection, though his eyes continued to search. Under other circumstances he'd have touched her cheek with the back of his hand, but now each held a naked blade. "When I think I need you to scout before I look at a wall or a field or it may be a stretch of sea, I'll drown myself. I'll have lived too long to be a man."

  He stepped toward the next angle of the maze; the path branched left and right. "What I don't see…," he said, looking down both paths. "Is why Double would want to catch me that way. I wasn't a particular friend to him, but I wasn't his enemy either. Not then."

  He glanced back and gave the women a hard grin. "That will change when we return," he added.

  "He didn't care about us, Chalcus," Merota said. She wasn't looking at the ground or the hedges either, it seemed to Ilna. "He used us to draw Ilna here. He knew she'd follow us, don't you think?"

  "He wouldn't need to be a wizard to see that," Chalcus agreed. "But how is she his enemy?"

  "Theamulet," Merota said. "Lord Cervoran set Ilna to control Double. Double sent Ilna away so that he isn't under Cervoran's mastery any more."

  There was a tiny note of frustration in her voice. Merota was a courteous and respectful child, but this was a strain for her as surely as it was for the rest of them. She clearly felt that what was obvious to her ought to be obvious to other people, at least when she'd pointed it out.

  Ilna smiled coldly. The child might learn better, or she might not. Ilna'd never quite learned that lesson herself.

  "Ah," said Chalcus with a wry smile. "I see, I'd been getting too full of my
self, thinking I was the target. A flaw I'm prone to, milady, and I'm thankful to you for catching me."

  He spoke lightly, but he wasn't being ironic. Chalcus wasn't the man to deny his faults. Now he turned to Ilna and said, "Is there a way out, then, dear one?"

  "Probably," Ilna said. That was the first thing she'd considered, of course; the thing she'd been puzzling over even as she stepped into tapestry. "Almost certainly. It's a complex knot, but there's no knot without an end somewhere. I haven't found it yet, is all."

  She took another blackberry, realizing that she hadn't eaten in longer than she wished was the case. Food wasn't a great pleasure to her, but without it she was more apt to make mistakes. Lack of food, lack of sleep, cold weather or to a lesser extent hot weather-they all made her less effective than she liked. She regarded those requirements as weaknesses and disliked herself for them, but she wasn't the sort to deny that she was weak.

  "Is it best we stay here, dearest?" Chalcus said. "Or is there a direction you think we should go?"

  "I don't know anything about this place," Ilna said, irritated to be asked questions she couldn't answer. She'd knownwhere they were, no more. "We'll need food and there's little enough here. Water too, I suppose. There were fountains and streams on the tapestry."

  She cleared her throat. To take the sting out of her previous tone she added, "Though the blackberries are good. Will you have one?"

  Merota was standing primly with her hands tented together. Ilna glanced at her, then looked again: the child was terrified. Ilna reached into her sleeve for the twine she kept there. It'd be a simple thing, a few knots and a pattern to spread in front of Merota's barely focused eyes to calm her…

  Ilna paused, put the twine away and instead hugged Merota. The child threw her arms around Ilna and squeezed hard before relaxing and stepping back.

  "Thank you, Ilna," she said formally. "I'm all right now."

  "There's an apple tree to the right, Master Chalcus," Ilna said, pretending nothing had just happened. "Since we have no better direction, let's go that way. Perhaps we can see something from its branches, too."

  Her cheeks were hot. She hated embarrassment, hated it, and being around other people was one embarrassment after another.

  "There's little men in the hedges," said Chalcus with a lilt as he led with his sword and dagger angled out in front of him like a butterfly's feelers. "Brown and not so tall as my waist, short fellow though I am. But there's a lot of them."

  He sounded cheerful, and perhaps he was. Ilna smiled grimly. Chalcus wasn't a cruel man, but he regarded the chance to kill something that deserved it as the best sport there was.

  What Ilna really hated was emotion. At least now she had some emotions besides anger, but a life spent suppressing anger left her uncomfortable with the softer feelings as well.

  Insects buzzed and fluttered in the foliage, but Ilna didn't see birds. There were sounds that might've been bird calls, but she thought they were more likely insects also-or frogs. They could've been frogs.

  Her fingers began plaiting a fabric for occupation. Though she didn't see the little men that the sailor had, she couldfeel movement in the way leaves trembled or the grass lay: everything was part of an interwoven whole.

  Including of course Ilna os-Kenset. She knew that another person in her place might've learned how to leave this tapestry before following her friends into it; but that other person wouldn't have been Ilna and very probably wouldn't have been able to see the patterns that Ilna saw.

  Ilna grinned to think what she'd never have said aloud: she hadn't met anybody except for her brother who saw patterns as clearly as she did. Cashel would've gone bulling straight ahead just the way she'd done, if he'd known how to.

  They'd reached the ground beneath the apple tree's spreaing limbs. The trunk was hidden within the hedge, but the branches reached out from above the holly.

  Apple cores lay scattered on the grass. Some were so fresh that though the flesh had browned it hadn't started to shrivel. The mouths that'd nibbled the fruit were no bigger than a young child's.

  "The little people eat apples," said Merota, meaning more than the words.

  "So do we," said Ilna tartly, "but that doesn't mean we'd turn down meat."

  She'd snapped at the child's foolish hopefulness before she could catch herself-and regretted it as the words came out. Chalcus glanced at her with a hint of pain and probably irritation, completely justified. Of course the girl was being foolish, andof course the girl knew that as surely as Ilna herself did.

  "Merota," Ilna said, "I'm nervous; I'm afraid, I suppose. This makes me more unpleasant to be around than usual. Even more unpleasant. I apologize."

  "You're not unpleasant, Ilna!" Merota said. She probably even meant it. She was a sweet child, truly nice, and she couldn't understand what a monster her friend Ilna really was.

  Chalcus cleared his throat. "I might be able to jump to the lowest branch," he said, looking at the tree above them. "But I don't think I can get through the prickles without leaving more of my skin behind than I'd choose to. The little folk have skills I do not."

  "I'll go up," said Ilna, slipping loose the silk rope she wore around her waist in place of a sash. "You stay with Merota."

  You and your sword stay here, but there was no need to say that.

  She eyed the branches. The lowest, less than her own height above her, wasn't as thick as she'd like but she'd try it for a start. She cocked the rope behind her, then sent it up in an underhand cast. It curved over the branch and dropped.

  "Ah!" cried Chalcus, sheathing his dagger to grab the dangling end in his left hand. He'd been frowning, obviously wondering what Ilna expected to catch with the loop. There was nothing for a noose to close over, but it'd weighted the throw nicely.

  Ilna scrambled up the rope with the strength of her arms alone: the silk cord was too thin for her feet to grip it well, but the present short climb didn't require that. She pulled herself onto the branch, then stood and surveyed their surroundings.

  "It doesn't help," she called, keeping the disappointment out of her voice. "The hedges are as thick as they're tall. I can't even see into the next passage. And in the distance there's fog."

  The fog might be ordinary water vapor, but Ilna doubted it. She hadn't imagined that they could get back to their own world by walking to the edge of the tapestry, but perhaps…

  Ilna smiled grimly. She hadn't consciously allowed herself to hope for anything, but obviously the part of her mind she couldn't control had been hoping. The human part of her mind.

  "No matter, dear one," Chalcus called. "At least we've the apples."

  The branch swayed gently, but Ilna was comfortable with its support. She lifted the skirt of her outer tunic into a basket. and plucked fruit from the branches above her into it. The apples were small but sweet; apparently they were fully ripe when half the skin was still green. Many were wormy, but she had no difficulty gathering sufficient for the three of them.

  Because the hedge was so thick, the branches in the interior had leaves only on the tips. Ilna'd walked some way out in that direction to complete her foraging. As she turned, she saw faces staring up at her from among the knotted gray stems.

  They were visible only for an instant, but she'd gotten a good look at a trio of naked brown-skinned people, adult in proportion but no bigger than a six-year-old. One was a woman. Their large dark eyes reminded her of rabbits, and they'd vanished like rabbits leaping into a brush pile.

  Ilna walked back to where her friends waited and spilled the apples onto the ground. She hung from the branch by one arm and dropped. While Merota picked the apples up, she looped the rope back around her waist.

  Chalcus continued watching in all directions. He hadn't ceased to do that even when he was belaying the rope for Ilna to climb.

  "I saw the little people," she said quietly. "They don't seem to have weapons. Or any tools whatever.'

  "Aye," said the sailor. "They're a fleeting, fearfu
l lot and likely harmless. But it strikes me, dear heart, that they wouldn't beso fearful were there nothing here in this garden to fear, not so?"

  He stepped around the next corner of the maze, munching an apple in his left hand as his sword quivered like a dog scenting prey. Merota followed, holding the apples in her tunic with both hands, and Ilna brought up the rear as before.

  Several trees grew in the opposite wall of the hedge. One was a walnut, she thought. Nutmeats would be a good addition to the apples, though the capsules holding the nuts would stain her hands indelibly when she shucked them. Perhaps A fat-bodied snake stepped on two short legs from the opposite end of the aisle. The creature was the size of a man, pale red in front and its back and tail covered with vivid blue scales. It raised a neck frill as Chalcus lunged forward.

  "Look away!" Ilna shouted, closing her eyes. Her fingers knotted a pattern that she understood perfectly though she couldn't have described if her life'd depended on it. Words were for the world's Lianes; Ilna had her own way of communicating.

  Merota's scream muted into the desperate wheeze of someone drowning. Ilna lifted her pattern of cords and looked.

  A shock lashed her. It felt like what'd she'd gotten from touching metal after walking across wool in a dry day. Merota stood paralyzed with her mouth open; Chalcus had fallen as if his legs were wood. His sword was outstretched and his eyes stared in horror.

  Instead of a snake's jaws, the creature had a blunt, bony beak like a squid's. A forked blue tongue trembled from it in a high-pitched hiss. Ripples of blue and red played across its broad frill in a sequence as wonderfully perfect as a nightingale's song. The pattern caught every eye that fell on it and gripped with the crushing certainty of a spider's fangs.

  The creature, taking one clumsy stride forward, saw the open fabric in Ilna's hands. The rhythm of color in its frill broke, bubbled, and subsided into a muddy blur.