‘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 eagle takes to the air we will bury ourselves beneath the pine needles, or the snow. I was unforgivably careless when I let the eagle 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 towards 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 are 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 for ever, 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 inwards, 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 centre 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 side 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 judgement 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 centre 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 shelter 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 snow drift 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—
The eagle shot into the air.
Instantly everyone was in motion. Ramachni bolted for the bridge. Hercól and the selk archers erupted from behind their boulder and flew towards the cliff. Behind them, the rest of the party sprinted forward as well.
The eagle, veering erratically, was already soaring away from the bridge. The archers let fly, but the surging wind over the chasm blew their arrows wildly off-target. Dastu turned to them, waving and shouting: ‘You’re here! Don’t shoot! Ramachni, let me explain! Don’t shoot that bird!’
Ramachni had bounded onto the lip of the water chute and was charging up the bridge’s steep incline. He ignored Dastu’s shouts.
Pazel surged up the stairs, gasping at the force of the wind. For an instant he gazed down into the gorge – hideously deep, the bottom so far away it was like gazing at another world – and then jumped into the chute beside Prince Olik, and felt the icy water close about his feet. The archers fired again and again, but the shot was hopeless now: the eagle still flew erratically, but it was disappearing fast.
‘You fools!’ cried Dastu. ‘Thank the Gods you missed! That bird’s on our side!’
‘Whose side is that, boy?’ shouted Cayer Vispek.
‘Yours and mine! Come across and I’ll tell you everything! What’s happened to you? Did the selk let you keep the Nilstone?’
The question swept the last doubt from Pazel’s mind. Dastu had betrayed them a second time – was betraying them even now.
‘Tell me something, mate,’ he shouted on an impulse, ‘are you doing this for Arqual?’
Dastu’s response caught Pazel quite off guard. He did not sneer or shake his head or frown with anger. He simply looked at Pazel with no comprehension whatsoever.
Now Pazel was mystified. Had Dastu been so changed and tormented that he had forgotten even his beloved Empire?’
Then Thasha cried out and pointed west. Pazel looked up and saw the eagle fall like a stone from the sky.
The ixchel! Pazel thought. One of them was on its back all along!
One of them had just fallen with that corpse.
Dastu had also turned at Thasha’s shout. When the bird fell he reached for it, clawing at the air. Then he screeched. It was the ugliest sounds Pazel ever heard from human lips.
From the trees on the far side of the chasm, figures erupted: hrathmogs, dlömu, athymars. All of them raced towards the bridge. More hrathmogs burst onto the roof of the tower, bows in hand.
Ramachni was far ahead of the others; he had already passed the great crack at the centre of the bridge. The hrathmogs targeted him first, and Hercól bellowed at the mage to take cover. But as the archers drew, Ramachni fixed them all with a stare, and suddenly three of the creatures turned and fired on their comrades. Those who were not slain leaped on those who had attacked them, and the tower descended into chaos.
The diversion gave the attackers the chance they needed. They gathered into a tight column, huddling beneath the shields of the fighting men, and charged. Ramachni, meanwhile, leaped onto the bridge’s stone foot, and then onto the snow. He was making for Dastu, and the youth was retreating, shrieking and gesturing for aid. The hrathmogs with their great axes were too slow to strike
at him, but the dogs came on like furies. When their fangs were inches from him the tiny mage whirled and made a sweeping motion with one paw. The dogs were tossed backwards away from him like so many dice. Ramachni turned to Dastu. The youth was at the edge of the chasm, still screeching like a lunatic.
Suddenly he turned to face the cliff.
Credek, no!
He leaped. The wind cupped him and spun him as he fell and thrashed his body against the cliff. Pazel watched, sickened, torn. Rotter! Quitter! Piss-ignorant fool! You didn’t have to do that, you—
‘Oh Gods,’ said Thasha, ‘he’s changing.’
It happened so quickly Pazel almost doubted what he saw. Dastu’s body blurred, then grew suddenly enormous, and solidified once more. Below them now was a nightmare beast: humanoid body, long snake-like neck, leathery wings, whiplash tail. It was the maukslar: foulest servant of Macadra, the very demon that had hunted them in the forest. Its wings filled. As the party turned the creature rose before them, yellow runes burning on its forehead, and then that snake’s head struck with blinding speed, and Big Skip’s arm was in its jaws.
Skip howled. Pazel saw his face for an instant, transformed by pain and the imminence of death, and then the maukslar’s neck jerked back, and Skip was wrenched from his feet and hurled into the abyss.
Gone. Even his scream swallowed instantly by the wind. Pazel thought he would go mad with the horror of it. But he did not go mad, and he did not freeze, and neither did anyone else. They flew at the demon, and Hercól was out ahead of them all, swinging Ildraquin in a killing arc. But the maukslar was too quick: just in time it flung its head back, and the sword only grazed its jaw. Then the creature dropped beneath the bridge. The party turned at bay: it was directly under them, screaming. One clawed hand rose above the rim on the bridge’s north side – and while their eyes were turned that way, its tail whipped up from the south, caught a selk guard by the neck, and hurled him after Skip into the gorge. Pazel whirled. His will was strong and his sword raised, but there was nothing to strike at, nothing he could reach. Then a hideous cry, and the maukslar rose, wings beating hard, neck retracted like a cobra preparing to strike.
The Night of the Swarm (Chathrand Voyage 4) Page 45