by David Drake
I am a soldier of Carce. I will not flinch.
Fingertips as gentle as a fly's wing touched Corylus' cheek.
I can feel it! he realized, and as he did, light bloomed around him. He was lying on his back on the cliff top where he had fought the Cyclops. He breathed with a gasp of surprise-and shouted with the sudden pain of it. My ribs are broken!
Coryla and the creature were looking down at him. She seemed sympathetic and perhaps a little concerned; the creature…
It wasn't safe to read the expression on a face as inhuman as that of the creature, but it certainly seemed to be laughing at him. How did I ever imagine that it wasn't intelligent?
"You can sit up, can't you?" the sprite said. "Because there are other giants besides the one you killed. And worse things."
"I don't know," Corylus said. He touched his chest gently, trying not to move his body. He must be bruised as badly as he ever had been in his life, but there wasn't the stabbing, grating pain that would have meant that he had broken ribs. "You said I killed the Cyclops?"
Coryla offered him her hand. He took it carefully, expecting the lightly built sprite to stagger forward when he started to put real weight on her. Instead, she remained as fixed a support as a deeply rooted hazel tree.
After a flash of blazing agony, the pain in Corylus' chest subsided to a throbbing ache, as though he were sitting too close to a hot fire. Several of the catches of his breastplate had popped. He undid the remaining one, then dropped the dented armor to the ground. That done, he turned slowly. He was looking for the Cyclops and hoping to see its body.
"Well, you did and he did himself, I suppose," she said. "He stumbled after you stabbed him and broke his neck. But if you hadn't stabbed him, he probably wouldn't have fallen, don't you think? So I said you killed him."
Corylus walked cautiously to the edge of the crag and looked over. His chest hurt and his left leg was as stiff as a statue's, except for the hip joint. That felt like the blazing pit of Aetna.
Two ships lay on their sides just above the water; their decks were tilted at a thirty-degree angle. That much was the same as the mural he had seen in the instant before the smoke swept him here. Close up he now saw that the vessels were winged craft like those of the vision, not ordinary fifty-oared galleys as he had assumed.
The mangled bodies of their crews were scattered on the shingle. On the ground near the Cyclops' cave was an iron-bound club the length of a ship's mast. The monster's strength would have made it devastating.
Among the dead were two figures whose bright armor hadn't saved them from crushing blows. One's corselet had been dished in; the other's helmet was flattened so completely that blood and brains oozed through the grill that covered the face.
Directly at the base of the crag was the Cyclops, sprawled on his face with his head cocked sharply to the right. Corylus frowned. Any of the Scouts could have jumped the twenty feet to the shingle and expected-reasonably hoped, at least-to have staggered off without serious injury, but the giant weighed more than an ox. Even the bones of its short, thick neck couldn't take the shock of that hard landing.
"I told you he was dead," the sprite said chidingly. "Don't you suppose we'd better leave? That you should, I mean. It's all the same to us, you know."
Corylus looked at her. The slope rising above the Cyclops' cave wasn't nearly as steep as the escarpment to the beach, but he wasn't sure he could climb it in his present condition.
He was sure that he couldn't get down to the beach, unless he did it the way the Cyclops had. And probably with the same result, since he couldn't land with flexed legs and roll as he'd learned to do with the Scouts.
"Mistress," he said, "I can't go anywhere until I've recovered some. If I ever do: my leg may be permanently injured. If you can save yourselves, you'd best go do it."
The furry creature stood a pace behind her, its torso leaning forward and its hips thrust back for balance. It clicked in its throat and stepped to Corylus' side. He couldn't jerk away-he stood on the edge of the crag-and if he tried to run, he suspected he'd faint with pain.
"What's he doing?" the sprite said. She cocked her head quizzically.
And by Haides, how would I know? Corylus thought, but he kept his face impassive.
The creature touched Corylus' left hip; moved its slender hand down to his knee; and then dropped into a near squat to touch his ankle as well. The fingers pressed, but instead of greater agony, they brought relief.
The creature straightened. Its tongue waggled from the side of its jaw again; perhaps it really was laughing. It reached out with both hands and caressed Corylus' chest through the sweat-soaked tunic. The pain in his ribs vanished like chaff in a windstorm. Its tongue still lolling, the creature backed to where it had been behind the sprite.
Corylus swallowed. "Thank you, master," he said as formally as if he were addressing a magistrate, not something frighteningly inhuman. To the sprite he added, "I believe I can walk normally now. Where do you suggest we go? Since you appear to be more familiar with this place than I am."
She shrugged. "Let's take one of the ships," she said. "I suppose it shouldn't matter to me, being as I am now-"
She gestured toward the amulet now hanging outside Corylus' tunic.
"-but those hills are bleak, not fit for anything but tamarisk and bergamot. And besides, you'll need to eat. There'll be food and water on the ships."
"I can't-" Corylus began, then stopped himself. I don't need to push the ship down into the water; it flies. But- Correcting himself aloud, he said, "Mistress, I'm not a magician; I can't make the ship move. Though we can take the food and water, or some of it. Maybe I can make a cart."
In a bemused tone the sprite said, "You are such a silly, cousin."
She turned to the creature and chirruped like a hen on her eggs. It-he-didn't reply in a fashion Corylus could see, but the sprite beamed and stroked the golden fur of his throat. He writhed toward her, even more like a serpent than before.
"Which ship shall we take?" she asked Corylus.
"We'll take a look at them before we decide," he said. "Ah, can you make it down the slope by yourself?"
The sprite ran her fingers through his hair in the same affectionate fashion as she had just petted the creature. Without answering, she started down the escarpment facing forward, as though she were descending a staircase. Corylus felt his eyes narrow; then he smiled. Of course the soles of her feet would be able to cling to crevices too tiny for his eye to see.
The furry creature watched him. Corylus thought about asking if it too could get to the beach unaided, then simply turned around and started down himself. He'd been called silly quite a number of times since he met the sprite, and he was beginning to wonder if she wasn't correct.
His body no longer hurt the way it had immediately after the fight with the Cyclops, but he had taken enough of a pounding to leave anybody groggy. Maybe that was an excuse for being slow to understand what was happening.
The cliff was limestone, steep but corroded by salt and storms. There were plenty of hand- and footholds, though Corylus had to test each one before he put his full weight on it. He simply kept going down until his hobnailed sandal clashed on the beach.
He looked up. The creature was peering over the edge at him. When it saw that he had reached the ground, it leaped like a squirrel.
Corylus flattened against the escarpment reflexively. His first thought had been to try to catch the creature, but keeping out of the way was a better idea.
Its narrow feet sprayed shingle. It bounced up as part of the same motion, spun in the air, and landed again: lightly this time, and facing Corylus.
It's laughing. I'm sure it's laughing.
Whether the creature was or not, Coryla certainly laughed merrily. "You males," she said affectionately. "Always posturing to each other."
She turned and walked toward the nearer ship. She was still giggling.
Instead of following the sprite and her companion, Co
rylus walked to the man in armor with his skull crushed. He had been killed very recently, but the fierce sun was already beginning to rot the blood and other leaking fluids.
The fellow's sword was still in its scabbard. Corylus drew it. The blade was made of the same fiery metal as the armor. It was slim, slightly curved, and a little longer than the infantry sword he was used to. He'd practiced with the horsemen's longer weapons, though.
It wouldn't be his first choice, but it was the only thing available here. Maybe he would have a chance to replace it with steel before he found himself in a real fight. He squatted to unfasten the sword belt. Instead of a buckle it had an unfamiliar latch that opened when he turned it.
"You should take orichalc armor for yourself too," the sprite said as she wandered back from the ship she had been looking at.
"Orichalc?" Corylus said, pinging the breastplate with his fingernail. "This?"
The orichalc he knew about was a copper alloy which could be polished to look like gold. Whatever this metal was, it certainly wasn't that.
"Yes, orichalc," she said, rocking what was left of the corpse's head back and forth with a toe. She giggled again and added, "You'll have to take the helmet from the other Minos, I guess, won't you?"
"Yes," said Corylus. The body armor had the same kind of catches as the belt; he began to turn them. He wasn't squeamish, but he didn't care to strip bodies quite so thoroughly dead.
The furry creature had prowled the deck of the nearer ship, then disappeared through a hatch into what must have been a very small hold. When it reappeared, it dropped to the beach and walked to the other ship.
It walked in a hunched posture. Its arms were long enough that it could have put them down without stooping further, but instead it kept them close to its chest.
Like a praying mantis, Corylus thought. Not a snake.
He grinned, remembering the sprite's comment about posturing. She was a perceptive little thing.
Corylus belted on the sword, but he carried the armor in his left hand as he walked to the second corpse; the second Minos, the sprite had called him. "What do you mean by Minos, mistress?" he said. "Are they a tribe?"
"They claim to be a different tribe from the commoners," Coryla said without particular interest. She continued to stand beside the corpse whose armor he'd taken. "They're probably lying, though. You humans always lie to make yourselves look bigger than you are, don't you?"
"Some men do," Corylus said. Getting angry because a comment had some truth in it would be childish and, well, silly.
He set down the armor and squatted by the figure whose chest had been flattened. The helmet seemed undamaged, though. The screen covering the face blurred the corpse's features.
"Well, anyway, the Minoi rule Atlantis," Coryla said. "They're magicians. When they're born, they get a tattoo on their foreheads. Not that you'd have been able to tell with this one."
She toed the corpse again. Her sense of humor was a lot like that of a veteran soldier, a fact that Corylus found oddly comforting in this place.
A single catch released the faceplate. Corylus lifted it up on the hinge to remove the helmet. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the sprite.
"Mistress," he said. "This was a woman."
"The armor adjusts," she said. "It will fit you, even if you're not a magician yourself."
I suppose that's all that really matters, Corylus thought. He lifted the helmet off, supporting the dead woman's shoulders with his free hand; then he lowered her with as much care as he could. He wondered about burying her, but there were at least twenty bodies, some of them mangled beyond certainty that they were human.
Treat them like the German dead after a battle, he decided. Unless you're going to camp on the field, let the wolves and crows take care of the job.
The creature leaped thirty feet from the deck of the second ship back to the upper railing of vessel near to Corylus and the sprite. It squatted there, watching them. The shape of its face gave it a look of bright interest, but there was no real way a human could read the expressions of something so utterly inhuman.
"We can go, I suppose," Corylus said as he straightened. "That is, if you're ready."
He held helmet and corselet in his left hand. They weren't unmanageably heavy, and he preferred to keep one hand free.
Instead of answering, the sprite walked past him toward the ship. The creature watched her, moving only his head, and that just enough to follow her approach.
"Aren't you going to put the armor on?" she said. She didn't look back toward him. "It won't protect you if you're not wearing it."
It didn't help the Minoi who were wearing it before, Corylus thought, but of course there might be dangers besides the chance of being clubbed by a giant whose strength was all out of proportion to its considerable size.
Aloud he said, "It looks uncomfortable, mistress, especially the helmet. Is the armor necessary now?"
"Am I a soothsayer?" Coryla said. "If you know the future, cousin, then do as your wisdom directs."
She caressed the polished deck planks, then stepped aboard by the low side. She stood easily, despite the slope.
Corylus stopped, set the armor down, and took off the belt so that he could put the corselet on. When he closed and latched it, the metal seemed to flow against his ribs.
He lengthened the belt that he'd taken up to fit his waist under only a tunic, then donned it also. Finally he set the helmet on his head. It too fit, just as the sprite had said it would.
The orichalc equipment was less constricting than the mail and legionary helmet with which he was familiar. He didn't latch the grill. That would take only a sweep of his hand to complete, if necessary.
He climbed aboard. The sprite watched him with a smile.
"The flames that the projector in the bow throws…," she said, nodding toward the knotted apparatus that Corylus had taken for a stubby winch of some kind. "The armor will help you with them. And there are other things."
"Thank you, mistress," Corylus said. He bowed toward her.
The golden furred creature hopped to the deck and took three mincing strides to the stern. Its narrow tongue licked the air. The ship gave a shudder and rocked upright on its keel.
***
The silence of the crowd as Serdain and Kalpos marched Hedia across the plaza was disquieting. Their retainers followed in line. They wore their daggers, but their nets and poles remained in the ships.
Ropes of light rippling like molten glass bound Hedia's waist to the nearer hand of each Minos. They didn't hinder her so long as she kept in step with her captors, but when she deliberately hesitated in mid-step, the bonds jerked her forward with a jolt of pain. It felt as though she had been dropped into boiling water for an instant.
Well, she hadn't expected to be able to break free by force. Violence wasn't a tool she had ever found congenial.
The entrance was a slender triangle, echoing the design of the spire itself. It was twenty feet wide at the base, but it seemed narrow because its top was almost a hundred feet overhead. Hedia glanced up: the orichalc ball must be at least a thousand feet in the air.
She almost stumbled again-in genuine shock-when she and her captors stepped inside. The spire's interior was the largest enclosed space Hedia had ever seen. Indeed, it was larger than her dreams of what was possible.
It was all a single room, from the glassy floor to the peak so high that it made Hedia dizzy when she looked up at it. The bonds dashed pain over her again, but because that pulled her back to the present, it was an almost welcome relief.
Almost. The shimmering fetters cut like the whips of the Furies. One more thing to pay back when opportunity presents itself…
Ramps like those of an amphitheater slanted around the interior in narrowing helixes. People stood against their railings for as far up as Hedia could see before the light through the crystal walls blurred everything into a bright haze. There were unthinkably many people present, perhaps as many as the crow
d in the Circus Maximus for a full card of races.
They were all watching Hedia and the Minoi holding her. I'm scarcely looking my best, she thought as her captors led her to the center of the huge hall. Though since nobody else cared, she didn't suppose she ought to either.
Cool air rushed up through narrow slots in the crystal floor. It dried the sweat on Hedia's body and made her scrapes and scratches itch less. She would still give a year of her life for a bath; though-she smiled coldly-a bath wouldn't be at the top of the list if she were being offered wishes.
Of course, her life might not have a year remaining. Thought of the amphitheater brought to mind watching lions being loosed on prisoners who had been bound to posts and were as naked as she was now.
"Stand here," Serdain said. Hedia stopped. She couldn't see anything different about this patch of floor. It was translucent with a vaguely blue cast.
The Minoi each muttered something and stepped away. Hedia's waist was free, but the flowing hardness now gripped her ankles. She tried turning with care prompted by the vicious bite the bonds had given her when she fought them.
She was able to do that so long as she remained on the same patch of crystal. A tentative step forward caused the flowing light to bind her; she didn't try pushing beyond that point. She could stand such pain as she needed to, but it wasn't an experience she cared for.
Until she turned, Hedia hadn't realized that the crowd from the plaza had followed her into the hall. The scores of Minoi formed a circle around her. Their armor caught the light wicking through the crystal walls; the metal shone like cold fire in the cool blue ambiance.
They had taken their helmets off. Hedia could see that at least a dozen were women, but that left her with many possible ways to improve her situation. Retainers formed blocks behind individual Minoi as they had done on the plaza earlier.
"The Council of the Minoi is in session," said a voice. "Let all the world take notice and obey!"
Hedia couldn't tell who was speaking or even be sure of the direction from which the voice came. It was ordinary sound, not ideas forming in her mind, and the words hadn't been shouted.