The web of wizardry (34 page)

As they dismounted, the big Destre swept them into a hearty hug of greeting and Branra grinned widely. But there was little time to enjoy this reunion. Danaer relayed the sobering news concerning Hablit's presence in the city and Yistar's death. Branra's swarthy face clouded with rage. "That will be avenged, I swear, and Hablit's treachery. But now we must away from here. Time draws very sharp."

Danaer helped to harness an ill-matched team to the last wagon while Gordyan rode toward a junctioning street, chasing Dekans away from killing several soldiers trying to reach the square. Danaer urged Lira to get into the wagon with the wounded, but she would not do so until the last injured man was aboard.

A great din filled the streets, and Danaer admired Branra's ability to make any sense out of the confusion. Then a troopman came riding from the inner city, shouting above the other noises, "They come, my lord!

They have flung wide the gates, and the eastern walls are entirely theirs!"

Branra added his weight to Danaer's arguments now, telling Lira, "It is proper that you should ride in the wagon, my lady sorkra. We have done our duty to Deki and must flee and continue the war elsewhere."

With much reluctance, she obeyed, barely in time, for the driver lashed up the team. Lira looked back at Danaer, calling to him, her words torn away in the uproar. He caught up the reins of his roan as horses and men bumped over panic-strewn cobblestones. Close beside Branra, Danaer rode around a pile of wrecked carts, following the wagon. Then something caught the corner of his vision, making him look upward.

An immense shadow was descending from Deki's lofty roofs, dropping down steeply into the square. Danaer gaped incredulously, jerking his horse to a stop, and Branra cried, "By the nme thousand devils of Bogotana, what is that?"

The underbelly was in darkness, but feathery body and wings were limned in white as the sun glanced off the diving creature—a snake! An unbelievable and hideous winged snake, gigantic and savage! Great flapping pinions reached out the length of three men's bodies on either side of a serpentine form, and its jaws were wide, terrible fangs dripping as it swooped, spiral-ing toward the center of the square, lizardy eyes seeking its prey.

Man and beast screamed and sought to flee, and grasping claws appeared from the snake-bird's under-parts, talons finding flesh, tearing the head of a horse from the brute's body, then slashing death blows as a line of stragglers tried to follow the departing wagons. Blood and flesh were scattered in the demon thmg s wake as it flapped and rose and swirled about agam, coming for the attack.

Yistar's snake! The dying man had spoken true, not out of delirium! And this was the awful monster which had brought him to his death. Danaer's fear was overborne by hatred, and he forced his frantic roan to answer his command, riding breakneck, seeing where the. snake-bird would try to strike next.

"My Lord Branra! Guard yourself! It comes for you as it came for Straedanfi!"

Superb horseman that he was, Branra pulled back his mount skillfully and the unholy serpent rushed by him, its murderous fangs and talons missing him by fingers'-breadths.

"Can it be slain?" Branra shouted.

Danaer remembered the attack in Ulodovors chambers. "They can be killed. I have done so."

"Then at it!"

As the creature swooped by again, they fought their terrified horses and struggled to land a blow. Danaer exclaimed with triumph as he felt his sword bite clean and hard . . . into nothing! The terrible demon flew up unhurt, beating scaly white wings to gain height and turn and come again at them.

Danaer stared at his sword. There was no trace of blood on it, yet he was sure he had not misjudged. He had cut the thing!

At the edge of the square, Lira was chmbing out of the wagon, dropping down to the stones, then holding up her arms. She was not safe, leaving the city, but staying to conjure at the Markuand snake-bird! The monster wanted Branra, but would he not want to destroy Lira even more? Danaer sucked in his breath, fearing for her.

But the demon was concentrating on Branra, closing, trying to rend him. Branra was the man who could best lead the survivors of the fallen city and hearten soldiers to turn and fight again. Well did the Markuand wizard select his prey!

And Branra would not be daunted, still trying to strike back, crying that he would have vengeance for Captain Yistar. The gaping snake's maw opened, glistening, deadly sharp fangs exposed. A leathery wing brushed Danaer's helmet and a stench gushed at him from the monster's mouth, a reek to steal a man's breath while he defended himself. The snake-bird hovered, beating the air, aiming for its kill.

Danaer wielded his sword in both hands, futilely, hacking at slime-bright scales and feathers, enraged by

his powerlessness. He deftly sheathed the sword and drew his bronze belt knife, flinging it fair into the demon's ugly throat—to no effect!

Lira was swaying, gesticulating, and Danaer felt a renewal of the cold and blackness gathering in response to her spell-casting. But would it be in time, and could she succeed without her Web? Danaer prayed to the goddess and willed his being joined with her talisman, then reached for his steel boot knife, though with little hope.

Branra did not wait. He was hoarse from shouting defiance at the evil snake and somehow yet found voice to bellow, "Now!" The blade which had scourged the Tradyan tribes slashed into the scaly neck just as the demon tried to pluck Branra from his saddle.

Black steam poured from a terrible wound, and a shriek from the Death God's realm split the air. Outspread wings spasmed in agony, showering scales and feathers like rain. Falling, ichor spurting, the snake-bird crashed into Branra's black, overtoppling the horse and crushing it down to the cobblestones. Hurriedly Danaer rode out of its way as the monster writhed in its death throes. Keeping reins tightly in hand, not trusting the panicky roan overmuch, he jumped down and ran forward to help Branra. The officer was stunned by his fall, about to be trapped beneath both animals.

"Quickly, my lord, take my arm!"

A ghastly serpentine head lay across the dead horse, a black gore pouring forth, puddling under men and beasts. Branra's own blood flowed from a bad scalp cut. He clung to Danaer reflexively, kicking free. Staggering, he tried to put his sword back in its sheath, needing Danaer's help, so dazed was he.

Danaer looked around apprehensively. This demon was dead, but what if more should come while Branra was still too weak to use his most potent sword? "Mount my roan," Danaer said, shoving Branra's foot into the stirrup.

"It is . . . your horse," Branra mumbled, arguing even as he clambered into the saddle.

"We will ride double," Danaer said, wrapping

Branra's limp fingers tightly about the roan's mane and gathering himself to leap up behind the cantle.

Then a blow struck him, and a wave of excruciating pain boiled from his back. Danaer slumped heavily against the roan. Though restive, the animal stood his weight. Danaer shook his head and gasped, then gingerly slid his left hand across his chest and over his shoulder, groping to find what had hit him. His fingers touched the shaft of an arrow, and fresh agony nearly made him faint.

XIX

You Go INTO Danger, Destre-Y

Fighting away increasing dizziness, Danaer craned his neck to locate the arrow and estimate its penetration. As he did, he saw a Markuand archer entering the square, riding for him and Branra. Perhaps, like the snake-bird, he was directed by his wizard master to slay Branra.

Danaer's legs threatened to give way under him. If he now attempted to mount behind Branra, it would mean death for them both. And he would not be able to fend off the approaching Markuand and then mount.

"Hold fast, Lieutenant," he said, then gave the roan a Destre command. Eager to leave the carcass of the monster serpent, the horse sped away, following the wagons toward the western gates. Branra, though only half conscious, stuck to its back as well as any tribesman.

With the roan's support gone, Danaer dropped helplessly to his knees. The Markuand was almost upon him, cursing an empty quiver, flinging down the bow and drawing sword, flailing his stolen roan and trying to catch up with Branra. Danaer was in his way, and would be but a moment's work to cut down. He saw

that the Markuand was already defeated, for Danaer had sent Branra's horse off at a rocking gait, and the enemy would never be able to overtake him. The Markuand realized this also, turning toward him, angry frustration in his manner.

"Kant, prodra Argan," Danaer whispered. He had sent Branra to safety that his people, that Krantin, might live. That was to die with honor, and he begged the goddess to grant him a merciful death.

Suddenly the Markuand archer fell, landing supine, a great bloody smear on the back of his neck. Dimly Danaer identified the wound as one made by a Destre sling. The enemy's stolen roan came to a halt when its reins touched the cobblestones. It snuffled and pawed as Danaer peered dizzily at it. A pair of large boots were moving across his line of sight, closing in on the Markuand as the archer attempted to rise. A heel came down on the Markuand's neck with a hard snapping sound and he moved no more.

A moment later, Gordyan was crouching beside Danaer. Confusion and pain pounded at him as he tried to speak. "An ... an arrow ..."

"I see it, maen," Gordyan said gently.

"Danaer!" Lira too was kneeling before him.

"The wagon. Get back in the wagon," he begged.

"Be still, my Sharp Eyes. There may be more wizardry afoot besides that bird. You need my sorkra arts. Gordyan, we must help him."

"Ai! He cannot ride alone. Take that roan the Markuand was using. Hold steady now, warrior. I must break this shaft." There was a wrenching crack, and from the pain Danaer was certain Gordyan had broken a bone rather than the arrow. The big man pulled at Danaer's armpits, heaving him to his feet, insistent. "Get up. Stand up!"

A loud ringing filled Danaer's ears, and everything seemed to have a peculiar yellow cast. "I cannot ..."

"Gordyan?" Lira sounded very far away.

"It struck deeply. I have seen this before. Stay awake a bit longer now, hyidu." Those powerful arms hfted Danaer and carried him Hke a child. Gordyan

was trying to put him atop his own big blue roan. Years of habit helped Danaer gain the saddle. The sway of the horse under him churned his stomach and jolted new hurt into his shoulder. By now nearly all other noises were lost in the roaring within his head. Gordyan was mounting and briefly brushing against that torment at Danaer's back; then an arm closed protectively about his chest.

The roan galloped forward, the brisk gait driving a soft moan past Danaer's clenched teeth. He tasted vomit and choked it down. The nausea faded, and his main concern became fighting back a shameful outcry as the agony in his shoulder grew.

Sometimes his wits rallied and matters were clear. At those times, he tried to assess their progress. Escape. That was the important thing. He could not remember why, but it was all that was real at this moment, a desperate need.

Gray walls flowed by, and the ragged unsteadiness of the roan's lope made Danaer's belly heave often. He shut his eyes tight for long minutes. When he opened them again, green countryside stretched out on every side. Tiredly, he supposed they must have won free of Deki and be entering the outlands. How far had they ridden? He could not tell, and did not much care. He roused and fell back into pain.

Finally the roan came to a stop. The animal was lathered and blowing hard, for it had carried two men, one of them Gordyan. Gordyan spoke close to Danaer's ear, but he addressed Lira. "We must rest a bit, or the horses will drop. And I must see if I can staunch this blood."

Dismounting was torture. Danaer managed to get down fairly well, but when his feet touched the earth he collapsed. He sat on wet grass and let Gordyan and Lira tend him, only half knowing what they did or said.

"Can we find some of your warriors, Gordyan? We have lost the track of the wagons. The army must be far ahead of us now."

"I fear my men are badly scattered. Destre-Y always accept control Ughtly. We must ride on to the

Sink, or there will be no hope of getting away from the Markuand."

"Bogotana's Sink?" Lira wailed in dismay. "But Danaer must have water and food ..."

"There is a fair oasis not far from here, just after we cross into the Sink. It is known to even very few Destre. Perhaps it will be safe for us to make camp there," Gordyan assured her. "But it will be slow going with Danaer. He can take little more jostling. The need now is to save his blood until I can build a fire and dig that barb free. What of the Markuand wizard? Does he hunt us with more of those snake-birds?"

"I think not," Lira said. She felt Danaer's brow and fussed over him. "Such creations as that take unfathomable wizardry to sustain. Further, he spent his powers breaching Deki's walls with magic. It may be that not even Ms terrible strength is mexhaustible. When Branra slew the demon, it hurt the Markuand sorely."

"Good!" Gordyan growled. "We will get away while he nurses his well-earned hurt."

Lira looked anxiously into Danaer's sweating face. "Qedra, do you hear me? Will you be able to ride again?"

He found his voice, though it was faint and unsteady. "I ... I beUeve so. The ringing in my ears has stopped."

"Ah!" Gordyan cried, pleased by that.

Danaer rallied enough to say, "If you can reach the caravan, the surgeons can help me ..."

"Not possible, hyidu. There is now very deep hatred between Destre and your army. We have passed numerous bodies of stragglers slain by plains people, not by Markuand. In time the anger may cool on both sides and let us approach your caravan without being killed on sight. But you need help now/* Gordyan allowed no more arguments, nor had Danaer the strength to make them. "Hold still while I tie this."

After a bit the throbbing dropped to a bearable level. Gordyan had removed Danaer's mantle and used part of it as a crude bandage; the remainder he laid over Danaer's head; it was starting to rain, a cold and