by Larry Niven
Aros started to speak, and the general shushed him. “Neoloth? Your servant? Never mind, I don’t want to know more. I ask you for one thing: if I do all I can to undo the hell I have wrought, will you do what you can to protect my wife and guests…?” He smiled at Mijista. “I believe I can trust you to protect my son’s would-be bride.” The smile hardened. “Do I have your word you will protect the princess?”
Aros fumbled for words. “General, Princess, that word is already given. I … she will need to be returned home.”
“I believe you are a man of resource,” the general said. No more lies.
“I will. I so swear, by the Feathered Serpent.”
The general nodded. He turned to the captives, who were no longer quite so dazed. “Men!” he called. “Many of you were captured in war. You may not see your homes again. But if you are fighting men, then you can die as warriors instead of sheep. You can fight beside me, and if we win this day, I swear you will be returned to your homes and compensated for the wrongs done to you. And that effort will help the helpless among you, those who cannot fight but were caught up in this terrible thing. So I ask you … who fights with me?”
The former captives looked from one to the other, and, one at a time, their arms rose with hands clenched into fists.
“You know what it was like to fight against me,” he said. “Now, let us learn what it is to fight together!”
They drummed their chests with their fists, perhaps wary of making too much noise.
“Kasha. The army on this side of the wall is loyal to the Hundred, I’m afraid,” he said. “If I can reach my men in the royal barracks, we are saved. But that will require a distraction.”
“What do you have in mind?” Aros said, beginning to guess.
“There is the abomination I helped to create,” Silith said, waving into the cavern mouth. “And there”—he pointed to wooden crates—“are some of the marvels that were sent back to us. Come.”
With the general’s help, Aros pried open one of the boxes. It was filled with sawdust and paper-wrapped tubes that looked like candles. He reached out for one.
“Be careful,” the general cautioned him. “They have great power.”
“What are they?”
“Some sort of strange magic,” the general replied. “Little volcanoes. We take a little silver stick—” There was a smaller bundle within the box, and it contained multiple metallic sticks the length of his thumb and not much wider than a nail. The general pushed one into the top of one of the candles. Coiled at the side of the box was a reel of red cord. The general used his knife to cut off a length of it and stuck it down the hole made by the silver stick.
“When I light this, the stick goes ‘bang’; then the candle goes ‘bang.’ You can bundle these together to make a larger ‘bang.’”
“I think that might be a very good idea,” Aros said.
They worked together for a half hour, grouping boxes of the candles around the base of the main tunnel, then setting several sticks into candles and cords to the sticks.
Long cords.
“These are our lifelines,” Silith said. “We must be out of the compound by the time the fuse burns down, or we die. Listen to me!” He raised his voice to a scream.
“There are women and children here. And those who cannot fight. We will have to make our way through the barrier before the candles explode.”
“Through the gates? Are they not heavily guarded?” Jade asked.
“There is another way,” Silith said.
* * *
The prisoners had been held in the rear of the Octagon, and Silith had had to kill only two guards to free them. Aros followed his lead, the fighting men they had freed before and behind, scavenging weapons from the dead as they went.
They encountered scant resistance, and Silith and Aros met it stride for stride. In the moments they had been together, testing each other’s skills or fighting in tandem, Aros was learning something different, something new about the art of the sword and combat itself.
Aros’s sword was like his arm, obeying his commands instantly. But Silith seemed to be one with his sword. His mind and heart were within it, transforming it into an intelligent thing that seemed to have a mind of its own, such that the men who came against him were like cattle presenting themselves for the slaughter. He blended with them, found openings, as water flows through an open hand, leaving death in his wake.
How had such a man made himself a part of such evil? Aros tried not to wonder what some other person would think of the less savory parts of his own past.
Not only had Aros never seen its like, but Silith seemed to inspire him to find that place within himself, such that by the time they reached the outer door, a trail of gashed corpses behind them, both men panting now, he realized he had been transformed by the experience.
“What now?” he asked. “What do we do?”
Silith looked down the hill at the barracks. It had not awakened: their butcher’s work had been sufficiently quiet. It seemed that a building constructed to stifle the screams of the damned could also serve to suppress those of the dying.
“Follow me,” he said.
Moving from shadow to shadow, Silith led the captives to a section of the wall and probed to find a hidden door. “Through here,” he whispered. “You take the front.”
“And on the other side?”
“Make your way to my home,” Silith said. “Get Jade and Mijista there, and the Quillian princess. It is secure. And get the princess back to her home, whatever it takes.”
Aros knew exactly what he needed to do to accomplish that. But what of the others who had accompanied them?
“On the other side of the Great Wall will be those who try to kill you.” The fighting men among the prisoners were bloodied now, their stolen swords slicked with gore, their eyes those of rabid wolves. They had no love for the man who had captured them, did not know why he had suddenly become their benefactor, and in time they might very well turn against him. But for now, they were his.
“You will fight through the city,” he told them, the call of command still in his voice. “And cut your way to the harbor. Take a ship. Some of you are sailors?”
They nodded.
“Then, good luck.” He opened the passageway, and they began to crawl through.
Jade threw her arms around her husband’s neck. “What of you?” she asked. “What is your intention?”
“I have business,” he said, “with the wizard who tried to kill you. And I will have satisfaction.”
Her eyes widened with alarm. “No! Please! Come with us!”
She kissed him, and he drank deeply of her lips. “Know, my darling, that for all my sins, I have loved you more than anything in this life.”
He gripped Aros’s hand, locking eyes with him. “Fight beside a man, and you know him,” he said. “You may or may not be my son … but you are my brother. Take care of her. See the princess home.”
“That I will do.”
And now, at last, a smile curled Silith’s lips. “And Mijista would make a good wife—”
Behind them, the sky lit with blue flame, and the earth shook with a ghastly roar. Flame and smoke gushed from the cave, laced with lightning, and then the mountainside collapsed.
“Go!” he whispered fiercely as the entire compound awakened, men crying alarum.
Aros ushered the last of them into the tunnel and closed the door behind him.
THIRTY-FIVE
Changing Faces
General Sinjin Silith was in a killing mood. He flowed from shadow to shadow like a wraith and watched with savage satisfaction as the compound boiled with screaming, running men.
When he encountered a soldier, he let the man run by if possible. But every member of the Hundred, every red robe, he slew without mercy before they could mumble their spells or point their wands. He was almost surprised at how easy it was. Most of their magic must have been invested in the time tunnel, with little remaining for their pe
rsonal safety.
Bad planning.
He entered the round red building, the compound wherein the Hundred found strength. And here he encountered the most fanatical guards. Four of them surrounded him.
“General Silith,” the largest of them said. “In the name of the One, we are forced to ask for your life.”
“Take it if you can,” he growled. Silith reversed his sword and stabbed the man behind him, then leapt to grab him. With his left arm, he used the man as a shield, twisting him this way and that to take the sword blows that would have fallen upon his own body, until the human shield was a red ruin and the men who had stood at his side lay bleeding on the ground like broken dolls.
Silith panted, his great chest rising and falling as the killing passion rose within him.
One last thing to do. Kill Belot, the One. He’d seen this male-female apparition several times in his life. He didn’t know enough of Belot, and he knew it, but how hard could it be to kill?
He stalked that narrow, dark hallway back to the living quarters of the man-woman he wished to kill. Threw open an impressively massive metal door and stopped in shock. He was looking at himself.
A little too far away. He’d have to charge.
“General Silith,” the apparition said. “Good for you to come to me.”
Silith laughed. “More tricks. Looking like me won’t help your skill.”
“No,” the apparition said. “But when you’re dead, I’ll take yours.” Then, before Silith could speak, the One raised his hand. There was something like a small hand cannon in it, and there was a flash of fire and a roar, and General Silith felt a terrible blow in his chest.
Right through the bronze armor.
He tried to raise his sword, but to his surprise all the strength seemed to have drained from his limbs. He tried to speak, but his lips couldn’t seem to fit around his thoughts. And then … darkness.
His very last thoughts were, Jade, my love. I am so sorry.
And, Kasha, be careful.
THIRTY-SIX
Sanctuary
Aros and the women moved through the streets of Shrike as panic blossomed around them. They were noticed—a big dark warrior guarding three royal women with a weirdly shaped, massive sword—but never accosted.
The freed captives had spread in all directions, seeking to blend with the population. He wished them well, but the fighting men were setting fires and stirring chaos, distractions as the alarms went up, and the odd blue-white lights crackled behind the barricade.
Princess Tahlia seemed to be rising from a stupor. “I never asked. Who are you? Where is Neoloth?”
“I don’t know,” Aros replied. “But I know where he will be waiting for us. I’m Aros, but call me Kasha.”
“Where, then?”
They were moving fast down a narrow, morning-dark street. Footfalls from the other direction, a row of guards, as there was another explosion from the direction of the barricade. Fire raged, and the entire capital seemed to be awakening.
“It’s best you not know yet, Princess,” he said. “You’re moving well. Not like a prisoner.”
“I exercised. Stretched. Drasilljah made me, until they separated us. Where are we headed now?”
“To the palace,” he said. “It is the only place Jade and Mijista will be safe now.”
There was little more talk, but lots of sinking back into shadows and careful silence. They would have been accosted by now, he thought, if Flaygod had seemed an ordinary sword. Aros was just too weird.
Jade was taking the lead now. “I know a way into the palace,” she confided as a phalanx of men ran along the boulevard. Somewhere, a man screamed in mortal terror. The armed prisoners were making an attack on the Tower, perhaps seeking to free more allies. He wished them well.
Jade led them to a house butted against the wall around the palace and knocked.
There was a pause, and a hidden slit in the wall—not the door itself—opened. “Madam Silith!” The eyes opened wide. “What is your need?”
“To see the king,” she said. “And sanctuary for my friends. There is danger tonight. My husband fights for the crown.”
The slit closed and then the door opened, and they were ushered in. This kingdom, Aros thought, seemed riddled with passages. Did no one trust anyone here?
The seven of them were ushered through the house and then down into the basement. One of the walls was pushed aside to reveal a tunnel, and they were ushered along it by a doughy woman who looked as if she had not slept in a month. After a few minutes along the panel, they rose up into another room, through the back door of a cupboard stocked with bags of flour and hanging sides of beef.
The woman opened the outer door and issued them into a small kitchen, perhaps one serving the servants’ quarters.
The servants seemed nervous, which was easy to understand considering the noises outside: chaos in the streets; shouting; and, even as he stopped to hear it, the sound of another explosion.
The freed prisoners were keeping their word.
They were ushered through another hall into a well-appointed waiting room, with enough chairs for most of them to sit. “Wait here,” the doughy woman said, and left them.
Aros stood, hand on Flaygod’s hilt, uncomfortable in the extreme. The last weeks had taken him to places in the world, and within his own heart, that he had never visited, nor thought to.
Jade Silith held his arm, seated, as if afraid that she would slip away into a shark-ridden sea if she lost it for a moment. Mijista held his other arm, and Tahlia watched him closely. In some way he had become a center of strength in the room for all of them.
Damn. Wasn’t this a strange development!
Princess Tahlia was on Madam Silith’s other side. She was in a strange land, surrounded by danger. She had no solid reason to trust any of them. But Jade Silith’s obvious sorrow and quiet dignity spoke volumes.
The door opened, and two guards entered the room. “Come with us,” they said. One cast a glance at Aros’s sword but did not attempt to take it away from him, which was very good for the guard.
They traveled down another corridor, but the appointments were becoming lush now, and he could feel that they were heading deeper into the castle.
They emerged in the throne room. The king sat on his throne, a phalanx of guards on either side of them. Most of them were halted behind a hemp rope, but Jade Silith and Princess Tahlia were beckoned forward.
King Corinth was swathed in a fine robe, but Aros had the sense that he had awakened recently and not had time or interest in donning his usual garb. “Madam Silith,” he said, “do you have information for me on … on…” A robed advisor whispered in his ear. “Ah, yes. The nature of these disturbances? Riots.”
“Your Majesty,” Jade said. “My husband has uncovered a terrible plot against the crown and is even now risking his life to expose and end the traitors. We ask for sanctuary.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. And … who is this?”
“She is the Princess Tahlia—”
“May I speak, Your Majesty?” the princess asked.
The king seemed a little taken aback. “Why, yes, of course.”
“I am Princess Tahlia of Quillia.”
“What are you doing here, my child?”
“My ship was attacked by pirates, and my lady servant and I kidnapped. We were brought here and held in a tower, where terrible things happened that I will not trouble Your Majesty with. Until this night, I had assumed that these things were an act of war against Quillia, but now I see that Your Majesty knew nothing of it, that it was the action of some traitors who have deceived Your Majesty. It is a tale of magic and horror, my lord, and I am grateful to find safe harbor.”
Now Aros saw in the princess what Neoloth had seen. Despite her appearance, humbled by starvation and deprivation, her clothes and hair a ratty bird’s nest, there was a natural gentility and power within her that called to him. This was a remarkable young woman. He believed t
hat Neoloth could indeed genuinely love her.
Or she could be a wonderful path to power. Wizards, after all …
“What would you have me do, my child?” the king asked.
“Return me to my mother,” she said. “If you can do that, I will promise that no actions will be taken against your kingdom. Rather, it will be a symbol of faith and trust—”
“Hold!” a voice called behind them, and striding into the throne room came …
General Silith.
Jade almost collapsed with relief the instant she saw him, and Mijista also seemed ready to weep with joy. He was scarred and bleeding but still a towering figure. Jade ran to him, and he embraced her.
“Sire!” Silith said. “I have terrible news for you. There has indeed been a conspiracy of vipers under your very heel, involving members of your loyal corps, the Hundred.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. But, at great cost, the traitors have been killed, and soon peace will be restored.” He smiled at the princess. “Princess! I am so glad to see that you are well. Come with me, and we will see you safely home—”
But as he spoke, Jade Silith’s face had tightened. She drew back from him, face slack, and then angry.
“You are not Sinjin,” she said. “This is not my husband!”
The room grew quiet. Silent. The guards fingering their weapons, while the troops who had followed Silith in the chamber fingered theirs.
“My dear,” Silith said. “I’m afraid that the night’s affairs have strained your mind. Please forgive her, Your Majesty—”
Jade had torn herself away completely and stood back glaring at the man at her side.
“You are not … my husband.”
Silith made a placating gesture to the king. “Please, Your Majesty. Understand that the stress of her recent brush with death has unbalanced my wife.”
“I understand,” the king said. Aros watched the tableau with fascination, unable to speak. What did he think?
“Is something wrong with Madam Silith?” Aros whispered. “It is the general!”
Mijista stiffened. “I trust a woman to know her husband.”
“But how…?”