‘You stupid Pharician!’ Kassien screamed. ‘You can’t hurt it with an arrow. Run!’
Pallo obeyed and promptly fell down a hole.
Istar stopped. ‘Pallo!’ she screamed, dropping to her hands and knees beside the hole.
‘Istar, come on!’ Xiriel and Kassien halted, silhouetted against the illumination coming from outside.
‘Come down, Istar, you can see the—’
Kassien and Xiriel came back and starting pulling on her just as the H’ah’vah appeared in the tunnel behind them. There was nowhere to go. Dragging the others with her, Istar dived into the hole.
The H’ah’vah roared by overhead, leaving smoke and an alien smell. Istar bounced off a couple of ledges and landed in a tangle of limbs with the others. Pallo’s voice came up. ‘We can get out this way,’ he said. ‘Hurry up!’
They must have reached the edge of some cliff or other, for this passage too led outside. They could still hear the H’ah’vah rumbling somewhere nearby. They gathered themselves and made a final push towards the light, tripping and gasping and crashing along the twisting route and into the curtain of falling water that blocked their way.
Not Like a Bull
Istar had too much momentum going to stop now. She plunged through the waterfall and into a storm. It was evening and the light was dim, and while they had been underground the sky had opened to release hail, wind, and water. No one cared: they were delighted to be out from beneath the mountain. A gully surrounded them; it caught the waterfall and the runoff from the surrounding rock. There were no obvious H’ah’vah signs down here, other than the pile of small digested stones that sat in the pool of the waterfall, spilled from above. They splashed across the pool and looked back at the cliffside nervously, wondering where the monster was.
‘Look!’ Xiriel said, pointing to an aperture in the cliff above them. There was a square exit tunnel that gave out over a fifty-foot drop, and no real handholds. ‘We would have fallen down that had we kept running.’
Kassien grabbed Pallo’s head and ruffled his already damp hair. ‘You’re a weird one,’ he said.
‘Let’s find a place to camp,’ Istar said, adjusting her pack. The gully was long and twisting, parts of it underwater with runoff from the downpour. They picked their way down, half-blinded by rain, their boots slipping on the mud and their fingers chill from grasping at the freezing rock for balance. After an hour Istar was sure she was carrying an extra ten pounds of weight in the water that her cloak had soaked up alone. With the rain driving in her eyes, she could barely keep her gaze on the ground in front of her, yet from time to time she raised her head and looked around, seeking anything that might pass for shelter; but the whole side of the mountain seemed to be awash.
This was how she happened to see the figures come darting out from among the rocks above and leap on Kassien and Xiriel, who were in the lead. Her shout brought Xiriel’s head up just in time to dodge the sword that would have parted it from his shoulders. In the next instant he had his axes out and was raining a rapid-fire series of blows on his opponent, who was caught off-balance and slipped sideways in the mud. Istar glimpsed Kassien rolling down the gully, entangled with another attacker, before three more came leaping down on her with the blank faces and manic energy of the Enslaved. One fell at Istar’s feet with Pallo’s arrow in his throat; she gripped her sword in both hands and stepped over the body, shouting to Pallo behind her as she went. ‘The Sekk! Find the Sekk!’
She had no way of knowing how many more of them might be hiding in the rocks, but there were two swordsmen rushing up at her. Their faces were familiar; she was sure they were Seahawk Clan even before she had assessed their swordsmanship. All the savagery that she had expected to ignite inside her now subsided weakly. It was no use quoting back all of Pierse’s injunctions about exterminating Slaves. They were her family. She could not kill them.
The flat of her blade caught the foremost across the face, but she had to lunge awkwardly to one side to avoid having her left leg sliced off, and she found herself trapped between the rocks and the tip of the second man’s sword. She wove from one side to the other as he hacked at her head but caught only a flying braid; then, anticipating the stab that would be his next move when he realized her body was an easier target, she feinted, kicked him away, and slapped the sword out of his hand. It skittered across the stone; whirling, he went after it. Istar pounced on him, crushing the wind from his lungs and striking the side of his head with the hilt of her sword in hope of knocking him unconscious. But he writhed until he was on his back and she found herself grappling with him, unable to use her sword. He was far stronger.
‘Kinsman,’ she shouted. ‘Listen to me! You are of the Seahawk Clan. I am your cousin. We know each other. Look! Look at my face, kinsman—’
‘Istar! Istar, don’t—’
If Kassien sounded frantic, she must be in trouble. The one she had slapped away had got up again, and Pallo apparently was not covering her. Kassien’s boots flew past; there was a whistling sound in the air above her and she threw herself downhill, releasing her enemy and taking her chances rolling backwards down the treacherous rocks. She eluded the strike from behind and came up with her sword ready, but she was too far away to act. Kassien was fighting for her, grappling with the swordsman bare-handed and the man on the ground was crawling toward his own blade.
Where was Pallo?
She screamed his name as she scrabbled back up the hillside against a rush of water. Xiriel she could see out of the corner of her eye; he’d lost one of his axes and was still engaged with the Slave who had attacked him. There was no sign of the archer. When she got back level with Kassien, the man she’d had on the ground was up and armed. His face was a rictus of fury.
She put her sword into the equation and was met with a hellish strength.
‘Kinsman, try to fight it. You can wake up—’
She swung wildly, driving him back. Blood poured from his nose, and as the fight grew more intense she began to despair of saving his life. His sword cut across her abdomen and she leaped back with a hair’s-breadth to spare. No. She couldn’t measure her strokes any longer, or she’d be killed. The next time he came at her, she gripped her sword with both hands, whipped it back, and sliced his arm off at the elbow. It was a clean stroke, but the joint didn’t quite sever. The arm dangled and the sword fell from lax fingers. Blood pumped out, hot in the freezing rain as it struck her face.
His face cleared, mindless anger giving way to astonishment. He slipped and sat down hard. She drew her sword back, poised to kill him.
‘No. No. Don’t kill me. I remember you now. You’re the outbreed. Quintar’s child.’
Istar paused, chest heaving, rain streaming down her face. She ignored the emotional impact of being identified in such a manner, and instead ran a quick visual check of her eight directions. Xiriel had killed his opponent. Kassien’s first Slave was either unconscious or dead on the hillside below. He disarmed the second and, as Istar watched, dealt him a mighty blow with the pommel of the sword he’d taken; the man crumpled. Pallo was nowhere to be seen, but the fifth Slave lay dead with his arrow in the throat.
Kassien turned and saw what had happened. ‘A tourniquet,’ he said. ‘Quick!’
Istar said, ‘You do it. And make sure Xiriel is all right. I have to find Pallo.’
Before he could argue, she darted up the side of the gully toward the hiding place from which the Slaves had surprised them. Find the Sekk, she had ordered Pallo. But what if he had? Would he know what to do?
She stumbled among the rocks and splashed through puddles, her sword hand roving from side to side in a quest for opposition. Through the rush of water she could hear Pallo’s voice talking to someone. She climbed between two boulders and saw them: Pallo on his feet, the bow all but forgotten in his slack hand, and the Sekk on the ground. Bleeding.
‘Please don’t,’ she heard Pallo say. ‘There’s nothing I can do. Please.’
The Sekk was golden-skinned, golden-eyed, and black-haired. It looked like a girl of about fourteen, her features yet half-formed – a mere collection of potentials. There was an arrow shaft protruding from its side. In its face was an animalian glint of fierce and uncrushable life. Its lips parted and it let out a cry. Istar knew immediately that the Sekk had Pallo. It must have forgotten about its other two Slaves, or lost control of them in the midst of their pain and its own, for all of its attention was now focused on the archer. It had not yet seen Istar, who ducked behind the rock again, breathing hard and wondering what to do.
The trick with the Sekk was neither to look in their faces, nor listen to their voices, which they could use to Enslave even without words. Pallo had made the mistake of doing both: the Sekk’s cries of pain were laden with magic that played on sympathy. Istar could rush in and cut the life from the Sekk in one stroke, but Pallo might turn on her. Or he might be broken by the death of the Sekk, and then even if he pulled out of the Enslaved state as the Seahawk fighter had done, he would be forever vulnerable to all Sekk, his will crippled.
She was going to have to talk him through it. And hope.
She peered around the rock and saw Pallo jump at the sound of her voice.
‘The Sekk is trying to kill you, Pallo.’
‘Istar? Don’t come closer. I’ve shot her, but she’s still alive. She’s just a child, really.’
‘It’s not a child, Pallo. It’s a Sekk, and it’s dangerous. Don’t look at its face.’
The Sekk emitted another cry. Istar could hear the hook in its voice that pulled Pallo in; the sound was almost sexual.
‘Pallo, I need you to come back here now.’
‘You’re going to kill her,’ Pallo said accusingly.
Istar ground her teeth. She was furious with him; but it would do no good to let him know this. ‘No, I’m not. Pallo, you have to kill it. You shot it. It has you trapped. You have to kill it.’
Pallo laughed. ‘Are you insane? It would be like killing the sun. Being leader is going to your head. Bring Kassien over. He’ll agree with me. She’s beautiful, Istar. We can’t let her die.’
Now a series of escalating cries fluttered from the Sekk’s mouth like a flight of birds. Istar stopped her ears.
‘Leave us, Istar,’ Pallo said. ‘You don’t understand.’
Istar stepped out from cover. ‘Kill me, then.’
Pallo turned to see her face; his own visage was bleary and indistinct. ‘What?’
‘Kill me. Because if you don’t kill the Sekk, I’ll kill you. Unless you think you’re a match for me. Here. Let’s level the odds. Take my sword.’ She threw it at his feet, and he stared at it, uncomprehending. Slowly, he stooped and picked it up.
‘Die or kill, Pallo. It’s time you learned that. Come on.’ She got into a crouch, hands extended, body rounded to protect her midsection from the arc of the sword. Pallo looked stupefied. The Sekk was tugging at the arrow at its side, issuing a cry with every tug; and with every cry, Pallo jerked like a puppet on strings. Istar wove from side to side, mesmerizing her opponent with her rhythm – then she feinted once and came at him. Her head rammed into his gut and she threw her shoulder against him. He staggered back, pushing at her and moving the sword around ineffectually. She stuck to him, continuing to drive forward as she tripped him. Once on the ground, they rolled over twice; he got on top, reared back, and struck at her head.
She blocked the force of the blow with a raised forearm, but the blade slid down her arm, laying the muscle open. She heard herself scream as she used the shock of pain to power her counterstrike – but Pallo was already out of range and she missed him. He was standing over her, his face no longer entranced, but horrified.
Istar clapped her hand over the bleeding cut and rolled out of sword range. She caught his eyes and willed him to stay free of the Sekk.
‘Do it now, Pallo, or one of us is going to die.’
Anguished, he turned, and half-blind with emotion drove the sword into the Sekk’s body. It gave a last cry and slumped over, eyes wide. Pallo jerked the sword out, stared at the gore on it, and flung it away. The weapon landed in a shallow pool and slowly turned the water red. For a long moment neither of them moved to break the tableau.
‘Istar? Pallo?’ Kassien came leaping down from above. He saw Istar bleeding and immediately went to work. She was shaking. Her teeth chattered. After binding her arm, Kassien helped her to her feet, and she could see his mind working out what must have happened.
‘Come on, Star,’ he said in her ear, supporting her. ‘Don’t give out on me now. We’ve got two wounded Clansmen, and Pallo’s a wreck. Pull yourself together.’
With an effort, she managed to say, ‘I’m all right. It’s just this rain. It’s no good.’
‘There’s a cave above,’ Kassien said, pointing. ‘They must have been using it for shelter and seen us passing.’
She nodded wearily. ‘Get the others, then. I’ll bring Pallo and meet you there.’
Kassien went off. Istar gulped a few times and took a deep breath. Pallo had walked away and vomited. Now he just stood, arms slack at his sides, letting the rain pour over him. She went to him and put her arms around him, but his body was stiff and unresponsive, his face vacant.
‘Come, Pallo,’ she said. ‘Come with me.’
He suffered himself to be led. Istar allowed tears of pain to form in her eyes, knowing no one would see them in this rain. They climbed into the cave, which was relatively dry, and sat dumbly while Xiriel prepared heatstones to act in lieu of a fire. Her arm throbbed, but she couldn’t complain: Anatar, the kinsman she’d crippled, lay curled on the floor, feverish. The other, called Pentar, had been pummelled badly by Kassien and seemed dazed.
It was Kassien who made everyone eat; Kassien who recruited Xiriel to hold Anatar down while he cut off the mangled arm and cauterized the wound with a heatstone. The others could do nothing but try to stop their ears to Anatar’s screams. Kassien then sat guard by the mouth of the cave. He told the others to sleep; but although Istar was exhausted, for a long time she could not relax. She stared into the fire, feeling scarcely alive.
‘Istar.’ Pallo spoke in a whisper; the others had fallen asleep. Even Kassien was dozing on guard. She looked towards Pallo, but his face was in shadow.
‘Istar, will you teach me that charging thing you did? Like a bull, you know?’
Istar started to smile; then she sniffed affectedly. ‘I am not like a bull.’
‘Then a really vicious cow with horns.’
She yawned. ‘The best you could aspire to would be a slightly temperamental goat.’
There was a pause.
‘I’ll take that.’
She closed her eyes at last.
‘Tomorrow you practise your lunges, or else.’
Wolf Country
‘It took you long enough to get here,’ Mhani said snappishly. ‘Were you lost in the granary again?’
‘That Ajiko will be the death of me,’ Hanji muttered by way of excuse. ‘He is such a stickler for organization. Every time something is lost or misplaced or displaced, he becomes incensed; but what does he expect? This is Jai Khalar, by the Animals!’
Mhani did not have the energy to discuss Ajiko.
‘There is a strange being in the Liminal,’ she said. ‘I have Seen something of what happened to the Company in Jai Pendu. And it has disturbed me; but what disturbs me more is the sight of Ristale with a road cut by thousands of boots and hooves, yet none there to account for it.’ And she showed Hanji the image that appeared in the Water of Glass.
Hanji said, ‘What does Lerien say? Can he see this phantom army? Has he reached them yet?’
‘I can’t See into his Carry Eye. It’s just like what happened in Wolf Country. Yet he is in Wasp Country, by my last observation.’
‘I doubt he is in danger, then. Even if Pharice attacks us, they could not have penetrated that land. It’s across the mountains from Ristale. And if they had invaded
Wolf Country, say, we’d have heard something from the people there by now. Anyway, there would be no reason to attack Wolf Country and then go back across the mountains and march down the other side! If they could have got across the mountains, they would have swept down on us across our own land.’
‘True,’ Mhani said, relieved. ‘For a moment I thought of the H’ah’vah tunnels that Devri saw, but you are right – Pharice could not have crossed over. Then what is the connection between the problems in Wolf Country and an army that somehow repels the Sight?’
‘I don’t know. The critical issue has to be communicating with Lerien. Could Pharice possess some Knowledge which interferes with the Eyes? For the Pharician army can’t be truly invisible, if Tarquin saw it.’
‘How would they get such Knowledge?’ Mhani said sharply. ‘Everything of Everien they have, they purchased from us.’
‘They purchased from Sendrigel,’ Hanji said. ‘He and Ajiko have their heads together all the time now.’
Mhani, deep in thought, didn’t answer.
‘You’re exhausted,’ said Hanji.
‘I’m beyond sleeping now,’ she said. ‘I will return to the Liminal. Tell Devri to stand guard.’
She didn’t even see Hanji leave. She couldn’t particularly feel her body, anyway. It wasn’t hard to get back to the Liminal, to the thing that had spoken to her before – to the thing she had inhabited without understanding.
I knew oblivion for a long time. Someone must have called me; I know not who or why. I awakened in a strange land I recognized only from dreams, and now I knew things I had not known; but also I must have forgotten much, for I came up out of the hills alone and confused to find myself hunted.
They were men who hunted me, but they would not have done so had they known that I possessed a Glass. Humans are fragile, and the moment they brushed up against me they broke, one by one. They shattered on my Glass. They didn’t learn from their mistakes, either. They continued to throw themselves at me. They pursued me clumsily, as if I were one of the H’ah’vah I later learned to call; they swung swords at me like enormous babies still learning to stand upright. They panted and stumbled up the hillsides, looking for me as if I were the manner of thing that lets itself be caught; I am not. I turned on the hunters and took my prey like a wave takes a struggling insect and devours it: with ease, but without intention. I was not yet fully aware: I did not know myself and I still don’t.
The Company of Glass Page 17
