"Ah, yes, the Tse'Mara," said Rathe casually. The speech had given him time to regain his composure. "I suppose your creatures were good enough against unsuspecting traders. But our soldiers dealt with them easily enough."
Gotha Karn started to snarl, but then he laughed. "Rathe of Stonekeep, I recognize you, you know! It was you who rallied your warriors, and drove off my Whispering Death, was it not?" He paused, and stroked the crystal skull. "Yes, I watched you. I was looking through my creatures' eyes as they died. I thought I'd killed you then, but it seems you lived. Well. But there are few left of your war-band now, are there? Where are the others? Dead, perhaps? You and that foolish dwarf are the only ones left."
Rathe hung his head, but inside he felt grim satisfaction. He'd learned what he wanted to know. The Shaman didn't know that Tam, Quin and Loric had survived! Whatever happened, Stonekeep would be warned against the Whispering Death. And Orvig—it sounded like he was still free...
"He still eludes you, then?" Rathe hazarded.
"The Dwarves? They won't get far. Dwarves are like rats—hiding in dark places comes naturally to them. But they are little danger." He stared at Rathe. "At first I thought to feed you to the Tse'Mara, you know," the Shaman said conversationally, "but I was impressed by your bravery as a warrior, ineffectual as it was. You sent three of my guards to throgi's halls, and four others will never fight again.''
"A shame," said Rathe.
Karn made a dismissive gesture. "If they lost to a pair of humans, I do not need them. But in defeating them, you showed yourself a worthy adversary, Rathe of Stonekeep." He laughed, high and mocking. "Maybe your people are worthy of honor." He eyed Rathe. "What do you say to that, Rathe of Stonekeep?"
"You are right in that," said Rathe. He turned Gotha's words over in his mind, unsure what game the Shaman was playing. "My people have honor."
"Good, good," said Gotha. "It is well to have agreement. But I must be sure. And my people must have proof."
"What kind of proof?" asked Rathe warily, sensing a trap.
Gotha turned to his warriors.
"This is Rathe of Stonekeep," he told them, speaking first in his own language, then repeating his words so that Rathe could understand them. "One of their war-chieftains. Are the people of Stonekeep worthy to be our allies? Or crawling worms, to be crushed? What shall we do?"
"Te il atua j'Isroth!" one of the copper-helmed guards shouted. The cry was taken up by the others.
"Aye, the Trial of throgi," said Gotha. "If the outlander proves himself worthy, I shall send him forth as an emissary, to deliver our words to the stone-dwellers! If they wish our friendship, they must acknowledge our dominion over the Vale of Khera, and pay us tribute to cut our trees! But if he dies, we will know the folk of the Keep are as weak as the villagers, fit only to be slaves, or fodder for the Tse'Mara. What say you, my warriors?"
"Gotha," they chanted. "Kyas j'Isroth!" Yes, the trial!
"What is this Trial of throgi?" said Rathe suspiciously.
"A simple one of skill and bravery, I think," said Gotha in a soothing voice. "You must face a beast of the forest, armed only with a short blade." He turned to his son, whispered something. The coiled youth grinned, and scurried away.
"What beast?" said Rathe. His stomach sank. "One of your Tse'Mara?"
"Do you think I am unfair, Rathe of Stonekeep?" He laughed, knowing Rathe's answer. "No, you face a lesser beast. Take him to the circle."
Two warriors grabbed his arms. "Wait, O Karn!" Rathe shouted. "What of the Dwarves and Kelandra? If I pass this test, they must go free too!"
There was sudden silence.
Gotha stroked the black skull and pursed his lips. "Very well," he said at length. "The two Dwarves are spies, but harmless. As for that girl—if you slay the beast, you may take her back with you. We shall not harm her. You have my oath-word."
"Thank you, great Karn," said Rathe. He let out a deep breath. Would Gotha break a promise made in front of his men? He hoped not. He would try his best to win. But what was this beast?
To Rathe's surprise, his guards didn't take him to the Circle immediately. Rather, he was led to a small room, and there given a sip of water and a few scraps of dry bread. He was kept there for a long time, then led awry and manhandled up a ladder. He felt a breeze blowing through his hair. With a start, Rathe realized he was outside, in Carkulroth's courtyard.
Overhead, the waning moon stood three-quarters full, enthroned by stars. Its light glinted on the blades of the warriors surrounding him—and on the wings of a dozen Tse'Mara, who watched from their perches atop the battlements.
But there was more than moonlight in the courtyard; a strange pale glow was visible somewhere up ahead. The Shaman sat on a short tripod. In his left hand he held the crystal skull. The glow radiated from the skull's eyes: a silver light, bright as a full moon.
As they dragged him forward, Rathe concentrated on the crystal skull, bringing his mage-sight to bear on it—and staggered.
He shrieked, and dropped to his knees. Sharp pain in his neck. A sense of dislocation. A soul-felt agony of loss, of separation, of humiliation. "Stop!" Rathe shouted. Thinking he had been screaming in terror, the throgs laughed and dragged him on. Rathe tore his gaze away. It ended. He gasped for breath and opened his eyes.
He found himself standing on the lip of a pit, lit by the skull's silver glow. It was about a half-dozen paces across and ten feet deep, its floor covered with packed earth. And within it—Rathe caught his breath. He was looking at a wedge-shaped head nearly as big as his own. Its mottled scales glistened coldly. The green slit-pupiled eyes met his gaze, and held it, unblinking. The head sat atop a coiled body, as thick as his leg, and nearly twenty feet long. It was a giant serpent.
Rathe thought back to the snakeskin he and Orvig had found outside Alda. The pattern was similar—it could easily have been shed by this monster.
Across the circle, the wind carried Gotha Karn's laughter. Beside him, Rathe could see Parlock grinning, as if at some private joke. Then the Shaman raised his hand, and Rathe felt his bonds being severed. A spear jabbed his back, and he was shoved forward. Rather than topple, he jumped, landing bent-kneed on the packed earth.
"What about the sword?" he shouted.
Gotha nodded. A warrior leaned forward, tossed a blade to him hilt-first. Rathe caught it. He nodded approvingly. It was a deadly tool: a bone-handled iron sword with a heavy stabbing blade. Not steel, but still sharp. But against that snake?
He would do it. For Kelandra. And maybe even for Stonekeep, if pandering to Gotha Karn's ego could help stop a war.
Rathe edged around slowly. Above him, the wind groaned. No, not the wind: the throgs had begun a low, sing-song chant, a deep moaning sound. The snake heard it too. It hissed, and swayed slightly, forked tongue flickering in and out, as if reluctant to attack. Perhaps the sound disoriented it, Rathe thought.
How should he fight a giant snake? Was it poisonous? If it was, a single scratch could mean the end. If not—if it was just a constrictor—it would seek to bite anyway, to hold him while the coils crushed his life out. Either way, then, it would try to bite. He would have to stab at the head while it struck at him.
Rathe decided he would aim for the eye, or failing that, for the tongue. The scales might be tough to penetrate. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet. The packed earth was slightly slippery, but with bare feet, not dangerously so.
The snake seemed reluctant to attack. Rathe stepped in and lunged for the eyes, hoping to find a weak point. The snake dodged, but only just, his blade passing inches from the arching neck. It coiled above him, hissing like one of Orvig's steam kettles. Rathe leapt back, guessing it would strike. But instead it circled, weaving to the left.
Again, Rathe attacked, feinting for its head, then spinning sideways to slash at its neck. But once more it outguessed him, sliding out of range, weaving about him, elegant as a dancer.
There was something almost hypnotic about its movements
, and with a start, Rathe realized it was playing with him, not attacking, trying to tire him out. He looked into its unblinking emerald eyes, and nodded. Creature of the forests, he asked it silently, have you hunted men or throgs before, ere the throgs took you for their sport? We are alike in this. But one of us must die!
Rathe circled it, slowly, the point of his blade extended, making cautious, probing attacks. It dodged them easily, but now Rathe was learning its pattern, the steps of the sinuous dance it wove about him. He almost had it, and he raised his blade knowing that it would move just so, and he would strike then, and it would die.
And suddenly the pattern was clear.
A dance. Rathe's mind floated back, to the hut in the village, to Kel, interweaving her dance with the serpent Akeshi. And Rathe knew. He stepped forward, but instead of using his sword, he struck with the finger of his right hand, his ring finger. He held a vision of Thera's rune burning in his mind, and he willed, not to see, but to restore!
The body of the snake flowed like water, and became Kel.
She stood in front of him, her dark hair flowing about her like a cloak, emerald eyes sparkling.
Rathe dropped his sword and took her into his arms. Then, together they turned to face the Shaman, Gotha Karn.
"It didn't work, Karn," Rathe shouted. "Your illusion failed. You wanted me to kill her! What of your oath?"
"I promised I would not harm her if you won," the Shaman said. He forced a laugh. "If you killed her, what is that to me? But you have failed the test. The snake, the Jedaykeen still lives. Unless you'd like to kill her now."
"The snake is gone, O Karn!" cried Rathe angrily. "I saw your trick and I dispelled it with one blow! Where is your honor, O Karn?
The throg warriors murmured. Did Rathe hear agreement in their voices?
"Kill her now, and go free!" cried Karn angrily. "Or die!"
"I'd rather die," said Rathe. He felt Kel's arms tighten around him.
"Very well," said Gotha Karn. He turned to his son. "Parlock, take them back to the pits. I want a suitable demise planned for them, for tomorrow's feast." He grinned. "Be imaginative, or you'll be joining them." The Shaman stood.
"Kyas," said Parlock. He gestured. The warriors closed in.
The cell, barely big enough for one, was cramped with both of them in it. Rathe didn't mind. Gently, he touched Kel's shoulder. There was no sign of a wound.
"Don't worry," said Kelandra. "I won't break."
"You're all right," Rathe said wonderingly. "But the spear wound!"
"Haven't you guessed?" Kel said bitterly. "My secret."
"The snake," Rathe said slowly. "It wasn't an illusion after all, was it?"
"No," Kel answered. She turned her face away. "I'm accursed. A shapeshifter. A weresnake." She grimaced. "Jedaykeen," she said. "Slithering Terror. We heal fast, when we change shape."
"It doesn't matter," Rathe said. Gently, he took her face in his hands, turned her to face him. He kissed her. She responded.
They didn't speak for a long time after that. Then they slept.
"I was the Shaman's daughter, you see," Kel told him. She had begun talking soon after they awakened. She was nestled in his arms, and he stroked her hair as she spoke. "I had the power, and had been trained from childhood. But I made a mistake. I got arrogant. There was a youth from Gothmeg, older than me, I liked him, but he had his own lover. I used my magick to change his feelings about her. But my spell was too strong. His love twisted to hate. He—hurt her."
"Oh, Kel," said Rathe. He hugged her. "You were how old then?"
"Fifteen," Kel said. "It's easy to be jealous when you're young."
"The Shaman found out. I was brought before the village elders. They said I'd acted like a serpent. Some wanted to kill me. Stone me to death. But a wandering priestess was visiting. A priestess of Thera, strong in rune magick. You can guess the rest."
"Kel—this Theran priestess?" Rathe asked. He stopped, not daring to hope. "Was it...?"
"Yes. Her name was Rhea. She must have been your mother. I only met her for a few hours. I never saw her again. But I guess I owe her my life."
"After that, I was an exile. I lived outside the village. Then the Tse'Mara came. You know the rest."
"How often do you change?" Rathe asked.
"For years and years, I was a snake all the time. Rathe, I was fifteen when you were a baby! The snake body... it doesn't anger, and it doesn't age. Rhea put me there to learn patience. Oh, love, I needed that lesson. As I mastered myself, I learned to master my shape as well. Now it's only during a full moon that I have trouble holding human form. That's why I ran away, that first time we met. It was my skin you found." She frowned. "Gotha Karn used his rune-skull to force me to change. And you broke it with Thera's rune."
"Yes," said Rathe. "That skull—it's connected with Thera somehow." Rathe hesitated, then went on. "Your curse was crafted by a Theran priestess. My mother! And the ring, the skull, the image of the Tse'Mara—all versions of the rune on the floor of the great temple, the temple in my dream."
"It could be," said Kel. "But that temple—you saw it ruined, the rune breaking, shattering?"
"Yes," said Rathe. "But listen: the throg girl said Gotha Karn took the skull from an ancient temple. I think it's the same one. A temple of Thera. And because Thera's rune is broken, it can be defiled. And its powers twisted and stolen by Gotha Karn."
Kelandra frowned. "What?" said Rathe.
"I just realized something," Kel said. "It's been quite a while. Aren't we late for our execution?"
As if to punctuate her words, the walls shook slightly, and they heard a muffled crash.
"Earthquake!" Rathe shouted. Raised in Stonekeep, he knew no greater terror.
"Wait," said Kel. "That didn't feel like a quake." She sniffed. "I smell smoke."
The trapdoor creaked open. Smoke was everywhere. Through the fumes, they saw a green face—a throg wearing a leather helmet and a yellow neck scarf. He peered down. "Li-uasru ki Rathe?" he shouted. He swiped at the vapor, coughing.
Rathe tried to reply, but choked in the smoke. He settled for a vigorous nod.
The throg coughed again, grinned, and lowered down a rope.
By the time they had climbed out, the smoke was slowly clearing. The door to the prison chamber seemed to have been blown off its hinges, as if by a mighty wind. Splinters of charred wood mingled with bodies and parts of bodies. Rathe saw dented copper helmets, and guessed the dead were Gotha Karn's guards. But there were half a dozen live throgs in the room, males and females, of all ages. Some of their rescuers wore armor, others had none. They had one thing in common: they wore yellow scarves and carried swords, spears and axes, and all had a grim light in their eyes. A red-stained bandage was wrapped about the leader's shoulder. It didn't seem to bother him. Rathe recognized him as one of the partying throgs—one of those who had refused to toast Gotha Karn.
"Warrow-hor junder mu!" the bandaged throg said proudly. Seeing Rathe's lack of comprehension, he frowned, then said in halting tradetalk, "We use dwarf-made thunder-barrel." He gestured widely with both arms. "Badoom!"
Rathe stood, astonished. Then a slow smile spread across his face. He turned to Jhen.
"Orvig's alive!"
"Uasru ki Ormandarn!" he said. I a m Ormandarn, Rathe mentally translated. "Follow! We take you to dwarf and new Shaman."
The throgs let Rathe and Kelandra grab weapons from the dead guards, then hurried them through the corridors. The battle was still raging. The throgs moved quickly but cautiously, warily scanning each intersection, then dashing down straight passages. They heard shouts and screams, and running footsteps, and once a distant explosion. Several times they stepped over bodies. Many of them wore copper helmets, but many did not.
They found Orvig in a wide chamber. He was standing at a table, staring at what looked like a map, surrounded by a half-dozen armed throgs. The dwarf looked tired, but unhurt.
Ormandarn marched up to him. "Warrow!" h
e said.
"Garz?" Orvig replied absently. Then he looked up. "Rathe!" he shouted, and hugged him. He looked at Kel, then hugged her too. Laughing, Kel returned the embrace. Orvig pulled back, shook the throg's hand.
"Thank you, Ormandarn! It went well?"
"Well!" the throg said. He gave a tusky grin. "I go now," said Ormandarn. "Kill more bug-lovers!"
"Orvig! What's happening?" said Rathe.
"Can't you guess?" Orvig said. "The revolution!" He laughed. "Turns out quite a few throgs didn't like Gotha Karn's leadership—or his high-and-mighty copper-head thugs. They want to go back to the old days, when throgs fought their battles without insects, and leaders had honor, and everyone was equal under the Shaman."
"Jevaka Raye's doing?" Rathe guessed.
"Top marks, my boy." Another distant explosion shook the walls. "And Jhen and I made them a few tricks, as well. We Stonemelters know a few things about chemistry." He grinned.
"How'd you get away, Orvig?" asked Kel.
"Those secret passages I mentioned? Jevaka Raye's a canny old bird. He knew them all—he built most of them. We used them to slip past Karn's guards. So while Karn busied himself tormenting you and Kelandra, Jevaka Raye was contacting his partisans. We struck two hours ago. It took time to fight our way down here."
"I'd been wondering," Rathe said. "Why did Gotha Karn and his son leave Raye alive? It seems foolish."
"Jhen told me," Orvig said. "Karn got most of his magick from the crystal skull. He has power, but not knowledge. He's been trying to force Jevaka Raye to tell him how things work. He thought that blinding the old man would make him harmless." Orvig laughed shortly. "About as harmless as a boot full of scorpions. Glad he's on our side."
"How's the fight going?" Rathe asked.
"Hard to say," said Orvig. "Gotha was taken by surprise—he hadn't thought Jevaka Raye would move so fast. Hadn't realized how hated he was. The rebels have the numbers—but Gotha's guard have better weapons, and the Whispering Death only obey him. He's barricaded in the upper part of the stronghold with about fifty of his followers. Old Jevaka and six-score throgs are outside, besieging him. Everyone else is lying low." Orvig sighed. "It'll be bloody. The siege could take days." Ormandarn and another throg had just reentered the room, pushing a shuffling line of bound prisoners. Rathe recognized one of the faces: Parlock Karn, the Shaman's son. A plan crystallized.
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