by Glen Cook
A beast had left its mark here.
He swung onto the roan and headed toward the Toad.
A wall collapsed behind him. The fire returned to life, splashing the slope with dull red light.
Tain's shadow reached ahead, flickering like an uncertain black ghost.
Distance fled. About a mile east of the Kleckla house he detected other night travelers.
Toma and Mikla were walking slowly, steering a wobbly course, pausing frequently to relieve their bladders. They had brought beer with them.
Tain gave them a wide berth. They weren't aware of his passing.
They had guessed wrong in predicting that they would beat the Caydarmen to Palikov's.
Grimnir and four others had accompanied the Witch. Tain didn't see Torfin among them.
The raiders had their heads together. They had tried a torching and had failed. A horse lay between house and nightriders, moaning, with an arrow in its side. A muted Kosku kept cursing the Witch and Caydarmen.
Tain left the roan. He moved downhill to a shadow near the raiders. He squatted, waited.
This time he bore his weapons.
The Toad loomed behind the Palikov home. Its evil god aspect felt believable. It seemed to chuckle over this petty human drama.
Tain touched the hilt of his longsword. He was tempted. Yet.... He wanted no deaths. Not now. Not here. This confrontation had to be neutralized, if only to keep Toma and Mikla from stumbling into a situation they couldn't handle.
Maybe he could stop it without bloodshed.
He took flint and steel from his travel pouch. He sealed his eyes, let his chin fall to his chest.
He whispered.
He didn't understand the words. They weren't in his childhood tongue. They had been taught him when he was young, during his Aspirant training.
His world shrank till he was alone in it. He no longer felt the breeze, nor the earth beneath his toes. He heard nothing, nor did the light of torches seep through the flesh of his eyelids. The smell of fetid torch smoke faded from his consciousness.
He floated.
He reached out, locating his enemies, visualizing them from a slight elevation. His lips continued to work.
He struck flint against steel, caught the spark with his mind.
Six pairs of eyes jerked his way.
A luminous something grew round the spark, which seemed frozen in time, neither waxing nor dying.
The luminosity spread diaphanous wings, floated upward. Soon it looked like a gigantic, glowing moth.
The Witch shrieked. Fear and rage drenched her voice.
Tain willed the moth.
Its wings fluttered like silk falling. The Witch flailed with her hands, could touch nothing. The moth's clawed feet pierced her hood, seized her hair.
Flames sprang up.
The woman screamed.
The moth ascended lightly, fluttered toward Grimnir.
The Caydarman remained immobile, stunned, till his hair caught fire. Then he squealed and ran for his horse.
The others broke a moment later. Tain burned one more, then recalled the elemental.
It was a minor magick, hardly more than a trick, but effective enough as a surprise. And no one died.
One Caydarman came close.
They were a horse short, and too interested in running to share with the man who came up short.
Whooping, old man Kosku stormed from the house. He let an arrow fly. It struck the Caydarman in the shoulder. Kosku would have killed him had Tain not threatened him with the moth.
Tain recalled the spark again. This time it settled to the point it had occupied when the moth had come to life. The elemental faded. The spark fell, dying before it hit ground.
Tain withdrew from his trance. He returned flint and steel to his pouch, rose. "Good," he whispered. "It's done."
He was tired. He hadn't the mental or emotional muscle to sustain extended use of the Power. He wasn't sure he could make it home.
But he had been a soldier of the Dread Empire. He did not yield to weariness.
XII
The fire's smoke hung motionless in the heavy air. Little more than embers remained. The ashes beneath were deep. The little light remaining stirred spooky shadows amongst the odd, conical rocks.
Kai Ling slept soundly. He had made his bed there for so long that his body knew every sharp edge beneath it.
The hillmen sentinels watched without relaxing. They knew this bane too well. They bothered him no more. All they wanted of him was warning time, so their women and children could flee.
Kai Ling sat bolt upright. He listened. His gaze turned west. His head thrust foreward. His nose twitched like that of a hound on point. A smile toyed with his lips. He donned his golden panther mask.
The sentinels ran to tell their people that the man-of-death was moving.
XIII
Toma and Mikla slept half the day. Tain labored on the windmill, then the house. He joined Rula for lunch. She followed him when he returned to work.
"What happened to them?" he asked.
"It was almost sunup when they came home. They didn't say anything."
"They weren't hurt?"
"It was over before they got there." The fear edged her voice again, but now she had it under control.
I'm building a mountain of responsibility, Tain thought.
She watched him work a while, admiring the deft way he pegged timbers into place.
He clambered up to check the work Toma had done on the headers. Out of habit he scanned the horizon.
A hill away, a horseman watched the stead. Tain balanced on the header. The rider waved. Tain responded.
Someone began cursing inside the sod house. Rula hurried that way. Tain sighed. He wouldn't have to explain a greeting to the enemy.
Minutes later Mikla came outside. He had a hangover. A jar of beer hung from his left hand.
"Good afternoon," Tain called.
"The hell it is." Mikla came over, leaned against a stud. "Where were you last night?"
"What? Asleep in the barn. Why?"
"Not sure. Toma!"
Toma came outside. He looked worse than his brother-in-law. "What?"
"What'd old man Kosku say?"
"I don't know. Old coot talked all night. I quit listening to him last year."
"About the prowler who ran the Caydarmen off."
"Ah. I don't remember. A black giant sorcerer? He's been seeing things for years. I don't think he's ever sober."
"He was sober last night. And he told the same story the first time they tried burning him out."
Toma shrugged. "Believe what you want. He's just crazy." But Toma considered Tain speculatively.
"Someone coming," Tain said. The runner was coming from the direction of the Kosku stead. Soon Toma and Mikla could see him too.
"That's Wes. Kosku's youngest," Toma said. "What's happened now?"
When the boy reached the men, he gasped, "It's Dad. He's gone after Olag."
"Calm down," Mikla told him, "Catch your breath first." The boy didn't wait long. "We went back to the house. To see if we could save anything. We found Mari. We thought she ran to Jeski's... .
She was all burned... .Then Ivon Pilsuski came by. He said Olag was in town. He was bragging about teaching Dad a lesson. So Dad went to town. To kill him." Tain sighed. It seemed unstoppable now. There was blood in it.
Toma looked at Mikla. Mikla stared back. "Well?" said Toma.
"It's probably too late."
"Are you going?"
Mikla rubbed his forehead, pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Yes. All right." He went to the house. Toma followed.
The two came back. Mikla had his sword. Toma had his staff. They walked round the corner of the house, toward the village, without speaking.
Rula flew outside. "Tain! Stop them! They'll get killed."
He seized her shoulders, held her at arm's length. "I can't."
"Yes, you can. You're.... You mean you won't."
Something had broken within her. Her fear had returned. The raid had effected her the way the Caydarmen wanted it to effect the entire Zemstvi.
"I mean I can't. I've done what I could. There's blood in it now. It'll take blood to finish it."
"Then go with them. Don't let anything happen to them."
Tain shook his head sadly. He had gotten himself cornered here.
He had to go. To protect a man who claimed the woman he wanted. If he didn't, and Toma were killed, he would be forever asking himself if he had willed it to happen.
He sealed his eyes briefly, then avoided Rula's by glancing at the sky. Cloudless and blue, it recalled the day when last he had killed a man. There, away toward Kosku's, Death's daughters planed the air, omening more dying.
"All right." He went to the Kosku boy, who sat by the new house, head between his knees.
"Wes. We're going to town. Will you stay with Mrs. Kleckla?"
"Okay." The boy didn't raise his head.
Tain walked toward the barn. "Take care of him, Rula. He needs mothering now."
Toma and Mikla traveled fast. Tain didn't overtake them till they were near the village. He stayed out of sight, riding into town after them. He left the roan near the first house.
There were two horses in the village. Both belonged to Caydarmen. He ignored them.
Kosku and a Caydarman stood in the road, arguing viciously. The whole village watched. Kosku waved a skinning knife.
Tain spotted the other Caydarman. Grimnir leaned against a wall between two houses, grinning. The big man wore a hat to conceal his hairless pate.
Tain strolled his way as Mikla and Toma bore down on Olag. Olag said something. Kosku hurled himself at the Caydarman. Blades flashed. Kosku fell. Olag kicked him, laughed. The old man moaned.
Mikla and Toma charged. The Caydarman drew his sword. Grimnir, still grinning, started to join him. Tain seized his left bicep. "No."
Grimnir tried to yank away. He failed. He tried punching himself loose. Tain blocked the blow, backhanded Grimnir across the face. "I said no."
Grimnir paused. His eyes grew huge. "Don't move. Or I'll kill you." Grimnir tried for his sword.
Tain tightened his grip, Grimnir almost whimpered. And in the road Tain's oracle became fact.
Mikla had been a soldier once, but now he was as rusty as his blade. Olag battered his sword aside, nicked him. Toma thrust his staff at the Caydarman's head. Olag brushed it away.
Tain sighed sadly. "Grimnir, walk down the road. Get on your horse. Go back to the Tower. Do it now, or don't expect to see the sun set." He released the man's arm. His hand settled to the pommel of his longsword.
Grimnir believed him. He hurried to his horse, one hand holding his hat.
Olag glanced his way, grinned, shouted, "Hey, join the game, big man." He seemed puzzled when Grimnir galloped away.
Tain started toward Olag.
Toma went down with a shoulder wound. Mikla had suffered a dozen cuts. Olag was playing with him.
The fear was in him now. His pride had neared its snapping point. In a moment he would run.
"Stop it," Tain ordered.
Olag stepped back, considered him from a red tangle of hair and beard. He licked his lips and smiled. "Another one?"
He buried his blade in Mikla's guts.
Tain's swords sang as they cleared their scabbards. The evening sun played purple and indigo upon their blades.
Olag stopped grinning.
He was good. But the Caydarman had never faced a man doubly armed.
He fell within twenty seconds.
The villagers stared, awed. The whispers started, speculating about Kosku's mystery giant. Tain ignored them.
He dropped to one knee.
It was too late for Mikla. Toma, though, would mend. But his shoulder would bother him for the rest of his life.
Tain tended Kleckla's wound, then whistled for the roan. He set Toma in the saddle and laid Mikla behind him. He cleaned his blades on the dead Caydarman.
He started home.
Toma, in shock, stared at the horizon and spoke not a word.
XIV
Rula ran to meet them. How she knew Tain couldn't fathom.
Darkness had fallen.
Steban was a step behind her, face taut and pallid. He looked at his father and uncle and retreated into an inner realm nothing could assail.
"I'm sorry, Rula. I wasn't quick enough. The man who did it is dead, if that helps." Honest grief moved him. He slid his arm around her waist.
Steban slipped under his other arm. They walked down to the sod house. The roan followed, his nose an inch behind Tain's right shoulder. The old soldier took comfort from the animal's concern.
They placed Mikla on a pallet, and Toma in his own bed. "How bad is he?" Rula asked, moving and talking like one of the living dead.
Tain knew the reaction. The barriers would relax sometime. Grief would demolish her. He touched her hand lightly. "He'll make it. It's a clean wound. Shock is the problem now. Probably more emotional than physical."
Steban watched with wide, sad eyes.
Tain squated beside Toma, cleansing his wound again. "Needle and thread, Rula. He'll heal quicker."
"You're a surgeon too?"
"I commanded a hundred men. They were my responsibility."
The fire danced suddenly. The blanket closing the doorway whipped. Cold air chased itself round the inside walls. "Rain again," Rula said.
Tain nodded. "A storm, I think. The needle?"
"Oh. Yes."
He accepted needle and thread. "Steban. Come here."
The boy drifted over as if gripped by a narcotic dream.
"Sit. I need your help."
Steban shook his head.
"You wanted to be a soldier. I'll start teaching you now."
Steban lowered himself to the floor.
"The sad lessons are the hardest. And the most important. A soldier has to watch friends die. Put your fingers here, like this. Push. No. Gently. Just enough to keep the wound shut." Tain threaded the needle.
"Uncle Mikla... . How did it happen?" Disbelief animated the boy. His uncle could do anything.
"He forgot one of a soldier's commandments. He went after an enemy he didn't know. And he forgot that it's been a long time since he used a sword."
"Oh."
"Hold still, Steban. I'm going to start."
Toma surged up when the needle entered his flesh. A moan ripped from his throat. "Mikla! No!" His reason returned with his memory.
"Toma!" Tain snapped. "Lie down. Rula, help us. He's got to lie still."
Toma struggled. He started bleeding.
Steban gagged.
"Hold on, Steban. Rula, get down here with your knees beside his head. Toma, can you hear me?"
Kleckla stopped struggling. He met Tain's eyes.
"I'm trying to sew you up. You have to hold still."
Rula ran her fingers over Toma's features.
"Good. Try to relax. This won't take a minute. Yes. Good thinking, Steban."
The boy had hurled himself away, heaved, then had taken control. He returned with fists full of wool. Tain used it to sponge blood.
"Hold the wound together, Steban."
The boy's fingers quivered when the blood touched them, but he persevered.
"Good. A soldier's got to do what's got to be done, like it or not. Toma? I'm starting."
"Uhm."
The suturing didn't take a minute. The bandaging took no longer.
"Rula. Make some broth. He'll need lots of it. I'm going to the barn. I'll get something for the pain. Steban. Wash your hands."
The boy was staring at his father's blood on his fingers.
A gust of wind stirred fire and door covering. The wind was cold. Then an avalanche of rain fell.
A more solid sound counterpointed the patter of raindrops.
"Hailstones," Rula said.
"I have to get my horse inside. What about the sheep?"
> "Steban will take care of them. Steban?"
Thunder rolled across the Zemstvi. Lightning scarred the night. The sheep bleated.
"Steban! Please! Before they panic."
"Another lesson, Steban." Tain guided the boy out the door. "You've got to go on, no matter what."
The rain was cold and hard. It fell in huge drops. The hailstones stung, The thunder and lightning picked up. The wind had claws of ice. It tore at gaps in Tain's clothing. He guided the roan into the rude barn. The gelding's presence calmed the mule and cow. Tain rifled his packs by lightning flashes.
Steban drove the sheep into the barn too. They would be crowded, but sheltered.
Tain went to help.
He saw the rider in the flashes, coming closer in sudden jerks. The man lay against his mount's neck, hiding from the wind. His destination could be nowhere but the stead.
Tain told Steban. "Take this package to your mother. Tell her to wait till I come in."
Steban scampered off.
Tain backed into the lee of the barn. He waited.
The rider passed the spring. "Torfin. Here."
The paint changed direction. The youth swung down beside Tain. "Oh, what a night. What're you doing out in it, friend?"
"Getting the sheep inside."
"All right for a Caydarman to come in out of it?"
"You picked the wrong time, Torfin. But come on. Crowd the horse inside."
Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. The youth eyed Tain. The ex-soldier still wore his shortsword.
"What happened?"
"You haven't been to the Tower?"
"Not for a couple days."
"Torfin, tell me. Why do you hang around here? How come you're always watching Steban graze sheep?"
"Uh... . The Klecklas deserve better."
Tain helped with the saddle. "Better than what?"
"I see. They haven't told you. But they'd hide their shame, wouldn't they?"
"I don't understand."
"The one they call the Witch. She's their daughter Shirl."
"Lords of Darkness!"
"That's why they have no friends."
"But you don't blame them?"
"When the Children of Hell curse someone with the Power, is that a parent's fault? No. I don't blame them. Not for that. For letting her become a petulant, spoiled little thief, yes. I do. The Power-cursed choose the right or left hand path according to personality. Not so?"