She froze for a minute, then peered cautiously around it and back at the house, where flames were now shooting upwards. But wasn't that somebody on the edge of the porch? Who the hell…?
The dark figure jumped effortlessly to the ground and then began to look around. At that moment, two shots from somewhere crashed into the tree, one just above her head, showering splinters and wood fragments, and she gave an involuntary cry. The figure heard it, turned, and advanced towards her, holding something in his hand.
Sam looked frantically around but couldn't see where to run. There was shooting in back of her and this character in front. Damn it, she couldn't outrun them she couldn't waddle more than ten feet at a stretch.
"Come, come, Susama!" cried a familiar and unwelcome voice. "The threads of our destinies have been criss-crossing for a long time now, and then barely missing entanglement. It is time now, my sweet," Zamofir almost sang to her. "Come out and I will make it swift and painless and then get out of this trap. Resist or make any trouble for me and I will carve the child out first so you can watch, and then I will remain until I have hunted down and killed all the other women as well. Your choice. Whatever, it is time."
She took another deep breath, then turned, and stepped out into the fire's glow, facing him. Oddly, she felt calm, even relaxed, at this moment, and the moment seemed to hang stuck in time.
He was there, showing some blood so at least he'd been nicked a few times, and he was holding the other saber! My god! Did the man actually just twirl his moustache? Then he said, "You see, my dear, we are both survivors. We survive and triumph against even the most impossible odds. The trouble is, destiny allows only one of us survival at this juncture." He raised the saber in a sort of salute, then took another step forward.
Kira stepped out of the trees nearby, holding the other saber, blood very definitely on it. "Hers is not the only destiny entwined with yours, you pig," she said to him. "First you take me, and then you can have her."
Zamofir froze, turned, and sighed. "I would think you more confident with a rapier," he said calmly, lowering the sword- "This, my dear, is more a man's weapon." And he leaped towards Kira, who blocked, and they were joined in a duel.
Sam knew she couldn't run any more, that all the fight had been drained out of her. She could do nothing now but stand and watch one hell of a duel, between an old-time movie villain and a naked beauty, with swords that looked left over from a pirate epic.
Clang! Clang! Thrust! Parry! Block! Clang!
With stray bullets still whistling occasionally through the trees, and by the eerie glow of the fire, the two of them fought their duel, and they were pretty damned good at it, both of them. Sam expected Kira to have the moves, the grace, the quickness, but not the arm and wrist strength for such heavy weapons. Clearly Kira did a lot of steady working out with weights—that explained some of the stuff in the wagon. Muscles flexed now, she was still gorgeous, but she had the arms of a female body builder.
Zamofir had some experience and more familiarity with the weapon, but Kira was younger, quicker, and had the moves of a ballet dancer. Sensing that Zamofir was tiring, she pressed in, again, again, again…. Now a twirl, a twist, and the little man's saber flew from his grasp and landed a few feet away on me ground. He crouched down, warily, and gave a furtive glance to it, as if be were going to try for it, then suddenly he laughed nervously, whirled, and began to run.
Kira ran after him, but not a runner's gait, holding the saber almost like a javelin, and, when only a few feet in back of him, she let it fly. The sword was thrown with such force that it pierced Zamofir's back and came right out his front, so that from his back you could see only the ornate hilt. He cried out, staggered, then managed to turn back to Kira and almost shrug.
"Just as well," he managed, coughing. "Better… a more honorable…—death… than I deserved… than to face … the wrath… of Klittichom. Never… underestimate … the power of… a woman, eh?"
He smiled at that, then collapsed forward, the sword actually popping up a bit from his back as be hit face down and lay still. Kira went over, put a foot on his back, and pulled the sword out, then came over to Sam. "That was almost worth dying for!" she proclaimed. "You okay?"
Sam was stupefied. "That was the most amazing thing I ever saw! Like you was Robin Hood or somebody!"
"1 told you once I was a female jock, before I got paralyzed. Since coming back to life, more or less, I've done most everything to make up for lost time. He was right, by the way. I fenced a lot in college, but these damned things are heavy and awkward as hell. I think I sprained my wrist at least. If he'd been in his prime, I wouldn't have had a prayer. but I bet that was the first time he'd fought with swords in years. You don't use it, you lose it. Thank heavens."
"Now what do we do?" Sam asked her.
Kira sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. I figure your boys wouldn't shoot a naked lady in this place and I knew who the gang was, but as to who's winning and what's what, it's impossible to say- Unless we see something worth going after, I think we find a dark. secluded spot, sit down, and have a good cry."
"But we can't know much of anything until it's light, and when it's light…."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'll do most of the crying."
The shooting had stopped completely within another hour, but most of the camp was either burning or had already burned, and there wasn't much to see. Nobody dared come out in the open yet, though; in the darkness and with pockets of flame, it would be impossible to tell who was who and make a decent count to see if all the raiders were dead or if all the camp people were dead.
Slowly, though, one at a time, the surviving men of the camp made contact with one another. It took most of the night to count all the casualties. On the camp side, six dead, including Ladar, damn it, cut down and shot in the back from his loft position by one of the guys who'd snuck in just for that, and three wounded, none critically—although it looked as if Somaz might well lose both legs, and Kruwen, another of Quisu's husbands, appeared paralyzed from the waist down thanks to a wound in the spinal area. The girls and the babies were okay, certainly, but, ironically, it looked as if the only family left intact was Sam's, whose husbands were still out in the boat and blissfully ignorant of all this. That made her feel doubly guilty, almost unbearably so. It wasn't right that she'd been the cause of this, however unwillingly, and that she alone should survive with her family intact.
By now she was cried out and felt drained and sick, yet her mind was going 'round and 'round. There was no end to it. If Crim and Zamofir had found her, then others would, and that horned bastard would never stop, never, until he killed her and maybe saved the baby to raise, to try again with a Storm Princess raised from me cradle to do his bidding. Now, too, they wouldn't just send mercenary gunmen, they'd send sorcerers and demons.
The wedding spell inherent in the ring was a simple spell, meant for simple folk and for common situations. It was designed to eliminate all complications, not cause them, but cause them it now did. Her duties as a Covantian wife were to love, honor, and obey her husbands, to keep house, relieve the burden of their chores, do whatever was in their best interest, at whatever sacrifice. Her duty to her child was to bear and raise and protect it, and allow it to grow up healthy and strong.
But if she remained here, remained loyal and faithful, she would bring down more terror on this place, and certainly death or worse upon her own husbands. If she tried to pick up and go on, they would find her, and her child would either die or be taken to an evil monster to raise.
But she couldn't run. Not any more. Not physically, not emotionally. She'd be found out anyway. The only solution was to face and defeat the threat, and to do that she would have to be her old self, the surrogate Storm Princess. Had she still had those powers she could have brought lightning down to fry all those bastards, and rain to quench the fires. Had she been the Storm Princess, those men wouldn't be crippled, or dead, and Crim and Kira wouldn't be facing certain de
ath at dawn having given everything to protect her.
But then the ultimate act of love, of sacrifice for her husbands and child-to-be, was to give all this up. The ring and its spell was preventing her from doing what its own logic compelled her to do. She felt its grip on her weaken, felt waves of dizziness and confusion, and sensed somehow that it was locked in a logic loop from which it could not escape. The conflicting demands it was making on her were sending waves of nausea and making her feverish, her emotions running the entire range, her mind beset with complete confusion as to what she could do and should do, until she couldn't stand it any more. It pushed her over the edge, and the only thing she could do to stop it, she did without even thinking about it. She pulled the ring violently from her finger, tearing me skin, and threw it away, and then she collapsed and passed out.
Sam awoke with vivid memories of all that had been until she'd looped out or gone nuts or whatever had happened. She reached over to her ring finger and felt it. There was a bandage on it, but no ring. She had sensed it more than remembered it, but that in itself was strange. She didn't really feel much different. Oh, she knew now what she had to do, if at last she was allowed to do it, but she still felt real affection for those four men and for the others as well, and still thought of the camp as home. Short of Boday's place, it was the closest to a real home she'd had since being dragged to Akahlar.
But there was a difference, and it was again something she sensed, felt, rather than directly experienced.
The power was back. It was raining now, outside wherever she was, and she could sense, feel the storm, join with it if she wished.
She suddenly opened her eyes full and looked around with a start. It was the cottage! Her house! And she was in her own bed, and nothing was burned and nothing was out of place! God had it all been a terrible nightmare? But no, what about her finger? The return of the powers, of self-control? Had she somehow had the ring torn from her or taken from her and hallucinated the rest as a result?
It had to be, because it was day, and there was Crim, coming in the door, and he looked okay! Even his buckskins were clean!
He grinned when he saw her staring at him like she was seeing a ghost.
"Not dead yet," he assured her. "But it was a near thing."
"But, but,… Did I dream it? Didn't it happen?"
"It happened," he assured her. "All of it. This is a clean set, by the way—in spite of what you've often accused me of, I do have more than one set of clothes. They just had to be retrieved."
"Never mind the clothes! You had a couple of holes in you big enough to run through, you had maybe half your blood, you fell off the porch, and who knows what else. You were a dead man at dawn!"
"That happened as well. It all happened, Sam. I can show you where the dead bodies are stacked, including Zamofir's. I was proud of Kira, even though I had always hoped I could do the slimy bastard in myself." The smile faded. "Also six very brave men are laid out over on the floor of the mill, awaiting a proper funeral. Their wives insisted on doing it all themselves, along with the six who survived. Strong sorcery can rebuild a town that burned and repair the worst of wounds, but it can't raise the dead no matter what the legends say."
She sat up straight. "Sorcery! Boolean!"
"Yes. He got here two hours before dawn—thank the fates. Kira damn near had a heart attack when he showed up. Not alone, either."
She suddenly felt a shock. "God! I must look awful! My hair…."
"You look fine, or at least normal. Relax."
"Boday?"
He nodded. "And Charley, too, and a very odd fellow named Dorion, and Boolean's familiar whose name is Cromil and who looks like a green monkey and likes to insult people."
"I'm not so sure I'm ready for Boday yet."
"Relax. She's on guard duty overlooking the road right now and she can't come back here until I relieve her. But you'll have to face her sooner or later. How do you feel about it?"
She sighed. "I really don't know. I haven't been able to get my head screwed back on right yet. I just need a little time, that's all." She paused a moment. "Can I first see the other women here? I sort of feel responsible. Maybe I can help."
Crim nodded. "But be quick. Boolean wants us out of here as fast as is practical. Even now Klittichom dispatches Sundogs to see what has been happening here, and he must know that as of now the child still lives. Boolean is powerful—even I hadn't realized how powerful until I saw what he did here— but that power has limits. He's not the only one with power, and they can and will gang up on him if they think they have him cornered."
She nodded. "I can take care of the Sundogs," she assured him, "but you're right. I've brought enough misery down on this place. All right, let's go."
The place was so fully restored that it made it all the more jarring to see the corpses laid out in the mill. At least Boolean's healing powers had extended to the wounded; there would be no amputations or paralysis. It did not, however, end the sadness of the men who died bravely defending what was theirs.
Sam had come there mainly to comfort the others, but as she looked at Ladar and the others she'd come to know so well, bloody and still, she suddenly found herself tilled not with sadness nor even guilt but with anger. All that time, until she'd finally faced up to that Changewind back in Covanti, she'd been running away. Running away from herself, running away from duties, responsibilities, burdens. She hadn't asked for them, of course, but they were hers none the less.
These guys hadn't run. They'd stood and bravely defended all that was important to them, even to paying the ultimate price. It wasn't fair that she had all this dumped on her, but it wasn't fair that she'd brought death on them, either. They hadn't questioned fairness; they'd done what they had to do to save her and their wives and their camp and all that meant anything to them.
She walked back out to where Crim was waiting and looked up at him. "All right, let's see this big-shot wizard," she said determinedly.
Seeing Charley again was something of a shock, too. Not just the brown skin-deep dye job, but Charley was so thin she looked almost emaciated, and she seemed, well, a whole lot older, somehow. Well, Sam reflected, maybe she was a whole lot older now where it counted, too.
She kind of liked Dorion on first impression. He wasn't much on physique, with pot belly and thinning hair, but there was a certain kindness and gentleness in him that came through right from the start, and the way he doted on Charley was more than the slave ring thing. Anybody could see he was in love with her; anybody, that is, but Charley.
Boolean was a different sort of shock. A man of medium height and build, with a gray-black neatly trimmed beard and deep-set, heavily lined blue eyes, he looked so, well, ordinary. Even Charley, who couldn't see the man as he was, had come up with the right impression at the start. The guy looked like a high school science teacher, and sounded much that way, too.
At his suggestion, they went back to her place and sat down, just the two of them, to discuss what happened next. She offered, as host, to make him some tea or coffee, but he just chuckled, snapped his fingers, and they both had just what they wanted right in front of them.
"The man who could do miracles," he chuckled. "Child's play, really. Once you determined the rules and the math and approached magic here as you approach any other scientific discipline, it just all sort of comes naturally. I've never tired of it, and it's as much fun, and just as fascinating as it was the first time. The only thing is, the more you can do, the more godlike your powers become, the more frustrated you become by those things you can't do. Those dead men out there. I could animate their corpses, but I couldn't bring them back or restore their bodies. They're gone- It's what keeps driving us to push the limits, and what destroys most of us in the end."
She nodded. "But what's next for us, on the practical level?" she asked him. "I mean, let's be realistic here. I can't be positive here, but I think I'm in my eighth month. I can't seem to keep my emotions in check, I haven't got the sta
mina, and I can't run or fight worth a damn, and as near as I can figure out, the only way to end this madness is to literally walk into the lion's den and face them down. She'll be in peak condition and totally in control, and she has Klittichom for protection, I won't be able to get near enough to lay a glove on her and you know it. On top of that, she can sense the kid. I can't even hide out in a group, I'm willing to do whatever is necessary, but I can't see how I can do it, all things considered. Not until after the baby's born."
"I understand the problem," he replied seriously. "Our related problem is that we can't wait for the birth. He's going to jump the gun at almost any time from right now to no more than a week or two at best. His timetable was already upset by the problems involved in the attack on me. His generals are amateurs and they're now seeing the results of their mistakes. You can train armies of specific worlds rather well, but when you have to simulate conditions, and then mix various races with their own tribal chiefs and loyalties you get a mess. I think the effect on him would be to accentuate the positive and ignore the negatives. He did destroy a hub civilization and break the hold of a sorcerer. He's desperate now. If the child is bom, the Storm Princess's powers may be weakened to the point where she couldn't handle multiple Changewinds, or perhaps not put them and keep them where they're supposed to be. He can't do it one at a time. His power is limited, the same as mine. The next time he's got to do it, if not simultaneously, at least continuously. Speed and accuracy are at a premium for him right now. Everything he's built all these years, and all his dreams, face ruin unless he acts now."
Changewinds 03 - War of the Maelstrom Page 30
