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breath his life slipping away.
Finally, finally, he began to fight, thrashing against the
unseen force, but he was all but swallowed in the mist. Here
he would die, and then so would the others, as would all who
tarried in this place. She was hungry, merciless, and so full of
rage that Tah felt it like a hammer at his flesh. As his vision
washed red and he saw stars, the earthen oven hissed.
A colonnade of smoke poured forth; with some small
corner of his mind the rational part that was cowering Tah
wondered if he might be dreaming. The room was so full of
vapor that his eyes stung; he tried to rub them, but the
pressure on his hands had not relented. The plume of smoke
pierced the mist with a susurration and as cold met heat,
there came a sound like thunder.
At that moment, the boy heard a voice, so faint as to be
almost inaudible.  Go. To stay is death. Inay is death. Go.
His pulse pounding like a wild thing, he tried to run and
found he could, albeit clumsily, like one whose limbs are
asleep. Tah stumbled through a gallery of precious artifacts,
overturning a priceless inlaid table in his haste. As he reached
the dining hall, he fell, landing on his belly in a pile of
cushions. Ksathra Z'ev and Harb stared at him, and then the
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mute melted to his feet. His blade was in his hand before Tah
saw him draw it.
 Trouble, young messenger?
 We must go, he blurted.  There was a woman in the
kitchen, made all of mist. I was filled with cold while she
strangled me, but then my my  He knew how it would
sound, but he said it anyway, his voice trembling.  My
grandfather came in a column of smoke and he struggled with
her. He said we must not return to Inay. Collect your things
we must go. Now! Before she overpowers him.
Whatever Z'ev might have said was forestalled by a fluid
gesture from Harb. And though the ksathra seemed skeptical,
he said at last,  Harb tells me that your grandfather was a
priest of fire. Are you certain you were not dreaming, Malak
Tadit? There is no shame in having a nightmare in a strange
place.
Was he sure? No, not quite, but sure enough not to want
that she thing to suck the life from him as he slept.  I am
positive, he replied, not sounding as confident as he would
have liked.
Harb signed again he had not sheathed his weapon. Then
the bronze giant strode through the gallery toward the
kitchen. Tah wanted to charge after him, shouting, but he
knew that this was the man's role.
Z'ev stood, looking weary, and lifted Tah's chin.  I am
sorry I did not believe you.
 What ... what is it? He was not sure he wanted to know.
 A black bruise about your throat.
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Touching his neck, Tah felt the tenderness one small
piece of evidence of an otherwise outrageous tale. The boy
collected his pack; unlike the others, he had not removed
anything. He slung it over his shoulder and stood bouncing on
the balls of his feet. In all honesty, he was surprised to see
Harb return from the kitchen, impassive as ever. The big man
gestured toward the door, and it was the only cue Z'ev
needed.
Once they passed into the blood-dark streets, the wind bit
at them. It, too, was angry, full of dusty teeth. His uneasiness
swelled, and glancing at Harb, he saw that it was merited.
The signs banged in unison; it reminded the boy eerily of an
invisible army, striking their blades against their shields.
 The well offered us sanctuary before, Z'ev said.  Perhaps
it is our best option. Harb has said that we should take
nothing from this place.
Tah had said that earlier, but the older men had laughed
at him. He'd seen the derision in their eyes. They think I am
foolish because I am young, he thought. I will show them.
When they least expect it, I will cut their throats and drink
their blood. For a moment, he drowned in impotent rage, fury
so vast that it filled every corner of him. Then because it so
clearly was not his emotion he battled it back. The effort left
him shaking.
 If they cannot harm our bodies, he said thickly.  They
will try to take our minds. Please, we must go.
The other two men shared an inscrutable look, but they
increased the pace, rounding the second dome where they
had tethered the horses. Copper hung heavy in the air, and
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the earth was churned as if from a struggle. Without touching
it, Tah saw that the sandy soil was wet.
 They fought. Z'ev knelt, but the mute snatched him
back. When the ksathra frowned at the guard, Harb made two
concise gestures.  We must take care, lest whatever
maddened them should also infect us. I should have known.
 Come, Tah insisted.
Running was nothing new to him, and though he was sorry
that the other men had lost their beloved animals, he wanted
to put many miles between himself and dread Ballendin. Then
Tah realized how much walking would tax the ksathra; his
lame foot would slow them significantly. It would take at least
four hours to reach the well, perhaps longer if Z'ev had to
stop and rest.
The other two men argued. By the set of his jaw, it was
obvious even to Tah that the ksathra was furious with Harb,
who was probably offering to carry him. The messenger's
right leg jumped, like a hound dreaming of the hunt. Come!
he wanted to shout. If he can do it, let him bear you. Dignity
is not life.
At last they reached some compromise, and the party set
off, visibly crippled. Tah ran at a quarter of his usual speed,
and the night was cold. His hands throbbed with it, making
his bones ache. His lips felt chill and parched their texture
reminded him of the thing that had almost claimed him.
The journey was achingly slow, and during the last hour,
Harb lifted the ksathra onto his back, as if Z'ev were a child
begging a ride. By the man's grim expression, he hated the
necessity, but his misshapen foot was so swollen that he'd
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removed his boot. Tah found he could look at the infirmity
without wincing after the first glance, and awe filled him when
he realized the man did not even have a foot, as such.
Instead, the ankle was thick and twisted with four tiny toes
splayed at unnatural angles. The boy ran ahead before he
could betray himself by gaping further.
By the time they reached the refuge of the well, even Harb
showed signs of strain his breathing labored and his stride
leaden. The cold had numbed them all; they were a far cry
from the confident group that had left this place that
morning. Shivering, they huddled beside the well like nesting
birds. Tah felt grateful for Z'ev's warmth at his back and he
was sure their leader felt likewise about Harb. After a time,
the weight of their blankets provided sufficient comfort, and
they slept.
* * * *
Harb awoke shortly before dawn. The horizon seethed with
sullen orange light, and as he rolled silently to his feet, he
ached. Palace life had softened him; he was no longer
accustomed to such feats. Once he could have borne a man
for days and suffered not even a twinge as a result. But he
was not as young as he'd once been, and Z'ev was a
considerate master; he did not force Harb to train [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]