Cascade Point

by Timothy Zahn

  Turek snorted. "What's the matter—is a more nomadic life too much like the way we used to live?"

  Javan didn't take offense. "The number of students would grow too slowly. You see, Master Turek, the only way Vesper will ever truly advance will be if almost everyone has at least some ability to destroy Shadow. The Mindlight technique is relatively easy to learn—but we have to become an established part of Vesperian society to attract that many people to our classes. We can't do that if we're dispersed or off in our own community somewhere. No. We'll stay in Lazuli and fight."

  For a moment the two men gazed at each other in silence. Then Turek stooped down and retrieved his blanket, draping it again over his shoulders, and picked up his pack. "I didn't expect you to be reasonable," he said tiredly, "but I had to try. I'd appreciate it if you and your friends outside would keep quiet about my visit. Krain might not be happy with me if he found out."

  "You're going back to him?"

  "Of course—he's hired me. Besides, he's got enough Shadow Warriors to handle things even if I left." Turek gestured toward the light. "Before I go, would you mind telling me how that works?"

  "There's an absorbent wick that rests in a pool of something called alcohol, which we can get from plant leaves and stems. It burns cleaner than candles and has other advantages, too."

  "Progress." Turek nodded. "A good thing... usually." He tapped the sword beneath his cloak. "Perhaps it's time you and your people started considering the disadvantages, too."

  Javan stepped to the door and grasped the handle. "Thank you for coming, Master Turek. I'll walk you back to the road."

  "Don't bother; I can find my own way. You've got more important things to do with the time you have left." Brushing past him, Turek pushed open the door and strode out into the noise of the inn.

  Outside, he started back toward the road—but only long enough to make sure he wasn't being followed. Changing direction, he made for the river, moving upstream toward the cliff face that formed Lazuli's northern edge. His task there took only a few minutes.

  Two hours later he was back in his room in Krain's house, sleeping like a dead man. Around the stolen sword, hidden once more under his mattress, new Shadows formed, troubling Turek's dreams.

  —

  The next few days were hectic ones for Krain's soldiers and planners, but for Turek they were relatively uneventful. His time was spent clearing out Shadows from the training area, the smithy, and the stored swords. The latter, especially, seemed to have wound up as his own personal chore; Brisher and the others never seemed to go near the shed anymore. Clearly, at least one of them must have been clearing the Shadows from it before Turek arrived, and he could only speculate that perhaps they had acquired so much distaste for the weapons that they were perfectly willing to dump as much of the burden onto the newcomer as he was willing to take. Whatever the reason, the situation suited Turek just fine, giving him that many more chances to study the weaponry.

  At first he was surprised to find that his earlier theft seemed to have gone unnoticed; but on second thought it seemed less than remarkable. After all, no one would be periodically counting the weapons while they were all under guard together. The loss would be discovered eventually, of course, but Turek wasn't worried about it.

  Krain had said it would take a week to finish his preparations, but his estimate turned out to have been on the cautious side. Less than four days after Turek's arrival at Masard the last sword was finished.

  And at dawn on the fifth day the residents of Lazuli awoke to find an army encamped against them.

  —

  The setting sun was throwing long shadows across the camp as Turek made his way up the low hill to where Krain's command tent had been set up. Behind him the hum of conversation and laughter was dying down as most of the army prepared for sleep; beyond the camp, if Turek cared to look, were twin picket lines stretched between river and cliffs to guard against a sortie; and a quarter mile beyond that were barricades Lazuli had erected. Even an untrained fighter like Turek could see the barricades wouldn't do much good.

  Krain and Pakstin were sitting outside the command tent, talking quietly, when Turek arrived. "You wanted to see me?" the Shadow Warrior asked.

  "Yes." Krain gave him a cool look. "Will the weapons be ready by dawn tomorrow?"

  "No problem." Except for the swords the twenty men on picket and guard duty were carrying, all the weapons were stored together in a tent at the center of camp. "Brisher, Spard, and I will be clearing out the Shadow every hour or two throughout the night, and Rusten will do it again one final time right before you attack. The men will be able to fight for hours after that before the Shadows grow large enough to affect them significantly."

  "So you say. Tell me, did you by any chance walk off with one of the swords while they were back in Masard?"

  Turek nodded. "Yes. Why?"

  His casual admission seemed to surprise the other. But he recovered quickly. "Why did you take it?"

  "To study, and to defend myself with if necessary. Or hadn't it occurred to you that Javan could ruin your plan instantly simply by killing the four of us?"

  Judging from Krain's expression, the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Well... you should be safe enough in camp."

  "At least until dawn. You are attacking then, aren't you?" "The village has refused to surrender." Pakstin shrugged. "It's on their own heads."

  "True." Turek looked at Krain. "Was there anything else?"

  "No, I suppose not. Just make sure the swords are ready an hour before dawn."

  "They will be." Nodding, Turek left, heading back downhill and into the camp.

  But he didn't stay long. As soon as the darkness was complete he discarded his cloak and changed into dark, close-fitting clothing. Several large wicker baskets of the type used for carrying grain were lying empty by the storage tent; picking one up, he stole between the silent tents toward the river.

  The cataracts and rapids that turned the river into a boiling torrent at Lazuli vanished a short distance south of the village, leaving a current that was swift but passable. Four small boats, evidently used by Lazulian fishermen, were drawn up on the grass a short way below the encampment. Taking a few minutes first to clear away the Shadow that had gathered around it, Turek got into one of the craft and began to paddle.

  He arrived on the opposite bank a good deal farther downstream, and for what seemed like a short eternity he waded shin-deep in the icy water, towing the boat toward Lazuli. The current got progressively stronger, and it was with aching arms that he finally beached the craft, pulling it ashore at the base of the rocks where the rapids ended. Moving cautiously on the moss-slick stones bordering the river, he proceeded uphill, basket clutched awkwardly in one hand. It was hazardous going, and more than once he nearly fell into the water, where a reasonably certain death would have awaited him. But he made it, and at last stood just below the northern cliff face, looking across the river at Lazuli's northern end.

  A thin cloud cover was obscuring the stars, leaving him only the dim light of Lazuli's lamps; but even so, it took him only a few minutes to find the fist-sized rock he'd thrown across when he'd visited the village several nights earlier. Untying the rope from around it, he pulled carefully on the line, hoping its long immersion among the rocks hadn't snagged it on anything. Luck was with him; not only did the rope come easily free, but a cautious tug showed that the other end was still secure around the boulder where he'd tied it. When he'd first set up this backdoor approach into Lazuli, Turek had had only the vaguest idea what he would use it for; now everything depended on this thin, waterlogged line. Stepping a few feet downhill, he pulled the line taut and, after first running it through the handles on his basket, fastened it to a thick tree root. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the rope and stepped carefully into the river.

  He got three steps before the current knocked his feet out from under him, plunging him up to his chest in the icy water. Gasping with the shock, he neverth
eless managed to hang onto the rope, and after a couple of false starts he managed to stand up again. He slipped twice in the next ten feet, but after that he seemed to get the hang of it and only fell once more before staggering up the opposite bank. For a moment he lay among the rocks, getting his breath back. Then, shivering violently in the night wind, he moved down toward Lazuli.

  The afterimage method for locating Shadows was useless in such dim light, but even so Turek had no trouble locating the metalworking center at the village's northeast corner. The psychic light of Javan's Mindlight technique was visible to him from there, flashing every few minutes in a faint glow that indicated Turek's old sensitivity to it had faded somewhat. At least he hoped it had.... Loosening the sword in his sash, he moved silently toward the glow.

  Clearly, no one in Lazuli was expecting any trouble at the metalworking area. There were no guards on duty, but only a single Mindlight Master—a boy half Turek's age—walking a lonely path among the machines, kilns, and alcohol lamps. Turek had half-expected to find a crowd of smiths frantically fashioning swords, but the village leaders had evidently decided that such last-minute efforts were futile. The decision was undoubtedly correct, and it made Turek's job much easier. Skulking around outside the circle of light, he quickly located what he had come for: the bins holding pure, refined metals.

  Even with only one other man present, the area was too small for Turek to sneak over to the metals without being caught. Biding his time, he waited until the youth was facing the bins, his back to the Shadow Warrior... and as the glow of Mindlight dazzled Turek's mind, he stepped from concealment and slapped the others head as hard as he could with the flat of his blade.

  The boy sprawled to the ground with scarcely a sound. Replacing the weapon at his side, Turek hurried over to the bins. A small wooden bucket sat by each of them; grabbing one, he dipped it deeply into the nearly empty bin marked COPPER and came up with a load of fine, shiny dust. He debated taking a second bucketful, decided against it. A sudden thought struck him, and he lugged his bucket to an adobe structure that looked like a storage shed. Inside, he quickly located a large waterskin whose contents smelled like the alcohol lamps outside. With the waterskin in one hand and the bucket in the other, he headed back toward his rope.

  The copper dust was astonishing, and more than a little frightening. Barely five minutes after scooping it out of the bin the effects of the Shadow growing around it were becoming painful; within ten Turek was forced to stop and clear the Shadow away. Never before in his life had he seen a Shadow grow so quickly, and for a long moment he wondered if he would ever be able to get the dust back to Krain's encampment. But he really had no other choice. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the bucket and kept moving.

  The trip back would forever afterwards remain a blur in Turek's memory; a blur of fatigue, Shadow-pain, and an endless series of battles, each one seemingly longer and less effective than the one before. He reached his rope guideline, loaded the copper and waterskin into his basket, crossed the rapids—a hell of water and cold that rivaled the usual image of brimstone—and stumbled down the stones toward his boat. The river current seemed twice as strong as before... and the Shadow made the trip seem to last forever.

  Somehow, he made it.

  —

  "I don't understand," the older of the two guards said, his face puckered with confusion as his eyes flicked uncertainly over Turek's disheveled appearance.

  "I didn't ask you to understand." Turek kept his voice low, his anger in tight check. Wet, cold, and deathly ill with fatigue, he was in no mood to be blocked here, ten feet short of his goal, by two fools. "I told you once: The picket line captain needs you up at post five immediately. Period. Now get moving."

  "But our orders—"

  "I'm giving you new orders. I'm a Shadow Warrior, one of Krain's personal servants. You'll do as I say."

  There was something in his voice and eyes, Turek knew—he could tell from the way the guard seemed to shrink slightly within his own skin. The Shadow Warriors had commanded awe and not a little fear in their day... and this man was old enough to remember that. His gaze shifted to the sword at Turek's side, as if seeking proof of the Shadow Warriors claimed status. "Very well," he said uncomfortably. Motioning to his companion, he eased gingerly past Turek and the two men left, disappearing into the gloom beyond the sputtering torchlight.

  Turek watched until they were gone. Then, gritting his teeth against its growing Shadow, he retrieved his basket from behind a nearby tent and started forward—and as he did so a blue-cloaked figure stepped from the tent entrance and stood in his path.

  It was Brisher. "So now you're Krain's personal servant, are you?" the old Shadow Warrior growled. "What did he promise you, Javan's head and half of Lazuli?"

  "Don't sound so virtuous—you're working for him too."

  "I had no choice," the other muttered, dropping his eyes. "There was no other way for me to earn my livelihood anymore, and I'm too old to survive out on my own. But you don't have that excuse." He nodded at the basket. "What's that?"

  The Shadow was growing painful again. "Step aside," Turek ordered.

  "What is it?" the other repeated.

  "Copper dust from Lazuli. Now step aside."

  Brisher's eyes raked Turek's face. "What are you going to do?" he demanded. "Remember, our duty is to Krain now." Turek's arms were beginning to tremble. If Brisher tried to stop him he would have to fight the older man. "We have a higher duty than that," he said, sudden weariness breaking through his tension. He was tired of fighting. "I'm going to do what I have to—what you should have done long ago."

  For a long moment Brisher stood motionless, the resolve draining from his face and leaving him an eternity older. Bowing his head slightly, he moved away from the tent. Without looking at him, Turek stepped through the entrance.

  Inside was unrelieved darkness; but Turek needed no light for what he was going to do. Dropping the waterskin by his foot, he raised the basket chest-high and, with a single convulsive movement, flung its contents over the neatly stacked swords. The basket he tossed to one side; picking up the waterskin, he went back outside. Brisher had vanished, and a quick look showed no one else in sight. Opening the waterskin, Turek doused the tent with the alcohol, concentrating on the middle of the roof. When the skin was empty, he threw it back inside.

  And so all was finally ready. Stepping back, he pulled up one of the torches stuck in the ground. With a sigh more of fatigue than of relief, he flung it onto the tent.

  The cloth ignited with a roar and a fireball that singed Turek's eyebrows. He stepped back hastily as sounds of confusion erupted suddenly from the camp around him and half-dressed men staggered from their tents. By the time they had a bucket brigade organized the waterproofing resins in the tent cloth were beginning to melt and burn, and strangely colored flames were leaping toward the clouds.

  No one paid any attention as Turek left the scene and returned to his tent to wait.

  —

  The fire was nearly out when they came for him: Krain and two of his men, each with a sword that had clearly not been in the weapons tent. Turek emerged at Krain's command, once more clad in his blue cloak. For a moment the air was thick with tension; and then Krain broke the silence. "The Shadow around my swords is fifteen feet across and still growing," he said softly, the venom in his voice all the more intense because of that. "What did you do?"

  "I ended your war of conquest," Turek told him, countering the others rage with quiet firmness. Despite his fatigue, he stood straight and tall, with all the dignity he could muster. There was death in Krain's eyes, and Turek was determined not to show even the appearance of fear or cowering before it. "There's pure copper dust on your swords now, a fair amount of it glued there by drops of resin from the tent fire. Even if your Shadow Warriors—your other Shadow Warriors—can clear enough Shadow away to go in and untangle the swords from that sticky mess, you won't be able to use them until someone scrapes all the copp
er off—and you'll need a Shadow Warrior standing by while all that's being done, too." "I can do that," Krain gritted—but there was uncertainty in his voice. "All your treachery has done is postpone things a couple of days. I'll still have Lazuli."

  "Only if Lazuli is stupid." Turek waved toward the villages barricades. "They've seen the fire, and they'll know soon enough that I took some copper dust tonight. And when morning comes they'll be able to see the Shadow. They'll figure it out—and they outnumber your army two to one."

  "Then we'll pull back—"

  "Pull back where? Your whole strategy depended on your being in control of the Mindlight school before Masard had time to react to the risk you were taking, the risk that they would lose all protection from Javan's people. By now they surely know what you've done—or, rather, haven't succeeded in doing—and are going to be getting nervous. If you prolong this insanity much longer you're going to have a revolt on your hands." A wave of dizziness swept over him; with an effort, he fought it back. "But don't take my word for it. Get your other Shadow Warriors and go ahead and try."

  Krain exhaled a long breath, and somehow he seemed to slump slightly. "They're not here anymore," he muttered. "They all deserted during the fire."

  Turek permitted himself a faint smile. "So they finally realized where their duty lay. Good."

  "Their duty was to me!" Krain shouted abruptly. "I hired them, fed them, gave them back their self-respect and their power. And then they—and you—turn around and betray me!" Clenching his sword tightly, he took a step forward.

  "Self-respect?" Turek's voice was still calm, but as cold as Lazuli's river. "No. All you offered them was escape from the lonely, ignominious death they were afraid was coming to them. Why else do you think none of the younger Shadow Warriors accepted your offer? That alone should have told you something was wrong."