by Ru Emerson
“We know he is devious,” Corlin replied evenly. “Your plan is a good one; we accept your aid.” For now, he implied. It hung in the air between them, but his eyes were not unfriendly. “We need a replacement for Eveya, Mothers rest the poor lass.” There was a silence. Ylia toyed with her dagger moodily.
Galdan eyed her, the whole Council waited. Someone had to decide, though, if Ylia would not. “Lev, unless you have serious objection, or unless Ylia does, I'd like to put Lennet in her place. Temporarily at least.” Levren considered this gravely.
“You want my opinion?” he said finally. “She's skilled with her blades and with a bow. On those counts, I would never worry for her. She is no tactician. But if she need only lead the Elite Guard, she can do that. I have no objection. Ylia?”
“Fine,” she said faintly. Galdan shoved a winecup into her hand, watched as she drank. She opened her eyes, smiled in his direction, slumped back down in her chair. He couldn't quite make her out: She was tired, they all were. There was something else, though. Ylia was unaware of his concern, unaware of much at the moment unless someone held it immediately before her. Lennet, Ylia thought tiredly. She'll do. She should have the chance to fight; it shames her being left behind. Poor Eveya.
She opened her eyes what seemed only a moment later to find the room nearly empty: Galdan was still there, but Marhan now sat where Brit Arren had and he had hold of her near hand. “Sleeping, boy? Supposed to do that on your watch; aren't ye?”
She shook her head, brought up a smile.
“Not sleeping. Just—distracted.”
“Hah.” He pushed her cup toward her, raised his own in toast. “Nice bit of close fighting ye did today, or so I hear. Sorry I didn't see it.” He'd been well down the beach, and Shark's bulk had been squarely in the way to boot. “Couldn't let someone else kill him, that it?”
Ylia drank. “He was mine, I told you that. I had to, Marhan. It was—messy.” For one brief moment, it came back to her, real and messy indeed. A spasm crossed her face, was gone.
Marhan laughed grimly. “Not supposed to stand in front of a man when you cut his throat, didn't I teach ye that?”
“No. I'll remember for next time.”
“Next time! Don't ye go making a habit of cutting men's throats; that's no sort of occupation for ye!” he snapped. He set aside his own cup, stood. “I'm off to find my bed; an old man needs his sleep.” He turned a sharp glance Galdan's direction. “Don't think to send me back with Erken and Corlin, mind that!”
“I—” Galdan gazed at him, perplexed and a little irritated. There were currents here he couldn't fathom, odd things. Marhan of all men, insisting on bridging with them, insisting on remaining in the face of evils and more magic! You go with us, Marhan.”
“Good.” His face was a study in conflicting wants as he left.
“Ylia?” She'd dozed off again; Galdan was shaking her shoulders. “You need real sleep, in a bed. Morning is not that far off, we need you awake and ready. Come.” She shook her head. “Warm comforters?” he suggested “Soft pillows?”
“Mmmm. It's not—I'm not really tired.”
“Not much,” he retorted. “Open your eyes and tell me that.”
“Well,” she let the word trail, leaned against him. “Well, I am tired, but that is—not all of it.”
“I can see that straight on, even that red-haired pirate at your left elbow could see it. You've been strange for hours, what is it?”
“I don't know for certain.” The words trailed off again. “Can you tell?”
“Only that something has half your attention, and exhaustion has the rest.”
“This afternoon. The Folk. The Nasath. It's—still with me. But this other thing. I started to know then.”
“Know what?” Galdan carried her from the council chamber.
“Lyiadd. There's a—a place. He'll come there.”
“You told us that. You realized it then?”
“Began to,” she said sleepily as he mounted the stairs leading to their small tower bedchamber. “The horn—” Her voice trailed away.
“What about the horn?” Galdan asked.
“Don't know yet. I thought it would call them—Nasath or Folk. Gods knew we needed them both. But—another thing.” She sighed. “I'll know.”
“Good,” Galdan said as he dropped her on the bed; “No, don't try to help me, just lie back, let me get your boots. It caught you off guard, all this, and that on top of a long day; You sleep. Let it work itself off.”
“Think so?” Her voice was muffled as he pulled the jerkin over her head. The shirt followed; he dug through her small pack to find the sleep shirt and helped her into it.
“Know so,” he replied. “I've had experience with Power, too, remember?”
“Different” Ylia protested faintly as he bundled her under a mound of feather-filled comforters. She snuggled down and sighed happily.
“Not different,” he retorted. “You'll see.” But she didn't hear; she was already asleep. Galdan smoothed hair back from her brow—it was stiff with the salt she'd been too worn to wash out—kissed her lightly. He watched a moment, stood and went out. He needed to talk to Bendesevorian once more before he could rest.
Curious, after so long a time, dealing with Lyiadd's seemingly endless malice and Power, for us to realize that this was not so: Whatever else they might be, he and Marrita, there was yet some of both that had once been human and still was. Human emotion had ruled so many of their acts; and like other humans, they were mortal.
28
Battle was joined again not long after first light, when Lyiadd's strong Ylsan force attacked Erken's weakest position. The line crumbled briefly, allowing Lyiadd's men to regain a substantial length of beach. They lost what they had gained and more at sunrise as Bendesevorian and two of his fellows bridged Golsat, Brelian and a company of Nedaoan armed to the battle. These, though momentarily disoriented, were fresh, and the news Erken and Corlin had taken to the valley gave them heart. Erken's battleworn guard was bridged back to Nedao; the Nasath worked to shift armed thereafter, but it was mid-morning before the task was done.
There was no fog, no overcast this day; there were no Mathkkra—no Thullen once the sun rose, though in the predawn hours one now and again swooped low to impartially terrorize the armed of either side.
But the battle itself, for most of the day, was largely a matter of sword and bow: Those siding with Nedao were withholding use of Power—AEldra, Nasath or Folkish—lest it be needed later in great strength. Among the Ylsans, now and again men bridged or made use of the Baelfyr, but less and less often as the day went on. Lyiadd and Marrita made no contribution to the fighting.
Lyiadd's force was larger, but the Nedaoan army was better trained and more unified. By mid-day, they had driven their enemy up the Aresada and into the cool, windy depths of the river canyon. Thullen harried them here, and Levren's bow were kept busy watching for them, shooting them down.
Ylia and Galdan remained near enough the front to direct the fighting, well enough back for protection, and for most of the day, Marhan stayed at her side. She didn't like it—magic and Marhan. And constant fighting could not be easy, at his age. But for all his near-fourscore years, he held his feet, led a charge or two and showed more stamina than some of the younger men who fought under him.
Things slowed during the early afternoon; the Ylsans and their Ragnolan allies had taken a position deep in rock from which it was difficult to dislodge them. Neither, however, could they push back down-river. Most of the armed on both sides managed time to eat and rest, and it was during Ylia's rest that Bendesevorian came to her.
“The valley has been beset by Mathkkra, a vast horde of them. But my sister is there, and she has reinforcements with her.”
“How many?” Galdan swallowed bread hastily, washed it down with leather-flavored water from his bottle.
“Ten. All she could persuade.” He shrugged, smiled faintly, “Enough, Your people are safe, for now.
”
“Ten.” Ylia shook her head. “More exiles?” Bendesevorian shrugged again. “I—I'm sorry.”
“We can talk of it later. But it does not matter, truly.”
Lyiadd met Marrita's eyes across the oil-filled bowl. “Hold that vision for me. I need to speak with Nebyon—there.” His voice echoed in the small chamber. Reflected in the oil, Marrita saw Lyiadd's captain start as his master's mind-speech touched him. “Continue to retreat slowly, as you have thus far: They must not suspect you are retreating deliberately. Lead them back, but slowly. Make no overt movement, except those needed to keep the Nedaoans fighting. You must not reach the proper place until second hour, tomorrow, I need that much time to prepare it. Do you see the place I have in mind? Do you understand what I ask of you?”
“My Lord, I do.” The man looked harassed, but he was good; one of the best Lyiadd had left. Marrita sighed in tired relief as Lyiadd broke contact and she could let the bowl go dark. Lyiadd raised her to her feet. She brushed hair from her brow, leaned against him. One hand came around her shoulder automatically; his attention was largely for the two men in the Tower with them.
“Stay here. Trade watch, monitor the fighting. If I am needed, send. Otherwise, the decisions are yours. There are many things I must do to prepare for events tomorrow. Do you understand me?” The men nodded. They carefully avoided looking at each other until after Lyiadd and Marrita were long gone.
The Ylsans and their allies retired behind a rock ledge that formed a natural keep wall at sunset; the Nedaoans pulled back a distance, made camp and set a heavy guard. Bendesevorian and several of his fellows were through the camp before evening-meal, sending the worn and the badly wounded to the valley, bringing others back. Ylia and Galdan healed the wounded who would stay—such as Golsat, who had taken a sword through his left hand but would not leave.
Ylia let Galdan walk through the forward ranks in her place and shared bread and a thick, hot soup with Golsat and Brelian.
“I don't like this place,” Golsat said finally. Ylia shrugged, swallowed soup and tucked a bite of bread in her cheek.
“No. He can't send Mathkkra against our eastern flank without sending them through his own men, though. They can't cross the Aresada, it's too high and fast, and we have heavy guard to the west and against the rock. Any problems among yours, any others we should send home?” Golsat shook his head. “Tomorrow—” She hesitated, shrugged as the two men looked at her inquiringly. “Tomorrow won't be good. Anyone who might break—send them back to protect the valley.”
“One or two, then,” Golsat said. He hesitated in turn. “Lennet—”
“She wouldn't thank you,” Brelian said.
“No, perhaps not. She's not comfortable, trying to take Eveya's place.”
“No one thinks she's trying to, do they?” Ylia drained her bowl, broke the last of her bread into bite-sized pieces.
“Doubt it. No.”
Ylia sighed. “I know it's a problem. I need her, just now. I think she won't mind after this, though, if I take back the command. Eveya—poor Ev had what it takes to command guard; Len doesn't. She knows it now.”
Brelian sopped up broth with his bread. “There isn't any shame in not wanting to kill. ‘Betha should talk to her about that.” He stood. “Going to walk through my company one more time, make certain everyone's set. Golsat?”
“Coming.” He touched Ylia's knee. “Thank you.”
“Thank—oh, your hand. Of course.”
“Ysian would have been upset.” He smiled. “Are you all right?” She nodded. “If you need me, send.”
“I will.” She watched him go.
Trap. She had sensed it all day; each length they drove Lyiadd's armsmen up-river brought it closer. They had no choice but to walk into it, though. His trap, her answer: They both lay in the same place—and that was not far away at all, now.
The battle was joined again as soon as it was light but the Nedaoan and Narran armed were not able to dislodge Lyiadd's men from their fastness until sunlight touched the upper ledges. Since then the enemy had been slowly giving ground, making an occasional feint but never bringing the fighting to a halt, never moving back down-stream.
Nearly a league up-river, they found the narrow entrance to a side ravine and dove through it. It took time, for the opening was no more than ten lengths across, and a deep tributary stream filled more than half of that. But even the Ylsans were in full flight by now. At Galdan's orders, two companies of Nedaoan sword led the pursuit, and the rest of the allied force came close behind.
The ravine was steep-sided, nearly treeless and shaded down near its river: Even though the sun was well above the horizon, it still only shone on the very tops of the rubble-strewn slopes. Footing was treacherous with fallen scree; boulders, branch and loose dirt from the ledges high above littered the ground.
A sudden, sharp turn and then another. The ravine widened abruptly, the stream meandered off eastward. There was a broad grassy meadow dotted with individual fir trees. It reminded Ylia of the ledge where they had first encountered Mathkkra, coming north from Koderra, and a chill touched her; it deepened as something else stirred deep down.
“Galdan.” He couldn't hear her above the fighting. She caught at his sleeve, dragged him off balance and half around. “Galdan! It's—” She couldn't find the words, but Marhan was suddenly back at her side.
“This place reeks of trap!” he shouted. Golsat, who had just fallen back from the front lines, nodded.
“There is no way out up there, only the way we came! We dare not be cut off! Let me get a company of bow back there, in case!”
“Do it, find Lev,” Galdan began; a blast of Power silenced him; someone from the rear cried out, “'Ware! Armsmen! The cry came back from all sides.
Fighting suddenly ceased; the silence rang through them.
“Let me forward!” Ylia shouted, and the Elite Guard parted, came on behind her. The few armed between her and the short stretch of open ground hastily cleared a space. She gazed only briefly at the four new companies of armed facing them, spared no glance for those she knew to be on both sides of them, behind them. She lifted her eyes instead to the black pillars of stone rising above the valley floor. Lyiadd stood alone there. The Lammior's Sya'datha played around his head to form a thin haze of cloud between the sun and the ground.
“It was kind of you to come where I wanted you!” His voice echoed across the ravine. Someone back in the ranks drew his breath on a sob; there was no other sound. “You of Nedao! Give up the leaders of your armed to me, and I shall spare your lives!” Silence again.
“Did you think we would make it easy for you?” Ylia shouted back finally. “Or is it that you know you can take us in no other way?”
“I will hear no words from you, Ylia of Nedao. Your life is forfeit in any case, and as slowly as I can take it from you!”
She laughed wildly. “Come and try!” Galdan got one arm, Marhan the other, and they dragged her back. Lyiadd laughed; men cringed at the sound, and Lennet, who stood just behind Ylia, bit her hand to hold back tears.
Galdan left Ylia in Marhan's grip and stepped forward. “Lyiadd, we are not without allies.” Bendesevorian moved to his side; four of his kin stood behind him.
Lyiadd glared down at them. “What—shall I simply place myself in the hands of these allies and give up all that is mine? Why should I?”
“Your thought is tainted, you are beyond reasoning. I grieve for you.” Bendesevorian turned and walked away.
Lyiadd watched him go. “Grieve while you may,” he jeered. “It will not be long.”
“Your own life will be forfeit, if you continue in this fool's endeavor!” Galdan cried out.” You have lost, any man of sense can see that! Your ships are gone, your attempt to take Nalda a failure, your son is dead—”
“Do not speak to me of my son!” Lyiadd screamed; men cowered away from the sound of his voice. The rock at his feet turned blood-red and bubbled. “A man of sense, is
it? But I am, perhaps, no longer simply a man. Ask your pet Nasath, there! Ask him of his kinsman who crossed the bridge they thought destroyed, his kinsman who became Lammior!
“Or judge for yourselves! Could a man do this?” He vanished; the armsmen fronting them vanished; the sky went black, and in the place of his companies of men stood a vast army of seemings. Hellish, dreadful seemings solidified, became real—and threw themselves into battle.
“Nedao!” Brelian's voice, from somewhere in the front lines. The archers under his command rallied. A volley of arrows flew, killing men where they struck men, but they passed through Lyiadd's seemings as though they were not there.
They were hard to see—a black fog surrounded them, and shapes changed frequently. But they could kill, as several stunned Nedaoans in the front lines discovered. “Back!” Galdan roared. “Fall back!” There was laughter all around them, echoing from the rocks, as they backed away, and the army of seemings came on. Black mist rose from the ground under the feet of Lyiadd's made creatures, surrounding them, dimming the sun.
Thunder rumbled. A Zahg hurtled down the western slope, but Nasath surrounded it, neutralized it. Another came close behind, and other Nasath moved against it. For a while, then, Lyiadd sent no more of those.
Lyiadd had bridged his human foreguard to block the ravine and all retreat to the rear. The Ylsans there were nervous, the mercenaries looked ready to bolt, even at a distance from the seemings. Let them, Lyiadd thought as he gathered a wisp of cloud, thickened it and sent it down the slope. They do not matter. They did not. His created army was pushing the Nedaoan and Narran force back, he had no doubt now of the outcome. The Nasath could contain whatever small things he sent out, but not his seemings, for they were all one spell. The Folk had made no attempt against it, and now he could not sense them at all.
