by David Drake
Karpos came down the side of the ravine with the quick ease of a chamois. He stepped from one outcrop to another his own height below, instead of skidding and scrabbling the way most people would've done.
Ilna smiled coldly: she certainly would've skidded and scrabbled. "The kit is still alive," Temple said. "I see that," Ilna said. She put the yarn she'd picked out of the pattern in her left sleeve. The female gave a convulsive shudder and now lay as still as a pricked bladder.
The infant continued to suckle, its forepaws-its hands, they really were hands; gripping the long hair of its mother's chest. Ilna bent forward. The burning shelter was too close for comfort, but she wouldn't be here long. She caught the infant by the ankles. It mewled angrily and twisted to bite her. Even so young that its eyes were still closed, it had the instincts of its breed. Ilna couldn't grab it by the head the way she would've done a chicken. She rose, jerking the infant away from its mother, and dashed its brains out on a rock. She dropped the little body, backed a step, and scrubbed her hands with grit from the floor of the ravine. Karpos dragged the female's body back from the fire, then knelt to cut from the base of the neck up to the top of the skull, then back down in a single motion. He slid the point of his knife under the strip and trimmed the scalp lock free of the flesh while he pulled up on it. Temple was looking at Ilna. She glared at him and snarled, "Do you have anything to say?" Temple sheathed his sword. "No, Ilna," he said. "The kit was too young to live without its mother." Karpos set the scalp down and began working his arrow out point first. He'd have to refletch it, Ilna supposed, but that was the easy part of making an arrow. There was no lack of birds to provide feathers. This far from towns a metal point couldn't be replaced and a straight, properly seasoned shaft was the work of more than a year. "Do you think that mattered to me?" she said. "I'm going to kill all the beasts if I can. I don't care how old or young they are, all of them!" "It's possible for humans and Coerli to coexist," Temple said, strapping his buckler over his shoulder again.
He looked up and met her eyes. "I don't believe that," Ilna said, "and anyway, I don't care. All of them!" Temple said nothing. "Aren't you going to lecture me?" she demanded. "Not now, Ilna," he said with a friendly smile. "Perhaps another time." "Perhaps never!" she said. He shrugged. "Perhaps." Ilna picked up the dead kit by the scruff of its neck and tossed it into the fire. "Karpos," she snapped. "We'll burn the female too when you've gotten your arrow out. Asion!" "Mistress?" the smaller hunter said. He remained where he'd been, watching while the others were in the ravine. "Cut some more brush," she called.
"We're going to burn the beasts before we leave here." "I brought the adze along," Temple said quietly. "It'll cut brush." He started up the side of the ravine, moving almost as easily as he walked on the level.
Ilna followed, though with more difficulty. She was angry at the big man, though she was too logical to imagine she had any reason to be.
And she was angrier still at herself. *** The linkboy skipped backward, holding out his short staff so that the pool of light from the lamp wobbling from the end of it fell on the ground where Sharina'd next step. The occasional glances he cast over his shoulder can't have done any more than make sure nobody was coming from the other direction. He must've memorized all the paths through the palace grounds, or at least all those on which Prince Garric and his close associates were likely to be walking at night. "Make way for the Princess!" the boy cried. He was just showing off. Three men, probably treasury clerks going home after working very late, had already crossed the path on their way to the gate of the compound; there wasn't any chance they'd obstruct Sharina. The clerks didn't have a lantern, and with the moon as bright as it was tonight Sharina didn't need one either. Protocol demanded it, though, as protocol demanded the squad of Blood Eagles accompanying her. She might not like either thing-and she didn't, any more than she liked the court robes or for that matter her just-completed meeting with Lady Faries, the Commissioner of Sewers-but they were part of the job of being Princess of Haft. "All rise for the Princess!" the linkboy said as he hopped up the three steps to the porch of Sharina's bungalow. Lamps hung to either side of the door, and the pair of Blood Eagles waiting there were-of course!-already on their feet. "I guess we can handle it from here, boy," the senior guard said. "I have my duties!" the boy said. "Right, and they're going to include getting a clout over the ear if you don't take yourself off, sonny," said the other guard. He wasn't being particularly unkind, but he sounded like he meant it. Sharina grinned wryly as she climbed the steps. She too found the boy irritating at the end of a long day. It wasn't completely beyond possibility that she'd have clouted him herself if she had to listen to much more of his piercing self-importance. Diora, her maid, opened the door holding a candle lantern; there were several lamps burning inside as well. A princess didn't have to skimp on lamp oil the way servants in a rural inn did; or at any rate, a princess' servants were of that opinion. Diora made a deep curtsey. The formality was for the soldiers; she knew Sharina didn't care for it, but they were both actors for so long as there was an audience.
"Master Cashel isn't back yet, your highness," she said. Sharina felt her heart fall; she hadn't realized till Diora spoke how much she'd been counting on hugging Cashel and feeling his calm strength. Cashel made people feel safe. It was more than the reality of what his muscles and other powers could accomplish: his very presence seemed to drive back Evil better than walls of stone or any other device could do. He was a good man, good to the core, and around him you couldn't help but believe Good would triumph. Diora closed the door. Sharina spread her arms to allow the maid to begin undoing the tucks and ties that bound Princess Sharina into her robes. "Would you like something to eat, your highness?" she asked as she worked. Diora'd been Sharina's maid for as long as she'd been princess. They weren't precisely friends, less because of social status than differing interests, but they got along well with one another. Sharina had other people to discuss Old Kingdom literature with, and Diora no doubt knew folks who shared her passion for association horse-racing; but the maid didn't mind doing all the jobs for which another noblewoman would expect a whole phalanx of specialists, and Sharina didn't scream curses or slash her maid across the face with a hairpin because she'd tugged a curl a little too hard. "No, no," Sharina said. "There's a pitcher and mug on the washstand, isn't there? I just want sleep." I just want Cashel to hold me, but she wouldn't put that in words to anyone but Cashel himself. "Oh, yes, your highness," Diora said, sounding-probably feeling-shocked at the question. That was like asking the maid if she thought Sharina should wear clothing when she went out in the morning. Sharina chuckled. So that Diora wouldn't think she was being mocked, she said aloud, "The Pool below the city's turning into a large lake now that the Beltis doesn't have the Inner Sea to drain into. That means the sewers will shortly begin to back up every time it rains." "Really?" the maid said. "I never imagined that!" Neither had Sharina, but now the government was in her hands.
The best solution to the problem was probably to abandon Valles; the site wasn't suitable for a large city since the Change. They couldn't do that now, however. The Change had already worked too much disruption. To tear up the capital and displace the government on top of it would probably bring the kingdom down. In the short term, Commissioner Faries and a pair of army engineers seconded to her department said that the Beltis River could be diverted upstream of the city, though that would require many men-perhaps the former oarsmen of the fleet?-and also a rerouting of supplies to the city.
Lord Hauk, Lord Royhas, and both Waldron and Zettin would have to be involved. But that was for another day. "Now, arms straight up, your highness," Diora said. Sharina obediently raised her arms; the maid swept the heavy robes up and off her with a single motion. So neat a job took considerable strength as well as skill. Sharina was very well served, and she knew it. "What now, your highness?" Diora asked as she hung the garment on its wicker form. "Shall I wait till Master Cashel arrives?" "No, no," said Sharina. "
Just go home, Diora. You can take a lamp with you." The maid laughed. "You think I can't find my way to the barracks with the moon so near full?" she said. "Well, have a good night, your highness. I'll be back in the morning." Ordinarily at least one servant would sleep in the anteroom of a bungalow occupied by members of the royal entourage. Sharina didn't need or want that, and Diora had an arrangement with a pleasant young under-captain of the Blood Eagles. The guard officers slept with their men, but they had separate apartments in the barracks blocks. The situation benefited both mistress and maid. Sharina left the lamp burning in the anteroom but she snuffed the lantern's wick between her thumb and forefinger before walking through the drawing room to the bedroom beyond. She didn't know when Cashel would be coming in; clouds might've covered the moon by then. She'd have liked to go with him and Tenoctris, both because they were her friends and because she wouldso much rather be helping the wizard than making decisions about sewers-which she knew nothing about, but which would affect the health and comfort of tens of thousands of people. What Tenoctris did affected all mankind, today and forever, but it was Tenoctris rather than Sharina who madethose decisions. No matter how much the older woman denigrated her abilities, Sharina and everyone else trusted her completely. A set of hair implements was neatly arranged on the dressing table against the outside wall. Sharina took a coarse comb and worked it slowly through her hair. There was a silver mirror, its back embossed in the same pattern as the brushes and other combs, but she left it where it was. Combing her hair was just a way to settle her mind; she wasn't tired after all, now that she was truly alone for the first time all day. She stepped to the side and looked up at the huge moon. Diora had slid the upper halves of the casements down, leaving the windows open to the height of Sharina's chin. She pulled at the comb, working it back and forth on snarls, as she thought about the life she was living now. Wealth and power hadn't made her happier; but Cashel made her happy. If they'd all stayed in Barca's Hamlet, the innkeeper's daughter wouldn't have been allowed to wed the poor orphan boy. Cashel wouldn't have asked her! Sometimes the things you gain from your choices aren't the obvious ones. The panes of the casement were diamonds the size of Sharina's palm, set in lead. The glass had been blown and rolled out flat before being cut. It was as clear as expert craftsmen could make it, so in daylight she could've looked out with only slight distortion on the boxwood hedge separating this bungalow from the nearest building. At night and doubled, the casements were at best translucent. When Sharina glanced down, she saw her blurred reflection. Except- She stepped back and stared at the image. Theimages. She could see herself, but there was someone else with her. Sharina glanced over her shoulder, raising the comb to strike. She was alone in the room. She peered again at the reflection, wondering if she saw herself in both casements simultaneously. But though she moved, the hazy other seemed to remain steady. She squinted, trying to make out the face of the second figure- And she was hanging in space. She shouted, dropping the comb as she tried to fling herself back. Her shoulders hit a wall that wasn't in her bedroom. She was in an apartment with high, peacock-patterned walls and swags of gold cloth. Smiling at her was an androgynous-looking man in a long crimson robe; behind him were two man-seeming creatures of featureless, silvery metal. "Greetings, darling Sharina," the man said in a voice as smoothly pleasant as his face. "I've brought you here to save you."
Chapter 5 "Fine," said Sharina, twisting for a quick glance behind her. She was in a rotunda and had backed into one of the eight fluted gold pillars supporting a dome of crystal and gold above her. From the smooth coolness to the touch of her hand, the pillar might've been real gold. "Then take me back. I don't need to be saved, by you or by anyone else." "Please, Sharina," the stranger said, spreading his hands palm-upward at waist level. "You're free to go back any time you wish, but I hope you'll first listen to what I have to say." Sharina considered. She didn't have even the comb for a weapon because she'd dropped it when she began topplinghere. She often wore the Pewle knife as a talisman under her outer robe, but a meeting with the commissioner of sewers was tiresome rather than being stressful. She'd have taken off the knife and its heavy sealskin belt as soon as she entered the safety of her bungalow anyway. "Quickly, then," Sharina said, darting glances to either side without seeing anything that seemed to offer a better solution than taking the fellow at his word.
"Of course," the man said. "And Ido apologize for my presumption, but I had no choice. I'm Prince Vorsan, by the way." "Quickly, I said!"
Sharina repeated. The shrillness of her voice warned her that she was nearing the limits of her control. Vorsan was her height and a bit heavier, but he didn't look muscular. She wasn't sure she could throttle him with her bare hands, but she'd try if she had to. "I built this asylum because I saw that my world was going to be destroyed," he said, gesturing with his left hand. "Your world in turn is about to be destroyed, so I'm offering you safety and immortality.
I've never granted this to anyone else in all the ages in which I've lived here, dear Sharina. Won't you sit down while I explain?" The outer wall of the rotunda was four double-paces beyond the ring of pillars. There were eight doors in the gorgeously painted wall and two impossibly perfect mirrors. Beneath each mirror was a low couch, seemingly upholstered with peacocks' tail feathers to match the walls.
The floor was a translucent blue-green. It shone and shifted, suggesting onyx chips or possibly real ocean beneath a smooth, invisible barrier. "I don't care to sit," Sharina said. She spoke harshly because otherwise her voice might've trembled. It was as much fatigue as fear working on her; in fact, she wondered if this might all be a dream or a hallucination. "Send me back to where I belong, if you will!" "Please, a moment only, Sharina," Vorsan said, frowning in frustration. "The Last will wash over your world as the seas did mine.
There's no way to stop them. Your only hope is to save yourself, and I offer you that safety. You will have food, wine, books." At each word, he pointed to a different door. The valves had the same golden sheen as the pillars and were molded in high relief. The figures on them were delicate and so perfect they seemed to move. "And we'll have all eternity to enjoy them," Vorsan continued. "There's no age or sickness or infirmity in this sanctuary which my genius has created." He smiled. "Try a glass of wine, why don't you?" he said. "I have a thousand vintages, all bottled at the perfect moment." A faceless silver statue stepped solemnly toward Sharina. On a salver that appeared to grow from its hand rested a squat bottle of green-glazed earthenware. "No!" Sharina said, reaching behind her for the Pewle knife whichof course she wasn't carrying. With careful calm she continued, "Prince Vorsan, you've convinced me that you're a great wizard, but I don't want your wine or food. I want to go home." On the salver which the other metal figure-they weren't statues, clearly-was holding were a round loaf and a slab of cheese the color of old ivory.
That figure hadn't moved, and Sharina'd be just as happy if it didn't.
"As you wish, Sharina," Vorsan said. He didn't give a noticeable signal, but the figure with the wine stepped back and froze again into metallic stasis. "Please don't call me a wizard, though; wizardry is mummery or madness. I am a philosopher of natural science, achieving my triumphs by knowledge and application rather than whimsical thrusts with powers I don't understand and can't really control." "Oh," said Sharina, startled and not fully able to comprehend what she'd just heard. Her opinion of most wizards-all wizards except Tenoctris-was in complete agreement with Vorsan's, but she didn't see the difference between wizardry and making statues walk. After clearing her throat and still not coming up with a useful way to continue that discussion, she said, "Well, I thank you for your concern, your highness, but as you noticed, my kingdom-my world, if you prefer-is being threatened by invaders. I have duties, especially in such a crisis, and I need to get back to them." "Sharina, there's nothing to be done," Vorsan said forcefully. "Will you watch my projections of the end of your world?
I've calculated all the factors, just as I did with th
e Flood. Others tried to stem the waters, but I knew the only hope was to create a cyst in the fabric of the cosmos. I can show you!" "I'm not interested in seeing your fancies!" Sharina said. "I have duties and I have friends, and I'm away from both of them so long as I'm here! I want to go home, Prince Vorsan." "Sharina, please try to understand," Vorsan said, opening his hands toward her. "My studies have generally been enough for me, but I've occasionally sought other companions. Never, though, never have I offered what I'm offering you. I want you to be my eternal consort, immortal and immaculately safe." His crimson robes moved easily as though they were tissue thin, but bronze plates couldn't have concealed his body more completely. She wondered if he was heavier than she'd thought at first. "Prince Vorsan, I'm asking for the last time," Sharina said, stepping toward her host. The stoneware wine bottle would make a satisfactory weapon, though striking Vorsan down wouldn't in itself get her home. And would the living statues take a hand if she attacked their master? "Wait!"