To Green Angel Tower Part 2 Part 26

The Rimmersman's grin was wide. "My father and I are simple men. We do not have the brains to worry like you and Josua."

Eolair snorted and reached out for the wineskin.

For the third night running, the count dreamed of the most recent skirmish inside Naglimund's walls, a nightmare more vivid and terrifying than anything mere imagination could contrive.

It had been a particularly dreadful battle. The Hernystirmen, now wearing masks of cloth rubbed with fat or tree sap to keep off the Norn's madness-dust, had become as frightening to look at as the rest of the combatants; those mortals who had survived the first days of the siege now fought with terrified determination, knowing that nothing else would give them a chance of leaving this haunted place alive. The greatest part of the struggle had taken place in the narrow s.p.a.ces between scorched, crumbling buildings and through winter-blasted gardens-places where Eolair had once walked on warm evenings with ladies of Josua's court.

The dwindling army of Norns defended the stolen citadel with a kind of heedless madness: Count Eolair had seen one of them shove forward against a sword rammed through his chest, working his way up the blade to kill the mortal that clutched the hilt before dying in a coughing spray of red.

Most of the giants had also died, but each one exacted a horrible toll of men and Sithi before it fell. Dreaming, remembering, Eolair was again forced to watch one of the huge brutes grab Ule Frekkeson, one of the few Rimmersmen who had accompanied the war party out of Hernysadharc, then swing him around and dash his brains out against a wall as easily as a man might kill a cat. As a trio of Sithi surrounded him, the Hune contemptuously shook the almost headless corpse at them, showering them with gore. The hairy giant then used Ule's body as a club, killing one of the Sithi with it before the spears of the other two punched into the monster's heart.

Squirming in the dream's unshakable grasp, Eolair helplessly watched dead Ule used as a weapon, smashed left and right until his body began to come apart....

He woke quivering, head throbbing as though it might burst. He pressed his hands against his temples and squeezed, trying to relieve the pressure. How could a man see such things and keep his reason?

A hand touched his wrist.

Terrified, Eolair gasped and flung himself to one side, scrabbling for his sword. A tall shadow loomed in the doorway of his tent.

"Peace, Count Eolair," said Jiriki. "I am sorry I startled you. I called from outside the door, but I thought you must be asleep since you did not reply. Please forgive my intrusion."

Eolair was relieved, but angry and embarra.s.sed. "What do you want?"

"Forgive me, please. I came because it is important and time is short."

The count shook his head and took a slow breath. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Likimeya asks that you come. All will be explained." He lifted the tent flap and stepped back outside. "Will you come? I will wait for you to dress."

"Yes ... yes, certainly I will."

The count felt a sort of muted pride. Likimeya had sent her son for him, and since these days Jiriki seemed involved only in things of the first and most crucial order, the Sithi must indeed think it important that Eolair come. A moment later his pride turned to a gnawing of disquiet: could circ.u.mstances be so bad that they were searching for ideas or leadership from the master of two score terrified mortal warriors? He had been sure they were winning the siege.

It took only a few moments to secure his sword belt and pull on his boots and fur-lined cloak. He followed Jiriki across the foggy hillside, marveling that the footfalls of the Sitha, who was as tall as Eolair and almost as broad, should only dimple the snow while his own boots dug deep gouges in the white crust.

Eolair looked up to where Naglimund crouched on the hilltop like a huddled, wounded beast. It was almost impossible to believe that it had once been a place where people danced and talked and loved. Prince Josua's court had been thought by some rather grim-but, oh, how those who had mocked the prince would feel their mouths dry and their hearts flutter if they saw what grim truly truly meant. meant.

Jiriki led the count among the gossamer-thin tents of the Sithi, tents that gleamed against the snow as though they were half-soaked in moonlight. Despite the hour, halfway between midnight and dawn, many of the Fair Folk were out; they stood in solemn cl.u.s.ters and stared at the sky or sat on the ground singing quietly. None of them seemed at all bothered by the freezing wind that had Eolair clutching his hood close beneath his chin. He hoped that Likimeya had a fire burning, if only out of consideration for the frailties of a mortal visitor.

"We have questions to ask you about this place you call Naglimund, Count Eolair." There was more than a hint of command in Likimeya's voice.

Eolair turned from the blaze to face Jiriki, his mother, and tall, black-haired Kuroyi. "What can I tell you that I have not told you already?" The count felt a mild anger at the Sithi's confusing habits, but found it hard to hold that emotion in the presence of Likimeya's powerful, even gaze. "And is it not a little late to be asking, since the siege began a fortnight ago?"

"It is not such things as the height of walls and the depth of wells that we need to know." Jiriki sat down beside the count, the cloth of his thin shirt glinting. "You have already told us much that has helped us."

"You spent time in Naglimund when the mortal prince Josua ruled here." Likimeya spoke briskly, as though impatient with her son's attempts at diplomacy. "Does it. have secrets?"

"Secrets?" Eolair shook his head. "Now I am completely confounded. What do you mean?"

"This is not fair to the mortal." Kuroyi spoke with an emotionless reserve that was extreme even for the Sithi. "He deserves to know more. If Zinjadu had lived, she could tell him. Since I failed my old friend and she is now voyaging with the Ancestors, I will take her place as the lore-giver." He turned to Likimeya. "If Year-Dancing House approves, of course."

Likimeya made a wordless musical noise, then flicked her hand in permission.

"Jiriki i-Sa'onserei has told you something of the Road of Dreams, Count Eolair?" Kuroyi asked.

"Yes, he has told me a little. Also, we Hernystiri still have many stories of the past and of your people. There are those living among us who claim they can walk the Dream Road, just as you taught our ancestors to do." He thought sourly of Maegwin's would-be mentor, the scryer Diawen: if some Hernystiri did still have that power, it had little to do with good sense or responsibility.

"Then I am sure he has spoken of the Witnesses, too-those objects that we use to make the journeying easier." Kuroyi hesitated, then reached into his milk-white shirt and produced a round, translucent yellow object that caught the firelight like a globule of amber or a ball of melted gla.s.s. "This is one such-my own." He let Eolair look for a moment, then tucked the thing away again. "Like most others, it is of no use in these strange times-the Dream Road is as impa.s.sable as a road of this world might be in a terrible blizzard.

"But there are other Witnesses, too: larger, more powerful objects that are not moveable, and are linked to the place where they are found. Master Witnesses, they are called, for they can look upon many things and places. You have seen one such."

"The Shard?"

Kuroyi nodded his head once. "In Mezutu'a, yes. There were others, although most are now lost to time and earth-changes. One lies beneath the castle of your enemy King Elias."

"Beneath the Hayholt?"

"Yes. The Pool of Three Depths is its name. But it has been dry and voiceless for centuries."

"And this has something to do with Naglimund? Is there something of that sort here?"

Kuroyi smiled, a narrow, wintery smile. "We are not sure."

"I don't understand," the count said. "How can you not be sure?"

The Sitha lifted his long-fingered hand. "Peace, Eolair of Nad Mullach. Let me finish my tale. By the standards of the Gardenborn it is quite short."

Eolair shifted slightly; he was glad for the firelight, which disguised his flush of embarra.s.sment. How was it that among these folk he was as easily cowed as a child-as if all his years of statecraft had been forgotten? "My apologies."

"There have always been in Osten Ard certain places," Kuroyi resumed, "which act much like Master Witnesses ... but in which no Master Witness seems to be present. That is, many of the effects are there-in fact, sometimes these places exhibit more powerful results than any Witness-but no object can be found which is responsible. Since we first came to this land long ago, we have studied such places, thinking that they might answer questions we have about the Witnesses and why they do what they do, about Death itself, even about the Unbeing that made us flee our native land and come here."

"Forgive me for interrupting again," said Eolair, "but how many of these places exist? And where are they?"

"We know of only a handful between far Nascadu and the wastelands of the white north. A-Genay'asu'e A-Genay'asu'e, we call them-"Houses of Traveling Beyond" would be a crude rendering in your tongue. And we Gardenborn are not the only ones to sense the power of these places: they often draw mortals as well, some merely seekers-after-knowledge, some G.o.d-maddened and dangerous. What mortals call Thisterborg, the hill near Asu'a, is one such spot."

"I know it." Remembering a black sled and a team of misshapen white goats, Eolair felt his flesh tighten. "Your cousins the Norns also know about Thisterborg. I saw them there."

Kuroyi did not seem surprised. "We Gardenborn have been interested in these sites since long before the families parted. The Hikeda'ya, like us, have made many attempts to harness the might of such places. But their power is as wild and unpredictable as the wind."

Eolair pondered. "So there is not a Master Witness here at Naglimund, but rather one of these things, a ... Beyonding House? I cannot remember the words in your tongue."

Jiriki looked toward his mother, smiling and nodding with what almost looked like pride. Eolair felt a flash of annoyance; was a mortal who could listen and reason such a surprise to them?

"An A-Genay'asu A-Genay'asu. Yes, that is what we believe," said Kuroyi. "But it came to our attention late, and there was never a chance to find out before the mortals came."

"Before the mortals came with their iron spikes." Likimeya's soft voice was like the hiss that preceded a whip-crack. Surprised by her vehemence, Eolair looked up, then just as quickly turned his gaze back to Kuroyi's more placid face.

"Both Zida'ya and Hikeda'ya continued to come to this place after men built their castle here at Naglimund," the black-haired Sitha explained. "Our presence frightened the mortals, though they saw us only by moonlight, and even then only rarely. The man the Imperators had given to rule over the locality filled the fields all around with the iron that gave the place its name: Nail Fort."

"I knew that the nails were there to keep out the Peaceful Ones-what we Hernystiri call your folk," said Eolair, "but since it was built in the era when your people and ours were at peace, I could not understand why the place should have needed such defenses."

"The mortal named Aeswides who had it done may have felt a certain shame that he had trespa.s.sed on our lands in building this keep so close to our city Da'ai Chikiza, on the far side of those hills." Kuroyi gestured toward the east. "He may have feared that we would some day come and take the place back; he may also have thought that those of our folk who still made pilgrimage to this place were spies. Who knows? In fact, he traveled less and less out of the gates, and died at last a recluse-afraid, it was said, even to leave his own well-guarded chamber for terror of what the dreaded immortals might do." Kuroyi's cool smile returned. "Strangely, although the world is already full of fearful things, mortals seem always to hunt for new worries."

"Nor do we relinquish the old ones." Eolair returned the tall Sitha's smile. "For, like the cut of a man's cloak, we know that the tried and true is best in the long run. But I doubt you have brought me here only to tell about what some long-dead mortal did."

"No, we have not," Kuroyi agreed. "Since we were driven from the land at a time when we considered it better policy not to interfere, and to let the mortals build where they wished, we have unanswered questions still about this place."

"And we need those questions answered now, Count Eolair," Likimeya broke in. "So tell us: this place you call Naglimund-is it known among mortals for strangeness of any kind? Apparitions? Odd happenings? Is it reputed a haunt of spirits of the dead?"

The count frowned as he considered. "I must say that I have never heard anything like that. There are other places, many others, some within a league of my birth-place, of which I could tell you a whole night's worth of tales. But not Naglimund. And Prince Josua was always a lover of odd lore-I feel sure that if there were such stories, it would have been his pleasure to relate them." He shook his head. "I am sorry to force you to tell such a long tale yourself for so little result."

"We still think it likely that this place is an A-Genay'asu," Jiriki said. "We have thought so since long before Asu'a fell. Here, Count Eolair, you look thirsty. Let me pour for you."

The Hernystirman gratefully accepted another cup of mulled ... something; whatever it was, it tasted of flowers and warmed him very nicely. "In any case," he said after he had taken a few sips, "what does it mean if Naglimund i is such a place?"

"We are not certain. That is one of the things that worries us." Jiriki sat down across from Eolair and raised a slim hand. "We had hoped that the Hikeda'ya came here only to pay their part of the bargain with Elias, and that they had remained here because it was a way station between Stormspike and the castle that stands on Asu'a's bones."

"But you do not think that any longer." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. Our cousins have fought too hard, long past the time when they could have gained anything from resisting. This is not the final confrontation. However much Utuk'ku has reason to hate us, it is not a blind anger: she would not throw away the lives of so many Cloud Children to hold a useless ruin."

Eolair had not heard much about the Norn Queen, Utuk'ku, but what he had was shuddersome. "So what does she want? What do they they want?" want?"

Jiriki shook his head. "They want to remain in Naglimund. That is all we know for certain. And it will be dreadful work to drive them out. I fear for you and your remaining soldiers, Count Eolair. I fear for all of us."

A horrible thought occurred to the Hernystirman. "Forgive me, since I know little of these things-although perhaps more now than I would have wished-but you said that these Beyonding places had something to do with the secrets of ... of death?"

"All mysteries are one mystery until they are solved," said Kuroyi. "We have tried to learn more about Death and Unbeing from the A-Genay'asu'e, yes."

"These Norns we are fighting are living creatures-but their master is not. Could they be trying to bring the Storm King ... back to life?"

Eolair's question brought neither derisive laughter nor shocked silence.

"We have thought on this." Likimeya was blunt. "It cannot happen."

"Ineluki is dead." Kuroyi spoke more softly, but with equal firmness. "There are some things we know about only little, but death we know very well." His lips twitched in a tiny, dry smile. "Very well, indeed. Ineluki is dead. He cannot return to this world."

"But you told me he was in Stormspike," Eolair said to Jiriki. "You said that the Norns do as he bids. Are we at war against something imaginary?"

"It is indeed confusing, Count Eolair," Jiriki replied. "Ineluki-although he is not truly Ineluki any more-has no more existence than a sort of dream. He is an evil and vengeful dream, one that possesses all the craftiness that the Storm King had in life, as well as knowledge of the ultimate darknesses no living thing has ever had ... but he is only a dream, for all of that. Trust that I speak truly. As we can travel on the Road of Dreams, and see and feel things there, so Ineluki can speak to his followers in Nakkiga through the Breathing Harp, which is one of the greatest of the Master Witnesses-although I would guess that Utuk'ku alone has the skill even to understand him. So he is not a thing, Eolair, with an existence in this world." He gestured to the walls of the tent. "He is not real, like this cloth is real, like the ground is real beneath our feet. But that does not mean he cannot do great evil ... and Utuk'ku and her servitors are more than real enough."

"Forgive me if I seem stubborn," Eolair said, "but I have heard much tonight that is still confused in my head. If Ineluki cannot return, then why are the Norns so eager to hold Naglimund?"

"That is the question we must answer," said Jiriki. "Perhaps they hope to use the A-Genay'asu to make their master's voice clearer. Perhaps they intend to tap its force in some other way. But it is clear that they want this place very much. One of the Red Hand is here."

"The Red Hand? The Storm King's servants?"

"His greatest servants, since like him they have pa.s.sed through death and into the outer realms. But they cannot exist in this world without an immense expenditure of power by him every moment they are embodied, for they are almost as much of a deadly contradiction as he is. That is why when one of them attacked us in our fastness at Jao e-Tinukai'i, we knew that the time had come to take up arms. Ineluki and Utuk'ku must have been desperate to expend so much force to silence Amerasu." He paused. Eolair stared, bewildered by the unfamiliar names. "I will explain this to you at a later time, Count Eolair." Jiriki stood. "I am sure you are weary, and we have talked much of your sleeping time away."

"But this Red Hand creature is here? Have you seen it?"

Jiriki pointed at the campfire. "Do you have to touch the flames to know that the fire is hot? He is here, and that is why we have not been able to overcome their most important defenses, why we must instead knock down stone walls and struggle with sword and spear. A large portion of Ineluki's power is burning down in the heart of Naglimund's keep. But for all his might, the Storm King has limits. He is spread thin ... so there must be some reason he wishes this place to remain in the hands of the Hikeda' ya."

Eolair stood, too. The blur of strange ideas and names had begun to tell on him: he was indeed feeling the need for sleep. "Perhaps the Norns' task is something to do with the Red Hand, then," the count said. "Perhaps ..."

Jiriki's smile was sad. "We have cursed you with our own plague of 'perhaps,' Count Eolair. We had hoped you would give us answers, but instead we have weighed you down with questions."

"I have not been free of them since old King John died." He stifled a yawn. "So this is nothing strange." He laughed. "What a thing to say! It is maddeningly maddeningly strange. But not unusual. Not in these times." strange. But not unusual. Not in these times."

"Not in these times," agreed Jiriki.

Eolair bowed to Likimeya, then nodded a farewell to stone-faced Kuroyi before walking out into the cold wind. Thoughts were buzzing in his head like flies, but he knew that nothing useful could be done about any of them. Sleep was what he needed. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would sleep right through the remainder of this G.o.ds-cursed siege.

Maegwin had quietly left her tent while the weary guard-he seemed a sad and ragged sort to have received Heaven's favor, but who was she to question the G.o.ds?-gossiped by the fire with one of his fellows. Now she stood in the deep shadows of a copse of trees, not a hundred cubits downslope from the tumbled walls of Naglimund. Above her loomed the silhouette of the blocky stone keep. As she stared at it, wind sifted snow across her boots.

Scadach, she thought. It she thought. It is the Hole in Heaven. But what lies beyond? is the Hole in Heaven. But what lies beyond?

She had seen the demons that had come swarming through from the Outer Darkness-horrible corpse-white things and s.h.a.ggy, monstrous ogres-and had watched the G.o.ds and a few dead mortal heroes fight with them. It was clear that the G.o.ds wished this wound in heaven's flesh healed so that no more evil could creep in. For a while it had seemed that the G.o.ds would win easily. Now she was not so sure.

There was ... something something inside Scadach. Something dark and hideously strong, something that was empty as a flame is empty, but that nevertheless had a kind of brooding life. She could feel it, could almost hear its dreadful ruminations; even the faint part of its brooding that licked against her mind cast her into despair. But at the same time, there was something oddly familiar about the thoughts of whatever lurked in Scadach, whatever G.o.dsbane burned so angrily in the deeps. She felt strangely drawn, as to a darkly fascinating sibling: that horrid something ... was much like her. inside Scadach. Something dark and hideously strong, something that was empty as a flame is empty, but that nevertheless had a kind of brooding life. She could feel it, could almost hear its dreadful ruminations; even the faint part of its brooding that licked against her mind cast her into despair. But at the same time, there was something oddly familiar about the thoughts of whatever lurked in Scadach, whatever G.o.dsbane burned so angrily in the deeps. She felt strangely drawn, as to a darkly fascinating sibling: that horrid something ... was much like her.

But what could that mean? What a mad thought! What could there be in that gnawing, spiteful heat that was anything anything like her, a mortal woman, king's daughter, slain beloved of the G.o.ds now privileged to ride with them across the fields of heaven? like her, a mortal woman, king's daughter, slain beloved of the G.o.ds now privileged to ride with them across the fields of heaven?

Maegwin stood in the snow, silent, motionless, and let the incomprehensible thoughts of the thing within Scadach wash over her. She felt its turmoil. Hatred, that was what it felt ... and something more. A hatred of the living coupled with an agonized longing for quietude and death.

She shivered. How could heaven be so cold, even in this black outer fringe?

But I don't long for death! Perhaps I did when I was alive, for a time. But now that is behind me. Because I died-I died-and the G.o.ds lifted me up to their country. Why should I still feel that so strongly? I am dead. I am no longer afraid, as I once was. I did my duty and brought the G.o.ds to save my people-no one can say I did not. I no longer mourn for my brother and father. I am dead, and nothing can harm me. I have nothing in common with that ... ... thing out there in the darkness, beyond those walls of heaven-stone. thing out there in the darkness, beyond those walls of heaven-stone.

A sudden thought came to her. But where is my father? And where is Gwythinn? Didn't they both die heroes? Surely the G.o.ds have lifted them up and carried them away after their deaths, just as they did me. And surely they would have demanded to be allowed to fight here, at the side of the Masters of Heaven. Where are they? But where is my father? And where is Gwythinn? Didn't they both die heroes? Surely the G.o.ds have lifted them up and carried them away after their deaths, just as they did me. And surely they would have demanded to be allowed to fight here, at the side of the Masters of Heaven. Where are they?

Maegwin stood, dumbfounded. She shivered again. It was wretchedly cold here. Were the G.o.ds playing some trick on her? Was there still some test she had yet to pa.s.s before she could be reunited with her father and brother, with her long-dead mother Penemhwye? How could that be?

Troubled, Maegwin turned and hurried back down the slope toward the lights of the other homeless souls.

More than five hundred pikemen of Metessa stood shoulder to shoulder in the neck of the Onestrine Pa.s.s, shields lifted above their heads so that it seemed some great centipede had lodged in the narrows between the cliffs. The baron's men wore boiled leather cuira.s.ses and iron helms, armor that was nicked and abraded from long use. The Crane banner of their House waved above the serried pikes.

Nabbanai bowmen along the canyon walls filled the sky with a swarm of arrows. Most bounced harmlessly from the shield roof, but some found their way through the locked shields. Wherever a Metessan fell, though, his fellows drew together.

"The bowmen cannot move them!" Sludig enthused. "Varellan must charge! By the Aedon, the baron's men are proud b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" He turned to Isgrimnur with a look of glee on his face. "Josua has chosen his allies well!"