by Dave Duncan
day after ... allow one day for each house
to debate. ... Probably they would move right
after that, before foreign governments could lodge
protests.
"Five days!" she told Winter. "In
five more days they'll come for me and cut off my
head!"
"Over my dead body," Dog said.
She hit the far door with a bruising crash and
turned around to scream at the apparition--not
madness! Not that! She was not going to go crazy like
her mother--
He caught her in his arms and ended the
scream before it properly got started. He had
sounded like Dog. His kiss tasted like Dog's.
He hugged like Dog. He smelled like Dog.
He was much lumpier than she remembered Dog;
under his peculiarly flimsy cloak he seemed
to be studded with a variety of odd packages and
hung about with a coil of rope--but he was Dog.
Eventually they came apart one finger width.
"You're all bones!" he growled.
"You're all sharp edges." They kissed again.
"You're trembling."
"You're real! It's really you. Not a
prisoner too?"
"Hope not. Brought you this." He fumbled under his
cloak and pulled out something that had once been a
flower. It was badly mangled and smelled more of
him than of rose; she could not see it in the dark,
but she did not need to. She choked on tears.
"Oh, Dog, Dog, Dog darling! No one
has ever given me anything more welcome."
"Better go now. Finish this later. What's
outside?"
"Just a walkway."
He grunted. "How far are we from
Rivergate?"
"Right above it. The walkway is, I mean."
He made a pleased sound. "Couldn't be
better. Let's try that."
"But--"
He eased her aside, although she wanted to cling
to him like ivy. He did something to the lock, and it
clicked.
"Golden Key?" Her voice was lost in the
squeak of the hinges. Of course there had to be
enchantment involved when a rescuer appeared like this.
It was not illusion! It was really Dog! "They
have White Sisters!" That use of spiritual power
might have been detected.
"Didn't meet any." Dog strode out and
stopped to survey the iron bars overhead. Even
as he did so, the moon fled behind a silver-edged
cloud, leaving him in starlight. The wind ruffled his
cloak, his hair shone like milk. "Was afraid
... might have to kill some. Where does that other
door lead?"
"Don't know." She was staying very close,
unable to keep her hands off him. "The
Rivergate's just below us." And if that conjurement
he had just used had been detected, then the
Yeomen would be on their way already. Tower
windows overlooked this walkway.
He pulled off the lumpy cloak and the coil of
rope he wore over his shoulder, dropping them
both. He jumped, caught hold, went up,
swinging his boots up to hook in the bars farther
along. He clung there like a bat, face up and
back down, with Sword dangling below him like an
icicle. He grunted, came down again. "Any
of these bars loose? Rusted? Need to move two,
maybe three."
Her mind was muddled by shock. She could think of
nothing except DogDogDog ... loose,
rusted? "Along here," she said, and took his hand--
that big, hard, familiar hand--to lead him to the far
end, where water dripped off the other tower and moss
had crumbled the mortar. "Try here. I'll get
the chair."
The moon peered out cautiously, just enough to give
her a shadow as she ran to her cell and hurried
back with the chair. Dog stood on it, peered,
fingered. Then he said, "Stand clear!" and went up
again. The moon vanished as if it disapproved,
leaving him only a dark shape against the shining
clouds. He grunted. She realized he was
trying to pry bars loose, pulling with hands, pushing
with feet. In a moment he came down and rubbed his
hands, muttering angrily under his breath.
"It can't be done!" she said. "We'll have
to leave the way you came. Let's go, love!
Let's hurry, not waste time here."
"I would if I thought you could use the cloak.
Here." He lifted his baldric over his head and
handed her Sword in its scabbard. "Keep this
handy." He went up again to try another place.
"Must have been given these muscles for a reason
... ah!" Something scraped, metal on stone.
She hugged herself, shivering, wishing she had her
blanket but terrified to go and leave him again in
case he vanished like a bubble. Besides, she was
guarding Sword. Somewhere in the distance men's
voices spoke loudly in the still of the night. Not
shouting, not raising an alarm. Probably just
changing the guard. Another bar scraped ...
Escape, escape, escape ... It
might have taken half an hour. It felt like
years. At the end of it, Dog stood upright
to catch his breath, rubbing one bleeding hand on his
cloak and hugging her to him with his other arm. He had
pulled two bars completely out, but they were not
adjacent. He had loosened several
others at one end only and bent them down, but he
had not yet made a hole large enough for an
escape.
"Need more light," he muttered, and kissed her
again. "They've been starving you," he mumbled when
they broke loose.
"Not really. How did you get here?"
"Walked in the gate. Followed them when they
took you back to your cell. We weren't certain
where you were being held, see?"
"This is conjuration!"
"The cloak is. It's a Dark Chamber
secret, but the College has copied it. ...
Lothaire stole one for us ... not really
invisibility, just unimportance. You knew I was
there and paid no attention."
"I was sure I was seeing a man-at-arms."
"It does that." He hugged her tighter.
"I'd put it on you and send you out, but it
doesn't work for smart people. Ah!"
The light was brightening as the moon headed
bravely for a wide expanse of black sea between
cloud islands. Dog knelt to fumble through the
cloak.
"Got more tricks in here ... You're sure
we're right over the Rivergate?"
She nodded, then said, "Yes."
"Going to send a signal ... Got a boat
standing by, but the Yeomen may get here first.
I'll lower you on the rope to the dock. Do
whatever I say, no arguing. Ready?"
"Yes. Oh, I love you!" She kissed
him, but he cut it off.
"And me you." He stepped up on the chair and
reached out through the bars. He must have thrown something
down to the dock, because a moment later a
brilliant flash lit the towers overhead. A
ball of white fire s
ailed up from the landing into the
sky, brightening the entire Bastion before it faded and
disappeared.
Dog grabbed Sword from her hands, unsheathed
it, and repeated, "Stand back!" Then he swung
it against one of the bars he had bent down.
Clang! Clang! Like a woodsman loping
branches, he chopped iron, abusing that
magnificent weapon, treating it like an ax.
Clang! Clang! Clang! After the third
blow there was a quieter ring as the bar broke off and
hit the flagstones. But the racket must have been
audible all over Grandon; and voices
were raised now, candles flickering in windows,
sounds of men running. Then a drum, rousing the
Watch. Clang! Clang! Ring. Another
bar fell.
"There!" Panting, Dog dropped Sword and
grabbed Malinda in both hands. He almost threw
her up through the gap he had made. Voices high
overhead showed they had been seen. She felt her
dress tear on a jagged end, found a purchase,
doubled over on the ladder to haul herself up, and
Dog transferred his grip to her feet, pushing
her. She scrambled onto the bars and rolled to the
flat top of the outer wall, which was four or five
feet thick. She turned to help Dog and a
coil of rope was thrust in her face. Then
Sword in its scabbard. Then Dog himself, who
did not need help. Voices were shouting all
around, the drum beating. She heard the hard
thwack! of a crossbow, but could not tell where the
quarrel went.
"They're coming!" Dog said. "There, see?"
Moonlight glimmered on a sail. Heeled
over by the wind, a boat sped toward the landing
stage, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever
seen. Thwack! again and now the clink! of the
quarrel bouncing off stonework, much too close.
"They're shooting at us!"
"Let them," Dog said, looping rope around
her, under her arms, knotting it. "Lucky to hit
a tower in this light. Got you. Go!"
Trusting him, she stepped backward off the edge
and began walking down the wall. The rope cut
into her ribs. It was hard to keep herself away from the
rugged, abrasive stonework--she had not realized
how weak she was. Unexpectedly her feet
met air and she swung free, striking her shins
against the capstone of the Rivergate arch. Then she
spun, banging a shoulder against iron-studded
timbers as Dog lowered her the rest of the way.
She landed in a heap at the base of the gate. The
rope went slack. She freed herself and jumped
up.
The landing stage was a stone shelf along the base
of the wall. It was closed off at the ends by the
protruding towers and could be reached only from the
Rivergate or the river itself. The tide was in,
so waves slapped foul-smelling spray up
onto the paving.
Time had stopped. The boat was coming, but
painfully slowly. It had seemed much
closer when viewed from above. She could see
faces, though, and light flashing off steel.
Dog was visible against the clouds, climbing over
the top of the wall, starting to work his way down the
rope. Crossbows sang their death song,
thwack! thwack! and the quarrels replied from the
stones: clang! clang! Fortunately
crossbows took time to reload. The archers were up
in the towers, shooting, she supposed, at Dog.
The great Rivergate itself was still closed but even as
she stood up, a smaller postern beside it swung
open and a Yeoman ducked through and straightened up.
Moonlight flashed on the spike and blade of his
pike. She turned to flee on legs that suddenly
felt like reeds. A quarrel rang off flags
at her feet.
She came to the end of the quay, right under her
cell, and there was nowhere left to go. She turned
at bay. A dozen Yeomen had emerged now, and the
leaders were on her already. A hand grabbed her arm.
She tried to claw at the man's face and that
wrist was seized, also, and twisted up behind her
back.
"Take the bitch back to her kennel!"
They pushed her forward so she almost fell. That
seemed like a good idea, so she let herself go
limp, and as a result dropped to her knees.
She screamed and went on screaming. She tried
to kick, without much success.
"Behave, bitch!" one said. The rest of the
troop arrived and got in the way. The two
holding her hauled her upright, took her by the
arms, and began to run her back toward the gate.
She screamed, yelled, tried in vain to struggle,
but they kept her moving. Despite all her
efforts, she was too weak even to slow them down.
The boat caught an eddy of wind off the
Bastion. The sail went limp, then rippled.
Voices cursed. It rolled, momentarily
helpless. Slowly it regained way, but it was not
coming fast enough for the men on board to save her. Once
she was through the postern, she would be lost. She was
too weak; they were too many. They were at the gate.
Feet stumbled on the unneeded coils of rope.
She looked up. Dog had stopped halfway
and had somehow turned over, so that he was looking
down at her and the Yeomen. He had his feet against
the wall and the rope over one shoulder; he was
stretched out from the stonework like some bizarre
gargoyle. As the two men holding her were
about to push her in through the postern, he howled at the
top of his lungs and let go. It was deliberate
--he threw himself down on them. Several of the men
were hurled to the ground, including one who was gripping
her. She went with them in a tangle of limbs and
bodies and pikes. A couple were flung into the
river. There was shouting, screaming, confusion. As the
boat swept in, a dozen swordsmen leapt
across the gap, some falling on the stones, two in the
water, the rest landing on their feet. Battle was
joined--but briefly, because a Yeoman against a
Blade was a very unequal struggle and the
newcomers had the advantage of numbers.
Malinda was not interested. She was on the ground,
tending to Dog. Blood was jetting from his chest, a
black fountain in the moonlight. His eyes were
wide, stark white.
"They're here!" she said. "You've saved me
... Dog? Dog?"
He tried to speak and made horrible grating
noises.
"What?"
It sounded like, "Told you ..." but more blood
gushed from his mouth and the sentence was never finished. It
was probably, "Told you I would die for you."
"Come quickly, my lady!" Audley shouted.
"Oak, Fury, get him aboard--"
"No!" Malinda screamed. "No! I will not
allow this."
The invoked are in no wise to be trusted and
assuredly will seek to bend the vaticinators to their
/> purpose, for they hold firm to the desires they
held at their dissolution, yet know not the gentler
prospects of the living, viz., not pity, love,
nor hope.
ALBERINO VERIANO, INVOCATION OF
THE DEAD
Judging by its smell, the boat's normal
business was something involving fish. Caught in the
lee of the Bastion walls, crammed to the
gunwales with the living and the dead, it responded
reluctantly to its rudder, tipped dangerously
as it scraped along the tower's masonry, and
took several more hits from quarrels before it broke
free to open water. After that it was out of danger.
Shivering, Malinda crouched on the
boards with Dog a dead weight in her arms and his
lifeblood cold all over her. No tears, not
yet. Perhaps never. This could not be true. He must
not be dead. It was some horrible illusion, some
torture Horatio Lambskin had dreamed up.
"We must go to an elementary quickly," she said.
"Dog needs healing."
Audley beside her: "He's dead, my lady."
"He must not be!"
"He fell on pikes, Your Grace! It
was quick. But he is dead."
"No!"
He sighed and looked up at the faces gathered
around. "What's the tally, other than Dog?"
Men's voices answered from the dark.
"Bullwhip."
"Reynard."
"Victor's missing. Could he swim?"
"Lothaire took a bolt through the gut, needs
healing soon."
"Brock?" Audley said. "You bring those
conjured bandages?" "Be all right," said a shaky
whisper.
"Mercadier and Alandale need healing too."
"Piers has concussion, can't be sure how
bad."
"Jongleur's wrist is broken."
"Just sprained," said another voice nearby.
"Nothing serious."
Then others still: "And a dozen Yeomen!"
"I only counted eight."
"Not enough of the bastards, anyway!"
More chorused agreement.
The words were slow to line up and make sense
to her. So many men dead or injured. Just to rescue
her. And many of the enemy, who had only been
obeying orders. She struggled to free herself of
Dog's dead weight; willing hands helped her.
They sat her on a thwart, wrapped her in two
blankets, and gave her a flask of strong wine
to drink. The boat rocked on over the dark
waves. The moon had gone, but the helmsman
seemed to know where he was headed.
"Thank you." It was hard to talk, her teeth
kept wanting to chatter. "I am very, very grateful
