She had grown up among Sishmindri servants and never perceived them as threatening. She was not about to alter her views now, and she was not about to let them see her uneasiness. She turned her head to meet the bulging golden gaze of the female. The she-amphibian was inspecting her with an unblinking assurance that would have merited a stiff hiding in any decently run household. Times had changed, however, and order had disintegrated.
Jianna narrowed her eyes and shot a bolt of cold displeasure at the female, much as she would have wordlessly disciplined an attendant at Belandor House, in happy days gone by. The nameless Sishmindriess dropped her eyes and hunched her mottled shoulders, as if in anticipation of a blow. Then, surprisingly, the creature’s spine straightened, her head lifted, and she stared Jianna full in the face.
Yes, times had certainly changed, and these Sishmindris were like none others she had ever encountered. What could Lousewort possibly want with the insolent and possibly vicious brutes? She cast an inquiring glance at her companion and saw him pull his kerchief down, exposing his face to view; presumably another gesture of good faith.
A comfortless interlude of mutual inspection ensued, finally to be broken by the largest Sishmindri present, a formidably muscular being with web-toed feet as broad and flat as flippers.
“You are resistance?” demanded the Sishmindri, his words thickly accented, but understandable.
“I am,” Lousewort returned. “You are people of Roohaathk?”
“Yes.”
Jianna held herself still, suppressing all visible signs of surprise. People of Roohaathk. The former Briar Patch and present Frog Pond was under siege, hemmed in on all sides by Taerleezi troops. Its defenses were potent and unbreachable, at least for the moment. Nobody entered, and nobody departed, or so it was widely believed.
This belief appeared erroneous.
They must have dug tunnels under the wall; probably several, emerging into abandoned buildings or quiet cellars like this one.
“We have received your message and answered your call,” Lousewort declared. “What are your words?”
“I speak for Aazaargh.”
To Jianna, it sounded midway between a croak and a cough, but Lousewort appeared to recognize the name. He inclined his head with apparent respect.
“The men of Vitrisi make war upon the free people of Roohaathk,” the Sishmindri continued. “They slaughter and starve us.”
“You must have expected this when you claimed the land.”
“We think of freedom. It is the only thought.”
“And now?”
“Now we call on resistance to keep the promise that was made.”
“Speak of the promise,” Lousewort invited.
“We help resistance kill the big Taerleezi Governor Uffrigo. Then resistance help us be free. This is the promise spoken by woman Celisse Rione, she that is dead with Zayzi and Frayz. Do you keep the promise?”
Jianna’s breath caught. Celisse Rione. So that was how Uffrigo’s assassin had enlisted Sishmindri aid. She had bribed the amphibians with promises that she’d simply had no right and no authority to offer. What would Lousewort make of this? She glanced at him, and thought to catch a flash of surprise matching her own in his eyes. But the light was poor, and the expression, if it had been there at all, was gone in an instant.
“The woman Celisse did not speak for all.” Lousewort appeared to reflect. “But her eyes were clear to see that Sishmindris and resistance share an enemy. How do you wish us to help you?”
“You kill Taerleezi soldiers surrounding Roohaathk wall. In the dark, in secret, you kill from outside, we kill from inside. Kill many.”
“Do you think to drive them off?”
“Too many. But we keep them out, we kill, days pass, and one day they are tired. They go away. Then we leave Vitrisi. Go back home.”
“Perhaps. But it could take a very long time, if it happens at all. In the meantime, you within the wall will go hungry.”
“You bring us food. The six-legged, the wrigglers, the sweet strings, the rich scum. You bring it here, or other places.”
“Not impossible. This could be done, on the understanding that Sishmindris and resistance continue to help each other.”
“What do you want?”
“There are places, rich and high Taerleezi houses in the city, that employ Sishmindri servants, to this day. I think that some of these Sishmindris, in some of these great households, may not be what they seem. They pretend to be slaves, tame and broken. But their hearts are in Roohaathk, with the brave and the free, and they will do what they can. They will let us in.”
“To kill?”
“In some cases. In others—one in particular—there are better possibilities.”
The Sishmindri appeared to consider. Transparent membranes flickered over his eyes for a moment, then retracted as he reached a decision.
“We speak the same words.” The amphibian blinked his affirmation. “You fight our enemies at the wall. You bring us food. And our friends in Taerleezi houses help resistance.”
“We are agreed,” said Lousewort.
The meeting concluded without ceremony, and the humans departed. Jianna found herself back out in the alleyways with Lousewort, who walked beside her in contemplative silence. Instantly she resumed her mask. A quick survey of the immediate vicinity discovered no hulking, lame figure. Her attention returned to her companion, who remained bare-faced.
“Your kerchief—?” she prompted uncertainly, a little reluctant to break in upon his thoughts.
“Ummmmm.” Absently, he pushed the scarf into place.
“Well, and did it go as you expected?” she inquired.
“Eh? The meeting? Yes, for the most part. I certainly expected a request for support. But I never knew until this day exactly what Celisse Rione pulled off.”
“I suppose there was nothing that she wouldn’t dare. But it’s not Celisse I’m thinking of now. It’s her brother.” She darted a sharp, searching glance at him.
“Ah, don’t worry, girl. I haven’t forgotten him,” Lousewort promised. “The elements are in place. I’ve arranged a meeting for you with the lads I mentioned.”
“Good. But I need to see the two women again, as well. We all got blasted out of the Strenvivi Gardens the other day, before I’d properly explained matters. Can you get Gyppix and Songbird back for me?”
“Surely. Take heart—your plan goes forward.”
“I hope it may go forward without any more delays. Because, you see—” Her throat seemed to close up.
“What is it, Noro?”
“Because something inside me knows that his time is running short.”
FIVE
They had come to a lachrymose land of mist and moisture; of soggy soil, and countless stagnant pools; of sucking mud, slippery stone, and evil odors. The air was heavy, wet, and fetid as a soiled diaper. The Magnifico Aureste loathed the swampy stink of it. Likewise he loathed the treacherous yielding of the ground underfoot, the press of the humid air upon his flesh, the foggy veils reducing his vision. Above all, he hated the voices calling out of nowhere. He had accustomed himself long ago to these interlopers, and had thought himself secure. He had learned how to exclude them, or so he had believed. Recent experience, however, suggested otherwise. In this place, they were more insistent and importunate than ever before. They clamored continually, and he could no longer shut them out.
Why should that be?
Perhaps the speakers’ corporeality accounted for it. For this remote and dreary northern wilderness harbored a sizable population of the undead, who spoke in voices intolerable to the ears of the living.
“Where are those things coming from?” Aureste demanded of his brother, upon a damply disturbing morning that witnessed the visitation of three rotting figures, half seen in the fog. “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, far removed from the haunts of men, but these chatty chunks of carrion keep popping up like worms after a rainfall.”
&n
bsp; As if in confirmation, the three undead called from the mists, their voices alluring and unbearable.
“It is not quite the middle of nowhere, appearances notwithstanding,” Innesq Belandor replied tranquilly. His own appearance was thinner, frailer, and paler than ever, but his calm good humor remained intact. “At the junction of the rivers Jivi and Tenetta, the prospectors panned for gold and established Camp Mudflat. For a time, the camp prospered. The town of Mudflat rose and throve. Then the gold was gone, and with it most of the prospectors and townsfolk. Some remained, however, to fish the rivers, dig for vennory root, and scrape up the last of the nuggets. Thus, a pale recollection of Camp Mudflat lives on, and it would seem that the Overmind has discovered it. Hence, the Wanderers.”
“There were Wanderers aplenty back home in Vitrisi. As I recall, they were mute.”
“For the most part.”
“This crew yammers incessantly. Why?”
“I cannot answer with certainty, but I believe that the growing power of the Overmind permits increasingly precise control of the host bodies. The Wanderers will function as never before.”
“They’ll attack? Employ weapons? Tactics?”
“Tactics.” Innesq appeared taken aback. “I will confess, I had not considered that possibility. A direct physical assault? I do not know that it is likely, but it is not impossible.”
“Understood. You and the others can’t spare the energy to blast those walking maggot havens out of existence—I know that—but you must devise a weapon of fire or steel, capable of disabling them. Put such a weapon into my hands, and I’ll make good use of it.”
“I am certain that you would. I do not doubt your readiness, but cannot reliably predict the consequences of aggression. I do not wish to draw the attention of the Overmind.”
“We did that long ago.”
“We have not begun to experience Its full power.”
“We can hold our own.”
“Perhaps we might, were the energy of the Source readily available. But in such a place as this, we are not at our best, and we must tread carefully.”
Aureste forbore to remark that the energy of the Source would have become available days earlier, had the arcanists but resorted to the simple expedient of annihilating the Sishmindris occupying the summit of the Quivers. They had surely blundered, but there was no point in mourning lost opportunity. Therefore he confined himself to the brief query, “Earplugs?”
“That is a good thought. I shall devise something.”
Before the day was done, Innesq presented each of his companions with a pair of earplugs.
Aureste examined them. The plugs were formed of some nearly weightless, amber-colored substance that he could not identify. Upon impulse, he inhaled deeply, and the faintest whisper of an herbal fragrance reached his nostrils. When he inserted the plugs, they conformed themselves at once to the contours of his inner ears, and the world went silent, or nearly so. It was as if a transparent wall had fallen between himself and reality. He controlled the natural instinct to pluck them out, and willed himself to adapt.
With the earplugs in place, conversation all but ceased. The arcanists of the group, ordinarily capable of communicating with one another by way of their artful sendings, were conserving their power now. Even Ojem Pridisso, once so flamboyantly prodigal, opted for frugality these days. Communication took place largely by way of gestures, pantomime, laborious lip-reading, or words and symbols scratched into the moist dirt. Exchanges were usually of the briefest and simplest.
Aureste found himself alone with his thoughts, which tended to divide themselves largely between issues of immediate defense and future expansion of the hunt for his daughter. At first he imagined himself quite isolated. As time passed, however, he became aware that he was less alone than he had believed. The voices calling and commanding were muffled, diminished, but not distanced; quite the contrary. Unpleasantly surprised to discover that he could still hear them at all, he tried to identify the point of origin. The mists? Treetops? Underground?
No. Elsewhere.
Presently he came to realize that the voices were interior, rising from the unexplored depths of his mind, to which the Overmind yet enjoyed access. The earplugs could not protect him against assault from within. As always, he must rely upon his own strength of will. The Magnifico Aureste was equal to the challenge, but could the same be said of his fellow travelers?
He studied them. Innesq was clearly composed and resolute. Ojem Pridisso appeared comparatively subdued, the magnificence of his attire dimmed by mud spatter, but otherwise well enough. His compatriot Littri Zovaccio, on the other hand, projected unutterable dejection. Melancholy at the best of times, Zovaccio had now fallen into silent misery. His footsteps dragged, his shoulders sagged, his dull eyes locked on the dirt underfoot. From time to time, as he walked, he would lift both hands to his temples and press hard, as if to contain an explosion. Sometimes he shook his head to and fro, eyes tightly shut, and occasionally he would slap his own cheek with an open palm.
Aureste regarded Zovaccio with a disapproving eye. The Taerleezi’s self-command appeared to be slipping, and with it, perhaps, his arcane utility.
The Dowager Magnifica Yvenza marched forward with a calm face and a hard jaw, displaying no sign of fear, weakness, or distress. Pity.
The girl Nissi? Impossible to judge. Always she drifted along weightlessly, moonlight eyes fixed upon invisible sights, ears attuned to inaudible sounds, white flesh prickling in response to unknowable stimuli. So she had always been, peculiar and annoyingly incalculable.
The boy Vinzille was pale and grim, his brow furrowed in a perpetual scowl. What a sullen lad he was; fit heir to his insipid father. Aureste did not mean to waste time watching the tiresome little Vinzille.
And Sonnetia? He knew every variation of her step, every fleeting change in her face, for his eyes were on her continually. Usually she appeared composed and contemplative. Sometimes, troubled or vexed. Occasionally, something filling her vision or her mind pleased her, and her expression revealed her mood. It was very subtle—little more than a softening of the lips and a lightening of the eyes—but Aureste sometimes caught it, because he was always watching for it. At no time did she display the smallest sign of receptivity to the Overmind’s influence.
But then, she was hardly apt to display readily visible signs. The Overmind knew how to camouflage Itself. She had succumbed once already, and he had not recognized the symptoms until he had tried to speak to her. He could not speak to her now. Therefore, in view of Sonnetia Corvestri’s proven vulnerability, it was necessary, and in the best interests of all, to keep close watch over her; or so the Magnifico Aureste assured himself.
He took to walking beside her every day; not so close as to offer offense, but near enough to study her face for as long and as often as he desired. There was no conversation; the earplugs deafened them both. Nor was communication attempted by any other means. Aureste scarcely missed it. For the moment, walking beside her was enough.
The first day, she appeared unaware of him, perhaps deeming his persistent proximity accidental, if in fact she noticed at all. The second day, she certainly noticed, and cast several quick, quizzical glances his way. He deflected such glances with a bland imperturbability that told her nothing. Thereafter, she seemed to accept his presence at her side as natural and unobjectionable.
Perhaps welcome?
He wanted to think so. Sometimes he could almost fancy that the old bond between them had never truly broken. So it seemed on the day they encountered the meechers.
It was mild midafternoon when they came upon a still pool of glassy black water shot with countless flecks of brilliantly blue-green vegetation. The pool was girdled with heavy growths of rushes so darkly purple in hue as to appear black. A couple of pitchwillows dabbled their cascading branches in the water, while a light spread of mist softened all outlines. The scene possessed a certain somber beauty that went unnoticed, for collective attention f
ocused on the meechers.
There were four of them crouched on a bare stretch of bank, drinking black water; a mother and her three long, low-slung pups. All of the animals were plump, sleek, and well grown. They were not molderingly undead. They were not occupied. They were healthy, and refreshingly normal. The mother lifted her head and fixed her round blue eyes upon the humans. For a moment she studied them, then wrinkled her lip and flared her nostrils in profound contempt. Turning her back upon her observers, she squatted, defecated pointedly, then rose and sauntered off into the rushes, followed by her brood.
Aureste laughed, and it was an odd sensation to feel the vibration, while hearing almost nothing. He glanced at Sonnetia, who stood beside him, and saw that she was laughing too, laughing in silence. Her eyes were bright, there was color in her face, and she looked beautifully young. He wanted the sound of her laughter. Upon impulse, he drew the plugs from his ears, and there it was, clear and immediate, better than music. He drank the sight and sound. And if other voices, a more alien music, hovered upon the damp air, he did not hear them, for now.
She must have felt the pressure of his regard, for she turned her head sharply toward him. Noting the earplugs in his hand, she lifted interrogative brows.
“Nothing wrong. NOTHING WRONG,” he mouthed with exaggerated distinctness.
Despite his extreme clarity, she failed to understand him; or else feigned incomprehension. Removing her own plugs, she inquired, “What is it, Magnifico?”
“A whim, nothing more, madam. Pray do not trouble yourself. At times I tire of artificial deafness, and would admit the world, if only for a little while.”
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