by David Drake
The lamp had sunk back to its usual flicker. There was no sign of the stranger. Tenoctris groaned.
"Tenoctris?" Cashel said. Should he have stopped the thing from touching her? But she hadn't said so, and he wasn't sure what he could've done anyway.
The old woman sat up carefully. Cashel offered his left arm; she gladly took it.
"Are you all right?" he asked, lifting her down to the tomb floor. She felt no heavier than a pigeon on his arm.
"I've gotten what I came here for," she said softly. "Tomorrow we must go with Sharina to the Place; we have dealings with the Coerli. But tonight—"
She gestured to her satchel.
"—please bring that, my dear. Tonight I must sleep, because I'm as tired as I've ever been in a long life."
* * *
Garric sat on the stump of a great tree in the clearing behind the stables, working a rawhide thong through awl holes to sew pieces of pigskin. He'd expected to cut the new harness alone, but Winces and Pendill, the trappers staying at the Boar's Skull, were delighted to do most of the work for him.
"You could live to twice your age, boy . . .," said Winces. He held a pigskin up in his left hand and stepped on the lower end, then sliced a strap freehand with a butcher knife. Garric had worked enough with leather to understand how strong the trapper's wrists must be to do that in a single stroke. "And not do as much've this as Pendill'n me have."
The other trapper—the men were cousins—chatted affably with Kore as he fitted her with the chest band and shoulder straps that they'd already cut and sewn. Garric glanced at them. "Ah," he said, though he knew it was a silly question, "you and your cousin aren't related to any poets, are you?"
"Poet?" said Winces, frowning. "What's a poet?"
"Someone who puts words together so they have rhythm and maybe rhyme," Garric said in embarrassment. Carus was laughing in his mind, and Shin turned to laugh as well. "There was a famous poet of the same name as your cousin, but I realize he must've lived a long time after, well, you do."
"I could've done a little better than friend Winces," the ghost of Carus said. "But I won't pretend I'd have cared any more about poetry than he does. It's one of those things I never saw much point in, like learning to rule without keeping my hand on my sword all of the time."
Orra came through the passageway carrying two bulging saddlebags over his left shoulder; his tunic bulged with the bulk of the money belt concealed beneath it. He was trying to be unobtrusive about the fact he held a small crossbow. It was cocked.
"Master Orra!" Garric called. He waved but deliberately didn't stand and walk the five or six double-paces over to the other traveller. Orra was obviously nervous about seeing him; he'd kept his face turned, watching Garric only out of the corner of his eyes.
"Tsk!" Carus snorted. "Watching the ogre, more likely. And I don't know that I'd blame him."
"Ah, yes, Lord Garric," Orra said, staying close to the wall of the inn. His posture hinted that he'd have liked to rush into the stables without speaking, but he knew that he couldn't saddle his mount and ride out before Garric reached the entrance. "Congratulations! I saw you rush into the middle of things last night, and I'll admit I didn't expect a good result."
Winces looked at Orra and snorted, then went back to his leatherwork. Shin, Pendill, and Kore hadn't paid him any attention to begin with.
Garric rose slowly to his feet and stretched. "I didn't expect this particular good result myself," he said. "Assuming it's a good one, of course. Be that as it may, I've a favor to ask you. Master Hann told me that you're riding south?"
Orra looked even warier than before. "I've no taste for company, milord!" he said sharply. "These are hard times, and I hope you'll not feel insulted if I say that a man's better off by himself than at close quarters with a stranger. I've a crossbow here—"
He lifted it slightly.
"—that I loose off at anything that comes up on me. Anything or anyone."
"It's nothing like that, sir," said Garric. He kept his friendly smile, but he couldn't help thinking of how useful an ally with a crossbow would've been while he faced the ogre. "I'd like you to give notice that I'm on my way when you reach the next inn. I trust you can see your way clear to doing that?"
Orra frowned. He was a merchant of some sort, or at least said so. Neither Master Hann—who might have lied out of policy—nor Megrin—who'd have told the truth if only to spite his father—had been sure what Orra's precise business was.
"What do you mean, notice?" he said warily. "Hostelries here in the Great Forest don't have royal suites, you know."
"I didn't imagine they did," Garric said, finding his smile increasingly hard to maintain. "But I'd like them to know that the man who'll be arriving soon on an ogre is friendly and pays in good coin despite the strangeness of his mount."
He reached into his purse and spilled coins from one hand to the other—copper and silver only, of course. Gold would be as difficult to change in this wilderness as it was in Barca's Hamlet; a traveller might as well try to barter lodging with rubies.
"I don't want to cause needless concern," Garric said. Silently he added, Nor do I want to learn there are folk more willing to fight an ogre than you were last night.
"Yes, all right, I can do that," Orra said. He paused a few heartbeats, then said, "Now, if you'll forgive me, I must be off. Good luck to you on your journey, sir."
"And to you, Master Orra," Garric said, but the other man had already vanished into the stables.
"All right, let's try this on," said Winces, patting the strap he'd completed. His hand was scarcely less tough than the tanned pigskin. "If we've got the length right, then it's only left to sew them together and you've a saddle."
"Yes, dear master," said Kore, standing at her full height. One leg strap with its stirrup hung from her chest band; the sling that Garric was to sit in was ready though not yet tied in place. "I'm so looking forward to displaying my talents as a beast of burden."
"I didn't ask you to kill my horse," Garric said sharply. "I didn't particularly care for the animal, but I didn't have to worry about it being sarcastic."
"You didn't know what it was thinking," the ogre said. "It would be dishonest of me to dissemble my feelings the way that brute beast did."
Master Orra trotted out of the stables on his white horse. He turned through the passage to the main track without speaking further or even looking back.
Garric sighed. "Kore," he said, "I've promised you I'd be a good master. I would appreciate it if you didn't goad me into using the flat of my sword on you, all right? Because at some later point I'd probably regret having done so."
The ogre laughed; Shin laughed with her. And after a moment, Garric laughed also.
* * *
"This is far enough for today," Ilna said, though the sun was scarcely midway from zenith to the western horizon. They'd been marching through evergreen scrub since daybreak, and this mound of grass and flowers under a holly oak attracted her. They weren't in a hurry, after all.
Asion brought up the rear. He nodded, put two fingers to his lips, and blew a piercing summons. Karpos was out of sight ahead of the rest of the party today. The hunters said the whistle was a marmot's warning call. Ilna didn't doubt that, but she couldn't see that the form of signal provided any concealment here where there weren't any marmots.
"I'll set some rabbit snares," Asion said. "Maybe a deadfall too. There's plenty of wild pigs, judging by the droppings."
Ilna nodded. She was suddenly very tired. Asion vanished into the brush.
"What is our goal, Ilna?" asked Temple. He was laying a fire-set around a dry hemlock twig which he'd furred with his dagger. He didn't look up from his work when he spoke.
"My goal is to kill all catmen," she said sharply. "You're welcome to leave if you don't approve of that."
"I've joined you, Ilna," Temple replied, smiling down at his neat workmanship. "It's my destiny, I believe. But I was curious as to where we're going.
"
She snorted. "In the longer term, we're going to die," she said harshly. "Until that happens, I'm going to act as if life had meaning and kill catmen."
Ilna turned and walked up the mound. She didn't know what it was about the big man that irritated her. Perhaps it was that she got the feeling he was judging her, though he never said anything of the sort.
Temple glanced up at her. "You've earned your rest, Ilna," he said. "We'll rouse you when dinner's ready."
"I'm just sitting down," Ilna snapped. "I'm not planning to go to sleep."
When she sat and leaned her back against the oak, she felt a rush of weariness. She frowned; there wasn't any reason for it that she could see. Every morning she knotted a small pattern to give them a direction of march. That took more effort than might be expected by someone who didn't do wizardry—for she was forcing herself now to admit that her talent was wizardry rather than simply an unusual skill at weaving. Still, a trivial prediction wasn't enough to explain her present longing for sleep.
Wildflowers brightened the mound like embroidery on a coverlet of grass. There were buttercups and pink and blue primroses. She thought she saw gentians as well, but she'd have had to get up to make sure. She didn't care to find the energy to do that.
Merota had loved flowers. Chalcus would've woven the girl a chaplet if they were here now. Perhaps that's shy Ilna'd wanted to stop.
The mound was probably artificial. There were a number of rock outcrops scattered across the plain, but this was earthen and too regular an oval for nature to have raised it.
There were no signs of a city on the plain they were crossing, no tumbles of weathered rock that had carvings on the protected undersides. Perhaps nomads had buried a chief and passed on in ancient times. The holly oak was very old, and there was no telling how long after the mound was raised that'd sprouted.
Ilna could hear the crackle of Temple's fire and smelled meat grilling. The hunters must've returned with rabbits, though she hadn't noticed them.
Berries weren't out at this time of year, but ordinarily Ilna would've plucked young plantains and dandelion leaves to go with the meat. She didn't feel like getting up now, however.
I'm going to sleep after all, she thought; and presently she did.
* * *
Sharina wore breeches and knee boots. Her garb scandalized the wardrobe servants, but Lord Attaper would've insisted on it for safety even if she hadn't made the decision herself on the basis of what Garric'd told her about the Coerli city.
She didn't mind filth the way a delicately brought up girl might've. The things that hid in the filth were dangerous, though. Sharina stepped carefully over a human rib bone that'd been cracked for the marrow. If there was a better way to get blood poisoning than by stabbing a sliver of rotten bone into your flesh, it'd thankfully escaped Sharina's imagination.
Even Cashel wore wooden clogs as he tramped along like an ox on a muddy track. He looked about him at everything, as placid as a man could be.
If there were cause for alarm, Cashel'd see it before the soldiers did, and Sharina trusted his response farther than she did that of the soldiers. Not that trouble was likely. The catmen seemed fascinated by their human visitors, but there was no hint of hostility.
She brushed closer, though she didn't try to hug Cashel while they were walking between the Coerli dwellings. She wasn't afraid of an attack, but the close presence of this many Coerli was making her dizzy.
"The smell's awful," Sharina said. "I think it's worse than the tanyard back home. Though I don't see that it can be; maybe I've just gotten spoiled by living in a palace."
"They're cats," Cashel murmured as they strode through the muck. "They eat meat. I'd never smelled so much piss from meat-eaters as there is here."
"Oh!" said Sharina, and of course he was right. People in Barca's Hamlet had thought Cashel was slow because he didn't know a lot of the things they did; but many of the things other people knew were false.
Tenoctris rode ahead of them in a litter carried by two of the twenty Blood Eagles. Attaper led the escort personally. He wasn't happy with the situation, but he'd accepted that Sharina was regent in Garric's place.
Sharina smiled slightly. Attaper'd also learned that she was the Prince's sister in more ways than one: she'd listen to advice, but when she turned her decision into an order, she meant it to be obeyed. It was also possible that the day and a half Attaper had spent wandering in a mist with a company of his men had made him more willing to take direction than he'd been before he disobeyed Garric's direct order . . . .
The eight Coerli chieftains who'd been guiding them through the warren turned. The leading squad of Blood Eagles spread out in the open space that Garric had described, the Gathering Field.
The Elders hopped onto the rocks; Tenoctris got out of the litter carefully. The Blood Eagles' spears were blunted with gilt balls. They held them crosswise to form a barrier against the Coerli spectators.
The crowd pressed close, but the adult Coerli didn't try to push past the guards. There were females and kits among the spectators this morning, though, and one of the latter kept reaching toward Sharina. The mewling kit's mother gripped the scruff of her neck to keep her from squirming through the guards' legs.
Sharina looked around. Tenoctris had made the arrangements, so this was the first time Sharina had seen the complete human contingent.
"Tenoctris?" she said, hoping her voice didn't convey the frustrated amazement she felt. "You haven't brought any interpreters."
Perhaps some of the catmen present had learned human speech, but Tenoctris still should have one or more clerks from Lord Royhas' bureau to check the Coerli. Of course now that Garric was gone, no one could communicate well between the two races of the new kingdom . . . .
Tenoctris glanced at Sharina in mild irritation. "Ah, I'd forgotten," she said. "I'll take care of it now. You'll need to talk to with your new wizard, of course."
Tenoctris spoke in the catmen's own tongue. One of the Elders replied. Another, probably the youngest of the eight, rose on his rock with a low growl.
Sharina realized she was clutching Cashel's forearm hard, though of course he didn't react. She opened her grip but continued to rest her fingertips on his solid muscles.
A canal curved around the rear of the Gathering Field. Water flowed in it—bits of debris on the surface moved downstream, if not quickly—so it was the community's sewer rather than a cesspool. Tenoctris walked between the seated Elders and pointed her right index finger toward the fluid which gleamed like fresh tar. "Pikran dechochoctha!" she cried in a voice that didn't sound like hers.
A bolt of wizardlight crackled from the wizard's finger. For an instant the canal was a curve of crimson; then the water geysered upward, sizzling and still mounting. When it'd risen into a pillar that pierced the scattered clouds, it exploded outward in silver splendor. Sharina felt a faint dampness.
"Golden-furred lady!" a tiny voice called through the clamor. "Golden-furred lady!"
The Corl kit is calling to me, Sharina realized. And I understand her.
Tenoctris walked back to them, smiling in satisfaction. "There," she said. "That'll take care of the communication problem, I think. For everyone who breathes the spray, that is, but the wind's carrying it in the direction of Valles."
The channel began sluggishly to refill. Tenoctris' curt incantation had lifted only the water, leaving on the bottom the trash and foulness which'd been suspended in it. Oily sewage slowly began to refill the channel.
"How . . .," Sharina said, but she caught herself. She looked at Cashel. He didn't say anything, but the hand that didn't hold his quarterstaff touched the locket he'd taken to wearing.
Tenoctris couldn't explain how she'd ripped the water skyward and apparently done far more important things in the same action. That was wizardry, and Sharina wasn't a wizard. She might as well ask a Serian philosopher to describe his doctrine to her in his own language.
What Sharina'd real
ly meant was, "How did you gain such power, Tenoctris?" Cashel had already told her the answer to that, the being which'd met and merged with Tenoctris in the ancient tomb.
Sharina looked at Tenoctris, then back to Cashel. She squeezed his arm.
"What do we do next, Tenoctris?" Sharina asked calmly. If Cashel was satisfied, then she'd assume that the old woman beside her continued to be the friend who'd helped save mankind so many times in the past.
"Now I find you a wizard to provide counsel while I'm busy elsewhere," Tenoctris said. She gave Sharina a slight smile that wasn't a familiar expression on her face, then turned to the Elders.
"Chiefs of the True People!" she said, speaking in harsh glottals and sibilants which sounded in Sharina's mind—though not her ears—like the old noblewoman's usual cultured accents. "Take me to your Council of Wise Ones. The kingdom has business with one of them."
