by David Drake
"You don't give orders here, girl," Hani said in a tone of tired disgust. "Set her down, I said."
Bolor drew his dagger and sawed the cord binding Sharina's wrists. "I'll take responsibility for her," he said to Hani with a touch of challenge in his voice. "She can't run far with bruises like that."
"Thank you, milord," Sharina said. "For acting like a gentleman."
Though I might surprise you if I saw anyplace to run to, she thought as she swung over the side of the boat, gripping the thin bronze gunwale for support. The effort made her body flash white with pain, but she didn't let herself fall, only stumbled a little when her left foot came down. She caught herself and smiled brightly at her captors.
"Faugh!" Hani said. Though Sharina didn't hear him give an order, the People who'd started to grip her now lifted him out of the vessel instead. The rest of the passengers disembarked also. The thugs climbed over the stern, keeping well away from Bolor and his companions.
Though narrow, the building stretched a quarter mile in either direction from the central archway. The columns along the front were white marble but so simple they might've been turned out of wood by a journeyman cabinetmaker. They were neither fluted nor adorned with either bases or capitals.
Sharina glanced from the colonnade to the People escorting Hani. The stone pillars bore the same relation to what she'd have seen on an ordinary public building in Valles as the People did to the soldiers who might've been guarding that building.
She kept close to Bolor and the cousins, who seemed pleased enough by her presence. The Ornifal noblemen weren't the sort to consort with brutal criminals like Wilfus and Mogon under normal circumstances, and they'd have been unusual if they'd liked being around wizards either.
Sharina pumped her arms back and forth, hoping to work the stiffness out of them. The movement hurt as though she were splashing herself with boiling water. She was dizzy for a moment, but she had to make herself ready to run or fight when she got an opportunity.
Hani led them into the building. Though the whole front was open for the sake of light, the interior was several steps from the surface. A central staircase dropped to levels below this one. Sharina glanced over the railing; the stairs went down farther than she could see.
The building was filled with waist-high tanks filled with cloudy fluid. Hani raised his athame and intoned, "Maradha cerpho!" in a harsh voice. A flash of blue wizardlight flooded the tank nearest Sharina, illuminating what the thick liquid had concealed. It wasn't a man, but it was what a man might be if his flesh were being deposited from the inside out on an armature that crudely resembled a human skeleton.
The light faded, returning the tank to white opacity. Hani swayed; one of the People reached out to support him.
"What do you think of King Valgard's army, princess?" the wizard cackled. "He'll take Ornifal easily. By the time he's done that, there'll be an even greater force to carry his authority over all the Isles, do you see?"
He started down the line of tanks, glancing into each one. After a few paces his body straightened, working out the fatigue induced by wizardry. The People walked with him; Bolor gestured Sharina forward and fell into step with her. Calran and Lattus were immediately behind, a barrier ahead of the two thugs.
"You tried that in the past, wizard," Sharina said, feeling her stomach drop into a pit. There'd been tens of thousands of People when they attacked before; there'd be more this time, probably many more, or Hani wouldn't be so confident. "You failed. You'll fail again!"
"The army that invaded in Stronghand's day had no leader, milady," Lattus said. He spoke as before, with the calm certainty of a priest reciting the ritual. His cousin Calran's expression was furious, though, and Bolor too looked as troubled as Sharina felt inside. "These men follow King Valgard. And follow us, the king's military advisors."
"We have five thousand, maybe more, northern troops," said Calran more forcefully. "As good troops as there are in your brother's army. And the men with your brother, they'll come over to our side when they realize there's a proper king!"
"Waldron bor-Warriman didn't foreswear his oath, Lord Calran," Sharina said. "Do you think other of your neighbors are more apt to become traitors than he is?"
"It's not treason!" said Bolor. "Valgard's the true king."
"And there're the troops we command!" Wilfus called from the rear of the entourage. "Nobody'll dare stand against us, and if they do they'll get treated like they deserve!"
"Troops!" Calran muttered.
"Valgard's their proper king, maybe," said Sharina. "Not king for a decent man like you, Bolor."
Valgard, walking beside Hani, turned and smiled at Sharina. "I'm Bolor's king and your king too, mistress," he said mildly. "As my loyal subjects will prove."
He was big enough to have been Stronghand's son, and he could've passed for a portrait bust of the former king; but there was no heat in him. It was like looking at an image of fire cut from red silk.
As they walked down the line of tanks, Sharina saw that the fluid within became less cloudy, and the figures within were increasingly well-formed. Those near the end looked like men sleeping in a vat of clear water; their chests rose and fell slowly, as though they were breathing. There was a clear similarity from one figure to the next, but they weren't identical any more than Lattus and Calran were.
Sharina stopped abruptly; Lattus bumped her and recoiled with a half-swallowed curse. She pointed to the tank and said, "I've seen him. He's real, he's not one of your monsters, Hani."
The wizard tittered. "He's indeed mine, princess," he said. The look in his gloating, glinting eyes was as filthy Wilfus' touch had been. "And who knows? Perhaps not too long from now, one who looks exactly like you will be mine and will do my bidding."
The figure in the tank was Memet, the soldier who'd brought Sharina word of Cashel's disappearance. He was tanned, stocky, and had curly black hair—as distinct from the People as Sharina herself was.
"We don't war on women, Hani," Bolor said harshly.
"We war on anybody who stands in the way of our rightful king!" Mogon said sanctimoniously. "Anything less is treason to King Valgard. Isn't that right, Lord Bolor?"
Lattus turned his head, touching his swordhilt again. "Don't push your luck, dog," he said.
His quiet menace made Sharina think of Cashel when he was very angry. She felt a surge of desperate longing, but even the memory of Cashel's strength and steadiness calmed her. She smiled, surprising the men around her.
When folk like Cashel or-Kenset supported the good, what chance did evil have? And others, including Sharina herself, would do what they could as well.
"No matter," said the wizard. "No matter at all. It's time we finish the business on Ornifal and prepare the next stage."
They'd reached the wall at the end of the building. A silver ring ten feet, two double-paces, in diameter was set in the smooth white stone. Cast into the ring's surface were same words in the curving Old Script that Sharina had read on the ring that had snatched her to this island.
A susurrus of shuffling feet had grown louder as Sharina and her companions walked along the line of tanks. She looked behind her. A solid line of men in armor—People, man things in armor—stretched back to the stairway in the center of the building. As the People paced slowly forward, more of their sort climbed the stairs from unguessed depths and joined the end of the line.
"Lord Bolor's army has marched toward Valles down the north road," Valgard said. "Your friend Lord Waldron is facing them just outside the city with the garrison and the troops he brought with him."
"I don't want a battle with my uncle," Bolor said. "Besides... he's a stubborn old fool, but with him putting backbone in the Royal Army, it won't be an easy fight. That is, the usurper Garric's troops."
"Especially with half our forces made up of cut-throats and gallows birds," Lattus said with a sour look at Wilfus and Mogon.
Hani, holding the ring he'd retrieved from Sharina, began to chan
t words of power in an undertone; his copper athame beat time. The ring on the wall began to rotate, at first slowly but then with increasing speed. The wall behind it blurred into a violet haze which grew steadily fainter.
"Not half my forces, not a tenth," said Valgard. His voice was still soulless, but it grew louder with every syllable. "And the bulk of my army will arrive behind Waldron."
The wall within the great silver ring had vanished. Sharina looked through the shimmer into the basement of the temple from which she'd been snatched to this island. The bodies and vats had been removed, but Tenoctris stood with her fingers tented, facing Sharina. As the image sharpened, Tenoctris smiled as though she was aware what was happening.
The wizard-made People began marching through the opening, into Sharina's world. Tenoctris sat unmoved.
"We'd best go across ourselves," Hani said, panting hard. Now that the portal was set, it continued to spin without his chanting. "To control the dispositions, Lord Bolor. So that we don't have another failure."
"I hope Waldron has better sense than to fight," Bolor said. "But it has to be. The kingdom and its rightful ruler leave us no choice, even if my uncle's too pigheaded to see reason."
"And we'll kill them all!" Wilfus chortled. "Everyone who stands in our way. Everyone!"
* * *
The shaft halted. The doors drew open onto Ronn's rooftop plaza with the same magical smoothness as they'd closed to take Cashel and others down to the lightless, haunted cellars of the city. The Heroes stepped out, and when they had Cashel followed at Mab's side.
The many, many people gathered on the plaza gave a swelling cry. Not even Garric or Sharina could've counted so many people. The ones standing nearest the shaft saw who'd arrived, and their excitement spread around the vast space like a ripple across a pond.
Mab raised her arms. She'd entered the shaft as an aged crone, but when Cashel glanced at her now he staggered as though a mule had kicked him unexpectedly: she looked exactly like Ilna. She had the slight, trim build; the black hair cut short; and the firm, disapproving set of the jaw. Only Mab's fingernails, dazzling with their own light in the bloody glow of sunset, were different from those of Cashel's sister.
"Citizens of Ronn!" Mab said. From the way the crowd reacted, everybody on the plaza heard her just as they'd heard those speaking in the Assembly Hall. With different emphasis Mab went on, "Men of Ronn. Your Heroes have come to lead you. Will you follow them?"
The crowd breathed deeply, like a team of oxen facing an oncoming storm. One voice spoke across the plaza for all: "Lady, the Made Men are here. They're filling the plain, and soon they'll climb our walls."
The sun was so low that only the upper rim showed where the hills to the west curved to meet the sea. There were no clouds, but the sky didn't have the crystal transparency Cashel remembered from the previous night here. The fairy lights that drifted over the crowd were scarcely bright enough to see.
"That's why you needed leaders," Virdin said. His voice rumbled through the twilight like distant thunder. "That's why you sent for us."
He and the other Heroes walked deliberately toward the knee-high parapet on the north side of the plaza. The spectators parted like water from the prow of a royal barge. Mab nodded agreement at Cashel's glance. Together they followed the Heroes at a respectful double-pace, close enough that the citizens returning to where they'd stood before didn't crowd them.
The Heroes reached the parapet and stared down on the darkening plain. "It's the worst I've seen them," Hrandis said. "Worse even than the last time. My last time before now."
"There's six of us," said one of the twins. "That's different as well."
Dasborn touched Valeri's shoulder, moving him away, then nodded Cashel forward into the space he'd opened. "Go on, Cashel," Mab said. "You're here, so take a look."
Cashel looked down. The sun had fully set and the sky was darker than it should've been at this hour. It was too shadowed for there to be shapes, but he could see, could feel, the movement on the plain below.
"There'd never be a bad time to finish this," Valeri said. "It shouldn't have waited a thousand years. It won't wait any longer."
"Tonight will finish it one way or the other," said Dasborn. "I don't suppose it really matters which, in the greater scheme of things."
"I didn't come here to lose," Cashel said. He held his staff upright in his right hand; his thumb gently rubbed the smooth wood. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mab smiling. "Mab didn't bring me here to lose. Ma'am, what do we do next?"
"We attack them," said Virdin. He stepped onto the parapet and turned so that he could be seen as well as heard across the vast assemblage. "We attack and finish them once and for all, just as Valeri said."
He raised not his arm but his long, straight sword. A flicker of blue wizardlight ran up the blade.
"Men of Ronn!" he said, silencing the whispers running like surf across the plaza. "Tonight we take back our city and gain our freedom forever! Go to your homes and arm yourself with the weapons your grandfather's grandfather left for you. In an hour, my companions and I will lead you onto the plain to sweep from the earth the monsters that claim the name of men."
The crowd quivered but didn't move. Its collective will spoke in the voice of a young man, probably someone much like the Sons who Cashel'd led down to be changed into what the times required: "It's night. We should wait for dawn!"
"If you wait," boomed Hrandis, "there'll never be another dawn for you and yours. The race of men will be extinguished from Ronn, and the King's minions will walk the city's halls forever!"
There was a murmur of wordless despair. They wanted a softer choice, but all the Heroes offered them was to do or to die.
"It isn't fair!" the voice of the crowd cried.
Cashel sighed. He felt sorry for the citizens, but they were trying to quarrel with the universe. A shepherd learns early that wishing there wasn't a blizzard won't save your sheep if you don't get them to cover in time.
Mab gestured before her and murmured softly. Her hands spread light across the sky. The glow was no brighter than a crescent moon, but by displacing the darkness it lifted people's spirits like a brilliant sunrise.
"Men of Ronn!" Mab said. "Arm yourselves and follow your leaders to freedom!"
"Freedom!" echoed the crowd's voice. This time the people were moving, dissolving down the stairs and shafts that would take the men to their weapons and the women to their homes.
The Heroes watched with varied expressions—Virdin approving, Valeri with an angry sneer; Dasborn smiling at the wry joke in his mind. Menon and Minon looked cheerful, and squat Hrandis checked the edges of his axes. They were six different people, not one man with six faces; but they were each of them the man for this work.
As was Cashel or-Kenset. He flexed his shoulders, waiting for the crowd to thin a little more so that he could give his quarterstaff a trial spin.
He looked over the parapet. The plain still moved, but now that Mab's power had lit it Cashel no longer thought of waves on the Inner Sea. This white mass seethed like maggots in rotting meat.
CHAPTER 17
"Wildulf's left the palace, your highness!" Lord Rosen said as Garric followed Liane out of Dipsas' dark cubby and into the windowed portion of the Countess' suite. "I think he's gone to his army west of the city!"
"I knew we couldn't trust him!" said Attaper, behind Garric and thus forming the rear guard. "The attack this morning was probably his doing!"
"We don't know that," said Garric in exasperation. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. We've got to get out of this palace and set up a cordon around it, which'll take all the troops we can gather. If Wildulf brings his own forces in, so much the better!"
Garric didn't imagine Wildulf did have anything to do with the mob's attack. The frozen, frightened Earl they'd found in the Audience Hall wasn't a man who'd been weaving cunning plots—and Wildulf's hatred of Dipsas, who certainly was involved in the plot, hadn't been feigned.
/> Attaper assumed the worst about the people around him. Garric supposed that was part of commanding the royal bodyguard, but it still made the man difficult to be around at times.
They reached the hallway. Servants stood against the walls, whispering in shock and horror to their fellows.
"Go on, get out!" Garric shouted to them. "The building isn't safe!"
When he'd come up from the tunnels he'd had a momentary urge to rip the screens of patterned fabric off the windows and let the sunlight blaze in, but it was more important to simply get out while they could. The ground beneath was a warren, and the things squirming through its passages were far worse than rats. There was no safety within walls that might at any instant spew murderous creatures as white as fungus sprouting from a corpse.
"Your highness, I suggest we tell the City Prefect to get all civilians out of the city as quickly as possible," said Liane. She held up a wax tablet with a few lines of writing and the impression of Prince Garric's seal—which she carried.
She must've composed the document in the moments since they'd reached the surface. That was amazing enough; it was beyond imagination that even Liane should've written the order while they were scrambling through the dark.
"Why in the Lady's name would we do that?" Attaper said, speaking more harshly than he normally would've. "Once we're out in the open, those slugs on legs won't have a chance!"
Attaper liked and respected Liane, which was enough to bridle his tongue in any circumstances short of the present chaos. In addition to his ordinary courtesy—well, Attaper wasn't a toady, but an ordinary sense of self-preservation should've kept him from snarling at someone so dear to Garric; especially when Garric was stressed also.
But the kingdom came first. That was true not only for Garric, but also for the ancient king watching through Garric's eyes. Carus was remembering for both of them the many times in his own reign he'd failed to put the kingdom first.