by Don McQuinn
Behind Fox and Altanar, two people edged backward through the crowd. Some spectators complained. Others ignored them or made room gladly, pushing forward to claim vacated space. It took little time for the pair to be free of the watchers.
Man Burning pulled back his hood. “We can speak, but softly. And keep your hair covered. What were they saying?”
“Fox is angry. They thought Conway would kill Katallon, but now they’re worried. Moonpriest promised Conway’s lightning weapons to Fox; I heard that clearly. Altanar said something about sacred water killing Conway. That’s all I heard. Have I failed you?”
Man Burning frowned deep in thought. When he spoke, he was firm. “I don’t understand what’s happening. If you’re going to strike Moonpriest tonight, you’ll have to wait in the tent. You were a great help. You hear like the owl.”
She shrugged. “Not so well as Fox, I think. Anyhow, I fear I only added to the puzzle. What will you do now?”
“Kill him. One way or another. He’s too dangerous to live.”
“But what if…?”
Man Burning took her elbow, turning her toward the tents with sure gentleness. “He dies. Tonight. Everything else will happen as it will. Hurry now.”
Bayek resisted him long enough to rise on her toes and kiss his cheek. “The air is strange tonight. I feel it. It means we’ll succeed, my faithful friend. I wish you luck.” Together, arm in arm, they disappeared into the waiting darkness.
Moonpriest continued to howl amusement. Leaning out from the edge of the altar, literally hanging from a post, he waved his free arm in burlesque mockery of the fighting men below him.
“Stop!” Moonpriest’s suddenly serious command shrilled above the roar of the crowd. All other sound seemed compressed for an instant. The tumult subsided.
Conway staggered backward. Panting, soaked with sweat, he appeared ready to collapse. Katallon, breathing deeply but easily, cocked his sword like a woodsman preparing to sink an axe in a log.
Moonpriest repeated his order. “Stop, Katallon. I demand.”
Glaring, Katallon relaxed his pose. Moonpriest stepped down from the altar. Stately, flowing, he moved to where the two antagonists faced each other. Holding up a hand, palm toward Katallon, Moonpriest pitched his voice to the masses. “The first time we met, I gave your false priest, Wippard, one last chance to come to my mother. Now I give you that chance. You have fought Conway fairly. I tell you, you are already beaten and unable to see it. Oppose me longer, oppose my mother, and Katallon will be no more.”
Katallon sneered, the mask of battle clearly on him. “I don’t believe you, priest. You have magic. I have my sword. Step aside.” Under the chain mail Katallon’s leatherjacket stretched as muscles bunched.
Conway reached for Moonpriest, who swept out of reach with swift grace. His eyes widened in sudden fear, and Conway spat at him. Again, Moonpriest was too quick. He backed off farther. Conway, nervously shifting his attention from the leering Katallon to Moonpriest, directed his words at the priest. “You set me up. You cut the wire, or grounded it, or something.”
Unbelieving, Conway watched Moonpriest’s features split in a grin, the dusky moonlight shining on his teeth. Moonpriest said, “You thought to teach a god. I, too, know that Faraday’s cage encloses the occupant inside the electrical field, unless the insulation fails or the current is grounded.” Subtly, the madman slipped back into control. Evil displaced simple cruelty. “A god swears to you: Katallon dies.”
Conway looked at Katallon, met his stare.
Moonpriest hurried back to the altar. The wind caught at his robe. It crackled and clung to his legs. He kicked at it irritably.
Conway said, “We’re a pair of fools, Katallon. For what it’s worth, you’re the honest one.”
Katallon slid his left foot forward, twisting his body for fullest leverage. His intent was brutally obvious. He meant to simply crush Conway’s defense.
A cry of exertion. Half shout, half scream. Katallon’s sword flew from his shoulder. Conway’s rose to parry.
Sparks like obscene sapphires exploded into the air. A hissing whipcrack swallowed the clang of metal on metal. Katallon’s death cry was a pathetic anticlimax, nothing more than the yip of a broken-backed dog. He crashed backward in a heap, jerking spasmodically.
Conway’s weapon sagged. It appeared he might drop it, might even fall to the ground himself. Dazzled, stunned, he reeled away from his victim. Moonpriest’s voice came to him, low-pitched, urgent. “Careful, my son. Beware letting wire or sword or anything touch earth. Someone else may attack.”
Incredibly, someone did. Hearing a commotion, Conway turned that way. A clumsy, burdened figure ran at him. A shout, the voice familiar. “Unclean! Get away from our siah, Conway! Un-clean!”
Altanar. Mind spinning, exhausted Conway’s reaction to this renewed, unexpected threat was berserk rage. Screaming incoherently, he lurched forward, readied his sword.
A second figure appeared behind Altanar. This one sprinted, far faster. The newcomer overtook Altanar just as he reached Katallon’s banner. The faster man raised his knife. Conway braced to receive both attackers.
Instead, the raised arm dropped. Altanar stopped. He swayed. The waterskin fell to the ground. It gushed a large puddle at his feet. Then he screamed. “Moonpriest!” The cry rose hot, tortured, like one of the Dry’s spinning dust spirits.
The man struck Altanar again, then continued past his stumbling victim to Conway’s side. Conway stared. “Man Burning? Why?”
Recovering from the paralyzing shock of what they’d seen, the crowd stirred. “Who is that?” “Who was killed?” And, most dangerous of all, “Get them.”
Man Burning said, “Seize Moonpriest. He set Altanar to kill you.”
Stupidly, Conway goggled. Even the rising threats from the crowd failed to break through his incomprehension. He turned toward the altar. Moonpriest bellowed with fear. Recognizable words finally found their way through his raving. “Altanar! Rise! Fox! Come to me. Windband! Protect your siah!”
Like a closing fist, the encircling crowd squeezed inward.
Conway snapped erect. Behind him, the altar’s moon disk was still, the men who were supposed to turn it gone. He broke the wire attached to his chain mail, preparing to run, although he had no idea where to go.
The next thing he knew, the universe was aflame around him, white hot. Air itself lived, sizzled viciously. Heat seared his exposed face, crackled like dry, breaking sticks. A noxious stench scorched his nostrils, sucked the moisture from his throat. He choked, fell to all fours.
Words drifted in careless languor across his mind, turned amazingly cool and rational. “Clear air lightning.” Where had he heard that? How many centuries ago? No matter. It explained what was happening, though.
Moonpriest could direct the electrical energy of the generator. At the start of the duel, he’d amused himself by diverting the current to ground, instead of the Faraday cage. Tonight’s high mistiness obviously carried a massive charge. On the knoll, with Katallon’s banner pole as lightning rod, nature had combined all those elements to strike with real lightning.
Conway lost interest. It wasn’t important.
Screams all around him were grains of sand thrown against his rock hard desire to be free of everything. The disappointment that was himself.
Never said he was sorry.
A second power of lightning, a terror of thunder.
Air flooded his chest. It stank. It tasted of a different, horrible world. It jarred him back to life.
On hands and knees, head swaying, he surveyed the scene around him. At the base of Katallon’s banner, smoke curled up from piles of dead. Survivors, fleeing, knocked over torches. Tents erupted in flame. Beyond the knoll, panic was no less. In every camp, fires leapt to life.
Conway ripped off the immense boots. Clumps of dry straw spilled out. Man Burning looked at them in mute puzzlement. Conway said, “Help me. Hurry. Karda and Mikka; they’re chained in my te
nt.”
Together, they helped each other up. Man Burning pointed. Conway saw the soiled, stained robe of Moonpriest scuttling off toward the tents. Looping Conway’s arm over his shoulder and trotting off in pursuit, Man Burning said, “I don’t see Fox. Dead, I hope. They planned to kill you.”
It startled Conway to recognize his own detachment at the statement. Not that he was beyond surprise, or wise enough to understand all the undercurrents and tangents of the situation.
He was too full of sick anger at himself to be bothered with hatred for anyone else.
Chapter 14
Katallon’s massive tent was engulfed in fire. Sheets of flaming cloth from it and others ripped free, scattering panicked nomads. More dangerous than flames were stampeding horses. Several swept down on Conway and Man Burning when they were close to Conway’s tent, pinning the men against the searing heat of another flaring tent. The animals raced off as quickly as they’d come.
The men continued.
Moonpriest’s pure white quarters stood untouched. Shifting light, color, and wind imbued it with an eerie liveliness. Conway thought of the misshapen ferocities that dwelled, unseen, in foul water.
Something in the barking of the dogs checked Conway at the entry to his tent. Man Burning bowled into him, nearly tumbling both of them. With his sword Conway pushed at the overlapped cloth of the doorway. An answering sword thrust from inside pierced the cloth, nearly reached Conway’s hastily indrawn stomach.
Diving under the blade, Conway charged, knocking out the legs of the intruder. The two struggled until, for no apparent reason, the other man went limp. Scrambling from under him, Conway recognized Fox. Man Burning was grinning crookedly, massaging the edge of his hand. “As good as a club behind a man’s ear.”
Hurrying to the dogs, Conway wrestled with their frantic welcome, releasing them from the chains looped through the new, heavy leather collars. The iron anchor stakes driven into the ground were bent.
Man Burning said, “Your horse is still in the back. He’s near to panic. You want me to finish this one?” Knife already in hand, he nudged Fox with his foot. Fox mumbled, blinked once. In the next instant, he was conscious, alert. Dangerous as ever. Conway’s reflex was to jerk back. Man Burning did the same, extending the knife as he did.
Fox rose slowly. Conway marveled. An ordinary man would have remained bleary-eyed and nauseated long after consciousness returned. Fox’s voice was clear, crisp. “Moonpriest has said I’ll have the secret of your weapons. I’ll command Windband for his glory and conquest. You cannot escape him.”
Conway pointed at the dogs’ chains with his sword, then at Fox. Man Burning moved to bind the confident, unresisting Mountain warrior.
A grinding chill raced along Conway’s spine. Fox had said, “…the secret of your weapons.” Heart pounding, he inspected the pistol and the wipe.
The firing pins were gone. The sound of pounding hooves passed outside.
Carefully, Conway said, “I have to find Moonpriest.”
Man Burning’s sinister smile was more for Fox than for Conway. “I hope you don’t want him to speak.”
Conway tensed. “What’s that mean?”
Man Burning saw Conway’s expression. Defiance tinged his answer. “The Moonpriest one is dead. Bayek waited for him in his tent.”
Fox strained wildly against the chains. Conway bolted, calling the dogs. Man Burning followed, hanging onto Fox’s bonds.
Watching the smoke and flame, revolted by the stink of human works and human flesh consumed by fire, Conway felt the strength drain from his body. Memories of his own suicide world mocked.
Directly ahead, a ghostly white figure moved close enough to stand revealed as Moonpriest. “Conway.” He almost had to shout to make himself heard. “You’re helpless. Come to me, and I’ll forgive you.”
Behind Conway, Man Burning moaned. Gesturing the distraught man to keep his place, Conway forced himself to proceed calmly toward Moonpriest. He scanned the area thoroughly as he went.
Moonpriest’s tent still stood, some distance off to the left. In the midst of coals and fitful flames, it glowed softly, ironically, from candles within. To the rear of Conway’s quarters, a few other scattered tents had escaped the fire. They were dark.
Conway stopped, shouted across the intervening distance. “Give me the firing pins. Don’t make me take them from you.” He waved his sword.
“You simply won’t learn. You think me mad. I’d never come here alone.” To Conway’s right, three men armed with bows and arrows materialized in the midst of the seemingly flat rubble. Even as Conway’s heart sank at being outnumbered and outflanked, he admired the ability of the Mountain warriors to disappear into whatever cover existed. To Moonpriest, he said, “I misjudged you. But I don’t think you’ve made the same mistake about me. You know I’ll smash these weapons before I’ll turn them over to you.” He unslung the wipe, clubbing it by barrel.
Moonpriest raised a hand. “Don’t be hasty. We can compromise.”
“Kill him.” Man Burning’s voice was a low growl.
Conway nodded. “No deals. Give me the pins and we leave. No fuss, no bother. If I have to, I’ll kill your man Fox and then come after you. Mountain warriors aren’t going to force me to kill their chief.”
Fox dashed that hopeful threat. “Send me to your mother. Let them kill me.”
“Idiot.” Conway drove his elbow into the pit of Fox’s stomach. The damage was done, however. The three warriors, arrows nocked, advanced warily.
“Don’t kill them!” The startling command, from a totally unexpected quarter, stopped the warriors in their tracks, pulled all eyes in the direction of Moonpriest’s tent. There, highlighted against the glow, was Altanar. He held Bayek. His encircling arm was a dark band against her immaculate white robe. His other hand pressed a knife to her throat. She stood awkwardly, head cocked away from the edge.
Man Burning made a sound like a sob. “No. No. I killed him.”
Altanar shrieked glee. Twisting Bayek around, looking over his shoulder, he showed them his back. “See where you stabbed me? Here. And here.” He yanked Bayek in front of him again, then, “Even this blind bitch stuck me. Thought I was you, Jones, when I came into your tent. Shows how clever you are. All-seeing. All-knowing. Fake.” A sudden coughing seizure interrupted Altanar, and Conway tensed. The knife remained firmly in place, however. Altanar recovered, went on. “The lightning gave me life. It killed all around me, but I am reborn. See how my clothes are burned. Look, a hole right through my shoe. Yet I live. Stabbed three times. Yet I live. I am the reborn. Altanar is Moonpriest.”
The warriors stood together, talking softly. Fox shouted. “No. There’s only one Moonpriest.”
This time Man Burning threw Fox to the ground and raised his sword over him. “Speak again, you die.”
Altanar screamed. “Say nothing, Fox. I need you. Us, Fox. Windband is ours. The false Moonpriest stole the lightning weapon secrets from Conway, but I have them. My mother, the moon, told me where to look.” Triumphantly, Altanar extended the arm heretofore wrapped around Bayek. Three slim bits of steel gleamed in his open hand.
Bayek ducked away from the knife. Seizing Altanar’s gesturing arm, she sank her teeth in the wrist. The firing pins, like hard, heavy sparks, glinted as they spun into the darkness.
Altanar yelled, threw Bayek away. Shrilling, he raised the knife high in both hands.
Soundlessly, an avenging darkness, Man Burning covered the ground to Altanar in huge bounds. Intercepting the downward blow, he flipped Altanar over onto his back. In the same movement, Man Burning knelt to lift Altanar to a sitting position and jam a knee into his back. One hand pulled Altanar’s head up and back, aimed his chin at the moon. The other held Fox’s sword to Altanar’s throat. In a matter of heartbeats, Altanar had gone from shielded to shield; his body protected Man Burning from the Mountains.
Bayek rolled and scrambled to curl up behind Man Burning.
Man Burnin
g called to Moonpriest. “We have them both, now. Your warrior and your spy-slave.”
Moonpriest laughed. “Fox is glad to die for me. Altanar? Cut the treasonous wretch. We’ll see how immortal he is.”
“Save me!” Altanar’s plea ended on a yelp as the sword nicked him.
Man Burning said, “I’ve waited long, Altanar. Your orders took my wife’s life, and I accepted that as the way of kings. Your orders made me foul my honor, and I accepted that as the way of an obedient soldier. When you took my hearing, I could take no more. Who’d think a ruptured ear would open one’s eyes? Know me, before I kill you. I am Eytal, and I was one of your captains.”
Altanar squirmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember any Eytal. I never hurt you. I don’t remember. I swear it.”
Conway was staggered. To himself, he said, “The one who captured us, took us to Altanar when he was king of Ola. How could it have happened?”
Fox overheard. “You’ll never know. When you and the slaves are dead, we’ll find the secret things Altanar dropped. Moonpriest will be glorified. I told you.”
Conway yanked Fox upright in front of him, knowing that protection would only last until the warriors closed.
Presently, Man Burning was oblivious to everything but Altanar. He roared disbelief. “You don’t remember? You ruined my life.” He jerked on Altanar’s chin, pulled the flesh taut. Altanar screamed for mercy.
Bayek’s voice rose in a demand for silence. She pointed behind her. “Horses. A stampede. Listen.”
