Tegringax reached up to the breastplate, then snatched his hand away, trembling. “By all the earth! This came from the hand of Agrapax himself, and is newly forged!”
“Even so,” Yocote confirmed. “Do you doubt we stand a chance against the Scarlet One?”
Tegringax laughed, a sound like rust flaking under a whetstone. “You do indeed! Come, I shall lead you there! But only you four, mind you!”
Culaehra whirled. “Kitishane, stay to guide the battle!”
“Never!” Kitishane trembled with anxiety. “Stay, and never know what happened to you? If you think I will let you go away from me to great deeds or doom, you are mad!”
Culaehra stared down at her, not really amazed. A fond smile curved his lips, and he caught her up in his arms to kiss her, deeply and well. When she could lean back, stunned, he said, “We live or die together, then.”
He spun to Yusev. “It is for you and your war chief to order the battle! Wait until they are done chewing each other up down there, then harry them as your people always have—do not let them march straight against you!”
Yusev's teeth shone in a grin. “Never fear. The People of the Wind know how the sandstorm strikes.”
“Well enough, then!” Culaehra clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay and wreak havoc!” He whirled to the dwarf. “Lead us, then, Tegringax! Down into the bowels of the earth!”
The dwarf laughed again and, laughing, turned to lead them back into the cave.
Darkness closed about them, and Yocote said, “Tegringax, we have folk whose eyes do not see well in darkness. If you could—”
Light flared, seeming bright in the underground night, but not so much as to hurt their eyes. Culaehra saw that the light was a glowing ball that floated above Tegringax's head. He wondered what it could be and how the dwarf could bring it into existence so easily.
Lua and Yocote took off their goggles.
The way branched, two caves opening off of one. Tegringax chose the left without pause. Culaehra wondered how, then remembered that the dwarf had spent his life in passages such as this, probably in this very valley. Down they wound, the floor sloping beneath their feet. Kitishane stumbled, but Culaehra reached out to catch her arm before she could fall. A few minutes later he stumbled, and it was her hand on his arm that kept his balance. So, clinging to one another, they descended. They came to more branchings, but Tegringax never hesitated, always choosing one without even seeming to consider.
Finally the floor leveled off. They came out into a huge chamber, halfway up one of its walls. Some strange quality in the stone took the dwarfs tiny light and multiplied it, as if any gleam at all were enough to trigger the mineral into imitation. By that eerie, sourceless light they saw below them a sort of honeycomb, intersecting and meandering walls without a roof.
“It is a maze!” Culaehra cried.
“And we must cross it,” Yocote moaned.
Lua only stared down with wide, frightened eyes.
“Be sure to stay close behind me,” Tegringax told them. “I shall have no trouble crossing through there, but if you are separated from me, you shall be lost, to wander till you die.”
“We shall stay close indeed,” Culaehra promised.
They started down a series of long sloping ramps, Tegringax leading, Yocote and Lua close behind.
“Do you go ahead, little sister,” Kitishane told Lua. “I shall come last.”
Lua flashed her a grateful smile. “Concerned that I might be lost? Not likely underground, big sister—but I thank you!” She went ahead.
Kitishane followed. She was indeed concerned, for if the others went too fast, the gnomes might be left behind. Coming last, she could call out if they lagged.
Thus they went into the maze, and Tegringax did not slacken the pace at all, for he knew exactly where to turn. He threaded his way through at a constant, plodding rate—but his legs were short, and he did not seem to feel any urgency, so the gnomes kept up easily.
Onward they went until it became almost boring, for the walls all looked alike, light gray and smooth, though far from polished. The sourceless light was confusing, and Culaehra was glad indeed for Tegringax's glowing ball. The eeriness of the chamber dampened his spirits, and seemed to do so for the others as well, for conversation lagged, then stopped, and they followed Tegringax in silence.
Finally they saw that the tunnel far ahead opened out, and Culaehra said, “At last! Are we come to the end of this maze, Tegringax?” “We are,” the dwarf replied.
“Praises be! I shall be glad to see sunlight again, even if it shines on Bolenkar!”
“I, too,” Yocote grunted.
“And I,” Lua agreed. “Will not you, big sister?”
There was no answer.
Culaehra stopped on the instant and swung back to look. Kitishane was not to be seen.
“Kitishane!” Lua cried. “Where have you gone?”
There was no answer.
“She is lost in the maze,” Culaehra groaned. “Call loudly, all of you, then listen sharply! Tegringax, your pardon, but we must go back to fetch her. Kitishane!”
“Kitishane!” they all three cried together.
Then they listened, straining their ears.
Kitishane had been following, but lagged behind, to give Lua room—and to see if the gnome slowed even slightly, so that Kitishane might call out to Tegringax to go more slowly. Thus not even Lua noticed when the huge hand reached out from behind to slap over Kitishane's mouth and yank her back against a leather breastplate. A deep, harsh voice muttered something in the shaman's tongue, and all the world went gray and misty about her.
She stood frozen a moment in shock, then began to struggle violently, and in silence, for a minute or two. Then she heard laughter, huge guffaws bellowing in her ears, and the hold on her face and arm loosened. She thrust herself away, feeling her face burning, the laughter still echoing about her as she yanked her sword free—and saw Ataxeles standing there, lifting his battle-axe from the loop at his belt, grinning as his laughter calmed.
Only Ataxeles, nothing more—they stood in a realm of mist, gray clouds swirling all about them, scattering light that told of a sun somewhere, but never here. She risked a quick downward glance and saw that the ground was hard, with a straggling of grass blades, brown and sere. She glared back at Ataxeles, heart thumping in her breast, and knew he could see her fear.
His laughter stopped abruptly and his eyes narrowed to slits. His voice was a hiss as he said, “You do not deceive me, slut!”
Anger flared, instant and harsh. “I am a maiden!”
“You are a slut in your heart! All women are, save one! You do not deceive me about that, either!”
“Either?” Kitishane eyed him warily.
“Aye! You hide behind the warrior, but I know you for what you are—Bolenkar's true foe!”
Kitishane could only stare.
Ataxeles laughed again, but this time his laughter was harsh and little more than breath. “Oh, you pretend well, pretend to be amazed—but I know that without you to unite the plans of the shaman-gnome with the sensing of the enemy's heart of the slut-gnome, and harness both to the warrior's fighting, he would be able to do little or nothing! He would flail about with his sword but never strike, or worse, hit only allies; he would wreak havoc, but do as much for Bolenkar as against him!”
With a sinking heart Kitishane realized that what he said was true. She had never dared think that Culaehra could need her that badly.
“I shall win the battle he brings against our scarlet god,” Ataxeles said, his eyes glinting. “I shall win it here and now, by slaying you!”
The battle-axe swung high.
Chapter 29
Kitishane whipped her sword up with a sinking heart, knowing a common blade was little use against an axe like that, knowing her only chance lay in always turning its stroke, never meeting it head-on.
Knowing, too, that if she died, the allies died, every one of them, and with them, hope for peace and h
armony in the world, she summoned up every last ounce of resolve. She would win, she must win! She summoned, too, a vision of Culaehra lying battered and bleeding. Fright and anger flowed, and with them absolute determination.
She danced to the left, meeting the axe with a slanting blade, pushing, deflecting it just enough so the stroke hissed past her shoulder. Before Ataxeles could recover, she thrust at his throat just above the breastplate. She felt it strike bone and cursed inside, riposting quickly to guard—but blood sprang and Ataxeles roared with pain and anger. He charged her, axe slashing. Kitishane nearly wilted from fear—nearly; but she wilted to the side, leaving one foot behind, and Ataxeles tripped, stumbled, and went crashing to the ground. He whirled about, pushing himself up with a bellow, up enough to hurl the axe. It flew too fast; she tried to sidestep but it caught her in the belly and the side, whirling her around and knocking her down. She could not breathe; everything seemed to darken about her. Dimly, she heard Ataxeles' triumphant laughter, heard him coming nearer. Holding the sword, she frantically fought to move, to keep moving, remembering what Illbane had taught them about night fighting, about sensing where your enemy was even if you could not really see him.
She thrust upward.
Ataxeles howled with rage and anger, a howl that moved away. Kitishane scrambled to her feet, turning to face the howl, holding her sword up in both hands.
Then her body shuddered as her lungs filled with air again. Her vision cleared and she saw Ataxeles moving around her sideways, still facing her but shuffling his feet to the side, his face dark with anger and pain, blood welling from his thigh. “What unnatural sort of woman are you?” he bellowed. “Women do not fight, and when they do, they cannot fight so well or so long!”
“I am a woman trained to fight by Ohaern,” Kitishane snapped.
Ataxeles went rigid, eyes wide at the name—and Kitishane leaped forward, slashing left to right, then right to left. Her first stroke bit into the haft of Ataxeles' battle-axe; he shouted with anger and fear and yanked it free. Her second slashed the laces that held his hip plates to his breastplate; blood welled from his side. He roared with rage and charged her again, axe swinging. She ducked under it, but his fist came up, filling her vision, smashing pain through her head, and the world went dark again. She felt herself flying through the air, felt herself land, hard ground shocking the air out of her as pain wracked her body and his shout of triumph filled her head. Desperately, she tried to roll up to her knees, clinging to her sword at any cost, struggling to bring it up, knowing it would be too little and too late, and her heart cried out Culaehra! but he was not there.
Then some strange reassurance swept through her, lending her strength; it was almost as if Illbane stood beside her again, almost as if she heard his voice shouting Lua! Yocote! but that had to be her voice, not his. Even so, she struggled to rise; if that horrible axe was going to kill her, she would meet it on her feet!
“We must go back!” Culaehra insisted. “She must be beside us in battle! We have come so far together—we must not be separated now!”
“She must be beside us,” Lua agreed. “Do not ask me why, Yocote, but I will have no heart without my human sister!”
“But do you not see! That is exactly what the enemy intends!” Yocote cried. “That is their surest way to win the battle! If they can keep us wandering down here searching for one another, Bolenkar's soldiers can chop up our allies piecemeal! Without you to lead them, Culaehra, they will fall apart! Instead of one army a thousand strong, you will have six armies, none of more than a hundred, none knowing or caring what the others do! Bolenkar will triumph and will chew up all the younger races!”
“The younger races can go hang, if I do not have Kitishane!” Culaehra snapped.
“Only by slaying Bolenkar can you save Kitishane!” the gnome cried. “Do you not see? He has stolen her away; she is his hostage against you! If you do not slay him, you will lose her!”
“If I do not have her, I cannot slay him!” Culaehra returned. “Trust me, Yocote! I do not know a great deal, but I know this!”
“I, too.” Lua stared at Yocote, huge-eyed. “I feel it all through me, Yocote. If Bolenkar's minions have taken her, we must find her, or all is lost!”
Yocote cursed and turned to Tegringax. “Can you, at least, not see sense?”
“I see the trail ahead and the trail behind,” Tegringax returned. “Tell me down which you wish to go, and I shall take you.”
Yocote frowned. “You can take us back the way we came, with no fear of becoming lost?”
“No fear at all,” Tegringax assured him.
The gnome threw up his hands. “All right, then! Let us seek her! It will be quicker than standing here arguing with you two. Tegringax, lead on!”
Chuckling like gravel rolling down a rocky slope, Tegringax led them back into the maze.
Three turns and Culaehra was lost. He could not have said whether this was the way they had come or not, so much sameness was there in all the rocky walls. But Tegringax plodded on ahead, and Culaehra, trusting, followed.
Abruptly, Yocote stopped, eyes huge, arms outspread to halt them all. “It is here! Here she disappeared! I feel it!”
Lua crouched down, palms against the rock, and stared unseeing. “I, too! But not alone. Another, a male—”
“Ataxeles!” Yocote made the name an obscenity. “And if it is that soldier-shaman who has taken her, I know to where they have gone! Culaehra, hold fast to me! Lua, hold! Tegringax, stay you here and await us!” He added as an afterthought, “I prithee.”
“Have no fear, I shall stay,” Tegringax answered, amused. “And have no fear that Bolenkar's minions may find me, for I can melt into rock if I must.”
“Well and good, so long as it is a rock near here! Hold fast, my companions! We go!” Yocote began to chant in the shaman's tongue, gesturing as well as he could with the arms they held. He stopped in mid-sentence, eyes huge.
“What is it?” Lua asked.
“Illbane! He calls us!” Yocote frowned, eyes on some distant scene. “And ... Kitishane ...” He threw back his head and chanted.
Culaehra felt anger building. If Illbane was taking them away from Kitishane when she most needed them—
Then the ground slipped from beneath his feet. Instantly, another surface pressed up against them. They were surrounded by mist, but it cleared quickly ahead of them, and he saw Kitishane on her knees with Ataxeles raising a sword over her. He shouted and sprang, but Yocote was already gesturing and chanting, and Lua had her hands pressed to the ground, singing. The surface beneath Ataxeles suddenly turned into a mire. Ataxeles sank to his knees and shouted, flailing for balance.
Kitishane saw her chance, pushed herself to her feet, stepped forward, and swung. A thin red line appeared across Ataxeles' throat. He cried out in fear, but it was only a gargle. Dropping his sword to pinch the edges of the cut together, he frantically mouthed another spell. The flow of blood slackened ...
Lua hurled a stone.
It struck Ataxeles square in the forehead. He lurched, his eyes rolled up, and he fell backward into the mire.
Kitishane's sword hissed by two feet above him. She froze, staring down in disbelief.
Then Culaehra was beside her, sword high, ready for the slightest movement, and she turned to throw herself into his arms, stiff for a moment, then loosening with sobs that wracked her whole body. Bemused, Culaehra folded his arms about her. He glanced down at the body beside him, then sheathed his sword and held her with both arms, murmuring soft words and caressing her back gently.
Yocote watched them for a moment, his eyes sardonic, but a smile touched his lips. Before it could grow, he turned to Lua. “Well aimed, maiden—but where did you find a stone? There are none here—there is barely ground!”
“I have been gathering pretty pebbles all through our journey, shaman,” she informed him. “I had a notion I might need a weapon—and if I did not, they had beauty enough to treasure.” “Beauty.�
�� Culaehra frowned, turning. “Let us see what manner of... Ho!”
Yocote and Kitishane both snapped their heads up at the alarm in his words—and saw the ground hardening where there had been mud, and no trace of Ataxeles.
“The earth has swallowed his body,” Lua breathed.
But Yocote shook his head. “There is no earth in the shaman's world, but only a hardening of the mist.”
“Then the mists have taken him, and the mists can have him!” Culaehra said. He turned back to Kitishane. “Though I will own I would have preferred to have him alive, that I might be revenged upon him for attacking you.”
She smiled up through her tears, then raised one hand to dash them away as she took his great paw with the other—but she said only, “Come. There is a world to save.”
Culaehra stood looking at her for a moment, then smiled. “Well, if it has you in it, it is worth saving. Lead on, maiden—I shall follow.”
Her smile broadened, but she still held his hand as she turned to Yocote. “Come then, shaman! Lead us back to the maze!”
“Join hands and hold my arms.” Yocote tried to hide his misgivings, but he had a bad feeling about the loss of Ataxeles' body. Still, he put it from his mind and began to recite the spell.
The world swam about them again, and when it firmed once more, gray stone surrounded them instead of gray mist. Yocote dropped their hands, looking about anxiously. “Tegringax!”
“Here.” Tegringax stepped forth from one of the walls; he had blended with it so perfectly that they had not seen him until he moved.
“Lead us up to Bolenkar!” Yocote implored.
“Gladly.” Tegringax looked them up and down, then turned away and started walking. Over his shoulder he called back, “I had not thought to see you again.”
“His faith in me is overwhelming,” Yocote growled.
“But it is a delight to prove that faith is merited,” Lua replied.
He looked at her in surprise and saw her eyes glowing into his. His heart turned within him and he fought the urge to take her into his arms. The thought of the coming battle saved him. “We must go fight,” he said, and turned away.
The Sage Page 38
