by Ru Emerson
'Both ready.’ That was Ysian. Her thought was still erratic but her determination was strong, and the bond between the three of them reassuringly steady. Ylia brought up the second level of sight, used that curious blend of AEldra-enhanced night vision to find the prisoners.
Most slept, stretched out on the hard, damp ground or in huddles of two or three. There was no shelter from the weather, the cold. But someone was keeping watch: Corlin—Lord Corry himself. She breathed a sigh of relief. Their luck held.
Corlin started, peered anxiously at her as she knelt beside him. Someone nearby stirred; he put out a reassuring hand, murmured something Ylia could not hear. She did hear the startled gasp as she leaned close so he could see her face.
“Lady Ylia—Princess. Gods, you're—how did you—?”
“I'm not a prisoner, it's all right, we're getting you all out of here,” she whispered against his ear. His fingers caught hers in a painful grip as the words and the sense of them penetrated.
“We'll—we'll not burn—!”
“Shhh. There's no time to talk now. We must work quickly to save you all. Day comes soon.” It was hard to recognize Corlin, Lord of Teshmor, in this fragile, thin, terrified and ragged creature. The Tehlatt had nearly destroyed him before they killed him.
But only nearly. He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and the trembling in his hand eased; his grip on her fingers let up. He nodded. “What must we do? Have you secured the camp?”
“No. We came by stealth, we're using AEldra Power to bridge you from here. It's fast, but it may frighten some of these people. You'll find yourselves in the hills yonder,” she gestured, “with my mother's sister Ysian. Keep everyone quiet, don't let anyone panic. Stay close together and close to Ysian. That's all.”
“We'll do that.” Hebent down to whisper to the cloak-covered bundle nearest him. His Lady, Lossana, sat up, blinked. She'd gone gaunt and old, even more fragile than Corlin, but she'd still an inner core of strength.
Ylia glanced over her shoulder. Silence in the camp, silence within the compound. “Corlin, you go with the first of them. Take my hand, touch anyone you can reach. Lady Lossana, I need you here. It won't be long.”
“Hurry,” was all she whispered in reply.
“We will.” ‘Nisana, now!” The sudden, sharp drain on her strength left her momentarily blind, as the second level of sight was wrenched from her. Corlin and four others were gone. Lossana stared blankly at the place they'd been. Beyond her, someone moaned and rolled over, sat up in sudden fear. “Keep them quiet!” Ylia hissed. Lossana scrambled on hands and knees across the bare ground as Ylia drew a deep breath and reached again.
It took time—it took too much time, she could feel it slipping away, feel her blood pulsing hard through her hands and the edge of a terrible headache. They had to rest after the first four, between each thereafter, and after the first could bridge only two at a time. Even so it was exhausting almost beyond bearing. Ysian was worn thin, her breath coming in little gasps. And then there was no one in the compound, but Ylia.
She staggered to her feet, nearly fell. Black dark, and she was too worn to force the second level of sight. Crawl, if you can't walk, go. Cat, keep it quiet out there!’
'Lord Corry's managing them. Don't worry about us.’
'I'm fine, too,’ Ysian said. She clearly wasn't. She was strung right to the breaking point. ‘Get out of there!’
'I'm on my way. We'll be a few minutes getting back to Brelian, don't worry. If I need you, I'll yell.’
'Go!' Nisana snapped. She went, blindly, groping along the wall. She caught sprinters and a thorn, swore under her breath, worked them free with her teeth as she went on. Mothers, was it this far when I came in? But the exhanstion was beginning to wear off; another few minutes, she'd be all right. Good. I might need the Power, crossing the open again. She shivered.
The gate loomed before her, suddenly; she caught at the edge of it, tugged. No response. Silence, A pause—long enough that her heart lurched. And then it swung in and Golsat caught her hands. “Done?’ She nodded. “Ready to go?” Another nod. “I'm going to move him inside, out of sight. If he's found before we get away, there'll be trouble.”
“Golsat, don't bother. Lets just go,” she whispered, but he already had the man by the wrists and was dragging him farther into shadow. She edged out to keep watch, brought her breathing back to normal. A fire burned low a few paces away, the nearest torch flared in a gust of wind. The gate creaked faintly; the sound brought her around, heart in her mouth. Golsat suddenly froze, his face went still with shock.
She whirled back, sword in hand. The other guard blinked at them stupidly. “I heard odd noises inside there—,” he began, and broke off in astonishment as he saw the prisoner free and armed where his fellow should be, the stranger from the southern camp behind her, his blade reflecting red firelight. The guard snatched his short blades out, leaped for Ylia with a bone-chilling cry. She pivoted, and brought her sword around on a flat slashing plane. The barbarian's cry towered into a shriek and he fell, clutching his belly and wailing in agony.
The night air was rent: shouts echoed across the camp. “Golsat!” But she couldn't reach him. Already there were two men between them, forcing them apart. More ran from the warrior tents, half-clad, half awake. “Get to me!” she cried out.
“Can't, I'm trying!” he shouted back, and then swore viciously. “Get back!” he bellowed. “Get back, damn thee all for fools!”
“Ah, gods, no!" Three figures were sprinting through the open camp, dodging firepits, weapons, tent-ropes and poles, running at dead tilt straight for them. Brelian, Pereden and Faric pushed through a confused clutch of old men, gained the minimal safety of the woven fence.
“Gods of the Black Well,” she swore, “is that how you obey orders? We had a chance!”
“Could we just stay out there and watch you die?” Brelian yelled back furiously.
“Get closer to me!” She lunged, drove back one of those fronting her, cut another. She didn't dare look anywhere else. “Get close. If we can all touch, we can get out of here alive. Nisana, watch your chance and get us out of here!”
'Ylia—!’
'Ysian, don't argue with me, you'll be my death!’ She was briefly aware of fierce argument between Ysian and Nisana before she severed the distracting joining.
Golsat managed to work his way back to her side and set himself at her shoulder. But Brelian and his friends were two full lengths or more away; it might as well have been twenty.
“Take them!” Someone shouted that; a wild cheer answered. The Tehlatt pressed forward.
“Nedao!” Brelian cried out, ripped the torch from the ground, and thrust it into the dry branch and bracken behind him. Flame leaped skyward and a hideous wall of heat assaulted them. One of those Ylia fought threw an arm across his eyes and died so; Brelian killed another, and he and Golsat turned to force their way through the Tehlatt separating them. “Golsat? Ylia's back was against his, her dagger hand caught in his cloak; she had to shout above the roar of the fire.
“Got them!” he yelled back and she pivoted around him. “Grab my arm, Faric, do it now, come on! Nisana, get us out of here!” Her hands caught other hands, someone's fingers dug painfully into her bicep; the Power surged around them and tore them from the camp.
It was achingly cold after the sudden heat of the fire. Brelian picked himself up, felt his arms cautiously. Pereden was half under him, mumbling to himself and wincing as he stood. Ysian caught at Ylia's shoulder. “There's only three of you. Ylia?”
Pereden gazed around, caught his head between his hands. “Where's Faric?”
“Brel,” Ylia hissed against his ear. “Brelian, did you see Golsat? I had him, I swear I did!”
Brelian coughed, shook his head. “I saw him just as you caught my shoulder,” he said. “He twisted offside to avoid a sword, I tried to say but too late. Faric—he fell, I don't know if he was dead or not.”
“Oh, God
s.” Ysian drew a ragged breath; Brelian was at her side, a hand clapped over her mouth before she could cry out. She was trembling all over when he let her down; Nisana leaped to her side. ‘Ysian! Control yourself, Ysian, listen to me!’
“Take care of her, keep her quiet.” ‘Ylia,wait—"Nisana barely glanced at her Ysian needed all her attention.
'There's no time, they'll kill him.’ Golsat—my friend, my armsmate, they'll play him for the pleasure of it, then burn him alive when they tire of the game. Unless I can reach him. Nausea twisted her stomach as she tried to bridge, went light-headed and nearly blind as it refused her and she tore at the Power, dredging up nearly all she had. I can't grappled with I must; she closed her eyes. Golsat. Despair, pity and terror were balanced, all at once, and in that sudden calm she found the focus and bridged.
Intense, searing heat beat down on her back. She staggered to her feet, took the three steps that brought her to Golsat's side.
He cast her a brief, startled glance, all he dared. Two fell to their assault. A third. The Tehlatt withdrew.
“You were supposed to stay with me,” Ylia said breathlessly.
“I tried,” Golsat replied. His eyes, like hers, remained fixed on those before them. “A sword came between us. My apologies. You should not have returned. It's not safe.”
“I'm not leaving without you, you and Faric.”
“I think Faric is dead.”
'Nisana? What are you doing? Get us out of here!’
'I can't, not by myself. Ysian was hysterical. I had to send her sleep, I barely had strength enough to do that. I'm sorry, you'll have to hold them off. A little. Can you?’
'We'd better be able to, hadn't we?’ “Golsat, I'm sorry, it went all wrong.”
“Not your fault. Can we get out of here?”
“Not yet. I used all the Power in me just now, Nisana's weak, We'll have to wait.”
All right. He eyed those who stood just out of reach, cast a swift glance at the burning fence. The wind had shifted, was blowing the flames away from them. Sparks touched one of the tents; the flap smoldered and the flame licked at it. Someone shouted; a few of the warriors scrambled to deal with this new danger. “We can do that, can't we?”
Silence. She was almost shivering, reaction as much as anything, “What are they doing? Why don't they attack?”
“Why should they?” Golsat shrugged. “They have us pinned here, they need only wait. We dare not go after them, and sooner or later, the wind will shift and the fire will drive us into the open. Stay alert.” His gaze shifted. “Ylia, ‘ware!”
She sensed what he saw, stealthy movement on her left. She pivoted, brought up her sword. It caught one of them a glancing blow. Nedaoan armor foiled that and it threw her off balance, worn as she was. A spear-end glance off her shoulder, slammed across her back and she fell, stunned.
The world around her dimmed, briefly. She was vaguely aware of a clash of blades over her head. Hands caught at her wrists, tried to drag her away. No! She twisted, tried to free herself. No good.
Power surged over her, blazed red against her eyelids. The Tehlatt shouted something and ran; she rolled to her hands and knees, blinked. The ground tilted ominously. AEldra Power washed through her, carrying strength with it. Golsat caught at her shoulders, pulled her up and steadied her until she could stand alone. He pressed the sword back in her hand, closed her fingers around it.
She rubbed sweat from her eyes. Who—? A small dark shape pressed, against her leg. ‘Nisana? You shouldn't be here!’
'Nor should you! It's a little late to worry about that, isn't it?’ The cat leaped into Golsat's arms, clambered nimbly to his shoulder and balanced against his ear. The Tehlatt whispered nervously, took a collective step back: Nisana gazed cooly over them, let the Power form silvered rainbows around her ears. Dead silence as she stepped lightly onto Ylia's shoulder.
Someone spoke, then, far back in the crowd, and the warriors parted. The man's clothing and mail was Nedaoan, but the red on his eyelids and hands, the plaiting-pattern of his hair, marked him as chief. He was short, stocky. A thin moustache trailed down past his chin to mingle with a sparse beard.
Ylia tensed. “I know him, I know him—!”
“Kaltassa,” Golsat said grimly. “Kanatan's son and heir. Here for the ceremony, of course. I'd wager Kanatan's expected, but his tent's not here.”
“We would bargain with you?” Ylia shouted. “I know you speak my language, Kaltassa!” The Tehlatt stirred. How did this witch know his name? And from where had the familiar come?
“We do not bargain,” Kaltassa said flatly.
'Faric's alive,’ Nisana put in suddenly. ‘I sense him.’
'Gods of the Black Well.’ “We took your prisoners, Kaltassa! There will be no sacrifice of Nedaoans!”
“There will be no bargain! You owe me blood for the deaths of my warriors!”
Ylia laughed. “I am owed more blood than you! And I will have it this night? At her side, Golsat made a protesting movement, stilled it. He knew her; knew her mood. Knew, too, what she sought: the moment had filled her, caught her up and there would be no turning back from it. “I am Ylia, King Brandt's daughter, come to take kin-price and blood for my deaths? She set her sword upright before her.
There was a babble of speech: The Tehlatt gesturing now to her, now to Kaltassa. Tanea-a-Les. The Witch Warrior. The Tehlatt embassy had called her that, the year before. It heated her blood; urged her past common sense and caution both. “Golsat?”
“Ylia?”
“Nisana could bridge you back to the others. But I need you here.”
“You wouldn't shame me by offering me a choice, would you?” he demanded sharply. “At your back or your side, whichever you need, and you know it?
She nodded. Her color was high. “I know it. I had to ask. Nisana—”
'Don't think it. Think about what you're doing.’
“I am. I have.
The Power is an aid, often a trial and an exhausting burden, on occasion the means of saving a life and on other occasion the means of destroying one. It gives no more clue to the workings of one's mind than the lack of it does. And there are often unsuspected layers to it, depths even its wielder does not suspect to exist: Such depths I found in myself that night, as did my poor unfortunate Ysian. Ylia: Who can say? But in one or two things, she was older than I.
14
The Tehlatt subsided, watched them in silence as Kaltassa spoke to one of his warriors. The compound still burned, but less furiously now, and in the distance they could hear shouts as some of the barbarians fought to keep the flames contained, the shrill cry of a terrified horse.
'Now what?’ Nisana demanded. ‘You plot something, anyone can see that! Are you bothering to tell us?’ Ylia cast her one dark glance. The cat stared at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Be that way. But you came back for Golsat and the boy. Golsat's here, bridge him.’
'No. We can do that whenever we must, but I need him. If this works, we'll leave together, all of us. But—black hells, I wish we could. It really is impossible to bridge a non-AEldra without actual touch, is it?’
'You know that,’ Nisana retorted. ‘Why else would we have let you risk your life in there? And when you and Lev bridged to the Chosen, didn't you keep hold of him?’
'I didn't know, how should I, you never told me! I held Lev to reassure him he'd survive it. The matter never came up!’
'Well, now you know,’ the cat replied shortly.
'Look, it doesn't matter, we have to get Faric out of here, and that means my plan, or your reach or mine. All right?’
'Don't get angry, it clouds your thinking. You'll have a better chance of reaching him. They won't come near me,’ the cat replied shrewdly. And then, very seriously indeed, ‘It may come to choice, Nedao's Queen or a young armsman. You know that, don't you?’
Ylia nodded grimly. ‘I know it. But I have to know I tried. One last attempt. And then—could you kill him? Could I?’
&nb
sp; 'The Nasath aid me.’ Nisana's eyes went black, the hair between her shoulder blades stood. She forced it flat. ‘I—if I must.’
'I can't force it upon you, cat. But if it's all we can offer the boy, a clean and swift death, against what he faces from them—I'll do it and hope another does the same for me, in my need. Think of Faric!’ she implored. Aloud, she shouted: “Listen to me!,” The murmur of speech faded. “I have said I will bargain with you! Give the Tanea-a-Les her other armsman, and we will do no further harm in this place!”
Kaltassa stared at her, long enough for her to wonder just how good his grasp of Plains-speech might be. He turned his back on her again. He spoke with two old men, argued fiercely with a younger one who sought to restrain him, then took a step toward her. The light of the fire from the blazing compound shone red in his eyes, glinted off the Nedaoan mail shirt thrown unlaced across his breast. “A bargain,” he repeated. The vowels were flattened, his accent hard to understand. “You want back this man?”
“I want him.”
“You will fight for him?”
Ylia gaped at him in stunned silence. A disapproving rumble of speech behind the chief was silenced as he shouted an order. So. She pulled her mouth shut with an effort. I wanted this; wanted it so badly I did not dare expect it. It's like a gift of the gods, you don't reject them. “Golsat. Advise me.”
“What;” he laughed grimly. “Whether to fight Kaltassa? You want it. Any man could see as much. What do you want of me?”
“Your eyes to my back.” She kept her eyes on Kaltassa, gripped Golsat's arm. “Thanks, friend.” She ignored Nisana's dismayed protest, Ysian's weak, frightened and wordless cry. ‘Nisana, Ysian will distract me, deal with her. Please.’ The cat cast her a displeased look, shuttered her thought away; Ysian's as suddenly left her.
“Who is this traitor at the arm of the Tanea-a-Les?” One of Kaltassa's advisors stepped forward, leveled a hand at Golsat. Golsat shifted so the camp fire lit his face clearly. “I am Golsat,” he replied in Plains-speech, “son of the Plains armsman Noldan and the woman Goyes of the hill tribes. Nedaoan armsman to this Lady, to Nedao's Queen.”
