The Song of Homana (43 page)

Or die under, if it landed cocked.

“An Ihlini bestiary,” Duncan explained. “Their answer to the
lir
.”

We rode closer and I saw what he meant. Each deposit of stone had a form, if a man could call it that. The shapes were monstrous travesties of animals. Faces and limbs bore no resemblance to animals I had seen. It was a mockery of the gods, the
lir
defiled; an echo, perhaps, of their deity. Asar-Suti in stone. A god of many shapes. A god of grotesquerie.

I suppressed a shiver of intense distaste. This place was foulness incarnate. “We should beware an obvious approach.”

Duncan, falling back to ride abreast, merely nodded. “It would be unexpected did we simply ride in like so many martyrs, but also foolish. I do not choose to die a fool. So we will find cover and wait, until we have a plan for getting in.”

“Getting in
there
?” Rowan shook his head. “I do not see how.”

“There is a way,” Duncan told him. “There is always a way to get in. It is getting out that is difficult.”

Uneasily, I agreed.

It was, at last, Gryffth who found the way in. I was astonished when he offered himself, for he might well be boiled alive in the blood of the god, but it seemed the only way. And so I agreed, but only after I heard his explanation.

We knelt, all of us, behind the black-frozen shapes, too distant for watchers to see us from the ramparts. The white, stinking smoke veiled us even more, so that we felt secure in our place of hiding. The stones were large enough to offer shade in sunlight as well. In the shadows it was cool.

Gryffth, kneeling beside me, pulled a ring from his belt-pouch. “My lord, this should do it. It marks me a royal courier. It will give me safe entrance.”

“Should,”
I said sharply. “It may not.”

Gryffth grinned a little. His red hair was bright in the sunlight. “I think I will have no trouble. The High Prince has said, often enough, that I have the gift of a supple tongue. I will wind Tynstar around this finger.” He made a rude gesture with his hand, and all the Homanans laughed. In the months since the Ellasian had joined my service, he had made many friends. He had wit and purpose, and a charming way as well.

Rowan’s face was pensive. “When you face Tynstar, what will you say? The ring cannot speak for you.”

“No, but it gets me inside. Once there, I will tell Tynstar the High King of Ellas has sent me. That he wishes to make an alliance.”

“Rhodri would never do it!” Rowan exclaimed. “Do you think
Tynstar
will believe you?”

“He may, he may not. It does not matter.” Gryffth’s freckled face was solemn, echoing Duncan’s gravity. “I will tell him High Prince Cuinn, in sending men to the Mujhar, has badly angered his father. That Rhodri wishes no alliance with Homana, but desires Ihlini aid. If nothing else, it will gain Tynstar’s attention. He will likely host me the night, at least. And it is at night I will open the gate to let you in.” His smile came, quick and warm. “Once in, you will either live or die. By then, it will not matter what Tynstar thinks of my tale.”

“
You
may die.” Rowan sounded angry.

Gryffth shrugged. “A man lives, a man dies. He does not choose his life. Lodhi will protect me.”

Duncan smiled. “You could almost be Cheysuli.”

I saw Gryffth thinking it over. Ellasian-bred, he hardly knew the Cheysuli. But he did not think them demons. And so I saw him decide the comment was a compliment. “My thanks, Duncan…though Lodhi might see it differently.”

“You call him the All-Wise,” Duncan returned. “He must be wise enough to know when I mean you well.”

Gryffth, grinning, reached out and touched his arm. “For that, clan-leader, I will gladly do what I can to help you get her back.”

Duncan clasped his arm. “Ellasian—
Cheysuli i’halla shansu.
” He smiled at Gryffth’s frown of incomprehension. “May there be Cheysuli peace upon you.”

Gryffth nodded. “Aye, my friend. And may you know the wisdom of Lodhi.” He turned to me. “Does it please you, my lord, I will go in. And tonight, when I can, I will find a gate to open.”

“How will we know?” Rowan asked. “We cannot go up so close…and you can hardly light a fire.”

“I will send Cai to him,” Duncan said. “My
lir
can see when Gryffth comes out and tell me which gate he unlocks.”

Rowan sighed, rubbing wearily at his brow. “It all seems such a risk…”

“Risk, aye,” I agreed, “but more than worth the trying.”

Gryffth stood up. “I will go in, my lord. I will do what I can do.”

I rose as he did and clasped his arm. “Good fortune, Gryffth. May Lodhi guard you well.”

He untethered his horse and mounted, reining it around. He glanced down at Rowan, who had become a boon companion, and grinned. “Do not fret,
alvi
. This is what I choose.”

I watched Gryffth ride away, heading toward the fortress. The smoke hung over it like a miasma, cloaking the stone in haze. The breath of the god was foul.

The moon, hanging over our heads against the blackness of the sky, lent an eerie ambience to the canyon. The smoke clogged our noses. It rose up in stinking clouds, warming our flesh against our will. Shadows crept out from the huge stone shapes and swallowed us all, clutching with mouths and claws. My Homanans muttered of demons and Ihlini sorcerers; I thought they were one and the same.

Duncan, seated near me, shed his cloak and rose. “Cai says Gryffth has come out of the hall. He is in the inner bailey. We should go.”

We left the horses tethered and went on by foot. Cloaks hid our swords and knives from the moonlight. Our boots scraped against the glossy basalt, scattering ash and powdered stone. As we drew nearer, using the shapechanged stones to hide us, the ground warmed beneath our feet. The smoke hissed and whistled as it came out of the earth, rising toward the moon.

We worked our way up to the walls that glistened in the moonlight. They were higher even than the walls of Homana-Mujhar, as if Tynstar meant to mock me. At each of the corners and midway along the walls stood a tower, a huge round tower bulging out of the dense basalt, spiked with crenellations and crockets and manned, no doubt, by Ihlini minions. The place stank of sorcery.

The nearest gate was small. I thought it likely it opened
into a smaller bailey. We had slipped around the front of the fortress walls and came in from the side, eschewing the main barbican gate that would swallow us up like so many helpless children. But the side gate opened, only a crack, and I saw Gryffth’s face in the slit between wall and dark wood.

One hand gestured us forward. We moved silently, saying nothing, holding scabbards to keep them quiet. Gryffth, as I reached him in the gate, pushed it open wider. “Tynstar is not here,” he whispered, knowing what it would mean to me. “Come you in now, and you may avoid the worst of it.”

One by one we crept in through the gate. I saw the shadows of winged
lir
pass overhead. We had also wolves and foxes and mountain cats slipping through the gate, but I wondered if they would fight. Finn had said the gods’ own law kept the
lir
from attacking Ihlini.

Gryffth shut the gate behind us, and I saw the two bodies lying against the wall. I looked at him; he said nothing. But I was thankful nonetheless. Like Lachlan, he served me as if born to it, willing, even to slay others.

We were in a smaller bailey, away from the main one, and Valgaard lay before us. The halls and side rooms bulged out from a central mass of stone. But we seemed to be through the worst of it.

We started across the bailey, across the open spaces, though we tried to stay to the shadows. Swords were drawn now, glinting in the moonlight, and I heard the soughing of feet against stone. Out of the bailey toward an inner ward while the walls reared up around us; how long would our safety last?

Not long. Even as Gryffth led us through to the inner ward I heard the hissing and saw a streamer of flame as it shot up into the air from one of the towers. It broke over our heads, showering us with a violet glare, and I knew it would blast the shadows into the white-hot glare of the sun. No more hiding in the darkness.

“Scatter!” I shouted, heading for the hall.

My sword was in my hand. I heard the step beside me and swung around, seeing foe, not friend, with his hand
raised to draw a rune. Quickly I leveled my blade and took him in the throat. He fell in a geyser of blood.

Rowan was at my back, Gryffth at his. We went into the hall in a triangular formation, swords raised and ready. The Cheysuli had gone, slipping into the myriad corridors, but I could hear the Homanans fighting. Without Tynstar’s presence we stood our greatest chance, but the battle would still be difficult. I had no more time left to lose.

“Hold them!” I shouted as four men advanced with swords and knives. I expected sorcery and they came at us with steel.

Even as I brought up my sword I felt the twinge shoot through both hands. In all my practice with Cormac I had not been able to shed the pain of my swollen fingers. As yet they could still hold a hilt, but the strength I had taken for granted was gone. I had to rely more on quickness of body than my skill in elaborate parries. I was little more than a man of average skill now, because of Tynstar.

Gryffth caught a knife from a hidden sheath and sent it flying across the hall. It took one Ihlini flush in the chest and removed him from the fight. Three to three now, but even as I marked their places I saw Rowan take another with his sword. Myself, for the moment, they ignored. And so, knowing my sword skill was diminished, I decided to go on without it. Did the Ihlini want me, they could come for me. Otherwise I would avoid them altogether.

“Hold them,” I said briefly, and ran into the nearest corridor. The stone floor was irregular, all of a slant, this way and that, as if to make it difficult for anyone to run through it. There were few torches in brackets along the walls; I sensed this portion of the fortress was only rarely used. Or else the Ihlini took the light with them when they walked.

The sounds of fighting fell away behind me, echoing dimly in the tunnel-like corridor. I went on, hearing the scrape of sole against stone, and waited for the attack that would surely come.

I went deeper into the fortress, surrounded by black basalt that glistened in the torchlight. The walls seemed to swallow the light, so that my sword blade turned black to
match the ruby, and I felt my eyes strain to see where I was going. The few torches guttered and hissed in the shadows, offering little illumination; all it wanted was Tynstar to come drifting out of the darkness, and my courage would be undone.

I heard the grate of stone on stone and swung around, anticipating my nightmare. But the man who stepped out of the recess in the wall was a stranger to me. His eyes were blank, haunted things. He seemed to be missing his soul.

Silently, he came at me. His sword was a blur of steel, flashing in the torchlight, and I jumped back to avoid the slash that hissed beside my head. My own blade went up to strike his down. They caught briefly, then disengaged as we jerked away. I could feel the strain in my hands, and yet I dared not lose my grip.

Again he came at me. I skipped back, then leaped aside, and the sword tip grated on stone. And yet even as I moved to intercept, the Ihlini’s blade flashed sideways to stop my lunge and twist my sword from my hands. It was not a difficult feat. And so my weapon clanged against the black stone floor and I felt the hot pain in my knuckles flare up to pierce my soul.

The blade came at me again, thrusting for my belly. I sucked back, avoiding the tip, and felt the edge slice through leather and linen to cut along my ribs. Not deeply, scraping against one bone, but it was enough to make me think.

I jumped then, straight upward from the floor, grabbing the nearest torch and dragging it from its brackets. Even as the Ihlini came at me again I had it, whirling to thrust it into his face. The flame roared.

The sorcerer screamed and dropped his sword, hands clawing at his face. He invoked Asar-Suti over and over again, gibbering in his pain, until he slumped down onto his knees. I stepped back as I saw one hand come up to make an intricate motion.

“Seker, Seker.…” He chanted, rocking on his knees while his burned face glistened in the torchlight. “Seker, Seker.…”

The torch was still in my right hand. As the Ihlini
invoked his god and drew his rune in the air, the flame flowed down over the iron to caress my hand with pain.

I dropped the torch at once, tossing it toward the wall while my knuckles screamed with pain. The flame splashed against the stone and ran down, flooding the floor of the corridor. As the Ihlini continued to chant, his hands still clasped to his face, the fire crept toward my boots.

I stepped back at once, retreating with little aplomb. My sword, still lying on the stone, was in imminent danger of being swallowed. The flame poured across the floor like water, heading for my boots.

“Seker, Seker—make him
burn
!”

But he had made a deadly mistake. No doubt he intended only his enemy to burn, but he had not been clearly distinct. He himself still knelt on the floor, and as the stone caught fire from the river of ensorcelled flame so did he. It ran up his legs and enveloped his body in fire. I kicked out swiftly and shoved the sword aside with one boot, then ran after it even as the river of fire followed me. I left the living pyre in the corridor, scooped up my sword and ran.

It was then I heard the shout. Alix’s voice. The tone was one of fear and desperation, but it held a note of rage as well. And then I heard the scuffle and the cry.

I ran. I rounded the corner and brought up my sword, prepared to spit someone upon it, but I saw there was no need. The Ihlini lay on the ground, face down, as the blood ran from his body, and Alix was kneeling to take his knife. She already had his sword.

She spun around, rising at once into a crouch. The knife dropped from her hand at once as she took a two-handed grip on the sword. And then she saw me clearly and the sword fell out of her hand.