Godslayer (40 page)

After a time, he became certain she would not come; and then the wooden door with the tarnished hinges opened and she was there, flanked by the hulking figures of the Havenguard. They remained behind, waiting.

Her gown was pale, its color indeterminate in the starlight. A dark cloak enfolded her like green leaves enfolding a blossom's pale petals. Its sweeping hem left a trail in the frosted grass as she approached him.

"Tanaros," she said gravely.

"Cerelinde." He drank in the sight of her. "I didn't know if you would come."

"You have kept your word of honor, and I am grateful for the protection you have given me." She studied his face. "It is to be war, then?"

"Yes. On the morrow. I wanted to say farewell."

She laid one hand on his arm. "I wish you would not do this thing."

He glanced at her hand, her slender, white fingers. "Cerelinde, I must."

"No." She shook her head. "You have a choice, Tanaros. Even you, even now. Perhaps it is too late to stem the tide of battle, but it need not be, not for you. There is goodness in you; I have seen it. It is yours to reclaim."

"And do what?" Tanaros asked gently. "Shall I dance at your wedding, Cerelinde?"

The matter lay between them, vast and unspoken. She looked away. In that moment, he knew she understood him; and knew, too, that unlike his wife, the Lady of the Ellylon would never betray the Man to whom she was betrothed. The ache in his heart intensified. He laid his hand over hers, feeling for a few seconds her smooth, soft skin, then removed her hand from his arm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I cannot."

"There are other things!" She looked back at him and starlight glimmered on her tears. "The world is vast, Tanaros. You could… you could help Staccia rebuild its ties to the rest of Urulat, or the Beshtanagi in Pelmar, or hunt Were or dragons or Fjeltroll—"

"Cerelinde!" He halted her. "Would you have me betray what honor I possess?"

"
Why
?" She whispered the word, searching his face. "Ah, Tanaros! What has Satoris Banewreaker ever done that he should command your loyalty?"

"He found me." He smiled at the simplicity of the words. "What has he not done to be worthy of my loyalty, Cerelinde? When love and fidelity alike betrayed me, when the world cast me out, Lord Satoris found me and summoned me to him. He understood my anger. He bent the very Chain of Being to encompass me, he filled my life with meaning and purpose."

"
His
purpose." Her voice was low. "Not yours."

"Survival." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "He seeks to survive. What else do any of us seek? Because he is a Shaper, the stakes are higher. I tell you this, Cerelinde. His Lordship is
here
. Wounded and bleeding, but
here
. And he has given shelter to all of us, all whom the world has bent and broken, all who yearn for a Shaper's love, all whom the world has despised. He demands our loyalty, yes, but he allows us the freedom to question the order of the world, to be who and what we are. Can you say the same of Haomane Lord-of-Thought?"

"You do not understand." Cerelinde's voice trembled. "He is… everywhere."

"For you, perhaps." Tanaros touched her cool cheek. "Not for me."

For a time, they stood thusly; then Cerelinde, Lady of the Ellylon, shuddered like the petals of the mortexigus flower and withdrew from his touch. Wrapped in her dark cloak, she gazed at him with her glorious eyes.

"Tanaros," she said. "I will not pray for your death
on
the morrow."

"Lady." He bowed low and said no more.

The Havenguard reclaimed her, and she went.

Speros of Haimhault found sleep difficult.

It had all happened so
fast
. One moment, he had been concentrating on acquitting himself bravely, holding the parley-flag and assessing the forces of Haomane's Allies to report to the General; the next he was agreeing to be a hostage.

At least they had been civil.

They were that; he had to admit. Back in the old days, when he was but a piddling horse-thief, he had never been treated with such care. The architect of Darkhaven's defense! It was a prodigious title, even if Lord Vorax had invented it.

To be honest, their triumvirate of leaders seemed to sense it;
they
were dismissive. Once they returned to the campsite, white-bearded Malthus made it clear he had greater concerns on his mind, which was just as well. Speros had no desire to find the wizard's attention focused on him. Aracus Altorus merely looked him up and down as if gauging his worth and finding it wanting. As far as Ingolin, Lord of the Rivenlost, was concerned, Speros might as well not exist.

But others were at the campsite; hangers-on, no doubt. Blaise Caveros, the Borderguard commander with an unsettling look of the General about him, took Speros to be a legitimate threat. He assigned a pair of guards fitting to his purported station to him: some minor Ellyl lordling and an Arduan archer. They took turns keeping watch over him. A woman, no less! She had a strange bow made of black horn, which she cosseted like a babe. At nightfall she brought him a bowl of stew from the common kettle. After he had eaten, Speros grinned at her, forgetful of the gaps where he was missing teeth.

"Very nice," he said, nodding at her weapon. "Where did you get it?"

She stared blankly at him. "This is Oronin's Bow."

"Oh, aye?" He whistled. "So where did you get it?"

The archer shook her head in disgust. "You tend to him," she said to the Ellyl, rising to survey the campsite.

"Did I say somewhat to offend her?" Speros asked the Ellyl, who smiled quietly.

"Fianna the Archer slew the Dragon of Beshtanag with that bow," he said. "Surely the knowledge must have reached Darkhaven's gates."

"It did." Speros shrugged. "I was in the desert at the time."

"Indeed." The Ellyl, whose name was Peldras, laced his hands around one knee. "Your Lord Vorax spoke of your efforts concerning a certain Well when he offered you into the keeping of the Wise Counselor."

"You know it?" Speros repressed a memory of the General's black sword cleaving the old Yarru man's chest, the dull thud of the Gulnagels' maces.

"I do." Peldras regarded him. "You seem young and well-favored to have risen high in the Sunderer's service, Speros of Haimhault."

He shrugged again. "I've made myself useful."

"So it seems." Peldras raised his fair, graceful brows. "Although I fear you may have outlived your usefulness, or Vorax of Staccia would not have been so quick to surrender you. Did I stand in your shoes, young Midlander. I would find it a matter of some concern. The Sunderer's minions are not known for their loyalty."

Speros thought of Freg, carrying him in the desert; of the General himself, holding water to his parched lips. He laughed out loud. "Believe as you wish. Ellyl! I am not afraid."

"You were not at Beshtanag," Peldras murmured. "I witnessed the price the Sorceress of the East paid for her faith in Satoris Banewreaker, and the greater toll it took upon her people. Are you willing to pay as much?"

"That was different." Speros shook his head. "I was in the Ways when your wizard Malthus closed them upon us. We would have aided her if we could."

"The Sunderer could have reopened the Ways of the Marasoumië if he chose." The Ellyl glanced westward toward the shadowy peaks of the Gorgantus Mountains. "With the might of Godslayer in his hands, not even Malthus the Counselor could have prevented it. He chose instead to destroy them."

"Aye, in the hope of destroying Malthus with them!" Speros said, exasperated. "You forced this war; you and all of Haomane's Allies! Will you deny his Lordship the right to choose his strategies?"

"No," Peldras looked back at him. Under the stars, illuminated by the nearby campfire, his features held an ancient, inhuman beauty. "Ah, Speros of Haimhault! On another night, there is much I would say-to you. But I fear sorrow lies heavy on my heart this night, and I cannot find it in me to speak of such matters when on the morrow, many who are clear to me will be lost."

"Did I ask you to?" Speros muttered.

"You did not." Rising, the Ellyl touched his shoulder. "Forgive me young hostage. I pray that the dawn may bring a brighter day. Yet the world changes, and we change with it. It is in my heart that it is Men such as you, in the end, who will Shape the world to come. I can but pray you do it wisely."

Speros eyed him uncertainly, trying to fathom what trickery lay in the words. "Me?"

"Men of your ilk." Peldras gave his quiet smile. "Builders and doers, eager for glory, willing to meddle without reckoning the cost." Tilting his head, he looked at the stars. "For my part, I wish only to set foot upon Torath the Crown, to enter the presence of Haomane First-Born, Lord-of-Thought, and gaze once more upon the Souma."

Since there seemed to be no possible reply, Speros made none. The Ellyl left him then, and the Arduan woman Fianna returned. She pointed out a bedroll to him and then sat without speaking, tending to her bowstring. The scent of pine rosin wafted in the air, competing with the myriad odors of the campsite.

Speros wrapped himself in the bedroll and lay sleepless. The frostbitten ground was hard and uncomfortable, cold seeping into his bones. Oronin's Bow gleamed like polished onyx in the firelight. He wondered what sound it made when it was loosed, if echoes of the Glad Hunter's horn were in it.

At least the Ellylon horns were silenced by night, although one could not say it was
quiet
. The vast camp was filled with murmurous sound; soldiers checking their gear, sentries changing guard, camp-fires crackling, restless horses snuffling and stamping in the picket lines. He could make out Ghost's pale form against the darkness, staked far from the other cavalry? mounts. Haomane's Allies gave her a wide berth, having learned to be war)? of her canny strength and sharp bite.

There was a tent nearby where the commanders took counsel; too far for Speros to hear anything of use, but near enough that he saw them coming and going. Once, he saw it illuminated briefly from within; not by ordinary lamplight or even the diamond-flash of Malthus' Soumanië, but something else, a cool, blue-green glow. Afterward, Blaise Caveros emerged and spoke to Fianna in a low tone.

"Haomane be praised!" she whispered. "The Bearer lives."

At that, Speros sat upright. Both of them fell silent, glancing warily at him. It made him laugh. "He knows, you know," he said conversationally. "Lord Satoris. The Charred Folk, the Water of Life. There is no part of your plan that is unknown to him."

"Be as that may, Midlander," Blaise said shortly. "He cannot prevent Haomane's Prophecy from fulfillment."

"He can try, can't he?" Speros studied the Borderguardsman. "You know who you've a look of? General Tanaros."

"So I have heard." The words emerged from between clenched teeth.

"He says you're better with a sword than Aracus Altorus," Speros remarked. "Is it true?"

"It is," Blaise said in a careful tone, "unimportant."

"You never know." Speros smiled at him. "It might be. Have you seen the Lady Cerelinde? She is… how did the General say it? We spoke of her in the desert, before I'd seen her with my own eyes. 'She's beautiful, Speros,' he said to me. 'So beautiful it makes you pity Arahila for the poor job she made of Shaping us, yet giving us the wit to know it.' Is it not so? I think it would be hard to find any woman worthy after her."

Blaise drew in his breath sharply and turned away. "Be watchful," he said over his shoulder to Fianna. "Say nothing in his hearing that may betray us."

She nodded, chagrined, watching as the Borderguardsman strode away. Speros lay back on his bedroll, folding his arms behind his head. "Do you suppose he harbors feelings for his lord's betrothed?" he wondered aloud. "What a fine turn of events that would be!"

"Will you be
silent
?" the Arduan woman said fiercely. Her nervous fingers plucked at the string of Oronin's Bow. A deep note sounded across the plains of Curonan, low and thrumming, filled with anguish. Speros felt his heart vibrate within the confines of his chest. For a moment, the campsite went still, listening until the last echo died.

"As you wish," Speros murmured. Closing his eyes, he courted elusive sleep to no avail. Strangely, it was the Ellyl's words that haunted him.
Men of your ilk, builders and doers
. Was it wrong that he had taken fate in his own hands and approached Darkhaven? He had made himself useful. Surely the General would not forget him, would not abandon him here. Speros had only failed him once, and the General had forgiven him for it. His mind still shied from the memory; the black sword falling, the maces thudding. The old Yarru folks' pitiful cries, their voices like his grandmam's. His gorge rising in his throat limbs turning weak.

But the General had not wanted to do it, any more than Speros had. The Ellyl was wrong about that. He did not understand;
would
not understand. Though Speros did not want to remember it, he did The General's terrible .sword uplifted, the cry wrenched from his lips
Give me a reason
!

Opening his eyes, Speros blinked at the stars and wondered why so many questions were asked and went unanswered, and what the world would be like if they were not.

TOTAL DARKNESS HAP FALLEN BEFORE Dani and Thulu dared venture from the tunnels. They crept blindly, bodies grown stiff with long immobility, parched with thirst and weak with hunger, fearful of entering a trap.

But no; by the faint starlight illuminating the opening, the larder appeared empty of any living presence. The supplies stacked within it had been diminished, but not stripped. They fell upon what remained, tearing with cracked and broken nails at the burlap wrapping on a wheel of cheese, gnawing raw tubers for the moisture within them. They stuffed their packs with what scraps and remnants remained. The kegs of wine alone they left untouched, fearing that breaching one would leave evidence of their presence behind.

Only after they had assuaged their hunger and the worst of their thirst did they dare peer forth from the opening of the cavern onto the Vale of Gorgantum.