The Fortress of Glass (23 page)

"That's all right, Sharina," Cashel said. He was rubbing the shaft of his quarterstaff with a wad of raw wool, working the oils into the pores of the wood. "I don't guess that thing-"

He dipped the staff toward the glitter on the horizon, the Fortress of Glass.

"-was Master Cervoran's fault. And anyhow, he was a big help out to sea. We wouldn't've got back without him."

"Master Cervoran was the reason we were at sea in the first place," Ilna said waspishly. "Still, I see no reason why I shouldn't go with Tenoctris and Cashel in the morning. I can't imagine what I could do that would be more useful."

She looked out at the fortress also. "And it's obvious," she added, speaking as crisply and precisely as she did all things, "that something has to be done."

Torag roused his band and their captives at dusk. It'd rained at least three times during the day, and the shelter of twigs and brush the warriors'd woven was meant for shade, not to shed water. Part of Garric's mind doubted that he'd slept at all, but he knew he was probably wrong. The pain of his injuries, the drizzle, and the growing discomfort of his tight bonds kept him from enjoying rest, but there'd doubtless been some.

Growling among themselves-Coerli voices sounded peevish to a human, even when they weren't-four warriors set off in the lead. Torag and Sirawhil paced along beside Garric, with Eny and Nerga on guard immediately behind him. The women, bound together by the necks, followed. Two warriors were with them, more to guide than to guard them: they obviously weren't a danger to anyone.

That left four warriors. Garric supposed they were the rear guard, though he was well out of sight before they'd have left the temporary camp.

"What are they worried about, do you suppose?" Carus wondered mentally. "I didn't see anything in the village that'd concern me-nobody even able to lead a rescue attempt except maybe Scarface. Do these cat-creatures prey on each other?"

The Bird on Sirawhil's shoulder turned its glittering eyes toward Garric. "Every band is a potential enemy of every other band," it said silently. "They only attack if they have an overwhelming advantage, which isn't likely when every band is always on their guard against every other."

You hear my ancestor, then? Garric asked, this time silently. As well as hearing my thoughts?

The Bird said nothing. Garric grimaced. That'd been a stupid question, but he wasn't in good shape.

They slogged on in the sopping darkness. Garric's wrists had been tied since capture, and when they camped the Coerli had lashed them to his waist as well. Garric worked at his bonds for want of anything better to do, but apart from wearing his wrists bloody he didn't accomplish anything.

Because he couldn't throw out his arms for balance as he instinctively tried to do, he stumbled frequently and occasionally fell. The Coerli didn't help him. Once when he was slow getting up-he'd braced his hands on a log which collapsed to mush, skidding him on his face again-one of the warriors kicked him with a clawed foot.

Garric heard the captured women whimper occasionally, but they seemed to be having less trouble than he did even though they were tied together. They couldn't have night vision like the Coerli, but at least they were used to starless nights and constant overcast.

"That makes these cat beasts easy meat in daylight, lad," Carus noted. His image had a quiet smile. "Even what passes for daylight in this bloody bog."

Meat, perhaps, Garric amended, but he smiled too. Perhaps he and Carus were being wildly optimistic, but it was better than resigning himself to a gray future ending in butchery.

A plangent Klok! Klok! rang across the marsh. Torag lifted his great maned head and roared a coughing reply.

"Are we being attacked?" Garric asked Sirawhil sharply.

Too sharply, apparently. A guard slapped him across the head with the butt of his spear and snarled, "Silence, beast!"

It wasn't a serious blow-the spear shaft was no more than thumb-thick-but Garric's head still throbbed from the stroke that'd captured him. He staggered, dropping to one knee in a blur of white light; his skin burned. With an effort he lurched forward and managed to keep going so that the Corl didn't hit him again.

In its own dry voice, the Bird said, "We're approaching Torag's keep. The warriors left as a garrison have given the alarm, and Torag has announced himself in reply."

"The Coerli can see any way in this?" Garric said. He spoke aloud but without the harshness that'd gotten him swatted a moment earlier. He couldn't be sure of the distance, but the gong note was dulled by what seemed like several hundred yards of drizzle and darkness.

"The distance is close to a quarter of one of your miles," the Bird said, answering both the question Garric had asked and the one he'd only thought. "While the tower guard might have seen movement, it's more likely that he heard the party returning. The Coerli have keen hearing, and you humans make a great deal of noise in the darkness."

I can't argue with that, Garric thought. I wonder if I'll get to be at least as good as the Grass People are?

"I hope we're not here long enough to learn, lad," said the ghost in his mind. Carus grinned, but there was more than humor in the expression.

Garric heard a gate creak, followed by the scrape and slosh of people doing something in the bog. The ground here was wetter than most of what they'd marched through on the way from Wandalo's hamlet; the Coerli were sinking to their fetlocks because there were no firm patches to step on.

Instead of a stockade, a high wicker fence loomed out of the night. A number of warriors were pushing what Garric first thought was a fascine, a roll of brushwood to fill a gully. In fact they were unrolling a coil of wicker matting to cover the ground up to the open gate. It served the same purpose as a drawbridge.

"There's six of them," Carus noted, always professionally detached in assessing an enemy. "That's sixteen warriors we know about, plus Torag. And Sirawhil, I suppose, though I don't count her as much."

"Torag left six warriors to guard the keep and control the existing slaves," the Bird said. "He has three sexually mature females in his harem as well, but female Coerli do not fight."

Garric looked at the Bird. There was a great deal about the situation that he didn't know and which he suspected Torag hadn't even wondered about.

"The Coerli are not a sophisticated species," the Bird said, repeating an early comment. It turned its sparkling eyes toward the compound without speaking further.

Torag led the procession through the gate. Garric glanced at the wall as he entered, expecting to find it was double with the interior filled with rock. Well, filled with dirt: he'd seen no stone bigger than Marzan's topaz in this whole muddy world. In fact the wall was a single layer of heavy basketry, sufficient for a house but certainly not a military structure in human terms.

"It's to keep animals out, I'd judge," said Carus. "Cat beasts like the ones that built it. They wouldn't know what a siege train was if it rose up and bit them on their furry asses. Which we may be able to arrange, lad."

He chuckled and added, "In good time."

Torag raised his muzzle into the air and sniffed. The interior of the compound was ripe with the sharp stench of carnivore wastes, but that was only to be expected.

"Ido!" said Torag. "You've butchered an animal while I was gone!"

Five of the six warriors who'd been left to guard the keep edged away from their chief. The remaining one, taller and visibly bulkier than the others, straightened. He held a spear, but he kept its bone point carefully toward the ground as he growled, "We were hungry, Torag. We didn't know when you were coming back."

Torag snarled and leaped, swinging his club. Ido hesitated for a fraction of a second between thrusting and jumping away. The knot of hardwood crushed his skull, splashing blood and brains across the surviving members of the garrison. They scattered into the interior of the compound with shrill cries; some of them dropped their weapons as they fled.

Torag roared, a hacking, saw-toothed challenge that echoed through the night. The Coerli warriors hunched, their long faces toward the ground. Sirawhil stood silent, and the captive women huddled together. Several were blubbering in despair.

Garric got down on one knee, keeping his eyes on Torag's short, twitching tail. He hoped his posture looked submissive, but he'd chosen it to give him the best chance of grabbing Torag if the chieftain swung around in fury to strike again.

Breathing in short, harsh snorts, Torag did turn, but he lowered his blood-smeared club. The fighting was over-to the extent there'd been a fight.

"Sorman, Ido was your sibling," the chief growled. "Throw his carrion into a pond where the eels will eat it."

A warrior, bending almost double, squirmed from the fringe of the gathering and gripped the corpse by the ankles. The victim had stiffened instantly when his brain was crushed; one arm stuck out at right angles. Sorman dragged the body through the gate and into the darkness. He didn't lift his gaze from the mud, at least until he was out of Torag's sight.

Torag raised his head and roared, but this time he was just sealing the reality that everybody around him accepted. Garric half-expected him to urinate on the gatepost, but apparently the Coerli were a little less bestial than that.

When Torag turned, he'd relaxed into his usual strutting self. Licking the head of his club absently, he said, "Get the fresh catch into the pens. And see to it that they're fed and watered. I don't want them dying on me after they cost me so much."

"What about the big one?" Sirawhil asked as the escorting warriors used spear butts to prod the captives toward the back of the compound. "I'll need to examine him further. Though I wish you'd let me take him home to the Council."

"Faugh, the Council," Torag said. "I don't care what happens at home any more. This is my world, Sirawhil. Put him in the same pen as the rest of them."

He looked at Garric, the club rising slightly in his hand. Garric kept his eyes on the leather belts that crossed in the middle of the chief's chest; he didn't move.

"If he breaks out," Torag said after obvious consideration. "he'll give us good sport. That's probably the best use for him anyway."

"Torag, he's important," the wizard said, then cringed away before the chieftain even raised a hand to strike her. In a less forceful tone she went on, "He could be valuable. We need to know more about him before, before...."

"As breeding stock, you mean?" Torag said. "Well, we'll see. Get him in the pen and we'll talk about it after I eat."

Either Nerga or Eny-the pair was indistinguishable to Garric-raised his spear as a prod. Garric stepped forward quickly, joining the coffle of women being marched through the compound by their escorts.

A thought struck him. He turned and called, "Sirawhil? If you want me to settle in properly, you'd better come along with your Bird. I can't speak the language of the villagers here."

By chance he was near Soma. She put her arm around him and called in a loud voice, "Garric is my man, you women! I will let you share him, but I am his first wife."

Garric shook her arm away. "Soma," he said, speaking to be heard by the entire coffle. "I am not your man, and you will never be my woman. Your shamelessness disgusts me!"

That was more or less true, but Garric had better reasons for speaking the words. He wanted allies for whatever plan he came up with, but Soma was the last person of those he'd met in this world whom he'd be willing to trust.

Sirawhil joined them. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Torag was entering the longhouse and no longer looking at them, then whispered, "Garric, you must not run! Torag and his warriors will hunt you down easily. If you'll stay quiet and not anger the chief, I'm sure I can get you home with me soon. Whether or not he agrees! You can live your life in safety, then."

"I don't want trouble," Garric said. That was a lie or the next thing to one. "If you'll help me, Sirawhil, I'll do what I can to help you too."

And that was a flat lie. Garric didn't make the mistake of thinking the Corl wizard was his friend just because she wasn't as likely to kill and eat him as her chief was.

The longhouse had a thatched roof. Its walls were wicker, waist high for two thirds of its length but solid at the back except for small windows covered with grills of some hard jointed grass like bamboo. Three Corl faces were crowded at the nearest window, watching Garric and the other prisoners file past. That must be Torag's harem.

"Yes," said the Bird's silent voice. "If Torag allowed his warriors to eat fresh meat regularly, they'd become sexually mature and he'd have to fight every one of them. Just being close to females in estrus may bring males to maturity. That's what was happening with Ido and why he risked killing meat for himself."

To either side of the longhouse were circular beehives big enough for two or three warriors apiece. Members of the raiding party split up among them, growling to one another and to members of the garrison who were coming out of hiding now that Torag's temper had cooled.

A single Corl climbed a tower supported on three poles, disappearing into the thick darkness. Garric couldn't imagine how a watchtower was of any use in these conditions, but the fact the guard had called the alarm at Torag's approach proved otherwise.