From Across the Clouded Range (97 page)

Since the moment his view had been
broken, Eia had traded off comforting him and begging him to calm
down. It was clear that his distress caused her pain, but he didn’t
care. He almost wanted to hurt her, to make her feel some fraction
of what he felt. He didn’t care what she had said, what Belab had
said. He didn’t care if they knew what would happen. He was far too
angry to care if his wrath was justified.

I am a
traitor
, he repeated to himself. Even if
it wasn’t true, it might as well be.
I
will be remembered for all time as the man who delivered Thoren to
the invaders. Director Ahern was correct, it was all a plot to lure
the defenders from the city, and it had worked to perfection. I
delivered Thoren without a siege, without a single tower crumbling.
I delivered the perfect stronghold and supply center into the hands
of my sworn enemy, and I was happy to do it. I will never be
trusted, will be tied throughout history to the invaders, will be
lumped in as every bit as bloodthirsty and devious as these men
that I want more than anything to destroy
.
It was all too much. It was not a misery to be shared. Even if he
trusted Eia, he did not want her here. He wanted to suffer
alone.

“
I am sorry that you feel
that way,” Eia said calmly. She seemed entirely unfazed by his
outburst, did not even react to the rise in emotion as she had in
the past. She rubbed his arm and pointedly ignored his demands. “If
it means anything, the Eroth Amache is real. This battle had to
happen, and it had to happen in this way. The fact that Arin did
not stop the battle when he promised has nothing to do with what
you told the people of your city. You were betrayed every bit as
much as they were.”

Ipid was too stunned to speak. He had
just screamed at her to leave and she acted like he was a child
having a tantrum. And like that child, her calm deflection only
increased his anger. “I don’t give a shit if it is real and neither
do the men dying on that field. You . . . you and that monster
Arin, all of you, lied. You trapped me, made me into a traitor to
my own people. You will slaughter them, but their blood will be on
my hands. Do you understand that? On my hands!” He held up his
palms, almost expecting them to be so marked.

Eia just sighed. She drew a deep
breath, put a, somehow warm, hand on his face, and stared calmly
into his eyes. “I know you are upset, but . . . .”

Her words fell off to a slur. Eia’s
eyes turned blank, her face went slack, her hand fell away, and she
crumpled to the floor. At the same time, Ipid felt an incredible
wave of calm rush over him, felt his anger sucked away, felt
perfect contentment. He could not even remember what he had been
angry about, and he watched Eia collapse without the slightest
concern.

“
Eia,” Ipid called to her
out of curiosity, wondering why she was suddenly lying down. She’s
probably hurt or sick, he thought but there was no fear, no worry,
no empathy attached to the thought. He stared at her crumpled
shape, wondering how long she would lie there or if she would ever
rise again. He didn’t care either way. Then he wondered why he was
sitting in the tent. He remembered Arin telling him to but couldn’t
imagine why he followed that order. He was also tired. He wanted to
sleep, did not know what was keeping him awake. He wanted to sleep,
and there was no reason not to. He started to lay down. Sleep would
be good, he thought.

A stab of worry flashed
through the blanket of calm. His pulse accelerated, his head came
back up, and he searched the tent.
Something is wrong
.
Eia might be sick. She might be hurt.
“Eia!” Ipid's emotions flooded back, stronger
than before. His heart pounded, his hands shook, his mind spun as
all his emotions rose up simultaneously. For a moment, he was
paralyzed as those emotions fought for control – run, fight, cry,
beg, surrender – until, finally, panic won. He grabbed Eia's limp
form and searched the tent for the cause of her
collapse.

Nothing in the tent had
changed. It was still empty. The flap was still closed. There were
no holes in the walls
. Did my anger become
too much for her? Dud she do something to soothe me and collapsed
as a result?
He felt her robes and the
slender form beneath. There was no sign of injury. But her pale
skin looked sallow. The pink was gone from her cheeks. She was
still breathing, but shallowly. Her heart still beat, but
faintly.

Ipid moved toward the tent flap. He
had to get help, but if he was caught outside, the punishment would
be severe. Beyond that, how would he explain one of the te-am’
eiruh in his tent? Arin would be enraged. He did not know why he
cared what Arin thought, but for some reason, he could not
move.

“
Eia!” he begged and shook
her. “Please, wake up. By the Holy Order, what’s wrong?” He
searched the tent for something, anything that could help, but
other than the thin blanket that made his bed, it was empty.
Outside there were no sounds. The camp was every bit as deserted as
it had been all day, but in the distance the sound of the battle
had also stopped.
Will the army soon
return? Will Arin arrive at my tent? Will he find Eia lying there
and punish us both?

Again he shook Eia’s limp form, but
there were no signs of life – she was barely breathing.

There was only one thing to do. Ipid
took a deep breath and rose. He had to get help. He was not sure
what he would find, but he had to do something. He pulled aside the
flap of the tent.

A hand grabbed his wrist and held him
in place. Ipid looked down and saw Eia lift her head. Her, now icy,
hand was clamped around his wrist like a manacle.

“
Are you alright?” He sank
down beside her. “What happened?”

“
Please.” Eia's voice was
a rasp, scarcely audible. “Please, be still.”

Ipid tried to do just that, but he was
pumped full of anxious energy and could barely control himself. He
expectantly watched as Eia rose, closed her eyes, and rubbed her
head. She looked much older than she had a moment ago, tired and
frail as if the life had been sucked out of her. Her breathing was
shallow and slow.

“
Is there anything I can
do?” Ipid was unable to tolerate his inaction.

“
Yes,” Eia snapped back
without any of her normal patience, “you can calm
yourself.”

Feeling like a small child
who had annoyed his mother to the point of breaking, Ipid literally
sat on his hands and focused all of his energy on being calm.
Eventually, his heart returned to an only slightly accelerated
cadence, his breathing slowed, and his posture relaxed.
Everything is fine
, he
told himself again and again as he watched Eia, who was still
clasping her head and looking older by the second.

“
Thank you,” she finally
managed to groan. “It is coming back now. I will be fine in a few
seconds.”

Ipid had no idea what she meant, so he
concentrated on staying calm, on thinking about something other
than what he had just witnessed. He listened for some sounds from
the camp or the battle that might distract him, but there was
nothing. Even after he had broken the magical link with Eia, he had
been able to hear the battle as a low rumble in the distance, but
now, even that was gone. It was as if he were the last person
remaining within a hundred miles. Even if the battle was over, he
should hear the sound of horns and the cheers of men returning to
camp, but there was only silence as deep and eerie as a winter’s
night.

Then, in one cacophonic rush, the roar
of battle returned. The sound rose as a single wave and washed over
him with an almost welcome din, but rather than reassure him that
the world still existed, the sound of battle increased his anxiety,
brought his anger back, and made his teeth clench. It was not the
idea of the battle that caused this reaction, it was the mere fact
that the battle existed. If he had been a casual observer with no
interest at all, he would have felt the same rise in his emotions,
as if the battle generated those feelings through its very
existence.

The sight of Eia looking at him with
her wide eyes pulled him from those thoughts. “Are you feeling
better?” His words were tentative. He hoped that she would not snap
at him again. She looked much improved, though a closer examination
showed that her features masked devastating fatigue.

“
Yes, I am.” The distance
in her voice belied her words. “I am sorry that I was short, but I
have never experienced anything like that, and I do not think it
bodes well.”

“
What . . . what
happened?”

“
The power that I and my
kind draw upon was suddenly gone, all of it. It was as if Hilaal’s
gift no longer existed. As one that is constantly in touch with
that power, I have grown somewhat dependent upon it to sustain me.
To lose it was a . . . tremendous blow.”

Eia sighed. “I should go. I think that
your young hero has done something unimaginable with his newfound
powers. Given the surely desperate battle that raged around him, he
must have drawn a tremendous amount of power to create the void I
just felt.” She paused and shook her head as if pondering something
inconceivable. “With such power, he could have killed every living
creature on that field or created a schism in the very fabric of
the world.” Ipid gulped. “Do you understand now why such a person
is so dangerous? I can only wonder at the effect this had on the
Belan. I need to give them my aid. I hope that the damage was not
too great.”

Eia rose the short distance to her
feet. “Stay here.” She turned to go then seemed to think better of
it. She looked into his eyes, said a few strange words, and placed
her hand on his head. She kissed his forehead lightly. “In a moment
you will grow very sleepy. You should sleep for as long as you are
able. I will see you again when I can. Remember, you did not see
the battle. Arin cannot know that I aided you, or we never be able
to see each other again. Take care, my friend. Sleep well and be
calmed.” She strode from the tent with her black robes ruffling
behind her.

Ipid was asleep before the tent flap
fell back in place.

#

“
Ipid! Ipid, damn you!
Wake up!”

The Darthur words grew in insistence
and began to penetrate Ipid’s narcoleptic fortifications, but it
was not easy to overcome the deep, dreamless sleep that Eia had
given him. “Wake up, you lazy fool!” the voice rose to a yell.
Rough hands began shaking him, jerking his head back and forth like
a rag doll. “The battle is over. The judgment is ready. You are
needed.”

Ipid woke but he had no idea where he
was, what time it was, or why he was being summoned. Lost still in
half-slumber, he did not even know what the intruder meant by
battle or judgment. Finally, he brought his eyes fully open and
placed a hand on his attacker to end the assault, but it still took
several seconds to regain his bearings. He looked at his
surroundings and saw the same bleak tent walls that had been there
when he had fallen asleep. He rubbed the bleariness from his eyes
and looked up. A handsome young man was squatting in front him,
waiting for some sense of recognition, but Ipid had to stare for
far too long to remember Arin’s all too familiar face.

The sight of the Darthur leader
brought Ipid’s memories back: the battle of testing, the horns, the
betrayal. . . .

Fury dispelled his
drowsiness and grew at the sight of Arin’s grin. The bastard looked
like he was waking him for some wondrous celebration. His fists
involuntarily clenched at his sides before he remembered what Eia
had said.
I did not see the battle. I do
not know about the betrayal. I cannot say anything without giving
Eia and myself away
.
I do not know anything
. He repeated
that to himself until he had pushed down his anger, unclenched his
fists, and managed looked as voraciously curious as Arin would
expect him to be.

“
How could you sleep
through such an important day?” Arin’s cheer was obvious, and the
scent of alcohol was strong on his breath – Ipid could not remember
ever seeing Arin drink. He also wondered what Arin was doing at his
tent – he had never visited it before.

“
I. . . I. . . .” Ipid did
not know what to say, did not know what his reaction should be. He
reminded himself over and over that he had not seen the battle. “I
apologize, most honorable teacher. Please forgive my
weakness.”

“
Well, it is over now.”
Arin sounded disappointed, but Ipid was not sure if it was with him
or with the end of the fighting.

Ipid looked at Arin. The mud and blood
that had stained his shirt and face on the hill were gone. He was
clean, fresh, eyes beaming in the light of the lamp he held. It had
been some time since the battle had ended. “Honorable teacher, may
I ask the time?”

Arin laughed. “It is well into the
night. The battle ended many hours ago, and the Ashüt has made its
judgment. Come. You will be the first of your people to hear
it.”

Ipid felt a pang at Arin’s words. Like
a man on trial when the counselor returns with his judgment, he
could suddenly not wait to find out what fate the people of Thoren
had purchased with their sacrifice. Even if the judgment was bad,
even if it meant his death, he wanted the wait, the anxiety to be
over. He wanted to know. Right then and there, he wanted to know.
But Arin just stood and left the tent without another
word.