Changer's Moon (37 page)

She wandered through the cold dark rooms of the shrine, feeling lost and alienated from them all, though she knew every inch of the stone in the walls and the floor, had scraped her hands raw cleaning them. After a while she drifted back to the kitchen, lit a new candle from the end of the old, and went reluctantly into the Maiden Chamber. She set the candlelamp on the floor and stepped back. “I know what you want,” she said. She drew a hand across her eyes, furious at herself for wanting to cry. “You promised me I'd have the time I needed. You promise me a life here and give me a passage. I won't.…” Her voice broke and the tears she was trying to restrain gushed out. She dropped to the floor and knelt, hugging herself, sobbing out the pain of her years.

She spent an hour there, alternately hitting out at the Face, refusing to listen to what
She
was saying, and grieving for all the possibilities she'd lose if she let herself hear the call. When the candle was half gone, she sighed—grief, anger, denial all exhausted. Wearily she carried the candle into the kitchen and began packing the satchel with towels and food and other things she thought she might need.

For a few minutes she watched Mardian bringing order into the motley group assembled in the Court of Columns, then she walked from shadow and stopped beside him, satchel on one shoulder, quilt-roll on the other, her fur cloak swaying about cold bare ankles. She heard the mutter of comment from the Cymbankers and tar-folk, but ignored it, stopped his protest with a quickly raised hand. “She gives and She takes away.” Mardian looked at her a moment, looked past her at the empty shrine, then nodded and went back to what he was doing.

They walked south and west across the Cimpia Plain, gathering more new Keepers, villagers and tar-folk as they went. All day they walked, silent except when they were chanting the praises of the Maiden, their voices drowned in the great rumble of the folk following them. Hallam joined them at Sadnaji, along with all his folk who found the courage to cast aside Follower Blacks and cast with it their fear. They climbed the steep slopes to the Biserica Pass and led their rag-tag band chanting Maiden Praises through the great Gates of the Northwall two days before Floarin's army reached the Pass.

MAGIC CHILD

Tuli scratched at her nose, grinned at the place where her hand should be but wasn't. Ildas had spun a net of light-wire that sucked eyes around her and left her unseen. She was stretched out in dead grass beside Coperic, peering at the sleeping Minarks through some weeds and a hump of dead brush, there only because Ildas wouldn't work on anyone but her. On his far side two of his people lay in another patch of shadow, Bella and Biel, Sankoise, younger versions of old Hars, with thick, sleek caps of dark gold hair, tilted, blue-purple eyes, the pallor of those who seldom walk in daylight, clad in matte black tunics and trousers that melted into shadow like a part of the night. They were cousins, tough, clever, skilled and impenetrable to most everyone but Coperic, content to follow wherever he led them. They'd accepted her into the band without argument or overt hostility but with no warmth, tolerating her because Ildas made it easier for them to attack and kill norits. They hated the Nor with a cold relentless passion that made Tuli shiver whenever she saw evidence of it.

There was a disturbance on the far side of the army, some shouting, a flutter of traxim, fireballs from the norits; she trembled when she saw those, the memory too recent to be easy to bear. More bodies left lying. She swallowed, seeing before her the bodies of tar-folk and villagers and Stenda boys left behind as the army moved on, clustered about the campgrounds like the piles of garbage and ordure. Teras might have been there at any of the camps, one of the dead, but she'd never know it, not being foolish enough to leave hiding and go poking about among the corpses. She moved restlessly, willing the raiders to go away and let things settle into quiet again; she didn't dare move until then. She could hear curses from the Minarks, froze as a norit rode past, started breathing again as Ildas cooed to her and the norit moved on, having noticed nothing.

Time slid by, minute by dragging minute. Silence descended on the army, a silence broken by the nearly sub-audible hum of breathing and snores from thousands of sleepers, and the scattered creaks, clanks and rustles from those who stood watch. The minutes added to an hour, then another. She touched the leather pouch hanging between breasts whose slow swelling was beginning to be a nuisance, felt the hard knob of the ink bottle and the long thin pipe filled with dreamdust. Might as well be now, she thought. If it's going to be tonight. Dawn couldn't be that far away. She breathed a very faint whistle, reached out and touched Coperic's arm. “I'm off,” she whispered.

He nodded but said nothing.

She began creeping forward, moving on her toes and elbows, supple as a snake. The Dom was down and any movements she woke in brush or weeds would be lost to darkness, but the less she left to chance, the less she might have to regret. Ildas paced beside her when he was able to control his excitement, capered in circles about her when it broke loose, leaped onto her back and rode her awhile, his needle claws digging into her skin and muscle through the thin cloth of her tunic.

She eased carefully past the sentries, began winding through the sleeping Minarks toward the one she intented to work on, the one who had the highest status among these violent, mad and excessively proud princes. He'd be somewhere in the middle of the ground the Minarks had taken for their own, the safest place. She found him by wiggling from one armor pile to the next until she recognized the gear her prize wore when he cantered along the Highroad, ribbons singing silk about him.

Lying flat beside him, not even breathing, she dug into the pouch and pulled out the blowpipe. She scratched away the wax seals and puffed the dust in a cloud that hovered a moment over his face, then settled into his open mouth, was drawn into his nose with each breath he took. He sneezed, started to wake, then went limp. After a moment he was snoring a little, taken by the effects of the drug.

She got up and bent over him, inkpot in one hand, short thick brush in the other, a grin on her face. She knew that black ink all too well. You couldn't wash it out of clothes and even skin was hard to clean; the spots it left faded to an ugly gray-green but stayed with you for at least a month. With careful neat strokes she painted a glyph on his cheek, another on his forehead and a third on his other cheek; together, they meant
I am a lazy useless slave.
She set the pot and brush down and eased the blanket off him, then slit open the white silk tunic he wore. Working with the same care, she painted glyphs for the worst obscenity she knew, and below it the words
Soäreh sucks
and below those she drew an arrow pointing to his genitals; those she painted lavishly black, swallowing giggles as she remembered what her father and Teras had done to the agli; it was that very memory that made her suggest performing a similar service for the Minarks. She studied her work with satisfaction, but it seemed unfinished. She drew fat teardrops dripping down his thighs and weeping eyes on his rather knobby knees, then gave him sloppy black feet. She emptied the dregs in the ink bottle onto the fresh white doeskin tunic he planned to wear in the morning.

Once again she sat on her heels and contemplated her work, repressing all show of amusement. The Minark shivered. Gravely she pulled the blanket back over him and tucked it in with maternal care. Can't have you waking from the cold, little one. Rise in daylight and let everyone see your fine new decorations. She collected the pot and brush and the blowpipe, even the bits of wax. No use leaving anything for the norits to work on. Ildas nosed about and helped her gather all the fragments. On her heels again, she looked around, regretting Coperic's adamant stand. One was enough, he said and repeated his formula, get in, do the job, get out and away. The other Minarks were sleeping peacefully, the attendants not on duty sighed in their sleep from a familiar exhaustion, but didn't wake. The sentries stood unmoving—dead, though they didn't know it yet. She lowered herself and went snaking away. Chances were she could stand up and stroll over to Coperic, but she needed the practice and she wasn't that sure of how well the web would hold.

When she reached Coperic, she saw Bella and Biel come slithering back, gliding with a silence and grace she watched with utter envy, glad she'd done her practicing out of sight because it seemed to her she'd never equal the skills of that enigmatic pair and she'd rather like to. Time to get out of here, she thought. She gave her low breathy whistle to warn Coperic she was near, then touched his shoulder to let him know how near.

As before, he nodded. Without a word, he started creeping toward the shelter of the trees. With Bella and Biel she followed close behind.

V

THE BATTLE FOR THE BISERICA

1

They climbed to the top of the west gatetower, Dom Hern and Yael-mri, Georgia Myers and Anoike Ley, stood looking down at the army stretched out through the low hills humping up toward the Pass, gazed at movement and form half-hidden, half-seen through the glitter-haze of Nor magic. In a ragged line along the barren flat where the hills stopped, a row of norits stood staring at the wall, radiating a virulent hatred for the weapon women behind the merlons, for the Stenda, the tar-folk and villagers waiting with bows, spears or tending the fires under kettles of bubbling fat.

Hern nodded at the widely spaced dark figures. “Norits.”

Georgia looked over the shorter man's shoulder. “They don't fancy y'all that much.”

“They don't fancy anything that limits their power.”

“Yeah. Knew a few like that back home.”

Yael-mri stepped away from her slit. “Dom Georgia, domna Anoike, those men are the greatest danger we face.” She looked down at long slim hands that shook a little until she shut them into fists. “It won't take them long before they find out how to deflect your missiles. Two days. If we're really blessed by fortune, three. We'd appreciate it if you'd concentrate on taking out as many of the norits as you can. However many you kill or wound, that many weakens them,” she nodded at the slit, the army below, “more than a thousand men. But as soon as you notice that you can't seem to hit any more of them, forget it and use your weapons where they can do some good.”

Georgia nodded, then moved to one of the broader slits in the tower's side, leaned out and looked along the wall, using the small dark forms of the defenders to help him estimate the width of the walkway behind the merlons, tried to determine how much shelter the stone uprights would give his people. Anoike joined him in the opening, her elbows poking hard into his back until he wriggled a little, tensed some muscles, and sent them sliding. She caught at his shoulders, chuckled softly. He ignored that and the pressure of her body against his, pointed to the walkway. “Wide enough, you think?”

“For a wall, it's some wide. Not no expressway, more like a back country two-laner, with them hot-pots for wide-assed road hogs, but yeah, I say Angel could ride it. If he keep his head down. Horse's head it might show, might not. Way he move, take a piece a luck for them suckers to get a shot at him, specially with bows.”

“Move the delicate bod, woman, I'm coming out.”

Chuckling again, she stepped away from him, stood in the center of the small square room, hands in pockets, casually hipshot, looking from Yael-mri's faintly disapproving face to the bland round countenance of Dom Hern. The glint in his eyes was familiar. She tried to look, conspicuously uninterested.

Georgia pulled his head in, rubbed the back of his fist across his chin. “We got a pretty wide front to keep an eye on. Seems to me the best thing would be posting snipers along the wall. They'd be spread thin. Need competition quality shooters here to take out your norits fast and economical. Lay my hand on fifteen maybe, counting Annie Lee here.” He grinned at Anoike.

She snorted. “You payin for that, Redneck. Wait till we in the sack, I show you Annie Lee.” She jerked her thumb toward the wall. “Split Angel's band, half on each side the gate, use teletalks to send 'em where they needed. How many teletalks you pick up at the armory? Got some spare batteries, I do hope. One a us up here with binocs, we could see the whole damn war. Like some crazy board game.” She shook her head slowly. “Weird. Hey man, think a the wars you been hoppin around to where most the time no sucker got any idea what's happenin, especially some shithead general.” She strolled over to one of the front slits and looked down. “We got us a cozy down-home war. Almost makes sense.”

Hern's eyes moved from her rigid back to Georgia. “Teletalks?”

“Yeah. Since you're running this thing kinda short-handed, you could do with better communications than they got. We picked up a gross of 'em, Anoike, brand-new in the cartons, enough to tie everything into a good tight web. And batteries sealed in plastic so they should be all right unless Procurement's more rotten than usual. You know, this could be a bigger edge than rifles.” He turned to Yael-mri. “What're you doing about rock-climbers?” When she continued to look blank, he moved a hand in an impatient gesture. “Sabotage teams flanking the walls. Going round through the mountains. Give me a cloudy night, some rope and a half-dozen of my folk and five'll get you a hundred, I get into the Biserica and make a dent in your Shawar. You're vulnerable there, Yael-mri, and it don't take magic to do it, just a bit of work and the motivation. Dom Hern here,” he waved at Hern, “says you got something called Sleykyn assassins with one big hate for you meien. If they half like the contract killers we got back home, climbing's something they got a lot of practice in. Whoever's running that show,” another wave toward the army, “he'd have to be rock from ear to ear not to think of that. And don't tell me you don't fight that way. He got 'em, he's gonna use 'em. Hate between you and Sleykyn goes back hundreds of years, the Dom says, so he gonna have no trouble getting volunteers for a suicide run. Up to you to keep it from paying off. You better have spotters watching both sides of the valley. We got spare binocs we can let you have if you want.” He frowned. “No night-scopes, though, what we got we better keep on the wall.” He looked from Hern to Yael-mri, shook his head. “Dumb. Me. You don't know what the hell I'm talking about. Teletalks, nightscopes, binoculars. I've seen enough here. Anoike?” She nodded. “Right. Let's get back down to the camp, I'll walk you through our gear.”