Jian turned, sensed the warmth of a body, felt a hand on one shoulder. Then Masou pulled her into a hug. In all the years they’d fought and then gotten drunk together, he’d never hugged her. It was thanks and prayers and farewell, all in one. The moment passed and the two parties set off in opposing directions.
For a time, Jian, Dog, and Amaya walked on, finding their traveling rhythm. The trail continued to climb, but the footing was not too difficult, so they were able to move at a good pace.
“Hold on,” Amaya said at the end of a particularly steep stretch. The rustle of silk, was followed by a deep inhale and a sigh of relief. “There! That’s better.”
Jian couldn’t picture the princess disrobing, not in this chill wind.
“My veil,” Amaya explained. “You know how the curse affected me? I thought you’d been sent because you couldn’t see me. My father says you were not always blind, but that is hard to believe. After seeing you fight, I mean. You moved so fast! And you always struck in just the right place.”
“Well,” Jian said dryly, “I was a pretty good fighter when I had two good eyes. Now I’ve got two good ears. Under conditions like that—a night attack—I’d say I had the advantage.”
They climbed and rested and climbed some more. The smell of the wind changed, no longer carrying the scent of green things but of rock and snow. The air was thinner, too; Jian felt it in the pounding of her heart, the need to take two breaths when one would have sufficed at a lower altitude. They camped in a cleft in a massive rock face, barely big enough to hold the two of them and Dog. The stone to either side and beneath them was cold and there was no way to light a fire, nor—according to Amaya—any fuel to burn, but the narrowness of the space held in their body heat. They ate a cold dinner, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and made themselves as comfortable as they could.
Sleep came slowly. After a time, Jian asked, “How will you know it—the place you must reach?” The enemy you must face?
“Mmmm.” Amaya sounded sleepy, which was a good sign. “The oracle didn’t give instructions, only that I must head for Black Mountain. I’ve gotten glimpses of it all day. The map indicates that this ridge takes us up the side. But whether we have to climb to the top or just setting foot on it is enough, I don’t know. It would be a shame to come all this way and have the warlock not deign to notice us because we didn’t present ourselves in the proper place.”
“Assuming we are noticed, what then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just look at him.”
At the palace that had seemed possible, almost reasonable. Now Jian felt she’d come on a fool’s errand. But if Amaya was willing to see it through, then so would she. She curled her fingers in Dog’s thick coat and drifted off to sleep.
~o0o~
Jian jerked awake to Amaya’s screaming. Her ears rang with the sound, cutting through the howling wind just beyond of the cleft. Dog nosed under her arm, pressing his body against hers. Shudders rippled through his body.
“I’m here,” she murmured, pouring comfort into her voice, her cheek against the side of his skull. “It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t all right. The air tasted wrong. Even worse, the storm felt wrong. And Amaya kept screaming, as if the force of the winds were streaming through her body and out her throat. Her cries were so distorted, she sounded barely human.
By feel, Jian got her hands on Amaya’s shoulders. Amaya struggled in her grasp. “My face!” Amaya cried. “It’s burning!”
Jian pitched her voice to carry across a battlefield. “Wake up! You’re having a bad dream. Nothing more.”
The girl threw herself from side to side, although there was little room in the cleft and Jian held on as hard as she could. “I’m on fire!”
Jian felt rather than heard Dog’s answering whimper. That, more than Amaya’s panic, filled her with dismay. “Wake up!”
“I’m hideous!” Amaya wailed. “A monster! Don’t look at me—don’t look—don’tlookdon’tlook—” Between Jian’s hands, the princess clawed at her face.
Jian shifted her grasp to Amaya’s wrists. “It’s all right. You can’t hurt me. I can’t see you. You’re safe—”
“I’ve got to get my face off before—before it’s too late, before—” Amaya’s words ran together, ascending into a shriek, and then another.
Jian’s ears rang with the sound. At this rate, she’d be half deaf before she got the princess under control. Dog nudged her, but whether out of terror or urgency, Jian could not tell. She transferred both slender wrists to one hand and, swinging as best she could in the confined space, slapped Amaya. Her palm smarted with the impact but the girl’s skin had been no warmer than could be expected, given the exertion of screaming.
Not on fire... and not gruesome, either. Jian traced the contours of Amaya’s face, the arched brows, the fine-boned nose, the softness of cheek and lips, the smoothness of the skin. Not a single detectable imperfection marred the features. Jian had touched enough faces to visualize the one under her fingertips now.
She’s beautiful, and yet she’d been told that the very sight of her was deadly. Perhaps it was; perhaps something had changed; perhaps it had all been an illusion because people believed in the curse.
Poor child. And yet, to leave everything she’s known for a hopeless quest, she must be either very brave or very desperate.
Strangely moved, Jian kissed her.
“Jian? What happened?” Amaya’s voice was so hoarse, she had to repeat the words several times to be heard above the loudness of the wind.
“You had a nightmare. Maybe because of the storm.”
Amaya wrapped her arms around her thin body. Letting her go, Jian drew Dog close. Still trembling, Dog licked her chin like a beseeching puppy. That was so unlike Dog, Jian grew even more alarmed.
Outside their meager shelter, the storm continued. From time to time, the rock itself seemed to quiver under the blasts of wind. They couldn’t stay here indefinitely, and Amaya was clearly not going to be of use any time soon. Jian would have to go in search of a better shelter, assuming Dog was willing to leave the cleft.
Dog had never once refused anything Jian asked, and he did not do so now. When Jian attached the leash, he maneuvered toward the cleft opening, moving slowly to allow her to stay beside his shoulder. He paused at the edge. She felt the tension in his muscles, the angle of his head, the quickness of his breath. But he no longer seemed fearful; if anything, he was eager. He tested the air, although Jian wondered what he could smell, given how the wind kept changing direction. With her free hand, she ran her fingertips along his spine. The fur lay smooth, with no sign of his hackles being raised.
All right, then. She told Dog to move forward. He took a step at the same time as she did—
—into an ocean of stillness. No wind stirred, not even a faint breeze. The air was motionless but frigid. The only sounds were her own breath, Dog’s panting, and the whisper of leather over stone as Amaya shifted position.
Ice traced a pattern down Jian’s spine. She had never before knowingly stood in the presence of evil, but she had no doubt that she did now. She just couldn’t see it, and Dog couldn’t tell her if he did. But Amaya could.
Behind her, from within the cleft, Amaya called, “What’s going on? The wind’s died down.”
“Come out.”
Even the small noise of Amaya’s boot on the rock sounded as clear as if Jian had pressed her ear to the ground next to it. “What—” Amaya began, only an instant before wind slammed into Jian. She lost her footing as the sudden gust pinned her against the rock. Dog whirled around, somehow keeping contact between them. A wrench on the leash, and Jian tumbled back into the cleft. She half-fell on top of Amaya. Getting her feet under her, she felt around. There was Dog, blocking the entrance and the worst of the wind with his body. Jian checked her sword to make sure it would draw smoothly and at the correct angle.
“Let’s go,” she said to Dog. Dog turned, a feat of supplenes
s for the narrow space, and lifted a paw over the threshold.
Stillness.
“Back,” Jian told Dog. Once they were within the cleft again, the wind resumed with the same force as before.
So, Jian reasoned, the storm had a purpose, most likely to keep Amaya penned here. Amaya—but not her companions.
“I’m inclined to not leave you here, since that’s what whoever’s controlling the storm wants,” Jian told Amaya.
“I agree. While I was out there—a moment only—I saw something. I couldn’t get a good look, not with the wind and the briefness of the glimpse. But I think it was the shadowy outline of a man.”
“I assume that’s the warlock, or someone he’s put here as a sentry.”
“If it’s a lackey, he’s a powerful one. It’s more likely to be the warlock himself. Anyone capable of generating the curse would surely hear of the oracle, no matter how my father tried to keep it secret. He’d know I was coming and that I could put an end to him.”
“Now you can force the confrontation if you can stand up to the wind. Can you?”
“I don’t think I have a choice, but I must—I will find a way. The wind came up so suddenly, it caught us off-guard. Now that I know what to expect... if we stand together, perhaps brace ourselves…?”
Amaya made a good point that the two of them—three, with Dog—would be less likely to be blown off their feet. But Jian needed one hand to draw her sword and the other for Dog’s leash. She disliked having the princess close if there were fighting, but it could not be helped. “Leave the packs behind, and keep Dog between us.”
Moving together as best they could, the three of them crept out through the opening. As before, the wind sprang up. This time, perhaps because Jian was prepared, it did not seem as strong as before. It buffeted her, but not hard enough to threaten her balance. One step after another, she advanced, trusting the pull of the leash.
“There!” Amaya cried. “He’s hidden again, but I got a good, clear glimpse of his shape.”
Where? But before Jian could ask, Dog halted. And growled. Jian’s skin prickled.
A voice came to her, a man’s voice, hollow and low-pitched, at first from a short distance in front, then distorting in such a way that it seemed to surround her. “Go back. You cannot escape the curse. There is nothing for you here but death.”
“Not our death—yours!” Amaya shot back. Jian heard the girl’s terror, although her voice did not falter. Amaya pushed past Jian. “Look at me, you monster, at what you have made of me, and die!”
Laughter, raucous as the cries of vultures, answered her.
The wind shifted so that for an instant, it sounded as if the warlock were rushing toward them. Jian dropped the leash and drew her sword. All her battle training urged her to seize the initiative, clearing the space in front of her with a sweep of her blade. Yet something held her back.
Wait, she told herself, wait until you know where he is and how he is moving…
The wind dropped to nothing. Amaya screamed. Her body thumped against the ground.
Jian’s awareness of the warlock crystallized into certainty. She stepped forward, committing herself—and realized too late that he had moved past her. The momentum she needed for an effective strike had left her flank open. She twisted away at the same moment a bolt of searing magic struck her sword-hand side. The pain seized her breath. Her fingers went numb. She staggered and almost dropped her sword.
Dog!
And there he was, a fleeting touch of warmth, a swirl of air—snarling as he hurtled past her—
—a man’s voice, muttering sounds that sickened Jian just to hear them—the scrabble of claws on loose pebbles—the swish of fabric—Dog’s panting—now that same voice again, hoarse but gaining in strength—
Jian could not make out the words, only the sense of them: a spell. Another curse. Her eyes stung from the agony in her side and from frustration. Not since Dog had come to her that night in the soldier-god’s temple had she wanted—needed—to see as urgently as she did now.
—snarling—a yelp—
—the chant so thick and heavy, it tainted the air like rust—
Jian’s heart convulsed in dread that the next moment or the next, she would hear only silence. And yet the fight continued. Her ears told her of stumbling, sliding, darting in and out.
—a snap, dry and terrible—at the same time, another yelp, this time louder and more like a shriek—
Dog!
—footsteps, sure and heavy, closing in…
Her breath came in a sob, but it came. Fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword. Heavy it was and slow in her hand, but she gathered her failing strength, and the sword came alive as it always did in a battle.
Thunder boomed in her ears. Her skull vibrated with it. She could barely hear the scrabble of nails, the thump of a furred body hitting the ground, and the scuff of boot heels.
Silence.
Tiny movements of air came at her from several directions at once, nothing more. Moving into that void, bereft of sight and hearing, was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
She took the step. And felt, against her ankle, a furred body.
A column of arctic air moved closer. It seemed to loom over her, stealing her breath. The next instant, it would envelop her and Dog.
Jian moved without thought. Razor blade parted air, an extension of her will. She felt a slight resistance as the edge sliced flesh and then the sudden jerk as it pulled free. Through ringing ears, she heard a wail of agony and fury. She set her torso, refusing to flinch as her muscles contracted on the magic-blasted side.
Jian didn’t need to see as she brought her sword around in a spiraling counter stroke. Steel and bone, breath and darkness, she knew where to strike. The blade snagged on bone, but only for a moment before the full power of her battle-fueled muscles drove it through.
The wailing vanished.
Jian dropped to her knees, the sword clattering over pebbled dirt. Her hands touched fur, slick and hot. She felt for ribs—Move! Oh gods, please move!
Soldier-god, help him!
Light blossomed in the darkness of her skull, a wash of silvery blue and white. It staggered her. She fell on her side, then hauled herself to her knees. The light was no mirage. She gazed upon a world now radiant. The first, intense brilliance faded and she could make out form and shape: the flat stretch of ground beneath her. A jagged, misshapen chunk of darkness from which curled of poison-yellow smoke. To one side, a girl—a pretty, ordinary girl.
And beside her, a furred shape. Oak and gold frosted with ebony, drenched in patches of crimson. Long, elegantly curved nose. Petal shaped ears that would feel like velvet to her touch. Wet nose. Thick brush of a tail.
She could not breathe, not even to weep.
Dog’s body shuddered—No! Not his last breath!—and from it arose a mist, shaded in blue and green, saffron and rose and fire. The mist thickened into a pillar. Colors glowed, opalescent, and condensed.
A man, or some being in the shape of a man, floated inches above Dog’s head. Long hair swirled around his body, very much as had the colored light. It seemed to have no weight at all. He turned his face toward Jian and his gaze met hers.
Dog?
The figure shook his head. “Do you truly not know me?”
The light strengthened. Jian’s eyes, unaccustomed to sight, watered. Through her tears and the streams of brightness, she made out the translucent lines of two swords in the classical style, one longer than the other, tucked into an elaborate sash. The garments themselves were functional, shirt and pants cut loose enough for vigorous movement and snug enough to not catch on a blade. These were of far better quality than any she’d seen, even worn by officers, even by the Emperor himself in his role of general. The fabric itself had an iridescent quality; Jian had always imagined dragon scales gleaming like that.
Realization seeped into her as she took in the various aspects of the figure before her. If she had not alrea
dy been on her knees, she would have prostrated herself. The soldier-god had no name, for he was all soldiers—their hopes, their loyalty, their remembrance. She had prayed to him since she first picked up a wooden practice sword.
Dog had carried the god to this place.
The god’s gaze went to the lump of festering blackness. “This was no ordinary human dabbling in forces best left forgotten. The curse over the Shining City and its Empire would have been impossible for a mortal to execute, no matter how learned. This one made a bargain, as ignorant, foolish men sometimes do. He opened himself to a demon and was thereby consumed by it. The demon had the power to block me, for he inhabited an earthly body, an anchor to the world, and I did not. But when you came to me, seeking only death, I found a better use for you. Because of the form the curse took with Princess Amaya, only a blind person could safely guard her. I waited until you had regained your skill with a sword, until you came to trust the dog in whom I resided. Then I inspired the oracle to prompt the Emperor to send his daughter to Black Mountain, stronghold of the demon-possessed warlock. The Emperor did not fail me. Nor did the princess. Nor did you.”
Nor did Dog. Was it only Jian’s imagination, or did that blood-soaked chest stutter even more uncertainly now?
The wind! The demon saw the threat only in Amaya. Not in a blind swordswoman and her dog.
“The curse is broken,” the soldier-god proclaimed. “The land will soon recover. The princess may return home, where her chosen husband will look upon her without fear. And you, my daughter, whose courage made this victory possible. What reward would you claim?” The god’s gesture encompassed not only the space bordering the rocky cleft but the mountain range beyond, the valleys with their shadowed forests, the pastures leading down to the lowland rivers, the Shining City itself. The stars in their firmament.
Would you see again?
The wound in Jian’s heart that she had thought healed, or at least scarred past sensation, burst open. Longing rushed through her, so hot and sharp that for a moment, even the god’s brilliance faded.
To see—trees and flowers, sunset on fine steel, all the faces she had touched. Her garden.
Sword and Sorceress 30 Page 17
