Zandru's Forge (51 page)

“Come on, Marius,” Felicia said, moving toward the door. Marius followed in her wake like a younger brother.

After their footsteps fell into silence, Eduin let out his breath. He completed about half the remaining work, all the time listening for any sound of return. Then he headed back to his own chamber. If he encountered either of them, he could truthfully say that he had taken a break before finishing up.

He sweated all the way back to his room. It was near dawn by the light simmering outside the diamond-mullioned windows along the corridor to the sleeping chambers. The night’s work was over, and most of the Tower workers would be in the kitchen or dining room, replenishing their energies. Below, the village stirred to life.

A servant, a girl from one of the outlying farms, passed him just outside of his room with an armful of linens. Eduin’s nerves shrilled alarm, but he forced himself to walk slowly and confidently. She bobbed a curtsy as she hurried by. He told himself that he did not owe her an explanation, that it was not her business to question a
laranzu
in his own Tower.

His father’s stone was hidden exactly where he had left it, a neat packet in its layers of insulation. He slipped it inside his shirt and hurried back to the laboratory. With a sense of relief and elation, he closed the door behind him. The room was exactly as he had left it, even the array of tools aligned precisely on their tray.

Eduin knew precisely where to position the stone, how it would reflect the blue-white light of the other stones and fade to invisibility. He had only to finish keying it to Felicia’s mental signature and place it within the matrix.

The lattice still hummed with her pattern. As Keeper, Felicia was the interface between the device and the human circle. In addition, he’d managed to come by a strand or two of her hair for the genetic material.

With the final adjustments, the stone brightened. It was now fully activated and ready for the triggering event—contact with the mind to which it had been attuned. With any luck, that would take place tomorrow night.

Eduin grasped the stone carefully with wooden tongs and began lowering it into the lattice. Just then, a noise outside the door—the scuff of footsteps—reached him. He froze.

Before he could move, the door swung open. He whipped his head around as Marius entered.

“Oh, you’re still here,” the boy said. Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the room. He picked up a scarf from underneath his bench, where it had fallen. “I forgot this,” he said with a trace of nervousness. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

“It’s all right,” Eduin heard himself say. Only after Marius left did he take a full breath. The boy had a perfectly legitimate reason to return to the laboratory, he hadn’t been spying, and he had noticed nothing amiss.

The stone fitted into its setting with a satisfying
chink!
Eduin stepped back to inspect the lattice. Just as he had anticipated, there was no visible difference, nothing which could not be explained as his final adjustments.

His task complete, Eduin headed for the kitchen and a badly-needed meal. Now he had only to wait for the inevitable workings of justice to unfold.

Carolin and the band of loyal men who had sought him out camped in the rugged hills that looked down upon the valley of Highgarth. They had ridden many leagues, and his muscles ached with fatigue, yet sleep eluded him. He knew better than to wander from the safety of those sworn to protect him, for Rakhal had again raised the bounty for his death or capture, high enough to tempt even honest men.

The night was mild and the pastel multihued light of the moons softened the fractured rock of the crags. Highgarth Castle sat upon a promontory, a mass of solid rock which jutted over the widest bend of the river, protected on three sides by currents too wild to ford and by a single, easily defended trail on the other. Even at this distance, Carolin made out a pinprick of light here and there along the castle walls.

For the past tendays, as they made their way from Carcosa, unease had gnawed at the back of his mind. His skin prickled at every crackle of twig and passing shadow. He was, Orain said, jumpier than a half-witted rabbit-horn.

He knew he was taking a terrible chance, and not only for himself, in returning to Highgarth. Valdrin Castamir had already put his life at risk by providing shelter during that hectic flight from Nevarsin. The old soldier had served Rafael Hastur, he who had been King and Hastur of Thendara before dying under mysterious circumstances and leaving Felix, even then doddering toward senility, to take the crown. Such loyalty ran deep.

They had set up camp just as the great Bloody Sun dipped behind the silhouetted crags, but Carolin could not bring himself to approach any closer. Wrapped in his tattered cloak, he crouched on the steep rock and watched the silver ribbon of river.

He felt Orain’s approach, a shadow against the night.

“Bredu, do not trouble yourself,” Carolin said. “I will not risk myself without good cause.”

“You already risk yourself simply by being anywhere on this side of the Kadarin,” Orain replied. “But I have long since accepted the futility of telling you so.”

Restlessness trickled through Carolin’s veins. He wondered if Orain were not right, that they should never have crossed back into Hastur lands. Seeing his sons safely into the care of his far-flung kin, the Hasturs of Carcosa, beyond Rakhal’s reach, was his first purpose. The wild lands were cruel enough to a grown man, let alone two boys, even though they complained so little. A fall from a horse, an avalanche of mud or snow, a fever, an attack by cloud leopard, wolf or even banshee, any of these could so easily take a child’s life. They were too precious to risk.

The time was coming when he could not continue to hide, when he must return to his own lands with the growing number of men who had gathered under his banners, and meet Rakhal in battle. Once his sons were settled out of harm’s way, Carolin had taken the longer route back in order to seek
Dom
Valdrin’s counsel.

If only Varzil were here
...

He remembered their pledge, to rebuild the Tower at Neskaya as a symbol of hope and peace. In these times, it seemed impossible that such a thing would ever come to pass. Yet, with men like Orain and Valdrin at his side—

“You are right,” Orain said. “Something is amiss. At this hour, there should be more light—torches and fires for cooking. We should see some trace of them, as well as the smoke. And we have seen but little movement of men or horses.”

“You must not go down,” Orain said, and his voice had an edge like obsidian. “Not until we know for sure. The place is not deserted and this quietness may have some good cause; all may yet be well.”

“We will wait, then,” Carolin said, “and see what we can discover from here. The morning may show us more. But in the end, we must find out if anything has befallen
Dom
Valdrin and his folk.”

“I will go, or one of the others.”

Carolin shook his head. “If one of you were to fall into Lyondri’s hands, he would use any vile means to wring my whereabouts from you. I cannot ask it—”

“And you cannot go, and risk everything!” In the dying light, Carolin could not read the expression in the eyes of his foster-brother, but he recognized the surge of obstinacy.

“Tomorrow we will discuss this further,” Carolin said.

Toward dawn, Carolin fell into a broken slumber. He startled awake at the approach of young Mikhal, who had come with him from Nevarsin and had taken the last watch of the night.

“Vai dom,
and you, too, Lord Orain, come quickly. Something is going on down there. There are soldiers. And, sir, they wear Hastur colors.”

Jittery energy surged through Carolin’s veins. A glance showed him that Orain had come instantly alert also. In silence, they followed the boy to the outcropping which afforded the best view of the valley and the castle below.

Dawn had spread across the arc of cloudless sky, although the shadows still held a knife-edged chill. Despite the clear day, a faint mist clung to the valley, like a gauzy veil which softened edges and muted colors. The blue-and-silver banners which hung from the castle turrets looked tarnished.

Orain laid one hand on Carolin’s shoulder and pointed, but there was no need. In the castle courtyard, only partially visible from this angle, a small crowd massed. Probably every man in the castle was out there. The Hastur soldiers arrayed themselves in tight ranks in the center and around the periphery.

A force of occupation
—
conquerors, not guests.
With eyes wide and dry, Carolin watched the drama playing out below. His own men joined him.

Four men, each surrounded by a knot of Hastur guards, halted in the open space at the end of the yard.

“Gods, no,” one of Carolin’s men cried, “they cannot mean to—”

“No more!” Orain growled. “The only way we can help them now is to bear witness.”

One of the soldiers, a giant of a man, struck the first prisoner with a massive two-handed sword. In a single blow, the prisoner crumpled to the ground. Carolin could not see clearly at this distance, but he was sure the poor man—
Dom
Valdrin, his friend and ally—had been beheaded.

Soon, one body joined the other in a ragged line. The castle people drew together visibly. A terrible emptiness filled the canyon, broken only by the keening of the wind.

It was not until the Hastur soldiers began a rapid yet orderly departure that Carolin was able to tear his eyes from the courtyard. He raised one hand to cover his sight. The movement seemed to crack his body into a hundred shards. Breath rasped in his throat. His thoughts had gone numb, empty. In a moment, he knew, he must come back to himself, say something to the men, give orders, be the king they needed. For now, he offered this silence within himself as tribute to the men who had just died in his service.

Crouched at his side, Orain muttered,
“Vai dom—
Carlo—you must not blame yourself.”

“I do not.” Carolin found his voice and it sounded like flint striking steel. “I blame Rakhal and his executioner, Lyondri. Gather the others, Orain. Let us go down and see what may be done for Dom Valdrin’s people.”

Carolin got to his feet, but Orain suddenly grabbed him and threw him to the ground, under the low, spreading branches of the nearest tree.

“Look there, aloft!” Orain cried.

Above them, hidden until now by the hills, an aircar glided soundlessly across the sky. Another quickly joined it, each lit within by pale blue. The men which guided them appeared only as ghostly figures. Carolin could not make out any identifying colors or device, but the shapes were sickeningly familiar.

He had flown in those very vessels, now in the service of his cousin Rakhal. One of them might have been the same which carried Varzil to his home at Sweetwater and then back to Arilinn. Why should Rakhal send them into such rugged territory, to the home of a man who had not been to court in years?

Carolin sensed rather than saw the side of each aircar slide open and a cluster of fragile glass teardrops tumble free. The contents of each vessel glowed, each a tiny liquid ember. Slowly they fell, then faster and faster, streaking downward toward their target.

Carolin scrambled to his hands and knees for a better view of the castle. Gouts of flame exploded like miniature suns, to fall in eye-searing brilliance and then burst upward. Rain after rain of orange fire pelted the castle. From every surface it touched, fire answered it, rising higher and brighter until it seemed the stones themselves were burning.

Clingfire! Sweet gods, no!

Something hot and acrid exploded at the back of Carolin’s mind. The basic order of fire and earth and air twisted madly, elements set in unholy alliance or warped from their very nature. Ice and fire shivered over his skin. His muscles locked and for a long moment, he could not draw breath.

“Aldones save us!” Orain cried, his voice a sob. “Ah, Rakhal! Zandru curse him a thousand times! How could he do it?”

The crack of shattering stone came roaring up from the valley. Rock would not ignite, not even in
clingfire,
but it would splinter and collapse in the intense heat. Everything else—wood and cloth and human flesh—burned.

Pain lanced through Carolin’s mind, not once but a dozen, a hundred times, each like a molten dagger. There were men down there, men now shrieking in agony as the unquenchable fire consumed them.