by David Drake
Cashel chuckled at a further thought: it was harder work than rolling a boulder uphill all the day, that was for sure. Well, he didn't mind work, nor did Ilna.
Though the knots were tight, they came apart easily under the touch of Cashel's big fingers. Ilna saw patterns, Cashel saw the way things balanced against one another. It was close to being the same thing, he guessed.
He stood. The guards shuddered as Cashel smoothed the cords straight in the palm of one hand with the index finger of the other, the hand that held his quarterstaff. He wondered if it really would've come to killing except for what Ilna had done. It could have at that: the guards had swords and there wouldn't have been time for delicacy.
Cashel shook his head in wonder. So silly!
Ilna was standing on her own, now; Liane offered her a hand, but Ilna shook it away.
Garric walked over to the nobleman who'd started the trouble. The fellow started to get up, then changed his mind and lay back on the cobblestones. He put his hands over his private parts, of all things!
"Who are you?" Garric asked, in friendly enough fashion but sounding like he expected an answer. Being king or the next thing to it surely did suit him!
"I'm Lord Mos bor-Moriman," the fellow said in a squeaky voice. "My friends and I--"
He glanced backward, desperately looking for support. The other nobles and their entourage watched the fallen man like gulls waiting to peck a stranded fish to death.
Cashel kept an eye on the guards, though, just in case one of them decided to try Garric from behind. That'd be a pretty dumb thing to do--Garric saw everything around him when he got keyed up, and Ilna was watching with a grim expression and another selection of cords--but enough dumb things had happened already that Cashel didn't take the risk.
"Well, Lord Mos," Garric said, "do you know who I am?"
One of the guards sprawled at Cashel's feet muttered, "May the Sister drag me down! He can't be."
"By the Lady!" Emrich said. "He is! Prince Garric, we didn't know!"
Emrich hunched his arms under him and glanced toward Cashel; Cashel nodded, giving him permission to get to his feet. Emrich at least was smarter than a sheep, though Cashel wouldn't say as much for his noble master.
Having risen, Emrich knelt again before Garric. "Your majesty," he said, speaking to the dirty pavement, "our lives are yours, but we didn't know."
The other guards were rising cautiously. Cashel noticed with amusement that two of them were more worried about the cords in Ilna's hand than they were about his own iron-shod quarterstaff. They might be right about that, too.
"You're Prince Garric of Haft?" Mos said. Then he said, "You're Prince Garric! Well, I don't see how you expect people to--"
"Hush," Garric said. "Or I'll toss you in after your sword, as I'm rather inclined to do already."
Garric wore heavy-soled boots now, as always when he went onto the hard streets of Valles. He pointed the toe of one at Mos' lips, just short of touching him. Mos hushed.
"Lord Mos," Garric went on, "your choice is to endow a hostel for the orphans of this district. A representative of the chancellor's office will call on you tomorrow to discuss the details."
"A choice?" squeaked Mos. He looked like a beetle on his back, which was close enough to the truth. "What do you mean a choice? You're just giving orders!"
Garric grinned. "It's a real choice, milord," he said, "but you won't like the other option."
Just so they got the point--not that Garric's tone hadn't been clear enough--Cashel rapped the lower ferrule of his staff on the pavement with a sparkling crack!
Garric winked at him, then turned to the group of nobles with a face as threatening as a thundercloud and said, "You will leave now, taking your toad of a friend here with you." His boot prodded Mos in the side; not hard, but hard enough to be noticed. "I recommend that you not come back."
He looked at the four guards. "Not you," he added. "I have something more to say to you."
The nobles exchanged glances. One of them snapped an order to a pair of servants. They in turn eyed Garric, then leaped forward and helped Lord Mos to his feet. The entourage moved back through the crowd, silently at first but with a gabble of mutual complaints as they got out of sight.
"Prince Garric?" Emrich said. His face was set with fear of what Garric was going to say next. The four guards stood stiffly, as though they were being inspected by their commander.
"In the morning," Garric said easily, "you're to report to Lord Waldron's office in the Arsenal. You'll probably see one of the adjutant's clerks rather than the commander himself, but that won't matter. Tell him that you're reporting for assignment to one of the new regiments."
Sharina moved close to Cashel, though she didn't cling to his arm as he'd half-hoped she would. That could get in the way if he needed to use his staff, but he was sure by now that he wouldn't. Sharina had pulled the edge of her cape forward again, covering the big knife which she'd resheathed.
"You'll be paid on a scale determined by your skill and experience," Garric continued, "but I don't suppose the wages will be as high as what you were making until tonight."
"You'll be working for a man, though," Ilna put in, her words clacking out like boards striking together. "You may find that a pleasant change."
"You trust us to appear, your majesty?" another of the--former--bodyguards said; an older man than Emrich. His moustache and sideburns were very full. His cap still lay on the pavement where he'd been squirming, revealing that he was completely bald.
"You'll appear or you'll have left Ornifal before tomorrow sunset," Garric said. "I trust you to know that you can't hide on this island from me and my friends here."
Ilna grinned like a skull. She dangled her hank of cords before the men for a moment, then replaced them in her sleeve.
"May the Shepherd shield me with His crook," whispered a guard. His face had gone sallow. "May the Lady cover me with the cloak of Her mercy."
"Come on," muttered Emrich to his fellows. The older guard picked up his cap. Instead of putting it on at once, he faced Garric and slapped it against his chest with his arm at a stiff angle.
To Cashel's surprise, Garric responded by thumping his clenched right fist on his opposite shoulder. It was a military greeting of some sort, Cashel supposed; a salute, or maybe two different kinds of salute. Garric had become a wonder since his father gave him that medal to wear!
The guards moved off, close together and silent. The trouble had cleared twenty feet of open space around Cashel and his friends. Cashel grinned. That mightn't have been enough. The Shepherd alone knew how far a sword might have spun if Cashel's quarterstaff had whacked it out of somebody's hand.
Garric surveyed the watching crowd and called, "Is this sort of business frequent? Rich fools coming here to swagger about and use their guards to punish anyone who objects?"
Nobody spoke for a moment. A girl stepped forward. Cashel had seen her before, though dressed fancier than she was now: Sharina's maid Diora. She dragged an older, rounder woman out of the crowd with her.
"Come on, mam!" Diora said. "Tell him! Tell Prince Garric the truth!"
The older woman opened and closed her mouth several times, but she couldn't force the words out. Diora turned from her mother with a look of disgust and anger. Shrilly she said, "Not every night, but them and their sort come here to do as they please, and nobody does anything about it!"
"They like poking a chained dog!" a male voice shouted from anonymously farther back. "They know if a few of us get together with cobblestones for an answer, the army'll march in to put down the riot!"
Garric nodded. "All right," he said. His voice echoed from the tenement facades. "I'll have a discussion with the City Prefect tomorrow. There'll be a detachment of the Watch stationed here of nights to ensure courteous behavior by all citizens of the Isles."
Garric laughed aloud and looked about him, his fists on his hips. At his moment he was older than the lad Cashel had grown up with
, and he looked very, very strong.
"And if that doesn't work," he shouted, "there'll be a new City Prefect, and he'll live in District Twelve until he's found a way to solve the problem. This is a kingdom of all citizens, not just of fools with money and a title!"
People started cheering. Garric looked startled and embarrassed, as though he'd suddenly remembered who he was.
Cashel grinned in delight at his friend. He was Prince Garric, that's who he really was. Nobody could listen to that speech and doubt it!
Garric raised his arms to acknowledge the cheers, then put his back to the crowd. "And one way or another," he added quietly as he viewed the apparition hanging above the river, "we're going to deal with this thing too. But I hope somebody else can tell me how!"
Sharina thought for a moment that Diora was going to come over to her, but at the last moment the maid lost her nerve and burrowed deeper into the crowd, out of sight.
Telling her mistress privately about the bridge had been one thing. This time, though, Diora had addressed Prince Garric himself in front of all the world. No wonder she was terrified.
Smiling slightly, Sharina turned her attention back to the bridge wavering above the Beltis. Tomorrow she'd calm Diora and assure her that she'd been right to speak--as she certainly had. There was nothing to be done tonight that wouldn't just scare the girl worse. Sharina rested her fingertips lightly on Cashel's forearm.
The structure seemed to have been outlined in pastels. During the coldest winter in living memory, the Northern Lights had hung above Barca's Hamlet. The bridge looked only a little more solid than those. It wasn't frightening, exactly, but it was uncanny.
"I see people moving there," Cashel said. His eyes narrowed. "At least I think I do."
Garric glanced at Tenoctris. She still sat on the stones, murmuring as her bamboo sliver tapped time. Liane had hovered protectively over the old wizard while the rest of them were concerned with Lord Mos and the others. "Does she...?" Garric asked.
Liane turned a palm up in the equivalent of a shrug. With a wince of embarrassment she then resheathed the little dagger she'd concealed in her other hand. "She hasn't said anything, Garric," Liane said. "Except for the spell."
"That bridge isn't anything like the one that used to cross the Beltis here," Garric said. He spoke loud enough for all of them to hear him, but it seemed to Sharina that her brother was really organizing his thoughts. "The one King Carus knew. It doesn't even look like a bridge, though it was one when I crossed it in my dream."
"This is where you visited Ansalem?" Liane asked.
"It's how I went," Garric said with a smile. "I'm not sure it's really a 'where', either here or in my dream."
A shriek that couldn't have been human--it was too loud, too loud even for a horse--keened through the night. Cashel spun around, but the sound didn't come from nearby.
Sharina took her hand from the hilt of the Pewle knife. It probably didn't come from this world at all, any more than the structure glimmering in the air did.
Tenoctris gave a muted sigh and set her stylus down. She wavered and might have fallen over herself if Ilna hadn't knelt and put an arm around her in time.
Ilna looked up with an expression of cool achievement. Sharina met her friend's eyes and grinned. Liane had been protecting the old wizard from being trampled, but Ilna had been watching Tenoctris herself.
"Help me up, please," Tenoctris said. Ilna rose, straightening at the knees and supporting the older woman with the arm around her shoulders. Garric held out a hand; Ilna acknowledged the offer with a nod, but she didn't need the help and had no intention of accepting it.
Sharina tried to imagine a world in which everybody was like Ilna. It would be a polite place and everything would be done right.
It would also be a very frightening world; a lot like walking over a crust of stone and knowing that a volcano bubbled just underneath. Not that Ilna would ever let loose the rage and power within her....
Sharina reached over and squeezed Ilna's arm. Just a friendly touch, a friend's touch. Ilna gave her a wry smile as though she understood what Sharina had been thinking; and agreed.
Tenoctris straightened and took a deep breath. "Do you know what it is then?" Garric asked. He couldn't hide his impatience, but he managed to sound apologetic about it.
"I won't know that for a very long time," Tenoctris said. She attempted a smile, but she was too exhausted to carry it off. Some things could only be learned or accomplished by wizardry, but its use required brutal effort and great danger even if the wizard didn't make a mistake.
When wizards did err, the only question was how many others they dragged with them to Hell. It was error as much as intent that had smashed the Old Kingdom to bloody shards, and another wizard's blunder now would end all hope of civilization for the Isles.
Because the crowd had grown still at the shriek, Sharina could hear other voices. They were too high pitched to be human, and she couldn't tell whether they were laughing or gibbering in terror. Like the bridge itself, the sounds faded in and out of awareness.
The frogs that normally formed a shrilling chorus in the shallows at the river's margin were silent also. A fish slapped the water far out in the current, leaping away from some perceived danger.
"What I was trying to do tonight...," Tenoctris said. She gathered strength with each word. Now she patted Ilna's hand in thanks and release, then stood upright on her own. "Is determine whether the force we're witnessing is cyclical or is increasing in magnitude. If I thought it were going to go away by itself, I'd be inclined to let it do so."
She gave them a weary smile. "Unfortunately, it'll grow until it's removed, and removing will be as difficult as moving Valles to the north coast of Ornifal. Or perhaps simply shifting the whole city to Haft."
Cashel stretched his arms upward, holding his staff crossways over his head where it wouldn't threaten any of the people around him. He grinned. "So," he said. "Do we start moving Valles a building at a time, or does it have to be the whole place at once?"
Tenoctris laughed transformingly. She was still obviously tired, but no longer did her face wear a patina of desperate concern. Cashel had reminded the old wizard that she was among friends, and that these friends--her friends--had halted onrushing chaos before.
"Well, what I think we'll do is to get help," Tenoctris explained. "More precisely, we'll find the wizard who's responsible for this appearing and convince him to remove it."
"Ansalem?" Garric asked.
Tenoctris shrugged. "It might be Ansalem," she said, "if he were alive. Ansalem was like no one, no thing, I've ever met. It's not a bridge exactly; that's just how our human minds perceive it. It's a point where planes of the cosmos merge. It isn't really evil, but the amount of damage it can do simply by--"
There were screams; and this time they were human. A man flung himself into the river, bellowing in hoarse terror. A thing of rosy light loped through the crowd, looking as desperately frightened as the people trying to get away from it.
It was man-sized or almost and built--almost--like a man. It had two arms and two legs, but they were shaggy and the legs bent the wrong way. They ended in goat hooves which clacked on the pavement when the creature looked most solid.
The faun faded to a pale blur which ran through a sedan chair and the bejeweled young woman seated in it. She screamed, but she'd been screaming already. Sharina couldn't see that she was any the worse for her experience.
Two strides beyond the sedan chair, the faun's outline sharpened into the solidity of a red jasper statue. He--the faun was unclothed and there was no doubt about his sex--was running down the esplanade in the general direction of Sharina and her friends.
He leaped. A husky man in a butcher's leather apron dodged in the same direction. They collided. It was the man who went down, though the faun gave a despairing bleat as he caromed off.
He was headed straight toward Sharina. His pointed face was a mask of panic. She drew her Pewle knif
e, but Cashel stepped in front of her with his quarterstaff beginning to rotate. The faun bounded upward like a deer--
And vanished in mid air, leaving only a smudge of dissipating scarlet flickers where he'd been.
"Oh...," said Sharina, feeling the muscles over her ribs relax. She felt as she had the day a hornet--swift, mindless and viciously dangerous--had flown at her face.
The butcher lay on the stones, moaning and trying to staunch the blood with his hands. The faun's sharp hooves had sliced through the apron and deep into his left thigh, cutting like paired knives. A woman and a boy were helping the butcher--the one tearing a bandage from the hem of her tunic, the other cradling the older man's head and mumbling reassurance while tears ran down his face.
Most of the other spectators had fled from the riverside. The noblewoman stood in her sedan chair, sobbing uncontrollably. Her three guards ringed her, their swords drawn, but the bearers who should be carrying her away in the vehicle had instead fled unencumbered. After a moment's discussion, the group made off on foot. Two of the guards helped their mistress over the cobblestones.
Cashel didn't relax, though he lowered his quarterstaff. "What was that?" he asked quietly.
"Someone who shouldn't be here," Tenoctris said. "Not a danger in himself--not much of one, at any rate--but a symptom of what the problem is. So long as the connection is here, things fall through holes in the cosmos. Some of them could be very dangerous indeed."
Sharina saw something in the sky above the bridge. At first she thought it was a remnant of the sparks into which the faun had dissolved. It shimmered like haze at sunrise; then it had winged shape, a bird stroking slowly in the direction of Sharina and her friends.
The red light faded. The bird wavered out of focus, then reappeared.
"I think we can return to the palace now," Tenoctris said. "I've learned all I can here tonight."