The Night of the Swarm

by Robert V. S. Redick

  After nearly three hours they broke suddenly onto a jagged ridgetop. It was not the very summit of the ridge but rather a broad, irregular shoulder that curved away toward the chasm, studded with boulders and small shrubs and rounded, ice-glazed drifts of snow. By now the sun was beginning to glow behind the eastern mountains. Thaulinin made them all crouch low. “I can hear the wind in the canyon,” he hissed. “We are very close.”

  Like a band of thieves they crept across that flattened ridge. Pazel could see what looked like a gap ahead, and soon he too heard the change in the wind, as though it were moaning through a narrowly cracked door. Pazel tried to keep his teeth from chattering. He could hear his every footfall on the icy ground.

  The wind rose, and so did the light. And suddenly before them lay the aqueduct. It was an astonishing relic: a stone chute some twelve feet wide and half as deep, built right into the ancient rock. The chute was pitched gradually downhill, and when he looked to his right Pazel saw that where the ridge fell away the chute emerged from the ground and was held aloft by columns, so that the angle of descent never changed. Straight as an arrow it raced away across the mountainside, until at last, very far away to the east, it made a sharp turn and set off northward.

  Pazel was awed. Two hundred miles. How many years, how many decades, did the Mountain Kings’ people give to the building of the waterway? Even now there was a little ice-fringed water flowing along the bottom of the chute.

  Thaulinin beckoned them all to drop back, and then led them west, parallel to the aqueduct but on lower ground. It was a sheltered area, crowded with boulders and small, dense firs. After a few minutes they found themselves on a narrow trail.

  Hercól flung out his arm, stopping the party in its tracks. The aqueduct loomed before them, suspended on its stone arches. But that was not what concerned Hercól. There was a clearing before the structure where no trees grew, and beyond the clearing was an abyss. It was the chasm, of course: perhaps two hundred feet wide, and far too deep for them to dream of seeing the bottom from where they stood. The aqueduct leaped over the chasm in a single span, with no arch to support it, and as it crossed it rose steeply, reaching the far cliff some fifty feet higher than it began. The Water Bridge. Clearly ancient, it might once have been beautifully carved. Now the knobby protrusions along its sides were blurred and indistinct: dragons or leopards, serpents or vines. At its foot, across the chasm, rose a crumbling tower. On the tower’s battlements sat a large, black bird.

  Right at its center the bridge was mortally cracked. The fissure stretched halfway across the water chute, and where it began whole stones had fallen away, leaving a gap some eight feet wide. Above the crack the chute was filled with rushing water to a depth of several feet, but nearly all the water passed out through it, gushing straight down into the gorge and fringed by immense beards of ice.

  Thaulinin was correct: the structure was built for water, not people. But beneath the water chute there did, in fact, run a kind of footbridge, accessed by a staircase leading down from the edge of the cliff. Pazel felt ill at the very sight of that footbridge. It was about two feet wide and suspended between V-shaped struts that descended from the underside of the water chute. No rails ran between the struts. The water gushing through the crack poured right over the footbridge, and from that point all the way back to the travelers’ side of the chasm the narrow platform lay sheathed in ice.

  Sudden movement along the opposite cliff. Pazel jumped: it was Dastu. The older youth had been sitting on a rock, so still that Pazel’s gaze had swept right past him. Now he walked slowly, idly along the edge of the chasm. Then he shot a glance at the bird.

  The party fell back. The faces of the others were ashen. “Two watchers, Thaulinin,” said one of the selk. “The eagle cocked its head at the human youth, just as the youth looked up at the eagle. They are in league.”

  “And surely not alone,” said Valgrif. “What is the matter with that boy? I tell you I do not like how he behaves.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Neeps. “So that was an eagle? I’ve never heard of black ones.”

  “They have long been my family’s playthings,” said Prince Olik. “They are hunters, bred for strength and endurance—and keenness of eye.”

  “Ramachni,” said Pazel. “What if that mucking bird’s woken? What if it sees us and flies right to Macadra?”

  “Then your quest fails, and your world soon after,” said Ramachni. He looked at Hercól and seemed about to say more, but something in the swordsman’s gaze made him save his breath. Hercól understood, and Pazel felt he did too. The bridge was held against them. Possibly by unseen enemies. At the very least by one that could flee and sound the alarm.

  Realizing that they had to get out of sight at once, the party retreated to the nearest cistern, which was also filled with ice. The roof was partly collapsed, and to keep out of sight from the air they had to huddle in the shadows by the opposite wall.

  “Now,” said Ensyl, “you must let the ixchel earn their keep. Valgrif might pass for a common wolf at other moments, but any creature seen approaching that chasm is sure to raise suspicions. Myett and I will not be seen, however. Let us go and watch the bridge awhile, and see what else we may see.”

  “My lady,” said Prince Olik, “those eagles spot creatures your size from a thousand feet.”

  “But not ixchel,” said Myett. “We have been hiding from birds of prey as long as we have from humans, if not longer. Besides, the deadliest foe is the one whose face you never see. If that hawk takes to the air we will bury ourselves beneath the pine needles, or the snow. I was unforgivably careless when I let the hawk from Uláramyth catch me in its talons. That will not happen again.”

  Hercól sighed. “We cannot go back, and we dare not go on before we learn just what we are up against. I do not like it, my ladies, but I think we must accept your offer. Go then, and take twice the care as ever you did in the streets of Etherhorde.”

  “Note everything you see, however trivial it appears,” said Ramachni. “Above all, heed the fine instincts of your people. If they tell you to flee, do so at once, even if you think yourselves perfectly hidden. Some means of detection require neither eyes nor ears.”

  “We have no wish to die,” said Ensyl. Then she looked at Myett and winced, as though regretting her choice of words. But Myett just smiled grimly. “No,” she said, “not even I wish for death any longer. Let us go.”

  They took a long look at the sky, and then darted back along the trail toward the chasm, moving like a pair of swift white spiders from one snowbank to the next.

  This time Pazel found the waiting almost unbearable. He could not even pace: the ice was too slippery, and the cistern too small. An hour passed, possibly longer. Neda looked at him and tried to smile. Thasha’s eyes were distant, in that worrying way he knew.

  Then suddenly Ensyl and Myett burst back into the cistern, and the news spilled out. “Hrathmogs!” said Ensyl. “At least six of the creatures, maybe more. And three dlömic warriors with the Bali Adro sun and leopard upon their shields.”

  “Their leader is one of the dlömu,” said Myett. “He wears a fell knife at his waist. It is a Plazic Blade, like the one Vadu used against us on the Black Tongue. The dlömu and the hrathmogs came out of the rocks and spoke together, then slipped back out of sight.”

  “So it is an ambush,” said Big Skip.

  “And a Plazic warrior in command,” said Thaulinin grimly. “I should have known Macadra would send one of them. They are dying very quickly, and she no longer trusts them with command of her armies. Some have turned on her—on the Ravens, and even your family, Prince Olik—but the lesser Blade-keepers she still controls, and uses for special tasks.”

  “Such as searching for Uláramyth,” said one of his men.

  Thaulinin nodded. “We must beware of that man. If he has come this far, then the Blade has not yet crippled him. He may still be able to draw on its power.”

  “There a
re dogs with them,” said Myett. “Great red animals that slavered and growled. Their jaws looked as powerful as those of horses, but full of canine teeth.”

  “Worse and worse,” said Prince Olik. “Those are athymar eight-fangs, the same creatures that chased me west of Masalym.”

  “They are abominations,” said Valgrif, his lip curling back with rage. “They were bred for killing and rending, and have no minds for anything but death.”

  “Is there more to tell?” asked Lunja.

  “Yes,” said Ensyl. “We think there is something inside the tower. The door faces away from the cliffs, so we could not see inside. But they all glance at it oddly, and approach the door with caution. And the black eagle is woken, or the cleverest bird I ever saw. It sat upon the battlements listening to their speech, as though it understood every word.”

  “And the boy?” asked Ramachni.

  “Dastu is one of them—or that at least is what anyone would think, to see how they look at one another. He does not cringe before them, or show any special deference, although he keeps his distance from the dlömu with the Plazic Knife. He is still there, and so is the eagle.”

  Now the debate began in earnest. No one suggested turning back: that would be to abandon the Chathrand forever, along with any hope of crossing the Ruling Sea. But how to go forward? Pazel thought of how they had charged Arunis in the Infernal Forest, armed mostly with sticks. That had been terrifying but comprehensible: the mage had been their only foe, and they had simply crossed the ground to him at a run. Now they were facing many foes—and the worst of them might be the bridge itself.

  “We have to fell that bird, right?” said Mandric. “So why not start with a good spray of arrows?”

  “We would be hazarding the whole of the quest on those shafts,” said Prince Olik, “and I do not like the odds, my good man. We would be shooting a great distance, at a small, swift target, and worst of all through the blasting winds over that chasm. Still, I do not see a better choice.”

  “What of your powers, mage?” said Cayer Vispek, his tone almost accusing. “You could kill the bird with a single charm, could you not?”

  “I might,” said Ramachni, “and indeed I will try, if there is no other choice. But to kill with a word is no small spell, Cayer, and you might wish that I had saved my strength for other uses, if that Plazic warlord draws his Knife. And remember that we may not have seen all our foes.”

  “We could wait for nightfall,” said Neeps.

  “Hear the fool,” said Lunja. “If we try to cross that bridge in darkness we will die.”

  “I fear the sergeant is right, Neeps,” said Hercól, “and we can ill afford to lose even one more day.”

  “What about Nólcindar and her company?” asked Thasha.

  “It was never certain that they would come this way,” said Valgrif, “and with hrathmogs on the mountain it is less likely still. But if she has come and gone she would leave a tiny mark upon the bridge itself—upon both bridges, probably.”

  “What if them dogs are woken too?” said Big Skip.

  “What if the mucking bridge falls?” snapped Mandric. “Think too much and you’ll soil your leggings. Get your blood up for butchery, and stop hoping someone else will do it for you. That’s my strategic advice.”

  “They will do it for us, if we are careless,” said Thaulinin.

  The bickering went on. Pazel could taste his fear mounting with every word. Not now, he thought furiously. Be afraid when it’s over. He touched the pommel of his selk sword; and in his pocket, the reassuring weight of Fiffengurt’s blackjack. He glanced at Neeps and Thasha: he could read them like the pages of a cherished book. Neeps was looking fierce and defiant. And while Thasha’s eyes brightened a little at his look, she was really gazing inward, searching for the power that could save them, at whatever the cost to herself. Searching for a gap in the wall.

  And not finding it. Pazel could see that too, by the deep frown of guilt that was gathering in her lips, her eyebrows. She’s taking it all on her shoulders, he thought. She’s wondering who’s going to die because of that wall.

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled it quickly away. “Ramachni,” she said, “what did it cost you to fight the eguar? Are you empty inside, the way you were in Simja?”

  The mage stepped close to her. “No, not like that,” he said. “Lord Arim shouldered most of the burden of the lightning-strike. I have been stronger, but I am still quite strong.”

  “You said once that the quest had no hope without Erithusmé,” said Thasha. “Was it because you foresaw a moment like this?”

  Ramachni’s dark eyes looked at her with compassion. “This moment was foreseen by no one, my champion. Not by us, nor by those across the bridge, nor by the sorceress who set them in our path. How it will end is not predestined. We must remember that, and seek the ending without fear.”

  An hour later the party launched its assault.

  Once more the ixchel led the way. It was their awful task to cross the bridge unseen and slay the eagle—silently if they could, but in the end by any means whatsoever. The two women had decided against the footbridge beneath the water chute: neither had much confidence that they could pass through the falling torrent at the bridge’s center and not be swept away. They had also seen the dlömic soldiers descending the staircase beneath the aqueduct to have a look at the footbridge.

  That left only the main bridge to consider. There was a foot-wide rim on either side of the watercourse, and the sun had kept both free of ice. But for a stealth attack, the upper surface of the bridge was out of the question, for it was in plain view of both Dastu and the eagle. At last the ixchel had chosen a more harrowing course: along the outside of the bridge, clinging vertically to those ancient carvings. Dastu was keeping largely to the near side of the aqueduct, and the eagle’s perch on the tower gave it a view of the clearing and the open top of the watercourse, but not the side. Unless one of them (or some other enemy) moved to the northern edge of the clearing, Ensyl and Myett would be hidden. They would also, of course, be exposed to that monstrous wind, with nothing to hold on to save the faint, time-smoothed shapes of animals and men. And what if they encountered ice?

  “Do not let the wind take you, little sisters,” said Valgrif as the two women set out.

  Ensyl and Myett looked back at the party. “Human beings named us crawlies,” Ensyl said. “Judge us today by our crawling.”

  “If you can feel these eyes upon you,” said Hercól, “then you will know that they watch not with judgment but with love.”

  The two women gazed at him in silence a moment. Then they crawled forward on their stomachs, with infinite care, until they could just see the eagle on its perch.

  The rest of the party crouched among the boulders, watching with the deepest anxiety. Pazel could still see Dastu meandering back and forth. What was he doing with them? How had he been treated? The telescope revealed no obvious wounds or signs of torture. Despite what Hercól had said about his loyalty to Arqual, Pazel found himself wondering if Dastu might not have quickly agreed to help Macadra any way he could.

  “Now,” whispered Ensyl.

  The two ixchel sprinted for the pines, and froze as one behind a trunk. Pazel held his breath: the eagle did not move. It had seen nothing, and the ixchel were now halfway to the cliff.

  Bows at the ready, Hercól and three selk warriors crept into position behind the boulder nearest the pines. They had no clear shot of the bird from here, but could at least rush forward and fire from the chasm’s edge. If Myett and Ensyl failed, their shots would give the quest another chance.

  The ixchel sprinted again. This time they made for a rock in the center of the clearing. It was utterly exposed, and barely large enough to hide them both: they came to rest on hands and knees, with Myett folded over Ensyl’s body and their heads curled down. Once more they stayed hidden, this time by a finger’s width. Another pause, then they ran for the third and final time, and reached the shelte
r of the stairwell. Ensyl looked back and gave a wry salute. Then they slipped under the aqueduct, making for the blind side of the bridge.

  Aya Rin, thought Pazel, let them do that well above the gorge.

  Now all eyes turned to Ramachni. They could see him by looking under the aqueduct; he was at the opposite side of the clearing, lying flat behind a fallen pine. It had taken him a long time to squirm down the ridge to that position, but it had a singular advantage: from there he could see both the party and the ixchel as they climbed. For the others, Ensyl and Myett would be invisible until the moment they attacked.

  They would need at least thirty minutes for the crossing, Ensyl had said. Pazel wiggled his toes. He thought: The waiting will be the worst part. Then he thought how unlikely that was to be true.

  Looking at those crouched beside him, Thaulinin tapped his vest pocket meaningfully. The fire beetles. On Isarak he had warned them that biting into the creatures might prove more dangerous than the cold itself. But digging through a snowdrift was one thing, and wading uphill against a three-foot-deep flood of meltwater quite another.

  Pazel’s knees were growing stiff. On the far side of the chasm the eagle stretched its wings. Dastu climbed the stairs to the top of the watercourse and sat upon the rim.

  Pazel looked back over his shoulder. Neda and Cayer Vispek were mouthing silent words to each other, sketching movements on their palms. Vispek’s eyes were fierce and hard. In recent days he had barely spoken to Neda, and Pazel knew that her master’s coldness had wounded her. But they had trained together, and Vispek had insisted that they would fight side by side.

  The others looked about as bad as Pazel felt. Big Skip caught his eye, smiled with some effort, made the sign of the Tree. Lunja glanced savagely at Neeps and motioned for him to button his coat.

  Then at last Ramachni raised his head. Everyone grew still. Through the pine limbs Pazel could just see the tower battlements where the eagle perched. Ramachni lifted one paw from the ground: Steady, steady—