Only . . . that wasn’t really it, was it? Because Harrier had said—over and over—that they were all going to die here. Including Eugens. Including Shaiara. Harrier’s plan—his hope—was to keep them all alive for just long enough for the north to discover that the Dark had broken free and send someone to deal with it.
Tiercel was the one who knew that no help would ever come.
“Harrier . . .” Tiercel got to his feet and leaned against the tree. He had no intention of telling Harrier the price the Firecrown had placed on its help. Harrier wouldn’t want him to be the sacrifice, and Tiercel knew he had to be. “You know—if we go on the way we are—you know none of us are getting out of the Isvai alive. So what difference does it make which direction we go?”
“It makes a difference because—” Harrier said instantly, and stopped. “You could stay here. I mean—”
“That won’t work,” Tiercel said. He turned his back to Harrier and wrapped his arms around the smooth gray trunk of the tree, and threaded his arms through the branches, and leaned against it. “You have two plans. Neither one will work. The one you’re thinking of right now is leaving all of us here while you and Bisochim and Saravasse make a run for Pelashia’s Veil. Saravasse won’t be able to escape the Isvai on foot any more than she could fly out. If Bisochim is killed, his spells end, these walls and wards collapse, and we all die. If he’s Tainted, he takes them down, and we all die. And if—somehow—you make it to the Elven Lands, that doesn’t matter anyway. They won’t send help. They knew—Jermayan and Idalia and the rest of them—that Bisochim was going to call up Ahairan since before I was born—since before he was born—and are you going to tell me they couldn’t think of anything more useful to do about it than wait for me to show up in Karahelanderialigor so they could not tell me anything? They wouldn’t help me and they won’t help you.”
There was nothing but silence behind him. Tiercel drew a deep breath and went on. “Your other plan—your first plan—is to just keep going until someone in the North notices something’s wrong. There are still Wildmages there, after all, and Otherfolk, and the Nine Cities Militia could do something about most of Ahairan’s creatures. At least they’d know they had an enemy to deal with. And they could try to search out a new High Mage. But you talked to Lord Felocan. Even after watching Akazidas’Iteru fall and being the Shamblers’ prisoner for almost three moonturns he couldn’t really comprehend what a Demon was like. What do you think people who’ve never even seen a Shambler will do? You know somebody else will come up with the same idea he did, to bargain with Ahairan. Help won’t come from the Nine Cities, Har. It can’t. Help isn’t coming.”
There was a long silence when he’d finished. Tiercel didn’t turn around to look. He didn’t want to see Harrier’s expression.
“You don’t know that’s all true,” Harrier said at last.
“I’m pretty sure,” Tiercel answered. “Anointed Champion of the Light, remember?”
He heard Harrier sigh. “Let’s go back. We need to get some baskets if we’re going to harvest . . . oats,” Harrier said.
“It’s barley. But yeah.”
They walked back toward the tents in silence. Nothing was settled.
Tiercel tried to count that as a victory.
SHE felt the Firecrown’s call across the leagues of sterile sand, and came to him of her own wish—not because he summoned her. Frustration and fury burned within Ahairan’s flesh-form like the flame of a fire, for each time her prey had attempted to seize the victory she had forestalled them—yet at every turn, the defeat she intended for them had become hers instead.
First she had swept the desert clear of life, so that the food their bodies craved would be denied to them, and when they had not despaired swiftly enough to suit her, she had cast about and found places filled with discarded flesh-forms. She had filled those bodies with her magic so that they would move at her will, and sent them against them. More than that, she had caught up every flesh-form that they discarded, turning each one into a new weapon to serve her. And as they battled against these weapons, she rejoiced in the knowledge that more such weapons journeyed southward to them, for from the place she had taken Kanash, last of the Blue Robes, she had raised up a mighty army of these useful creatures. Many were yet alive as they made the journey, and for a time Ahairan walked among them, listening to their minds. Most held nothing new within them—but some of the flesh-creatures were from that northern place that she meant to conquer and rule, and Ahairan determined she would learn all that their minds held.
A thousand southerners had ceased to live before Ahairan was certain enough of her skills to try them upon the northerners, and then ten of the northerners ceased to live also, before Ahairan discovered the way of slipping into—and out of—a mortal mind and leaving the creature alive behind her. From those minds, in the brief interludes of her occupancy, she learned that the Firecrown had spoken truth. They knew of Wildmages, but none among them knew where such creatures might be found.
And then, at last, Ahairan found a mind she could enter and leave, at will, over and over, without causing the creature to cease to live. The one that named itself in its thoughts “Vianse” knew of her presence, and knew when Ahairan took its will for her own, but fear of its fellow-creatures held it silent.
Ahairan might have done far more with the Vianse-creature, save for the fact that she became aware that many hundreds of her future slaves and worshipers had been sent into the desert as a gift to her, and so she left her great army of alive and no-longer-alive flesh-forms to continue moving southward and went to entertain herself with them. Perhaps they would tell her how to make He-Who-Had-Summoned-Her bow down and offer her fealty as was his duty. It was many days before the last of them ceased to live, but at the end of that time—though she was well-fed indeed on both pain and flesh, and had acquired many new weapons—Ahairan still did not understand what it was the Bound-in-Time desired most.
They said they sought freedom—yet they sought leaders to follow. They said they desired comfort and safety—yet as far as Ahairan understood either word, there was little of either to be found upon the path that they chose to follow. They said that they sought freedom from pain—yet none of those who had come into her possession would do anything to avoid pain. They said they sought power—but they lied. She had offered them power, and they had refused it—just as they had refused to become her followers, or to take solace at her hand, or to accept the comfort and safety which she offered them.
They were maddening. Their kindred were worse.
The no-longer-alive flesh-forms had become her most efficient weapon, for Ahairan had quickly learned that the alive did not like to see the flesh-forms of those they had once valued move against them when those flesh-forms were no longer alive. And at first it seemed that the no-longer-alive would gain her the victory that she sought, for she could cloak them with magic so they could approach her prey closely, and fall upon them while they were unawares. But too soon her prey discovered a way to destroy that which it could not sense, and her losses of the no-longer-alive were great.
But Ahairan looked to claim victory from that defeat, for she sent against them openly and plainly her greatest store of no-longer-alive, for it would either be too large for them to destroy, or perhaps they would give heed to the cries for help of the yet-alive who were still in the midst of her great store of weapons, and in their attempt to aid them, destroy themselves.
All did not go as she wished, but one thing did: they took into their midst the creature whose mind was hers to claim anytime she chose. And for a short time Ahairan sowed discord, then put it into the mind of her creature to flee, believing that all the northerners would flee with them and thus she might bring all the Isvaieni to whatever place she chose.
But—bafflingly—all the northerners did not flee, nor did all her prey follow. She did what she could to cast the northern Wildmage into despair, but it was not enough. And though she might have seized h
im, she was still mindful of her unfulfilled bargain. Three must pledge fealty to her, or the Firecrown would not.
She knew—from the mind of the one that had named itself “Vianse”—what they meant to do next. It did not clash with her own plans, for if she had not learned as much as she wished from those whom she had hunted with her Black Salaawa and who had spent such a brief yet beautiful time in her hands, Ahairan had learned enough to set this last stratagem into motion. And so she had allowed her prey to gain the place named Sapthiruk. She allowed He-Who-Had-Summoned-Her to make it a fortress against her creatures, and then spent the lives of many against it, so they would think she raged against her own powerlessness. Ahairan knew that the day must come when he or his people must come forth from that place, whether they knew it or not. They might believe, in the strange way of the creatures of the World of Form, that they all wished to cease to be alive there, but she knew they would not do it. She knew that there were those creatures of their own kind whom she could yet reach, and take, for whom they would cast down the magics of their fortress and come out to her, and kneel in the sand at her feet—for had not Razinda and Tagora told her before they had ceased to live of the place called Abi’Abadshar and the creatures they named children? The Bound-in-Time were not born as Ahairan had been born. They began—and spent much time—as small soft helpless insects, and those who had caused them to be would do anything so that they did not cease to live.
Ahairan knew now what she must do to keep those small soft creatures from ceasing to live while she brought them to the place named Sapthiruk, for if they did not live, He-Who-Had-Summoned-Her and the others whom she desired would not come forth from its walls to kneel before her in fealty. It mattered not that she could not see the place named Abi’Abadshar by her magic. The road to its door was scarred upon the desert clay. She would walk that path as if she were merely a creature of flesh, and enter its gates, and call its people forth, and at last all would be as it should have been from the beginning. But there would be time enough later to set that portion of her plan into motion, so when she heard the Firecrown call to her, it pleased Ahairan to answer.
“Does your work please you?” the Firecrown asked when she arrived. “Mine pleases me.”
Ahairan knew that it spoke of the sterility of the sand that surrounded them; the lifeless aridity of the rock, the emptiness of the sky. “What work have you done?” she demanded. “I see nothing.”
“My work is not visible to the eye, for it takes place in the minds and hearts of the Children of Water. I had thought that their laggardness in accepting your rule bored you, and so I chose to act.”
“To delay grows tedious,” Ahairan admitted warily. “Yet I am confident in my victory.”
“I, too, am confident,” the Firecrown said. “In my confidence, I went to one among them who called upon me as an ally and said to him that he must find a way to bring you to Telinchechitl once more.”
“I return to the Forge of the Sun without any act of yours,” Ahairan said haughtily. “But what purpose is served—mine or theirs—in returning to Telinchechitl? Your shrine is drowned beneath the lake which He-Who-Has-Called-Me devised.”
“It need not always be so, for my power is great enough to summon forth fire again where fire once was. And to give them purpose is simple enough, for I said to the one who begged my aid that did you attend upon him there, you would be bound forever.”
Ahairan stared at the Firecrown for a moment disbelievingly, then threw back her head and laughed raucously. “It is not true! Oh, it is not true! You have lied to them, so that when they stand upon the burning shore of your shrine, believing it is the day and hour of their victory, only to find me at your side, they will be cast into such despair that they will fall down at my feet at last and give themselves to me utterly!”
“And yet,” the Firecrown reminded her, “the term of our contest is not yet run. Are you certain that I aid you in this?”
“What else?” Ahairan demanded. “Why would you go to them—and lie to them—save for love of me, and the desire to have me for your eternal mistress? I would release you from our bargain did you but ask, and take your pledge in this moment.”
“And yet I shall not ask that of you,” the Firecrown answered solemnly. “I have spoken to you no words that are not true, nor shall I. Soon the mark of my pledge shall appear in the sky, and the Children of Water will act upon that which they believe to be the truth.”
“And I shall bring them to your feet shattered in body and broken in all things which are not of the body,” Ahairan promised gleefully. “All that continue to live shall fall down and pledge fealty to me—and when our bargain is sealed, then, then you shall have all those whom I spurn as sacrifices to glorify your shrine!”
“Upon the day and the hour that I pledge fealty to you, surely all things will be just as you say they will be,” the Firecrown answered.
FOR the rest of that day Harrier didn’t mention their conversation in the olive grove again. Tiercel was fairly sure Harrier didn’t discuss it with anyone else either. He knew Harrier well enough to know that Harrier was thinking it over, trying to make up his mind about how much he could trust of what Tiercel had told him.
While Harrier was doing that, Tiercel was also thinking, and not liking any of the conclusions he came to.
At first he’d thought his backup plan would be leaving by himself if Harrier decided not to believe him, but even if he wanted to make the journey back to Telinchechitl alone, Tiercel realized that he couldn’t. Even at top speed, with nothing but good luck every step of the way, it was three moonturns from Sapthiruk Oasis to the Lake of Fire. Bisochim had said all along that the nightsprings he called up would probably run dry a day or so later, so Tiercel couldn’t expect to find water along the way. And even if he loaded down every shotor they still had with every waterskin and water cask the Isvaieni possessed (which kind of eliminated the possibility of sneaking out, and Tiercel knew that Harrier certainly wouldn’t just let him go), he couldn’t carry enough water to last him—and the shotors—three moonturns, much less put up a tent by himself each day to protect himself from the sun.
Which meant that to reach Telinchechitl, he’d have to have Bisochim—and Saravasse. With the two of them, his travel time would be cut from moonturns to sennights, and he wouldn’t have to carry water. Except, of course, for the fact that he’d still have to figure out some way to transport food—and while he could probably rig carry-baskets for Saravasse that would hold enough food for him and Bisochim, there was no way they’d hold enough food for Saravasse as well. Worse yet, to get to Telinchechitl quickly meant traveling by the most direct path, and Tiercel wasn’t certain that either Bisochim or Saravasse could find it—not from here, anyway. So that meant having Harrier along as guide, because Harrier’s Knight-Mage skills guaranteed that he could find any place he’d ever been as if he was a needle and it was compass-north.
So for Tiercel to reach Telinchechitl, Bisochim, Saravasse, and Harrier would have to come with him, and he couldn’t think of any way to keep Saravasse from starving to death on the way.
But even if he could solve those problems—what about the Isvaieni?
It was true that Sapthiruk was warded and that its water supply wouldn’t fail. The three of them could probably even delay here long enough to help the Isvaieni—and Kave, Eugens, and Magistrate Perizel—stockpile provisions. They could even collect a few provisions of their own for the journey and take enough extra shotors to feed Saravasse and themselves along the way (which meant that their travel time would be moonturns instead of sennights). But once Bisochim left Sapthiruk, the fruit and grain would only ripen at its usual speed. Tiercel didn’t know when the next crop would be in that case, but he suspected it would be a long time away. Too long to keep the people here from starving.
As terrible as things were on the desert crossing, Tiercel knew that Bisochim’s presence (and maybe his and Harrier’s) was the only thing that kept the
Isvaieni alive. Ahairan wanted to murder the desertfolk slowly as the three of them watched, and if she couldn’t do that, she saw no reason to murder them slowly at all. Sapthiruk’s wards had held fast against her creatures, but Tiercel very much doubted that they’d hold against Ahairan herself.
Of course they won’t, idiot. If Bisochim’s magic was stronger than hers—or even as strong—he’d have destroyed her the moment he knew what she was and none of us would be here asking ourselves really stupid questions like these.
If the four of them went to Telinchechitl alone, Ahairan would enter Sapthiruk and slaughter everyone who stayed behind. Tiercel couldn’t see any way to prevent more deaths, no matter what decision Harrier came to.
FIRST Dawn Bells. The Tenth Hour of Night. It didn’t matter that the Isvaieni weren’t intending to go anywhere, the desert was the desert and its children followed its ancient rhythms. Their days still began in the hour before the dawn, when the world was steel-gray and the air was icy with chill. And of course, Harrier’s always had, even back in Armethalieh.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, rousting Tiercel out of his blankets with ruthless cheer.
“Some people want to sleep,” Tiercel groaned, wrapping his arms around his head. The ikulas puppy that had taken to sleeping with him lately decided that meant Tiercel wanted to play. It shoved its cold wet nose under his elbow and sneezed into his ear. Tiercel yelped.
“Too bad,” Harrier said, though he sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. “Come on. Get up. There’s hot . . . something . . . and boiled . . . something else for when we get back.”
There was no point in arguing—either with Harrier, or with the puppy who was trying to lick every part of his face it could reach. Tiercel groaned, rolled over, and sat up. The puppy swarmed into his lap and he patted it absently.
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