The Fortress of Glass coti-1

by David Drake

  Cashel slitted his eyes and turned to cover Tenoctris. The brightness was beyond imagining; it was like being put next to the sun. Beyond imagining…

  The blaze-it wasn't flames so much as hot white light-mounted higher than the mast would've been, higher than the tallest tree of Cashel's memory. Hellplants shrivelled. Bits of them lifted and spun into the air, black ashes disintegrating into black powder and vanishing.

  The hammering glare stopped abruptly. Cashel opened his eyes and lifted his body off Tenoctris. He'd supported most of his weight on the railing, but he was still glad when she looked up and him and said, "Thank you. Thank you. Are you all right, Cashel?"

  While the light blazed Cashel hadn't been aware of any sounds, but now people were screaming or praying or just blubbering in terror and pain. The air stank with a combination of wet straw burning and cooked meat. The sea as far as he could tell was black with drifting ash.

  Men who'd reached over the side of the ship had burned too. Most of them'd been dead already or next to it, snatched out of theHeron by a plant's crushing tentacles. Some had probably been pushing forward to fight, though.

  Well, it'd been quick. And it was done, so that was good.

  Tenoctris was all right. Ilna was down in the bow, wrapping a bandage over the torn skin on Chalcus' right forearm. Cashel looked at Cervoran, not exactly his business the way the women were, but maybe Cervoran too.

  The wizard stood like a wax statue, neither smiling nor concerned. The empty velvet sack was in his left hand, but he'd dropped the skull to the deck again.

  Cashel bent and picked up the cup. There was no telling when they'd need it again.

  ***

  Garric's head hurt. The blinding surge of pain every time his heart beat was all his universe could encompass just now. He wasn't sure how long he lay like this, he wasn't sure of anything but the pain.

  Then he noticed that other parts of his body hurt also.

  "It means you're alive," noted the ghost in Garric's mind with amused dispassion. "There came a time I couldn't say that, so be thankful."

  I'm not sure I'm thankful, Garric thought, but he knew that wasn't true as the words formed. He grinned and immediately felt better. Carus, who during a lifetime of war had been hurt as often and as badly as the next man, grinned back in approval.

  Garric opened his eyes. He was being carried under a long pole, lashed by the elbows and ankles. His head hung down. Two women from the village had the back of the pole; when he twisted to look forward he could see two more in front. It was raining softly, and there was only enough light for him to tell there were people in the group besides the women carrying him.

  A Corl warrior bent close to peer at Garric, then raised its head and yowled a comment. Other Coerli answered from ahead in the darkness. The women supporting the front of Garric's pole stopped and looked over their shoulders.

  The cat man slashed the leading woman with his hooked line, held short and jerked to tear rather than hold. The woman cried out in pain and stumbled forward again.

  Two Coerli walked toward Garric from farther up the line, a female wearing a robe of patterned skins and the maned giant who'd knocked him unconscious. The male was twice the size of the ordinary warriors, taller and about as heavy as the humans in this land. The female was as big as the warriors but unarmed. A crystalline thing sat on her right shoulder. It was alive.

  "Can he walk?" the big male asked. Garric's ears heard a rasping growl, but the question rang in his mind.

  "You!" said the female Corl, looking at Garric. She had four breasts, dugs really, under the thin robe. "Can you walk?"

  "I can walk," Garric said. He wasn't sure that was true, but it seemed likely to get him down from the pole. With his legs freed and maybe his hands as well, who knew what might happen? "How is it you can speak my language?"

  "We can't," the female said. "The Bird speaks to your mind and to ours."

  The crystal thing on her shoulder fluffed shimmering wings. Well, they might've been wings. It wasn't really a bird, but Garric supposed that was as good a name as any.

  "Where do you come from, animal?" the big male demanded.

  "My name is Garric," Garric replied. "I'll answer your questions as soon as you've let me down from here to walk on my own. Otherwise, there's not much you can do to me that'll hurt worse than I feel already."

  "That's not entirely true," noted Carus. "But a little bluster at a time like this can be useful. It's the best you can do till you've got a hand loose, anyway."

  Now that Garric was fully awake, the jouncing ride was excruciatingly painful. The Coerli must have better night vision than humans; they moved with complete assurance, avoiding puddles and trees fallen across the trail. The women carrying Garric couldn't see much better than he did, though. Somebody slipped at every step, and once both of those in front fell to their knees. The jerk on Garric's elbows made his mind turn gray.

  "All right, put him down," the big male said. "But keep him tied. Nerga and Eny? Walk behind the big animal and kill him if he tries to run."

  "Female animals, put the male Garric down," the female Corl said. She looked at Garric and added, "I am the wizard Sirawhil, beast Garric."

  The carriers stopped abruptly. Presumably they'd heard the big male just as Garric had, but they hadn't reacted till they got a direct order from the wizard. Now they more dropped than lowered Garric onto the muddy ground.

  The big male glared at Garric, fondling the knob of his wooden club. "I am Torag the Great!" he said. A warrior cut Garric's ankles away from the long pole. "No other Corl can stand against me!"

  A flint knife sawed Garric's elbows free. His wrists were still tied in front of him by thin, hard cords, but one thing at a time. He rolled into a sitting position and looked at his captor.

  Let me get my hands on you and I'll show you what amancan do, he thought. Aloud he said, "Why have you attacked me, Torag? I was not your enemy."

  Torag looked at him in amazement. He turned to Sirawhil and snarled-literally from his own mouth, and the tone of the words ringing in Garric's mind was equally clear, "What is this animal saying? He's a beast! How can he imagine he's an enemy to the greatest of the Coerli?"

  "You hit him on the head," Sirawhil said with a shrug. "Perhaps he's delusional. Though-"

  She glanced back; Garric twisted to follow the line of her eyes. Women from the village carried the bodies of two warriors. The cat men's corpses were light enough that a pair of bearers sufficed for either one.

  "-while he's only an animal, he's a dangerous one."

  "Resume the march!" Torag ordered. In a quieter though still harshly rasping voice he added to Sirawhil, "We can't get back to the keep by daylight, but I'd like to put more distance from the warren we raided. Just in case."

  He prodded Garric with the butt of his club. "Get up, beast," he said. "If you can't walk, I'll break your knees and have you dragged. Maybe I ought to do that anyway."

  Garric rolled his legs under him, rose to his knees, and then lurched to his feet without having to stick his bound hands into the mud to brace him. He wobbled and pain shot through his body-ankles, wrists and a renewed jolting pulse in his head-but he didn't fall over. He began plodding after the Corl warrior who was next ahead in the line. Torag and the female wizard fell in beside him.

  "He's not a great thinker, this Torag," Carus said. "He's too stupid to hear a good plan even when it comesout of his own mouth."

  He's not really afraid of me, Garric thought.

  Carus laughed. The king's good humor was real, but it was as cold and hard as a sleet storm.

  "Why are you so big, beast?" Torag said. "Are there more like you back in the warren where we captured you?"

  "Its name is Garric," Sirawhil said to her chief. "Sometimes using their names makes them more forthcoming."

  Garric looked at the Corl in amazement. Didn't they realize that he could hear what they said to one another?

  "The Coerli think only what t
hey say directly to you will be translated," said an unfamiliar voice in Garric's mind. "It's never occurred to them to test their assumption. They're not a sophisticated race."

  Neither of the Coerli had spoken. The Bird on Sirawhil's shoulder fluttered its membranous wings again.

  "I don't come from around here," Garric said. "I'm a visitor, you could say. All the members of my tribe are as big as me or bigger."

  Torag looked at Sirawhil, his face knotting in a scowl emphasized by his long jaw. "Is the beast telling the truth?" he demanded.

  "I don't know," Sirawhil said. "Usually they're too frightened to lie, but this one does seem different."

  In a sharp tone she added, "You beast women! Is the male Garric a stranger in your warren?"

  "I know where he comes from," called one of the woman carrying the dead warriors. "My husband Marzan brought him. Make somebody else take the pole and I'll tell you all about him."

  Garric turned. He understood the words only because the Bird translated them in his mind, but the tone of the speaker's voice identified Soma more clearly than he could see through rain and darkness.

  "Nerga, discipline that one," Sirawhil said off-handedly to the nearest warrior. Nerga lashed out with his line. Soma tried to get her hand up, but the Corl was too quick: the hooked tip combed a bloody furrow across her scalp.

  Soma wailed in despair but didn't drop the pole. Head bowed and her left hand clasped over the fresh cut, she stumbled on.

  "Speak, animal," Sirawhil demanded with satisfaction.

  "My husband sent men out to find the stranger," Soma said in a dull voice, no longer bargaining. "The stranger is a great warrior and was supposed to protect us."

  She raised her head and glared at Garric. "Protect us!" she said. "Look at me! What protection was the great warrior?"

  "Does she tell the truth, animal?" Torag said to Garric. He wore a casque of animal teeth drilled and sewn to a leather backing. As he spoke, he rubbed them with his free hand.

  From the chief's tone he was trying to be conciliatory, but he hadn't taken the wizard's suggestion that he call his prisoner by name. Indeed, not a great intellect… and the fact Torag rather than somebody smarter was in charge of the band told Garric something about the Coerli.

  "Itold you the truth, Torag," Garric said. "I'm a visitor here. Why did you attack me? My tribe has many warriors!"

  Walking had brought the circulation back to Garric's legs. That hurt, of course, but he'd be able to run again.

  If there'd been anywhere to run to. And he knew from seeing the Coerli move that at least in a short sprint they could catch any human alive.

  "Where does he come from, Sirawhil?" Torag asked, scowling in concern. "If there's really many like him…"

  "I can do a location spell," Sirawhil said. "We need to stop soon anyway, don't we? It's getting light."

  "I'd like to go a little farther…," Torag grumbled. Then he twitched his short brush of his tail in the equivalent of a shrug. "All right, if he's alone. If there was a whole warren full of them close, I'd keep going as long as we could."

  "I'm hungry, Torag," whined Eny, the second of the warriors told to guard Garric specially.

  The chief spun and lashed out. He used the butt of his club rather than the massive ball, but it still knocked the warrior down. Eny wailed.

  "You'll eat when I say you can eat, Eny!" Torag said. "Watch your tongue or I won't even bother to bring your ruff back home to your family!"

  Eny rolled to his feet almost before his shoulders'd splashed on the muddy ground, but he kept his head lowered and hid behind Nerga. Torag snorted and called, "All right, we'll camp here till it gets dark again."

  He looked at Sirawhil. "Learn where the animal comes from," he said forcefully. "And learn how many there are in his warren. That could be important."

  "Sit here, Garric," Sirawhil said, pointing to a hummock: a plant with fat, limp leaves spreading out from a common center. "You and I will talk while the warriors make camp."

  It looked a little like a skunk cabbage. The best Garric could say about it as a seat was that it wasn't a pond. He didn't have any reason to argue, though, so he squatted on one edge facing the Corl wizard squatting opposite him.

  "If they call this light," said King Carus, viewing the scene through Garric's eyes, "then they must see better in the dark than real cats do."

  Garric nodded. The eastern horizon was barely lighter than the rest of the sky, but even full noon in this place had been soggy and gray. Dawn only meant it was easier to find your footing between ponds.

  Warriors began trimming saplings for poles and stripping larger trees of their foliage. The Coerli hands had four fingers shorter than a human's; the first and last opposed. They looked clumsy, but they wove the mixed vegetation into matting with swift, careless ease.

  After staring silently for a moment, Sirawhil opened her pack of slick cloth and took out a bundle of foot-long sticks polished from yellow wood. They were so regular that Garric thought at first they were made of metal.

  "Don't move," she said. She got up and walked around the hummock, dropping the sticks into place as she went. Only once did she bend to adjust the pattern they made on the ground, a multi-pointed star or gear with shallow teeth.

  The Bird shifted position slightly on her shoulder to keep its place. Its eyes, jewels on a jeweled form, remained focused on Garric as Sirawhil made her circuit.

  Garric watched for a moment, then turned his attention to what the rest of the party was doing. He wondered how the warriors were going to build a fire on this sodden landscape. Perhaps there was dry heartwood, but most of the trees he'd seen were pulpy. They'd be as hard to ignite as a fresh sponge.

  "The Coerli don't use fire," said the Bird silently. Its mental voice was dry and slightly astringent. "They don't allow their human cattle to have fires either. In the villages the Grass People keep fuel under shelter to dry out and light their fires with bows."

  "Do you come from here, Bird?" Garric asked. He flexed his legs a little to keep the blood moving. He was used to squatting, but being trussed to the pole had left the big muscles liable to cramping.

  Sirawhil looked up as she finished forming her pattern. "We captured the Bird when we first came here to the Land," she said. "Torag and I are the only ones who have such a prize. The other bands can't talk to the Grass Animals they capture, so it's a great prize."

  "I am Torag the Great!" the chieftain roared, looking over at Garric and the wizard. "I've torn the throats out of two chiefs who thought they could take the Bird from me!"

  Nobody moved for a moment. His point made, Torag surveyed the camp. The warriors had raised matting around a perimeter of a hundred and fifty feet or so. Though the sun still wasn't up, it'd stopped raining and the sky was light enough for Garric to count a dozen Coerli and about that number of captive humans. All the latter were females.

  Torag gestured toward a plump woman. She'd been one of those carrying Garric when he was tied to the pole. She moved awkwardly; she seemed to have pulled a muscle in the course of the raid and march.

  "That one," Torag said.

  The woman looked up, surprised to be singled out. Eny grabbed her by the long hair and jerked her into a blow on the head from his stone-headed axe. The woman's scream ended in a spray of blood. Her arms and legs jerked as she fell.

  Eny and two more warriors chopped furiously at her head for a moment, sending blood and chips of skull flying. The rest of the band growled in delight. The Bird didn't translate the sound; it was no more than hunger and cruelty finding a voice.

  The three killers stepped back. Another warrior threw himself on the twitching corpse, his flint knife raised to slash off a piece. Torag roared and lifted his club. The warrior looked over his shoulder but hesitated almost too long. He leaped sideways with a despairing snarl; the chief's club hissed through the air where the warrior's head had been. It made a sound like an angry snake.

  Torag knelt, raised the dead woman
with his left hand, and tore her throat out without using a weapon.

  Garric stared at Sirawhil to keep from having to look at the butchery. "You eatpeople?" he said in disgusted disbelief. He saw it happening, but part of his mind didn't want to believe what was perfectly clear to his eyes.

  "Torag doesn't usually let the warriors have fresh meat," Sirawhil said nonchalantly. "They begin to mature if they do, and he'd have to fight for his position. In the keep they eat fish or jerky. Here on a raid, though, there's no other food so he'll share the kill."

  The big Corl leaned back. His muzzle was red and dripping. He stared around the circle of longing warriors with a grin of bloody triumph, then took a flint knife from his belt. He stabbed it into the woman just below the left collarbone, drawing the blade the length of the chest. The edge ripped through the gristly ends of the ribs where the joined the breastbone. Placing one furry hand on either side of the incision, he tore the chest open.

  "Flint's sharp, that's true," Carus said, grim-faced. "But he's a strong one, Torag. I wouldn't mind showing him how much stronger I was, though; or you are, lad."

  In good time, thought Garric. He'd seen women and children killed by beasts-and by men, which was worse. There was a particular gloating triumph to the way Torag tore out pieces of the victim's lungs and gulped them down, though. In good time…

  Sirawhil squatted on the hummock opposite Garric, within the figure of sticks. She began chanting. The sounds weren't words or even syllables in human terms, but Garric recognized the rhythms of a wizard speaking words of power.

  The spell helped to muffle the crunches and slurping from the other Coerli. Torag had eaten his fill and allowed his warriors at the victim. The sound was similar to that of a pack of hunting dogs allowed the quarry of their kill, only louder. The captive women huddled together, whimpering and trying not to look at what was happening to their late companion.

  Garric closed his eyes, feeling a wash of despair. A lot of it was physical: he was wet and cold, and his body'd been badly hammered. But this was a miserable place and situation. He didn't see any way to change it, and especially he didn't see any way out. What had brought him here?