by Clayton, Jo;
He pulled out one of the blue spheres, got to his feet with a grunt of effort.
“Shounach?” She touched his arm, but he ignored her and walked away from her, stumbling a little, then stopped by the body of the Ironmaster. He dropped the ball on the man’s chest, watched as it rolled down the slope of his belly and came to a stop between his legs. Gleia shivered at the expression on his face. I hold grudges, he said, I hold grudges a long, long time. She closed her fingers about his wrist, careful not to squeeze the burns. “Shounach?”
He blinked at her, awareness slowly returning to his eyes. His face was shiny with the liquid she’d spread over his bruises, his long red hair was matted, dark with blood and sweat. She chewed on her lip, then went back to the bags, slipped both straps over her shoulder.
Deel fidgeted in the archway, fastening and unfastening the clasp of her cloak. “You two ready?” she said, her voice a whisper filled with urgency. “We’re really pushing our luck, hanging around like this.”
“I think so.” Gleia moved to Shounach’s side, offering her shoulder as a prop.
With Deel striding ahead, Gleia and Shounach following more slowly, they went up the stairs and eased into the servants’ quarters. The rough, narrow hall was deserted and dark, most of the horn lamps blown out.
A few steps past the silent empty kitchen, Shounach called softly to Deel, dragged Gleia through a door into a small, empty room. Deel followed, startled and a little annoyed. “What.…”
“Quiet.” Shounach leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Someone’s coming.”
For a moment they heard nothing, then confused footsteps and deep voices as several men strolled past. The sounds faded but the Juggler continued to wait, pain and weariness showing in his face. Finally he opened his eyes and pushed away from the wall. “All clear. Let’s go.”
Deel turned those glowing amber eyes on him as he settled his arm on Gleia’s shoulders. “You’re something else, Juggler. For a while there I thought I’d made a big mistake.” She grinned and swung out, the swagger back in her walk. Gleia saw a flicker of appreciation in Shounach’s slitted eyes; she poked him in the ribs. He grunted, grinned down at her, wincing as a cut on his lip reopened. “Vixen.”
She sniffed. “Fox.”
Deel thrust her head back inside. “Come on, you idiots.”
They moved swiftly through the dark, silent house. Just inside the door to the garden Shounach stopped them again.
Deel leaned close, whispered, “Someone outside?”
“No. Those damn iron birds.” He closed his eyes a moment, pulled his arm from Gleia’s shoulder, leaned against the wall, the false energy from the drug beginning to melt away. Eyes still closed, he said, “Gleia, bring my bag here and hold it open for me.”
“You all right?” As she held the bag up, she watched him anxiously.
“No.” He reached into the bag, sweat gathering on his forehead. “Silly question.” He pulled out a small rod, handed it to her, glanced over his shoulder at Deel who was fidgeting with curiosity and impatience. “Hang on a minute, dancer.”
“This is the slowest escape I ever heard of. Good thing the Lossal’s busy in the Kiralydom.” She twitched her cloak higher on her shoulders.
Shounach shifted his attention to Gleia, touched one end of the rod. “Twist this a half-turn and be damn careful what else you touch.” When she’d done that, he continued. “The black spot is a sensor. If one of the iron birds shows up, point the rod at it, touch the sensor, slice the beam through the bird. Don’t use it unless you have to.” He looked bleak for a moment. “I hate to see that here. I hate seeing those damn birds on this world.” He watched as Gleia twisted the cover back over the sensor. “Be careful with that. Deel, lend me a shoulder so Gleia can keep a hand free.”
“About time.”
They moved across the garden and stopped in the shadow of the wall. Deel looked up. “Hope you’ve got a few more tricks, Juggler. I don’t think I can climb that.” She watched him expectantly, waiting for him to come up with another bit of magic, Aab’s light turning her into a statue of many-textured blacks and grays too exotic for the austere and formal garden.
Gleia held the rod tight in a sweaty hand, her eyes fixed on him. “Can you do it?”
“Maybe.” He rubbed the back of his bandaged hand along her cheek. “You first.”
“No.”
“Don’t argue. Help me sit. Stretch out flat once you’re up. You hear?”
She nodded then eased him down until he was sitting cross-legged on the grass. Then she moved close to the wall. “Ready, Fox.”
She felt something grip her body, something like a tight second skin. It held her, lifted her. She rose slowly up the wall. When she reached the top he shifted her to the right a few inches then turned her loose. She stumbled, went to her knees. Then she stretched out flat, her body in the shadow of the crenelations. Below, Deel gasped and rose into the air. In seconds she was flat beside Gleia, temporarily speechless.
When Shounach reached the top, he let go suddenly and slammed into the stone hard enough to send the air from his lungs in a small puffing sound.
Gleia touched his arm. “Fox.…”
His answering whisper was slow, broken by the air he was sucking in. “Be … all … right … in a minute … look around … iron birds?”
The sky was still empty. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Some torches by the gate, guards there, I suppose. No birds.”
“Help me up.”
As soon as he was standing, he moved away from her to lean against one of the stone uprights. He looked down then beckoned her into the opening beside him. “Ready?”
“Ready.” She stepped off the wall, felt the skin catch her and lower her gently to earth. As soon as she was down, he sent Deel after her, finally dropped himself beside them. He folded onto his knees, stayed there, unable to get up. Gleia knelt beside him, helpless and frustrated; she could do nothing except stay futilely at his side. In Aab’s light his face was ashen around the purpling bruises. Deel began walking up and down, six steps each way, the hem of her cloak flaring out around her strong slim legs. Across the street this section of the Market quarter was filled with the noise of the produce carts rumbling in, louder than ever because the wagons from the surrounding farms were bringing in the harvest of tubers and grains. There were several streets of small shops between them and the open stands of the central market, shops that were shuttered and deserted, the shutters barred also on the living quarters above them.
Shounach lifted his head, let it rest a moment against Gleia’s shoulder. He watched Deel pacing, her body crackling with suppressed energy. Gleia met his eyes, grinned. “We better start moving again,” she murmured. “Before she succumbs to spontaneous combustion.”
With Deel flitting before them, running ahead and returning, they moved slowly along the narrow side street past the folded-in shops. By the time they reached the end of that street, Shounach was shambling along, leaning heavily on Gleia as the battering he’d taken began to overcome the drug. He stopped, looked at the busy noisy scene in front of them. “This isn’t going to work. Let me sit a minute. I need to think.”
With a grunt of pain, he settled on the third step of a flight of stairs rising up the side on one of the shops to the family living space above. Gleia dropped beside him. Deel came swinging back and stood leaning on the shaky railing, looking down at both of them. Shounach opened his hands. The gauze showed dark stains near the crease lines. “Hand me the bag.” His voice was hoarse, strained.
Gleia held it open for him while he fished inside. When he brought out the leather case, she took it from him, opened it and found the vial of pale blue wafers. She touched it, hesitated. “Just how dangerous is this stuff, Fox?”
His eyes glinted blue in the torchlight. He looked past her at the black bulk of the Lossal’s house looming against the paler clouds; there was a crazy glare in his eyes for a moment, then he looked back at her and th
e glare faded. “About as dangerous as staying here and letting myself be caught.” As he swallowed the drug, a great gong note reverberated over the city. Gleia jumped to her feet. Deel’s hands tightened on the rail. She looked sick.
Shounach stood. “Deel. That an alarm for us?”
She shook her head. “Look.” She waved an arm at the chaos developing in front of them. For a moment the drivers had frozen. Now they were whipping their teams, racing for the gate giving on the wide main street, ignoring everything and everyone between them and the exit. When Deel spoke, her voice was nearly drowned by the clangor of the great gong as it was beat continually, each stroke blending into the next until the air itself shuddered. She leaned closer, yelled, “Our luck’s run out. That’s the Knelling. The Stareyn’s dead and they’re sealing the city off. Once the gates are shut nobody’s going to get in or out.”
Shounach looked past her at the city wall, rising high above the roofs on the fire side of the market. “Will there be guards walking the walls?”
Understanding wiped the despair from Deel’s face. She lifted her head, her eyes glowing with excitement. “Not yet. Not yet,” she chanted, then danced away only to stop and stare at the monstrous confusion in the long rectangle of the produce stalls. The noise was appalling, the wagons, carts, teams, merchants, drivers, all involved in an intricate tangle. She looked back at the Juggler, raised her eyebrows. He walked slowly past her, scanned the confusion, began walking along the edge of it, heading away from the main gate, his tall form fitfully visible in the light from the market torches. Deel looked at Gleia, eyebrows raised. Gleia shook her head. “Don’t know,” she yelled. “He’s got some kind of idea.” They started after him, Gleia tired and feeling a bit grim, Deel excited and beginning to enjoy herself, her long legs scissoring in her dancer’s swagger.
Gleia shifted the straps on her shoulder then ran after Deel. She saw the dancer take Shounach’s arm and move along beside him. Complications. At least she doesn’t look like the brother he killed. I wonder, is that an advantage or a disadvantage? Damn them both, let them keep each other company. I can get along without either of them. She rubbed at the back of her neck; it was starting to prickle. As if someone were staring at her. The prickle grew to a tingling apprehension that grew stronger as they neared the wall. She walked faster, coming up on Shounach’s left side. He was sweating again; the glazed look of his eyes bothered her. She touched his hand. Even through the gauze she could feel the heat in his flesh. Fever. She rubbed her neck again, looked up anxiously. A ragged layer of clouds rushed across the face of Aab, then past Zeb. The little moon was higher, adding its small fraction to the light pouring into the street. Gleia shivered. Too much light.
The gonging stopped. Behind them the confusion around the market sheds seemed to be sorting itself out. Even that noise was muted. The shutters of the dwellings above them were beginning to open. Gleia saw several heads thrust out, felt curious eyes following them.
A man called down to them, cursed when they didn’t answer. The buzz of voices grew louder.
Shounach stopped in the deep shadow at the base of the great wall. He drew in a breath, let it out, looked down at Gleia. There was a question in his eyes and a great weariness. “I don’t know.…”
“I think you can do it, Fox.” She looked back. “I think you’d better.”
Deel tilted her head back, looked dubiously at the height of the wall, then over her shoulder at the people leaning out their windows staring at the strange three. “Any minute now, one of those gogglers is going to think of making points by turning us in.”
Shounach set his back against the wall, eased himself down until he was sitting cross-legged on the dirty stone pavement. “Get as close to the wall as you can, love.”
The skin tightened around her, lifted her. It wasn’t the easy glide of the inner wall. She could feel the effort he was making as she rose and paused, rose and paused.
When she finally reached the top, she stumbled again as he released her; for a moment she tottered on the edge of the wall, then sank onto her knees and looked down. Shounach was breathing hard, his shoulders rounded, his head swaying.
Deel stepped close to the wall, rising in the same fitful increments. When she was high enough, Gleia caught her around the waist and dragged her onto the wall.
Below them the street was beginning to fill as the watchers came running down the stairs to stand about chattering and staring at the Juggler on the ground and the two women kneeling on top of the wall. As Gleia watched, a man broke away from the crowd and began running down the street. Her heart bounding painfully, she whispered, “Come on, Fox. Come on.”
He began to rise slowly, his body taut with effort. He sank back a little, rose again. The crowd surged closer, excitement changing into disapproval. He continued to rise jerkily. Two men came closer, then ran at him, leaping to catch hold of his feet. He strained higher; their hands brushed his boots, then the men fell back.
Gleia and Deel caught him as he rose above the wall, rolled him onto the stone beside them. Overhead, the clouds thickened and darkened. As Shounach lay trembling and panting, a few drops of cold rain came splatting down. Gleia knelt beside him, touched his face. It burned her fingers.
“He’s in bad shape.” Deel lifted her head, jumped to her feet and went to look at the angry muttering crowd below. “If we just had a bit of rope.”
“Well, we don’t.” Gleia settled back on her heels and tried to pierce the growing gloom over the city. More rain fell, a short flurry of large drops. The wind was rising; it pushed the heavy material of her cafta against her body, tossed her curls about until they tickled her face. It seemed to her that she saw torchlight reflected against bits of metal in the sky, bits of metal circling and soaring like wind-caught sparks. She fished in her pocket, found the small rod, looked up again. “Deel.”
“What?” The dancer came back from the edge of the wall, the stained amber silk whipping about her legs.
“Help me move him.”
The two women shifted Shounach until he was stretched out at the base of the crenelations. “Stay with him,” Gleia said. She moved away from them, stood in the center of the wide wall, peering tautly into the darkness, the sense of danger rising within her. She fingered the rod, hoping it was the magic she needed, afraid, terribly afraid of the demon birds, birds that were not birds, birds with talons like crescent knives. She drew on her store of stubbornness, her anguish, and even her fear, drew on all she’d learned from the seaborn who kept longer memories of their technology. She held the image of her adopted father in her mind. “It’s only a machine,” she whispered. She heard Deel stirring behind her and ignored that. She heard shouts from the crowd, stones striking against the wall, ignored that. Kept scanning the black sky for the circling sparks, waiting for one or more of them to come closer. “The Lossal is back in his house,” she said.
“What?” Deel’s voice was sharp; she was strung taut again with the waiting. “How do you know that?”
“The birds are out.” Gleia pointed at the flecks of crimson riding through the darkness, coasting on the surging winds. There was a strained silence behind her then she heard Shounach and Deel talking quietly, heard a scraping on the stone as the dancer helped the Juggler sit up.
“Gleia.”
“I’ve still got the rod, Fox. You rest.” She bit her lips, rubbed at her eyes. One of the sparks broke from the pattern and glided to the wall. It started toward them, skimming over the stone about five feet off the surface. She faced it, twisted the cover off the sensor and aimed the rod at the flicker of red and silver.
“Good, vixen.” Shounach’s voice was calm, steady, feeding her confidence. “Don’t touch the sensor yet. Wait a little … wait … now!”
Gleia touched the black spot with her forefinger, nearly dropped the rod as a beam of intensely white light about as big around as her finger cut through the air. She steadied the rod, brought the beam up until it woke glitters in the
polished metal of the bird’s body. She moved the beam until it touched the bird, cut across it. She gasped. The bird melted, then blew apart, fragments tinkling like distant rain on the stone. Hastily she twisted the cover back over the sensor, awed and a little frightened by the power she held in her hand.
“Help me up.” Shounach’s struggles brought her around. Muttering protest, Deel was propping the Juggler against the stone upright. He shook her off. “Gleia.” His eyes were glittering with fever.
She came to him, touched his face, shook her head. “Not this time. You go first. Once you’re down you can bring us.”
He reached for her. She backed away. “No.”
Deel shivered. “Dammit, do something. We got to get out of here.”
Shounach looked past Gleia at the House. He smiled suddenly, a smile more like a snarl. “A minute more,” he muttered. “A minute. Minute … minute.…” He broke off, shook his head. “Right.” Turning unsteadily, he stepped off the wall.
Deel gasped. “He’s falling like a damn rock. Ahhh … all right now. He stopped himself just before he was going to splash.” She glanced at Gleia. “He’s waiting for you.”
Gleia rubbed wearily at burning eyes. “No, you next. There’s another bird coming. I have to deal with it.”
Deel looked down, then at the bird. “Oh well, it’d be a quicker and easier death than the Lossal would give me.” With a flourish of her arms, she stepped off the wall. A moment later Gleia heard a startled cry and knew the dancer had reached ground safely.
The second bird came more slowly than the first, wavering erratically from side to side. She couldn’t keep the rod aimed at it, couldn’t anticipate where it would be next. Pressing her lips together, she waited until it reached the spot where the other bird had exploded, then she touched the sensor and swung the beam in an arc, cutting through the bird, feeling an intense satisfaction as it fell apart and rained fragments on the pavement below.
