The Gods Return (53 page)

The staff punched the wizard in the breastbone, flinging him back for a double pace. He bounced onto the bridge, then slipped off and dropped into the abyss. He screamed all the way down.

Cashel recovered his staff. He felt like he'd fallen from a high cliff into the sea, shocked and stunned. He could still handle himself if push came to shove, though. He hadn't planned what he was doing, just did what seemed right at the time.

It
had
been right, but there'd been a cost. Well, it wasn't the first time he'd been bruised and achy after a fight.

"Join the halves of the coin, hero," Milady called. She'd wrapped her arms around Allarde. Blue flames continued to lick from her mouth as she spoke and from the wizard's as he screamed without end. "There's a doorway in the back of the room you're in. Give the coin to the man in the hut behind the castle. He'll show you to Gorand."

Cashel spun the staff, sunwise and then widdershins; getting his balance, working the stiffness from muscles that'd felt like they'd been frozen when Allarde's wands shattered. He was all right now, or close enough.

"Thank you, ma'am," he called to the tiny figure laughing in the hellfire. He started toward bridge ending in the far distance, wondering how long it would take him to get there.

His foot came down on polished stone, black and white almost-squares laid in a swirl pattern that matched the floor of the anteroom where the busts were. The bridge was gone, the chasm was gone, and half a silver coin gleamed on the little table against the far wall. It was the room he'd seen through the doorway before he'd entered.

Cashel looked over his shoulder. Liane and Rasile were walking toward him. The head, Milady's fiery head, had vanished. His lips pursed.

"Cashel, you saved me," Liane said. "You and Rasile. Your expression, though . . . is there something wrong?"

Cashel smiled. She was due an answer, though, so he said, "Allarde wouldn't have been a friend of mine, I guess, no matter what else was going on. But being yoked to Milady for, well, forever . . . seems pretty hard."

"He's probably regretting not having considered that before," Rasile said, her tongue laughing. "Before he mated with her and then betrayed her, that is. But we have work to do, companions."

She walked across the room and waited by the table till Cashel and Liane joined her. Gesturing to the bit of silver, she said, "This is your task, warrior."

Cashel fished the half coin Milady had given him out of his sash, leaned his staff into the crook of his arm, and picked up the rest of it. The edges mated with a dusting of blue wizardlight; the coin was whole again.

"This way, I think," Rasile said, walking toward the door in the wall to the left. It was heavy and cross-braced, but the bar had been withdrawn from the staples it rode in.

"A moment," Cashel said, folding the coin back into his sash. He hefted his quarterstaff, then stepped in front of the women and pulled the door open. He strode out into a sun-dappled forest.

* * *

Sharina retreated a step but bumped her heel into something. She leaped high, bunching her legs beneath her to keep from sprawling backward as the scorpion advanced on her.

"On command!" Prester shouted. The nave of the temple had excellent acoustics. "Aim at the eyes!"

Sharina landed on the squirming body of the priest Burne had hamstrung. He squealed shrilly. She hopped to the side now that she was upright again.

"
Loose!
"

Six javelins flickered into the monster's headplate. Two clinked together in the air but penetrated anyway. Cracks spread in pale webs across the black chitin.

The slender steel points obliterated the two large eyes set close together in the center of the plate, though when the scorpion shook itself Sharina saw that there were three more eyes along each side of the head. The wooden shafts rattled together.

"Keep your guard up, boys!" shouted Pont as he rushed in. The scorpion's pincers were each the length of Sharina's outstretched arm. One reached out and closed on the top of the veteran's shield, crunching it into separate layers of wood. Pont stabbed up, into the joint. The other pincer grabbed for his head, but a soldier blocked it with his shield and Prester's sword cut through that joint as well.

The scorpion's tail curled, ripping with it the upper part of the screen that had closed the sanctum. The creature snapped the bronze backward and forward as it tried to shake it off. The perforated plating flexed like thunder in the vaulted temple.

Sharina poised. Ascor bellowed a warning, but she ducked between the first two of the four legs on the creature's right side, chopping right and left. The Pewle knife cut through both joints from the inside.

Yellow ichor that smelled of vinegar spurted from the wounds. The scorpion's massive body sagged, battering Sharina to the stone floor. Ascor and Prester each grabbed an ankle and jerked her back on her belly. The tail flicked down, free of the screen, and stabbed the hooked six-inch sting into the shield which Pont had interposed.

Pont slid his arms from the straps and backed away, his sword lifted on guard. With his left hand he drew his sheathed dagger.

The scorpion shambled forward. Soldiers hacked at the legs on the left side, but the outside joints were protected by stiff hairs and plates flaring above and below the flexible part of the case.

Sharina rolled away and scrambled to her feet. The white-haired priest was trying to get up also, but each time his foot flopped under and he fell down again. The scorpion stepped on his torso and pinned him screaming, then stepped on him again. Blood sprayed from the priest's mouth and he finally fell silent.

Pont and Prester moved in together. The scorpion slashed at them with its right pincer, though the lower blade couldn't close any more. Pont lunged to meet it with the edge of his sword. The blow slammed him down, but he'd bought his comrade enough time to cut twice. Prester didn't have the advantage of being underneath, but his arm was strong and his sword was much heavier than the Pewle knife. The creature's two hind legs collapsed, dropping it helpless to the ground.

Dawn, flooding in through the opening in the eastern pediment, painted the nave the dusty red of blown roses. Soldiers enthusiastically cut at the legs on the left side, gashing chitin and spraying ichor in all directions without doing real harm. The scorpion was working itself around. Its remaining legs clacked sharply to get purchase on the polished stone.

Sharina gasped to breathe, bending over slightly. Fatigue and the stink of the monster's fluids made her stomach churn.

"Out of the way, farmers!" Ascor shouted. He had a javelin, perhaps the one Pont had dropped on the temple porch; he held it behind the balance. The heels of both his hands were forward as though it were a harpoon.

One of the regulars turned and gaped at the Blood Eagle. Prester grabbed the man's swordbelt and hauled him clear with careless ease. Ascor took a long stride and lunged, thrusting the spear with all his strength into the scorpion's mouth. It sank to the wooden shaft.

Ascor backed away. The scorpion's body arched together. The stinger was still stuck in Prester's shield, a curved section of plywood that delivered a crushing blow to the creature's head plate. The great body shuddered, but its movements were as mindless as ripples dancing on a pond in a sudden squall.

Sharina straightened as she got her breath. She stood in a pool of dawn light. Men were shouting, and her arms were covered with ichor that thickened as it dried. Her skin itched.

She heard, she
felt
, a buzzing sound; the light about her changed. Dawn had become the cold ruby insistence of wizardlight.

"
The time is accomplished, Sharina
," boomed Black's voice. "
Now you must come to me!
"

The last thing she was aware of as she dropped out of the waking world was Burne, leaping from the floor to her right shoulder.

* * *

"Thank you," Garric said to the boatman as the vessel grounded in the cypress grove. Rather than hand Tenoctris over the high gunwale, he took her satchel.

"It's a rare pleasure to meet a scholar," the boatman said with a wan smile. "But I made a conscious choice. It wasn't a bad one, all things considered."

The smile faded somewhat. The boat dissolved in mist and shadow as soon as Garric's boot touched the forest loam, but he thought he heard the boatman add, "And I've had a very long time to consider."

It was midmorning by the angle of the sun through the leaves. Tenoctris appeared beside him—out of thin air, it seemed. She wore a cheerful expression, but the lines of strain at the corners of her eyes hadn't been there when the two of them entered the grove the night before. If it was only one night.

"Your highness?" called Lord Waldron from just beyond the circle of trees. His presence here, a mile from the camp, was as unexpected as a troupe of dancing girls and it suggested much worse possibilities.

Waldron swung himself into the saddle. "Marstens, bring the mounts for his highness and Lady Tenoctris! Your highness, I'm
very
glad you're back."

He rode to Garric's side; it was only five or six double-paces, but Waldron couldn't imagine walking if there was a horse available. He continued, "The enemy's approaching, about three days south of our present camp, and this isn't the best terrain to meet them on. We couldn't, of course, displace until you'd returned."

"You say 'the enemy's approaching,'" Garric said. He felt buffeted by the change from discussing ancient historians on a boat sailing through the cosmos to planning a battle with an unknown enemy, but he supposed that was what it meant to be king. "The main body, you mean?"

The king in his mind laughed merrily. "
That's what it means to be a soldier, lad
," Carus said. "
Though I could've done without arguments on Poleinis and Timarion
."

"Yes, and the Emperor of Palomir himself is with them," Waldron said as his aide trotted up with two horses—a powerful bay gelding and a cream palfrey wearing a sidesaddle. "At any rate, there's a green banner with a white wedge that the scouts haven't seen before, and the pole seems to have a crown on it."

Tenoctris lifted herself easily onto the palfrey and wheeled it around so that she faced the men again. "Yes," she said, "that's the imperial standard. It's Mount Sebala rising above Palomir City. I can easily do a divination to make sure the emperor's really present, of course."

"No, no!" said Waldron with more than a touch of impatience. "We have to get back immediately and give the order to march. I've made the preparations, but of course the order—"

He looked at Garric, now mounted beside him, and dipped his head in brief deference.

"—will come from you, your highness."

He gestured to the trumpeter beside him. His quick, silvery, "Advance" was echoed by the deeper notes of the cornicenes of the individual troops. The cavalry squadron started forward.

Garric prodded his gelding into motion to keep up with the army commander. "Milord?" he said, not quite as irritated as King Carus but not pleased with the situation either. "Before I give any orders,
what
do you propose to do?"

"Haft has a range of mountains down the spine, your highness," Waldron said. "Not so high as Blaise, but there's only one pass for fifty miles in either direction from the east coast to Carcosa."

He must've noticed Garric glancing over his shoulder, because he added with the same impatience, "Your guards will follow at their own pace. I've given Lord Asterpos his orders."

"I know Haft has hills," said Garric, controlling his exasperation in part because the boiling fury of the ghost in his mind was so obviously excessive. "And I've crossed from Barca's Hamlet to Carcosa, so I know the pass as well. Are you proposing to retreat to Carcosa?"

"Your highness, I forgot you were from Haft," said Waldron in startled contrition. Though it wouldn't be obvious to anyone who didn't know him, the army commander had just bestowed a great compliment: he had been thinking of Garric as a noble from Northern Ornifal like himself, not as a hick peasant from a backwater island. "And no, not retreat to Carcosa, but if we hold the pass the rats will have to come at us on a narrow front where they can't use their numbers."

He cleared his throat and went on, "The Palomir army is larger than we'd expected. Lord Zettin estimates there are at least forty thousand rats. I find Zettin a bumptious upstart, but his scouts seem to have a good grasp of their duties."

"From previous reports it looked like the rats would come from the south rather than due east," Garric said. King Carus was sifting the data with a quick precision that his descendent would never be able to equal, but they'd come to the same conclusions regardless. "Is that still the case?"

"Yes, your highness," said Waldron, visibly pleased that the camp was in sight. "They seem to have planned to overrun Cordin, but they turned north when they realized we were marching on them."

Horns were calling from the camp. The ghost of Carus scowled and said, "
And I bloody well hope the artillery in the gate towers either isn't cocked or doesn't have bolts in the troughs, because they're pointing them at us.
"

"Right," said Garric. "So we don't have to worry about Palomir maneuvering around us—they want a battle. We'll march half a day south into the dry grasslands between what used to be the coast of Haft and the reefs paralleling it. We'll give them their battle there, but I don't think it'll be the battle they want."