The Fortress of Glass coti-1

by David Drake

  Sharina glanced at Tenoctris who sucked her lips in and shrugged. "I can't judge what Lord Cervoran can do or should be permitted to do, your highness," she said with quiet formality. "I'm trying to follow the various currents of power about us, but I haven't been able to do so as yet."

  "You have no choice, fools," Cervoran squeaked. "The Green Woman has sent her servants against one place at present. She will attack other places, all the places on this island. Unless they are stopped, her creatures will advance until they have killed me. Then they will conquer this island and all islands. Only I can stand against the Green Woman, and I must have my chamber of art!"

  "Yes, all right," said Sharina calmly. She didn't like Cervoran's tone, but she didn't see any useful result from trying to teach him manners. Whatever he'd been in his earlier life, since Ilna dragged him off the pyre he'd acted less like an adult than like a child-or perhaps like a storm, howling and whistling and sizzling with ungoverned power.

  "Cashel must help me," Cervoran said. "And Protas, who is clay of this clay."

  "PrinceProtas?" Ilna said, the words coming out clipped and hard. "Your son, the child?"

  "It is necessary," Cervoran said. "His clay, hisflesh is of this flesh."

  All the time Cervoran was speaking, the near copy of him stared at the original with cold black eyes. Sharina wondered what the double's voice would sound like if he spoke.

  Aloud she said, "I won't order a child to help in wizardry. I won't order anybody to help your wizardry!"

  She looked at Cashel, opening her mouth to repeat her words in a more personal fashion, but Cashel was already giving her a slow grin. "It's all right, Sharina," he said quietly. "If I can do something to help, I will. And I guess Lord Protas feels the same way. He's a good boy, though he's, you know, younger than I was or Garric was."

  "Find him and ask him, then," Sharina said, suddenly tired from making decisions for other people that meant life or death; for them, perhaps for everyone in the kingdom. "But I won't order him!"

  She knew Protas would go anywhere that Cashel was willing to take him: the boy would've accompanied the group to the charnel house if Tenoctris had permitted it. And Sharina understood that more than the life of one boy hung on Cervoran's wizardry. The child who'd been watching the field at Calf's Head Bay had been younger than Protas was when he fell victim to the hellplants.

  But as she watched Cashel leave with Cervoran and the lesser copy of Cervoran, she was glad Liane wasn't here to listen. Liane wouldn't have allowed Cervoran to use Protas, no matter how critical the boy's presence might be to the survival of the kingdom.

  Liane's father had been a wizard too; and in the end, he'd been ready to sacrifice his daughter's life to complete an incantation.

  Chapter 8

  Cashel opened the door of the chamber and stepped through first. He held his staff at the balance in his right hand. He wasn't exactly poised to bash anybody waiting inside to attack them, but Well, if somebody inside was waiting to attack them, Cashel would bash him. There were people who jumped at shadows and that was silly, but recently some shadows had been doing the jumping. Cashel wasn't going to let anything happen to his friends because he hadn't watched out for them. That's what a shepherd did, after all.

  There was pretty much nothing inside, just the cases of books and oddments along the back wall. The windows were shuttered and the door to the rest of Sharina's suite was closed. Light bled through the cracks, but not enough to properly see the figures laid into the floor. The tapestry on the west wall was a square of shiny blackness.

  While the others came in, Cashel walked across the room to throw back the shutters. Protas had scooted up right beside him, which was all right now. The boy'd had the good sense to stay out of the way when Cashel got ready to open the door, though, which not every adult would've done.

  "Leave the windows as they are!" Cervoran said. His voice didn't get any deeper in here, but it echoed in a funny way. "There is light enough for my art."

  Cashel didn't say anything, just turned. "Light enough" he'd grant; but that was different from saying more light would be a bad thing. Creatures that scuttled when light fell on'em generally weren't good company in darkness, either.

  He didn't like this room. There wasn't anything specific wrong, it just felt like all sorts of things were pushing for space. Which was funny since it was near as empty as a barn in springtime, but Cashel guessed that meant there were more things here than his eyes were seeing. That stood to reason.

  Sharina came in with Attaper and a double handful of guards standing so close that Cashel could scarcely see her through all the black-armored bodies. What did they think they were going to do that I couldn't of?

  But Cashel held his tongue. That was something he'd learned young and never forgotten, even after he'd got his growth and pretty much could say what he pleased.

  Cervoran raised his hand. He wasn't holding the athame, but the topaz crown winked in a way that made him look bigger than he had in full sunlight.

  "Stop!" he said. "No one may be present while I build a portal. I and Cashel and the clay will perform the rites without interference."

  "What does he mean, 'the clay,' Cashel?" Protas whispered.

  Cashel touched a hand to the boy's shoulder to reassure him, but he kept his eyes on Cervoran. The way the wizard talked wasn't much to Cashel's taste, but words weren't enough to get upset over.

  "Lord Cervoran?" Tenoctris said quietly. A couple of the soldiers were probably her guards, but they gave her more space than Attaper did Sharina. "I would-"

  "No one!" Cervoran said. He always sounded angry or at least out of sorts, but there was more than usual of it now. "I and Cashel and the clay Protas, no one else!"

  Sharina must've said something testy to her guards, because a couple of them moved sideways to let her step between them and face Cervoran directly. "Milord," she said, "I remind you again: you do not give orders in this kingdom."

  She looked at Cashel. He drew himself up another fingertip of straightness. Sharina was so very beautiful. His Sharina…

  "Cashel," she said. "I know you're willing to do this. I want your opinion as a friend: should I allow the ceremony to go ahead with only the three of you present? I'm asking because I trust your instinct."

  Cashel thought for a moment. "Ma'am," he said, formal because it was a real question she was asking. "I don't see how it could hurt. I mean, it may go wrong but nobody else being near could help, right Tenoctris?"

  Tenoctris gave a quick dip of her chin. "I agree," she said simply.

  "We must be alone," Cervoran said shrilly. He didn't bother to turn to look at Cashel behind him. "It is necessary!"

  "All right," said Sharina. Cashel felt the emotion that she kept out of her voice. "We'll wait in my suite."

  There was a shuffle as folks, mostly soldiers, got turned around and shuffled into what'd been the Queen's bedroom. Chalcus, smiling on the surface and as angry underneath as Cashel'd ever heard him, said, "And your copy that we went to the tomb to get you, Master Cervoran? Does that one go or stay?"

  "I go," the double piped, sounding exactly like Cervoran himself. "My time is not yet come, but soon."

  They left the room. Sharina turned in the doorway and said, "Cashel? May the Lady be with you."

  Then she shut the door behind her. She's so very beautiful…

  "Come here," Cervoran said, walking heavily across the room. He stopped and bent, placing the crown on the floor.

  Cashel's eyes had adapted well enough he could see the lines inlaid on the stone floor. The jewel was in the center of a triangle, and a circle scribed the triangle's three points.

  Cervoran shifted so he was standing in the scoop of floor between the inside of the circle and one flat side of the triangle. He pointed-with his hand, he still wasn't using the athame or another pointer-at the side to his left and said, "Cashel, go there. Protas, clay of this clay-"

  He pointed with his other hand.

&nb
sp; "-go there. Kneel, Cashel and Protas, and put your fingers on the talisman."

  Protas hesitated. Cashel squatted, keeping the staff against the floor as a brace. He didn't ordinarily kneel and he wasn't going to now unless Cervoran said he absolutely had to do it that way. If Cashel had a choice, he wasn't going into this business in a posture that made him uncomfortable.

  He smiled at Protas as he touched the topaz with his fingertips. It felt warm, which surprised him a little.

  Protas squatted also, then had to bob up and pull some slack in his trousers to give his knees room. The boy wobbled for a moment, then had to touch the floor to keep from falling backward.

  "Just go ahead and kneel, Protas," Cashel said, trying not to smile. "I'm used to squatting, but you ought to do what you're used to."

  Protas knelt. He looked doubtful, but Cashel knew that the boy would try if he told him to stand on his hands. He touched the back of Cashel's fingers, then slipped his fingers down onto the topaz.

  Cervoran dropped to one knee, then the other. He moved like a doll on strings. Cashel didn't flinch when the wizard reached out, but he was just as glad their fingers didn't touch.

  "Horu wo awita…," Cervoran chanted. "Siwa sega sawasgir…"

  The room went completely black, as black as soot on fire irons, but the topaz kept the same slight glitter as before. Cashel could see the tips of his own fingers and the others' too, but he couldn't tell where the windows were except from memory. Protas' hand trembled, but the boy didn't whimper or jerk away.

  "Phriou apom machri…," said Cervoran. "Alchei alchine cheirene…"

  The topaz blazed with yellow fire that didn't light anything. Cashel couldn't see his hands any more; he couldn't feel Protas or the staff. His body tingled all over.

  MONZO MOUNZOUNE, thundered a voice. It wasn't Cervoran speaking because Cashel was completely alone in a universe of pulsing yellow light. IAIA PERPERTHOUA IAIA!

  The light was sunlight. Cashel fell onto his side in a meadow because he'd lost his balance during the incantation. Flowers growing in the short grass scented the air.

  "Cashel!" Protas cried, jumping up from his sprawl. The crown lay between them. The topaz was its usual yellow color with muddy shadows from the flaws inside the stone. "Cashel!"

  Instead of answering, Cashel rolled to his feet and slanted the quarterstaff crossways before him. In a grove of trees nearby a woman with a horse's skull for a head played the harp. Accompanying her on a lute was a rat standing upright; it was the size of a man. Their music screeched like rocks rubbing hard against each other.

  A winged demon with tiny blue scales for skin and a tail as long as its body faced Cashel. It was standing where Cervoran had been in the room during the incantation, but Cervoran was nowhere to be seen now.

  "You are Cashel and Protas," the demon said. It was so thin it looked like the blue hide had been shrunk over a skeleton, but its voice was a booming bass. "By the decision of one who has the power to command me, I am to escort you to the next stage of your journey."

  The demon threw its head back and laughed thunderously. "I would rather tear the flesh from your bones!" it added, and it laughed again.

  Protas had jumped around behind Cashel, closer than he ought to be if there'd been a fight; but there wouldn't be a fight. Cashel raised the staff upright in one hand and put the other on the boy's shoulder.

  "Better pick up the crown, Protas," he said.

  "Cashel?" said the boy. The demon had stopped laughing, but the lute and harp continued to make their ugly sound. "He said he was going to eat us?"

  "He said he'd like to," Cashel explained. "But somebody bigger 'n him is making him help us."

  "All right, Cashel," Protas said. He ducked down and grabbed the crown, but he didn't look at the demon again till he'd skipped back to Cashel's side.

  "Anyway," Cashel said, speaking for the boy's sake and not just to brag, "what he means is he'dtry to eat us. Folks've tried that in the past, and some of them-"

  He smiled at the demon, the sort of smile he'd used lots of times just before a fight started.

  "-were a good bit bigger than that fellow is."

  ***

  Donria took Garric through the gate while the neck-bound women waited uncertainly. Beyond was a single long hut and, in the gray distance, either a number of larger buildings or more likely raised beds like those the people of Wandalo's village used to drain the roots of their crops.

  "You lot, pick up the other male and drag him in with you!" one of the escorting warriors said as the women started through after Garric. The line shuffled to a stop.

  "Bend down!" Soma said. "Bend down, you fools!"

  By half-dragging the women nearest her in the coffle, Soma got enough slack in her neck ropes to get her arms under Crispus. She rose, holding the groaning man's right arm over her shoulders and clasping him about the waist with her left hand. The line resumed moving.

  Soma's strength was impressive, though that didn't surprise Garric since he'd grown up in a peasant village. Women in Barca's Hamlet worked as hard as the men did and often for longer hours.

  Women who'd been waiting inside the wall crowded around Garric. He couldn't be sure of the number in this foggy darkness, but there were at least twenty and perhaps half again as many. They chattered among themselves and threw comments and questions at him as well: Where did you come from, Garric?/You're so big, I've never seen such muscles/Oh, your hair's all bloody, did Crispus hurt you? Fingers plucked at him, testing and caressing.

  The last of the coffle moved through. The gates groaned shut on their rope hinges. A bar squealed into place on the other side, where Nerga and Eny stayed. Sirawhil was outside also, but the Bird gave a chirrup and flew from her shoulder to settle in a glitter of wings on the ridgepole of the longhouse.

  "It wouldn't take much to open the gates," Carus observed. "Just cut the hinges. Even without a proper knife that wouldn't be hard to arrange. Of course there's the guard in the watchtower…"

  He was just thinking aloud, not planning anything for the time being. It wasn'tidle speculation, though. Garric had learned that the way Carus always thought about the military possibilities of a situation meant he reacted instantly to threats that would've taken most generals completely by surprise.

  "Give us room here!" Donria said. "Newla, if you touch him again, I'll break your fingers. Do you hear me? Moveback!"

  The women moved a little, enough that Garric could shift into a wider stance without stepping on somebody. Donria's authority had to be based on more than the physical threat she'd just made: she was a small woman, and though she was obviously fit it would've been remarkable if that weren't true of most of the others. He'd seen in Wandalo's village that the Grass People didn't have enough surplus to keep fine ladies in pampered leisure.

  "Here, Newla," Donria said, giving her pointed dowel to a rawboned woman half a head taller than she was. "Get the new arrivals loose, won't you? You know what it's like when you're first brought here. And Brosa? You and the other girls in your section, start dishing food out. Bring Garric's to the headman's room, he'll stay there now."

  "What about Crispus, Donria?" asked a woman Garric couldn't see in the crowd.

  "Well, what about him?" Donria said sharply. "Yousaw, didn't you? Garric's our headman now!"

  Garric let Donria walk him along, guided by her hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure that he wanted to be headman of this slave community, but he was very sure that he didn't want Crispus to be headman over him.

  The longhouse was similar to the houses in Wandalo's village, built of thatch instead of shakes, wicker, and a floor of puncheons-logs flattened only on the top side. The construction was cruder, though, and the design was nothing like what the Grass People built on their own. This was a copy of the Coerli chieftain's hut, constructed by slaves from common materials.

  Donria led him inside. Garric hadn't been able to see much in the open air; here he was stone blind. The floor had been roughl
y shaped with a stone adze but smoothed only by those walking on it. Garric's feet didn't pick up splinters, but it felt as though he were stepping onto the shingle beach of Barca's Hamlet.

  "Donria, I can't see inside," he said, stopping where he was.

  "Your room is right here, Garric," Donria said. She pressed against him, a reasonable way to direct him to the left. More was going on than that, of course, but Donria seemed considerably more intelligent than Soma was.

  But-Donria had to be aggressive or she wouldn't be leader here, and she knew she wouldn't remain leader without the support of the headman. Garric smiled faintly. The ram of the flock. The concept wasn't new to him, but its application to human beings certainly was.

  Donria opened a door and led him into a separate room. His eyes must be adapting a little, because the open gable was noticeably brighter than everything around it. There was a flutter as the Bird landed there, a blotch of shadow and highlights.

  "Here's the couch," Donria said. He heard withies creak as they took her weight. He eased himself down also, then regretted it. The bolster was damp; probably damp with the former headman's urine, judging from the smell pervading the room.

  Garric jumped up. He wasn't fastidious by the standards of city folk, but his father had kept a clean inn. Besides, well-rotted waste fromall animals was the best manure you could put on a field: Crispus was not only a pig, he was a wasteful pig.

  "Get this out of here!" he said jerking the bolster off the bed. It was coarse sacking stuffed with straw. Donria'd gotten up when he did, backing slightly away till she learned what was bothering him. "If there isn't a clean one, I'll sleep on the slats."

  Donria pulled open the inner door and hurled the bolster into the main hall. "Newla, bring our headman a fresh mattress. Quickly, before he gets angry!"

  "I'm not angry," Garric said quietly. "Well, not at you. This is a terrible way for people to live!"

  There were slave pens in the Kingdom of the Isles too. Not officially, but the lot of a tenant farmer on Sandrakkan or in the east of Ornifal could be very hard if he fell behind to the landowner… and they all fell behind to their landowners in a bad year, which meant forever after. That was something he'd deal with as soon as he got back…