Hand of the King's Evil - Outremer 04 (28 page)

Those two thoughts joined together, to suggest a name. She gasped in shock, fumbled for his left arm and found there what she had suddenly dreaded to find, twisting ridges of half-healed flesh.

It was Marron, then.
One more to rescue, one fewer to rescue her-
but that was a fleeting thought, swiftly dismissed. This was Marron as she'd never thought to know him, Marron in a desperate condition. Not dead, no, she could feel the faint stir of his breath and a fluttering pulse in the depth of his unhealing wound; close to death, though, that she was sure of, and she'd never thought the Daughter would let him go so far.

His hair was matted with a stinking sweat, his robe was soaked with it, and yet his skin was dry where she touched it, as though there were no more water left in him to be sweated out. It felt both cold and hot alternately beneath her palm, and stretched drum-tight across his bones. He'd always been brutally thin, but this was different. She thought his body was a battleground, with sickness surging through his blood, fever and chill at war; she wondered which one was the enemy. Unless they both were, and he was doubly infected
...
?

That made a sudden sense to her, thinking of the Daughter and how it lived its strange half-life inside him. It was like a fever, like an infection, a burning that did not belong; and if he fell sick otherwise, of course it would fight that new invasion. If the sickness fought back - well, here was the consequence, and she thought Marron could not survive it unless help came soon. Small chance of that. He needed more than an ordinary healer, he needed wisdom and magic both, Rudel or Elisande, and she was far past hoping for miracles now. She did what little she could, moistening the hem of her robe in what remained of her water and wiping his face with it, but when she touched his brow a moment later she found it baking hot and dry again.

She might have cried then from frustration at her helplessness, from the dread of having him die under her hands and the fear of what might follow with the Daughter; but a sound intruded from the passage, the soft scrape of bolts being carefully drawn back.

She lifted her head, almost daring to hope once more, thinking that Blaise could carry Marron if he could only find a way out of this suddenly populated
castle
. For the second time that night she was certain of the sergeants coming; for the second time she was deceived.

The door opened barely a shadows width and a figure slipped through, drawing it quickly closed again. Not Blaise, that much was clear even in the dark; this was someone slender, light-footed, a young lad or a girl. But who, and why
...?

'Julianne?'

The voice was her answer, and her second miracle of the day.

'Elisande!' It came out in a breathless hiss, almost on a sob. A moment later her friend had found her; strong arms wrapped themselves around her and dragged her unexpectedly back into a corner. She grunted in puzzlement, then understood as she heard the whisper of steel drawn, as she felt Elisande set herself between her and the 'ifrit.

'Don't, don't worry. It doesn't do anything, it just sits there, waiting
...'

'Maybe it's been waiting for me.'

Maybe so; if it could see anything of the future as the djinn could, it should have known that she was coming. There was no movement from the creature, though, only the steady burning of its eyes.

'I thought it was waiting for your djinni,' Julianne said weakly, and was astonished agai
n to hear Elisande chuckle tightl
y.

'So did Esren. That's why it didn't come to pull you out of here, sweetheart; nor Marron, nor your father. They were all scared of that accursed thing. That's why I had to come myself.'

And for a moment, for one blessed moment Julianne fancied that her coming was enough, that the two of them could slip out as cautiously as Elisande had slipped in, and still the 'ifrit would do nothing. An hour ago, they might have tried it. But, 'Marron did come, he's here.'

'Oh,
what?

'On the floor there. Elisande, he's dreadfully ill, he needs healing
...'

A cold instant later she was squinting and covering her eyes against a flare of blue light, bright enough to scorch the inside of her skull, or so she felt.

Elisande swore, and the blaze faded to a glimmer; when Julianne risked a glance, she saw a globe of witchlight hanging in the air above Marron's body, bright enough still to dazzle her dark-adjusted sight. Elisande had dropped her knife and was huddled down beside Marron, touching with gentle, questing fingers.

Nothing Julianne could do there; she stooped to pick up the discarded blade, eyeing the 'ifrit warily. It might respond to magic, where it cared not at all for the girls. She didn't think it had moved, though, and certainly it wasn't moving now. It might even have retreated a little, from that sudden eruption of light; she thought its eyes seemed duller against the pale blue glow.

Soon, too soon Elisande sighed, and turned her head to find her. Julianne knew what was coming, before her friend could find the words.

‘I
can do nothing for him like this. I never could, when he had the Daughter in him. It resists, it won't let me in
...'

Julianne nodded. 'I think that's what's
happening now, something has go
t in and the Daughters fight
ing it. But it's killing him, Eli
sande.'

'I know.' Two short syllables should not be able to contain so much grief.

'What can we do? Blaise is here, I saw him, but he may not be able to come tonight
...'

'Blaise will not come at all. He's with them, Julianne, I've seen him too and his spirit is snared somehow. We have to get Marron out ourselves, somewhere safe where we can release the Daughter and work on him. We should take him to Rudel, he's stronger than I am. We can carry him between us, he weighs nothing.'

'Call the djinni, and it could carry us all.'

'It would not come. I said, it's afraid of the 'ifrit
...'

'So am I
. Do you think it will let us leave? It's watched me so long, I'm the bait in its trap, and the trap's not yet sprung. It wasn't set for you, at least.' She waited, had no response, at last said, 'Elisande?'

'My blades have been blessed,' her friend replied at last, 'but two short knives would never be enough, against that monster. And no, I don't t
hink it would let us leave. But
listen. I was wondering earlier, what would frighten a djinni.' 'The 'ifrit, you said.'

'Yes - but there's something more. You know how Esren was trapped in the Dead Waters, by a stone brought over from the other world. I think it would be terrified of being caught again. The 'ifrit use the same trick to control their ghuls, so we know it works on other spirit creatures; and the djinn and the 'ifrit are close kin, even if the djinn deny
it...'

‘I
don't understand.'

'No, but trust me. In a minute, I'll ask you to do a thing; do it boldly, sweetheart. If you get the chance. It may be the only chance that Marron has.'

And then she drew her other knife and touched it lightly to Marron's wounded arm, letting out a drop of blood, letting out the Daughter.

'Elisande, what are you
doing...
?'

‘I
can't work on him while that's inside him; if it's loose, I can perhaps rouse him just a little. Besides, I need it free. Stand ready, Julianne - and watch the 'ifrit
...'

She was doing that already. It had stirred, in the moment of that first wisp's smoking up from Marron's arm; it was stirring yet, shifting claws and pincer-feet and the plates of its distorted body in countless, constant motions that still kept it exactly where it was, crowded into its corner. She'd have said it looked scared already; hoping to scare it further, she tightened her grip on Elisande's knife.

She was scared enough herself: scared for herself, and for Elisande, and especially for Marron. With the Daughter free — and more than that, free of his control — they might all be in clanger. If she was right, though, his sickness would be free too to rampage through his body. Whatever sickness it was, that could right back against the Daughters strength and possession
...

It had Elisande to face now, a different kind of daughter. The light dimmed further, as she focused; she had her hands clamped on either side of Marron s head, and a terrible determination on her face.

A determination which seemed to falter suddenly, seemed almost to fail altogether; Julianne saw her forehead suddenly slick with sweat, heard a groan escape her lips. But she set her jaw, closed her eyes, rallied to try again; and Marron's eyelids fluttered open, he gazed about him vaguely, tried to speak.

'Marron.' That was Elisande's voice as Julianne had never heard it before, high and tight and demanding. 'Take control of the Daughter, make it open a gateway to the land of the djinn.'

He mumbled something that Julianne couldn't catch. Elisande heard it, though, and replied.

'You can, and you must. For your life, and ours. Only for a little while; Julianne will go through, and bring back a stone. With that, we can win our freedom and rake you out of here. Do it, Marron, do it now
...'

And astonishingly, almost miraculously - because perhaps there was not yet an end to miracles after all, when a boy so racked could even understand what she was saying, let alone find the will and the strength to obey her - Marron did it.

It was a poor, weak job that he made of it, reminding Julianne forcefully of his early efforts to control the Daughter, under Morakh
’
s tutelage: a twisted, shifting frame and the smoky red of it a sullen crimson glare, as though it were remembering rebellion and had only the outward habit of obedience to hold it still.

Julianne gazed at the narrow gleam of gold that struck through the centre of the Daughters frame, the portal to the other world. Elisande wanted her to go through there; and she would, of course she would, because her one friend asked her to and her other friend needed her to, and either one of those would have been enough. The two together were imperative.

And yet she couldn't help remembering those early trials, when desert creatures had died and died again, as Marron failed and failed again to hold the gateway open against the wild nature of the Daughter. Even if he managed to stretch it wide enough to let her through - and it was far from that as yet, barely wide enough to pass her hand and still her hips' height from the ground, far too high to jump when just to touch the rim of it was deadly - could she trust him to hold it so while she went and returned, not to lose control and let it close while she was yet in the land of the djinn, or -worse — when she was halfway through the gate and would die as those desert rats had died, in screaming terror?

No: one glance at his face confirmed that she couldn't trust him so far, she couldn't trust him at all. Elisande was struggling against whatever had infected him; Marron seemed to have given up already. Even his blood was sluggish as it dribbled from his arm. Perhaps Elisande should have cut him deeper, let him bleed some more
...

Elisande had her head down beside Marron's now, her mouth at his ear, whispering, whispering. His eyes opened, his gaze seemed to focus — and abrupdy there it was, gateway and frame, solid-seeming and all Julianne need do was walk across the cell and step through into that golden summoning light
...

Except that the 'ifrit moved first and moved fast, before she could force her unwilling feet to do it. It half scuttled and half flowed, losing its insect shape even before it reached the Daughter, pouring through the portal like a long thick sinuous ribbon of smoke.

Julianne stared in wonder, in amazement, once more
astonished beyond words; distantl
y she heard Elisande's voice, exhausted and triumphant and still demanding more.

'Close the gateway, Marron. Quickly, let it go, it wants to anyway. Good,' as the frame dissolved and the Daughter assumed its more natural shape, a veiled monstrosity not so very different from the 'ifrit, only so much harder to see or understand. 'Good boy, you've been wonderful, you've saved us all. Now, one thing more. I can't keep you awake much longer, and I don't think you should sleep while that thing's free, it needs you keeping an eye on it. Besides, you've bled too much already, you need all your strength if you're going to get well again. Will you take it back for me, Marron?'

'It hurts,' he said, clear enough this time, his voice sharp with dread.

'I know it does, love - but it keeps you alive, I think. It stops you sinking. You have to do it, Marron, you have to take it back. Just for a while now, till we can get you to Rudel. He'll be able to help, better than I can. I promise

Slowly, with what seemed to be reluctance on both sides — as if the Daughter relished a return to battle no more than Marron did - the half-seen monster shifted to smoke as if in echo of the 'ifrit, and slipped back into Marron's blood. He writhed, and his mouth gaped open in a soundless scream; Elisande bent low above his head, and Julianne thought she was weeping even as she struggled to soothe him.