To Green Angel Tower Part 2 Part 16

Simon looked at her. "You have been ill," he said.

"I can ride farther."

"Yes, you probably can, but why turn down a roof over our heads, even for one night?" He turned to look at the man and woman, then moved his horse closer to Miriamele. "It may be the last chance to get out of the wind and rain," he murmured, "the last until ..." He broke off, unwilling even to whisper any hint of their destination.

Miriamele was certainly weary. She hesitated a moment longer, then nodded her head.

"Good," said Simon, then turned to the man and woman. "We would be glad of shelter." He did not offer their own names to these strangers; Miriamele silently approved of that at least.

"But we have nothing worthy of such good folk, husband." Gullaighn had a face that might have been kindly, but fear and hard times had made the skin slack, the eyes sorrowful. "It is no favor to bring them to our rude place."

"Be quiet, woman," her husband said. "We will do what we can."

She appeared to have more to say, but instead closed her mouth in a grim line.

"It's settled, then," he said. "Come. It is not much farther."

After a moment's consideration, Simon and Miriamele dismounted so that they could walk beside their hosts. "Do you live here in Hasu Vale?" asked Simon.

Roelstan laughed shortly. "For a short time only. We lived once in Falshire."

Miriamele hesitated before speaking. "And ... and were you Fire Dancers?"

"To our sorrow."

"They are a powerful evil." Gullaighn's voice was thick with emotion. "You should have nothing to do with them, my lady, nor anything they've touched."

"Why were those men after you?" Simon reflexively fingered the hilt of his sword.

"Because we left," Roelstan said. "We could stand it no longer. They are mad, but like dogs, even in their madness they can do harm."

"But it is not so easy to escape them," said Gullaighn. "They are fierce and they do not let go. And they are everywhere." She lowered her voice. "Everywhere!"

"By the Ransomer, woman," Roelstan growled, "what are you trying to do? You have seen this knight wield a sword. He has naught to fear from them."

Simon walked a little straighter. Miriamele smiled, but a look at Gullaighn's anxious face made the smile fade. Could she be right? Might there be more Fire Dancers about? Perhaps by tomorrow it would be time to leave the main road again and travel more secretively.

As if echoing her thoughts, Roelstan stopped and waved at a track climbing up from the Old Forest Road, winding away into the wooded hillside. "We have made our place up there," he said. "It is no good to be too close to the road, where the smoke of a fire might bring visitors less welcome than you two."

They followed Roelstan and Gullaighn up the narrow path. After the first few turnings the road had disappeared behind them, hidden beneath a blanket of treetops. It was a long and steep climb through the close-leaning trees, and the dark cloaks of their guides became harder and harder to follow as twilight came on. Just as Miriamele began to think that they would see the moon before they saw a place to stop, Roelstan halted and pulled back the thick branch of a pine tree that had hung across their path.

"Here it is," he said.

Miriamele led her horse through after Simon, and found herself in a wide clearing on the hillside. In the center was a house made of split timbers, plain but surprisingly large. Smoke twined from a hole in the roof.

Miriamele was taken aback. She turned to Gullaighn, suddenly full of misgivings. "Who else lives here?"

The woman gave no answer.

Miriamele saw movement in the doorway of the house. A moment later, a man emerged onto the dark hard-packed earth before the door. He was short and thick-necked, clothed in a white robe.

"We meet again," said Maefwaru. "Our visit in the tavern was too short."

Miriamele heard Simon curse, then the sc.r.a.pe of his sword leaving the scabbard. He pulled at her bridle to turn her horse around.

"Don't," Maefwaru said. He whistled. A half-dozen more white-robed figures stepped from the shadows around the edge of the clearing. In the twilight, they seemed ghosts born from the secretive trees. Several of them had drawn their bows.

"Roelstan, you and your woman move away." The bald man sounded almost pleasant. "You have done what you were sent to do."

"Curse you, Maefwaru!" Gullaighn cried. "On the Day of Weighing-Out, you will eat your own guts for sausages!"

Maefwaru laughed, a deep rumble. "Is that so? Move, woman, before I have someone put an arrow in you."

As her husband dragged her away, Gullaighn turned to Miriamele with eyes full of tears. "Forgive us, my lady. They caught us again. They made us!"

Miriamele's heart was cold as a stone.

"What do you want with us, you coward?" Simon demanded.

Maefwaru laughed again, wheezing a little. "It is not what we want of you, young master. It is what the Storm King wants of you. And we will find out tonight, when we give you to Him." He waved to the other white-robed figures. "Bind them. There is much to do before midnight."

As the first of the Fire Dancers seized his arms, Simon turned to Miriamele, his face full of anger and desperation. She knew that he wished to fight, to make them kill him instead of simply surrendering, but was afraid to for her sake.

Miriamele could give him nothing. She had nothing left inside of her but stifling dread.

8.

A Confession

"Unto her side he came, he came,"

sang Maegwin, "A youth dressed all in sable black With golden curls about his head And silken cape upon his back.

'And what would you my lady fair?'

That golden youth did smile and say.

'What rare gift may I give to you, So you will be my bride this day?

The maiden turned her face aside.

'There is no gift so rich, so fine, That I would give you in return That rare thing that is only mine.'

The youth he shook his golden head And laughed and said, 'Oh, maiden sweet You may turn me away today, But soon find that you can't say no.

My name is Death, and all you have Will come to me anyway ... ' "

It was no use. Over the sound of her own melody, she could still hear the odd wailing that seemed to portend so much unhappiness.

Maegwin's song trailed off and she stared into the flames of the campfire. Her cold-cracked lips made it painful to sing. Her ears stung and her head hurt. Nothing was as it should be-nothing was as she had expected.

It had seemed seemed at first that things were going the way they should. She had been a dutiful daughter to the G.o.ds: it was no surprise that after her death she should be raised up to live among them-not as an equal, of course, but as a trusted subordinate, a beloved servant. And in their strange way the G.o.ds had proved every bit as wondrous as she had imagined they would, with their inhuman, flashing eyes and their rainbow-hued armor and clothing. Even the land of the G.o.ds had been much as she had expected, like her own beloved Hernystir, but better, cleaner, brighter. The sky in the G.o.dlands seemed higher and more blue than a sky could be, the snow whiter, the gra.s.s so green that its verdancy was almost painful. Even Count Eolair, who had also died and come to this beautiful eternity, seemed more open, more approachable; she had been able to tell him without fear or shyness that she had always loved him. Eolair, relieved like her of the burden of mortality, had listened with kind concern-almost like a G.o.d himself! at first that things were going the way they should. She had been a dutiful daughter to the G.o.ds: it was no surprise that after her death she should be raised up to live among them-not as an equal, of course, but as a trusted subordinate, a beloved servant. And in their strange way the G.o.ds had proved every bit as wondrous as she had imagined they would, with their inhuman, flashing eyes and their rainbow-hued armor and clothing. Even the land of the G.o.ds had been much as she had expected, like her own beloved Hernystir, but better, cleaner, brighter. The sky in the G.o.dlands seemed higher and more blue than a sky could be, the snow whiter, the gra.s.s so green that its verdancy was almost painful. Even Count Eolair, who had also died and come to this beautiful eternity, seemed more open, more approachable; she had been able to tell him without fear or shyness that she had always loved him. Eolair, relieved like her of the burden of mortality, had listened with kind concern-almost like a G.o.d himself!

But then things had begun to go wrong.

Maegwin had thought that when she and the other living Hernystiri had faced their enemies, and by doing so brought the G.o.ds out into the world, they had somehow tipped a balance. The G.o.ds themselves were at war, just as the Hernystiri-but the G.o.ds' war had not been won. The worst, it seemed, was yet to come.

And so the G.o.ds had ridden across the broad white fields of Heaven, searching for Scadach, the hole into outer darkness. And they had found it. Cold and black it was, bounded in stone quarried from eternity's darkest recesses, just as the lore-masters had taught her-and full of the G.o.ds' direst enemies.

She had never believed that such things could exist, creatures of pure evil, shining vessels of emptiness and despair. But she had seen one stand on the ageless wall of Scadach, heard its lifeless voice prophesy the destruction of G.o.ds and mortals alike. All that was wrong lay behind that wall ... and now the G.o.ds were trying to bring the wall tumbling down.

Maegwin would have guessed that the ways of G.o.ds were mysterious. What she would not have guessed was just how mysterious they could be.

She raised her voice in song again, still hoping that she could blot out the disturbing noise, but gave it up after a few moments. The G.o.ds themselves were singing, and their voices were much stronger than hers.

Why don't they stop? she thought desperately. she thought desperately. Why don't they leave it alone?! Why don't they leave it alone?!

But it was useless to wonder. The G.o.ds had their reasons. They always did.

Eolair had long since given up trying to understand the Sithi. He knew they were not G.o.ds, whatever Maegwin's poor, fevered mind might see, but neither were they a great deal more comprehensible than the Lords of Heaven.

The count turned away from the fire, turned his back on Maegwin. She had been singing to herself, but had fallen silent. She had a sweet voice, but set against the chanting of the Peaceful Ones it sounded thin and discordant. It was not her fault. No mortal voice would sound like much when set against ... this.

The Count of Nad Mullach shivered. The chorus of Sithi voices rose again. Their music was as impossible to ignore as were their catlike eyes when they stared you in the face. The rhythmic song gained in volume, pulsing like the oar-master's call to his rowers.

The Sithi had been singing for three days, cl.u.s.tered before the bleak walls of Naglimund in the flurrying snow. Whatever they were doing, the Norns within the castle did not ignore them: several times the white-faced defenders had mounted to the tops of the walls and let fly a volley of arrows. A few of the Sithi had been killed in these attacks, but they had their own archers. Each time, the Norns were driven from the walls and the Sithi voices would rise once more.

"I don't know that I can stand this much longer, Eolair." Isorn appeared out of the whirl of mist, his beard jeweled with frost. "I had to go hunting just to get away, but the noise followed me as far as I went." He dropped a hare onto the ground near the fire. Red dribbled from the arrow-wound in its side, staining the snow. "Good day, Lady," the duke's son said to Maegwin. She had stopped singing, but did not look up at him. She seemed incapable of seeing anything but the wavering fire.

Eolair received Isorn's curious look and shrugged. "It is not really such a terrible sound."

The Rimmersman raised his eyebrows. "No, Eolair, it is beautiful in its way. But it is too beautiful for me, too strong, too strange. It is making me ill."

The count frowned. "I know. The rest of the men are unsettled, too. More than unsettled-frightened."

"But why are the Sithi doing this? They are risking their lives-two more were killed yesterday! If this is some fairy ceremony they must perform, can they not sing out of bowshot?"

Eolair shook his head helplessly. "I do not know. Bagba bite me, I do not know anything, Isorn."

As continual as the noise of the ocean, the voices of the Sithi washed across the camp.

Jiriki came in the dark before dawn. The slumbering coals picked out his sharp features in scarlet light.

"This morning," he said, then squatted, staring at the embers. "Before noon."

Eolair rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself fully awake. He had been sleeping fitfully, but sleeping nonetheless. "This ... this morning? What do you mean?"

"The battle will begin." Jiriki turned and gave Eolair a look that on a more familiar face might have betokened pity. "It will be dreadful."

"How do you know that the battle will start then?"

"Because that is what we have been working toward. We cannot fight a siege-we are too few. Those you call Norns are fewer than we are, but they sit inside a great sh.e.l.l of stone, and we do not have the engines mortals make for such battles nor the time to build them. So we will do it our way."

"Does it have something to do with the singing?"

Jiriki nodded in his oddly avian way. "Yes. Make your men ready. And tell them this: whatever they may think or see, they are fighting against living creatures. The Hikeda'ya are like you and like us-they bleed. They die." He fixed Eolair with an even, golden stare. "You will tell them that?"

"I will." Eolair shivered and leaned closer to the fire, warming his hands before the dreaming coals. "Tomorrow?"

Jiriki nodded again, then stood. "We will have our best chance while the sun is high. If we are lucky, it will be over before the darkness comes."

Eolair couldn't imagine rugged Naglimund being brought down in so short a time. "And if it's not over? What, then?"

"Things will be ... difficult." Jiriki took a step backward and vanished into the mist.

Eolair sat before the coals for a little while, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. When he was sure he would not embarra.s.s himself, he went to waken Isorn.

Buffeted by brisk winds, the gray and red tent rode the peak of the hill like a sailing ship breasting a high wave. A few other tents shared the hilltop; many more were scattered down the slope and cl.u.s.tered in the valley. Beyond them lay Lake Clodu, a vast blue-green mirror, still as a contented beast.

Tiamak stood outside the tent, lingering despite the chill breeze. So many people, so much movement, so much life! It was disturbing to look down on that great sea of people, frightening to know that he was so close to the grinding stones of History, but still it was somehow hard to turn away. His own little story had been quite swallowed up by the great tales that stalked through Osten Ard in these days. It sometimes seemed that a sack full of the mightiest dreams and nightmares had been emptied out. That Tiamak's own small accomplishments, fears, and desires seemed likely to be ignored was the best he could hope for. An equally strong possibility was that they might be trampled entirely.