A Cavern of Black Ice (89 page)

Yet something was pushing the other
way.

Veys perceived something… a
soft, malleable force, shining dully like the skin that formed over
cooling magma.

Pure darkness.

Externally, Veys did not move. Not one
fiber on the goat's-hair blanket shivered as he withdrew his
insubstance from the body of Asarhia March. Slowly he went, like a
servant backing out of a throne room. As he slipped the last tendrils
of self through the upper reaches of her skin, the force that pressed
from the inside out raised a finger of darkness toward him.

Veys did not recoil. Reverence and fear
tightened his chest. Raw power, clean of emotion, filled him with the
complete opposite of light. His mouth watered. The tendons supporting
his scrotum ached with sweet pain. Here at last was something worthy
of Sarga Veys.

Too soon the connection was gone. Veys'
neck strained forward, trying to hold on to the last filament of
power for as long as he could. Yet even as he did so, he was aware of
something cold dripping through his fingers. Rain, he thought,
annoyed at such an earthly intrusion at that moment. He wanted the
power back.

It was gone, though, the connection
broken, and Veys had no choice but to return to his flesh. Pain
tugged at his mind as he settled himself back into his cage of
bones, and his gaze was drawn to his hand, where a streaky pink
substance, part blood of the poppy and part blood of Sarga Veys,
dribbled along his wrist. Spikes of glass were embedded in the meat
of his palm. Veys hissed. The vial had broken!

Breathless from his contact with
darkness and irritated by the potential loss of such a crucial drug,
Veys barely noticed what was happening at the center of the
campground. More sworn brothers had gathered around Asarhia March and
the Knife. One man was laughing in a hard self-conscious way, yet the
others were uncharacteristically silent. Veys hardly cared. Turning
his arm slowly, he let the pink emulsion roll around his wrists like
honey around a jar. As long as it didn't drip into the snow or smear
on his clothes or blanket, it could be saved. Once it had dried
sufficiently he could scrape it off, store it like whore's rouge
between two squares of waxed paper.

Veys was content to wait. The
revelation of darkness filled his thoughts. So much power…

For the taking.

Hood shifted at Veys' back, still fast
asleep and snoring softly. Sarga Veys edged minutely away.

The darkness within Asarhia March
explained many things: why Penthero Iss had been so desperate to find
her, why he had sent the Protector General of the Rive Watch to bring
her back, and why he had isolated the girl from the sharp eyes and
nails of the Spire Vanis court. The girl was dangerous… and
powerful in ways Veys could hardly comprehend. Whoever controlled her
could have that power for himself.

Veys turned his arm, allowing the last
pink droplet to run flat, as he recalled the last time he and his
master had spoken. The force with which Iss had taken control of his
body had left Veys feeling dirty. Raped. The memory of the domination
made the sweet ache in Veys' groin turn to something bitter and
wanting. He glanced in the direction of Asarhia March. Iss already
had one special access to power. Why should he have two?

"Strip her."

Veys' heart chilled as he heard
Marafice Eye's spoken command. He looked up but could no longer see
Asarhia March due to the crowd of sworn brothers that surrounded her.
Marafice Eye stood in the center of the black-and-red coven, his face
all shadows and hard lines.

"She killed our
brothers-in-the-watch," he murmured. "Iss wants her alive,
and that's well and good, but I know one way to destroy a life
without actually taking it."

A taut murmur of agreement united the
sept. Two brothers pushed toward the girl, cheeks sucked against
their teeth, eyes glinting with wind tears, hands already forming the
shapes needed to hold her down.

"
No
!" Veys screamed,
scrambling to his feet. He had a vision of Asarhia March waking and
blasting them all to hell. The wards that shored up her body were
nothing compared to that…
thing
that lived within
her. If Marafice Eye tried to harm her in any way, there was no
telling what she would do. "Stop! She'll kill us all."

Marafice Eye and his sept turned to
look at him. For one moment Veys saw himself through their eyes: a
narrow-shouldered figure dressed in cleric's white, with fine eyes
and fine hands, clutching a blanket to his chest like a baby. Veys
stood tall, let the goat blanket drop to the ground.

The Knife said something to his men.
All laughed quickly. The two sworn brothers who were working on the
girl straightened their bent backs. The Knife touched both men on
their shoulders in turn, encouraging them to carry on. Veys caught a
fleeting glimpse of the girl's body, saw pale skin peeking through
wool. Raindrops fell upon her closed eyelids, gray and frothy like
spit.

Marafice Eye said, "This does not
concern you, Halfman. You are not one of us. If the manner of such
things offends you, turn your back."

Blood colored Veys' cheeks. "Fool!
Haven't you taken notice of anything I have said? The girl is
dangerous. Sorcery—'

"Hood."

One word spoken by the Knife was enough
to waken the eight-fingered man. Veys heard footsteps crunch wet
snow. He smelled Hood's ripe breath at his back.

"Take him in hand. Mind he sees
nothing that his mam wouldn't be glad to show him."

Hood slapped Veys' shoulder blade with
something akin to affection. "Looks like you and me will be
sitting out the storm, Halfman." Then, to Marafice Eye, "Save
me a portion of the girl."

The Knife nodded. A command was spoken,
and the sept turned back to their business. Marafice Eye stood and
watched as Hood led Veys back to the overhang.

"The drugs have worn off,"
Veys cried, making a feeble attempt to break away from Hood's
three-fingered grip. "She'll kill us all!"

"Hush him." Marafice Eye
peeled off his black leather gloves as he spoke.

Hood punched Veys in the spine. "You
heard the Knife, Halfman. No whining."

Veys tucked himself back into the space
where he had slept. Pain from Hood's blow made his eyes water, yet
pride kept him from crying out. Hood stood directly in front of him,
his fleshy drinking-man's body blocking the view.

The wind carried the metallic snap of a
belt buckle. Nervous laughter followed, then silence. Veys felt the
hairs on his arm rise one by one. Through the space between Hood's
legs, he watched as Marafice Eye walked a short distance from the
group, found himself a section of slate to lean against, then settled
down to watch the show.

Of course, Veys thought, the Knife is
doing this just for his men. He won't take part himself. Everyone
knows he prefers to keep his own whoring private. Veys did not know
why.

All thoughts except those concerned
with self-protection left Sarga Veys as the first man fell upon the
girl. The wind pattern changed. Gusts began swirling round and round
in the space between the ledges… and then suddenly there was
no wind at all.

Raifl
Veys heard the girl's
cry plainly, but not in the way a man normally heard sound. The cry
passed through his skin, not his eardrums, making his flesh pucker
and turn cold. Hood shifted position, and Veys saw the sept standing
tense, eyes focused hard upon the girl. No man among them had heard
her cry.

Stop
! Veys wanted to shout.
Can't you see what is happening? Can't you feel it?

The stench of metal filled the air.
Frost glittered on the surrounding slopes like a thousand winking
eyes as the first brother fell upon the girl. Veys felt the first
push
of her power; it was nothing, a mere nudge as she
struggled to wake. Yet it was enough to turn the breath in his lungs
to ice.

Quietly, discreetly, he began work upon
a drawing of his own. He had caught a glimpse of the darkness that
was inside her, and although it fascinated and attracted him, he knew
he would be a fool not to fear it. Slowly, over the course of many
seconds, he drew small shavings of power to him. He could not stand
against her, that much was clear, so he concentrated upon the only
thing that mattered: Saving Sarga Veys' neck.

He knew the instant she became fully
awake. A quarter second of pure quiet followed as she opened her eyes
and gazed into the face of the man who knelt above her.

Terror threatened to crush Veys then.
Sorcery had been his sole advantage for as long as he could remember,
the one thing he held over every man, woman, and child he had ever
met. Even Penthero Iss, magic user and Surlord of Spire Vanis, could
not better Sarga Veys when it came to drawing power. It was the
source of his arrogance and his pride. No matter what humiliations
Marafice Eye and his like heaped upon him, Veys could always console
himself with the thought that when the time came for out-and-out
conflict, the advantage would be his. A man could not fight when his
corneas were snapped from his eyes like badges from his chest. He
could not focus his mind on winning when the air froze in his lungs
like a ghost made of ice.

Now, though, sensing the terrible
pull
that Asarhia March created, the way the wind, the air, even the light
itself, seemed to bend toward her person, Veys knew that his one
advantage was gone.

There was no fighting the darkness
inside her.

He thought of calling out one last
time, warning the sept to take cover or run, but he was quick to
remember their spiteful laughter, and in the end he saved his
strength for himself.

"Let me go!" the girl cried,
her voice high and panicky.

Veys saw pale fists pounding the sworn
brother's chest, heard fabric rip, then a man's voice, low and
distracted, murmur, "Shut up, bitch."

It was the last sound the man ever
made. Veys had no words for what happened next. Panic and terror
reduced him to a cowering child. Light and air split, tearing open
the fabric of the world. Darkness of an alien kind bled through the
rents, smelling sweet and cold and wholly corrupt, rippling like
black oil. A mushrooming band of air blasted into the sept, sending
bodies crashing into walls of slate.

Horses squealed and thrashed, bucking
their hindquarters and throwing their heads from side to side. Men
screamed and screamed… and then fell silent. A cloud of
churned snow rose high into the sky, where the storm dogs tore it to
shreds.

Veys thought he was prepared, but he
wasn't. Hood's body slammed into his, cracking his ribs like dry
sticks. All breath left him, and the clever little drawing he had
devised to save himself came out half-formed, ill timed, and without
force. It was barely enough to shield his brain and his heart. His
mouth and nose filled with rushing snow. He tried to keep his eyes
open to see what would enter through the rents the girl's power had
torn open, but ice crystals scoured his violet retinas, and in the
end his eyelids were forced shut.

The force of the blast wedged him into
the rear of the overhang, Hood's body pinning him in place. Fear, so
complete it was like a wholly new emotion, robbed all moisture from
his throat.

This was what he wanted.
This
.

His eardrums popped as air that had
been moving outward began to contract. A breeze exactly the same
temperature as body heat ruffled his hair, then his clothes, then the
hair and clothes of Hood.

She's pulling it back.

Something howled, high and terrible,
almost beyond hearing. Veys knew then that the creature issuing it
came not from this world. No animal or beast he had ever heard of
made a sound that could stop a man's heart.

Then everything ceased.

Silence followed. The snow that had
been churned up in
a
great white cloud fell again, gently,
floating to earth as if for the first time. Wind picked up, pushing
here and there, unsure of which way to blow. Veys stole a breath. His
rib cage was on fire, but he dared not move to relieve the pain.
Hood's thigh was crushing his foot, and ice crystals were working
their way down his throat. Still he did nothing but open his eyes.

Through a curtain of twice fallen snow,
he saw the girl rise to her feet. Her dress was torn to the waist,
and her breasts were bare. Her hair blew around her face, rippling as
if each strand moved through water, not air. Gray eyes took in the
cleared ground surrounding her, then the flopping, leaking bodies of
the sept. Her lips came together. Her right hand began to shake, but
she quickly gave it purpose, using it to pull at the tattered shreds
of her bodice. Veys noticed the poppy blood bruises under her eyes as
she turned to look his way.

If she saw him in the shadows of the
overhang, she did not show it. She took a few steps his way, but only
to reach for the goat's-hair blanket that he had dropped earlier.
Hands shaking no longer, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders
and turned her back on Veys. On the far side of the campground
someone groaned. Asarhia March stiffened. Veys thought she might turn
and heed the cry, but she didn't, simply continued walking away from
the campground in the direction of the hobbled horses.

Sarga Veys waited as quietly and
silently as he knew how. The memory of the darkness he had seen
eclipsed the pain of his chest and foot. It had called to him as
surely as if it had spoken his name out loud.

A small movement against his foot made
him realize that Hood was still alive. Hearing the muffled sound of a
horse's hooves heading north, Veys pulled his foot free. "Hood?"
he hissed. "
Hood
?"

Hood gurgled.