Time of the Eagle (29 page)

“Oh, for pity's sake!” muttered Boaz, from behind me. “Go and fetch your horse, Ishtok! You may as well ride with us. That mad woman is going to need your protection, since she refuses to carry a weapon.”

Ishtok ran so fast to get his horse that everyone laughed. I looked at Boaz and was surprised to see that, despite his disgruntled frown, there was affection and humor in his sea blue eyes. Before I could say anything, he turned and mounted his horse. I got on mine, and then Ishtok was back, and we were ready to go.

Before we went, Yeshi made one final, brief speech, and
Zalidas said a prayer. My sight was blurred as I looked across my people, their painted faces radiant with hope, their spears and bows shining. It struck me that they all wore blue paint, the brave Navoran color for freedom. There could not have been many more than a hundred Shinali warriors altogether, yet I knew that already the tribes of the north were gathering, and the shadow of the Eagle's wings lay dark across the lands. For such a time as this my father had died, and I had been born.

I turned and trotted my mare alongside Ishtok, and the huge warhorse Boaz rode, and we left.

Fast we rode, close to the foothills, southward toward the coast. It did not take long to reach the pass, and Boaz took us into a hidden valley on the far side. We rounded a sharp bend in the mountain rock and saw the ordered ranks of Embry's army. At their head stood the fifty men who would ride to Navora with Boaz, picked for their knowledge of the palace and of Jaganath's ways. To my surprise and joy, Ramakoda was there with Embry.

Greeting me warmly, Ramakoda said, “We have fifteen tribes arriving here tonight, Avala. Eleven thousand warriors. I know of ten Hena tribes, seven thousand warriors. Maybe more yet to come. They'll all be here by nightfall. I came to inform Embry.”

I said, “Thank you, Ramakoda. Thank you, with
sharleema
.”

“We'll be thanking you, tomorrow,” he replied, with a wide grin. “All of us, and all our freed kin.”

Then Embry greeted us, looking worried until Boaz informed him that the Shinali had indeed been where I had predicted
they would be, and they were admirably prepared for battle. But I heard Boaz say, in an undertone, “But there are only a hundred and fourteen Shinali warriors marching, sir, some of them women, some not far out of childhood. I had hoped there'd be seven times that many. It'll be a hard fight, that first stage of the battle.”

“We'll manage it,” said Embry. “All we have to do is deceive Jaganath into thinking that we are the entire force against him. So long as he sends no more than four thousand against us, we can hold our own until the Hena and Igaal arrive. You'll have a harder time, arresting Jaganath himself.” He added, with that boyish grin of his, “Have him tied up and ready for trial before I arrive, will you?”

Then the fifty who were coming through the catacombs mounted their horses. Surprised that Ishtok was going with us, Embry asked why, and Boaz replied, loudly, “Because that stubborn Shinali soothsayer is a pacifist, that's why, and needs a guard.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” said Embry, with a smile. “I was going to suggest that Avala stay in a safe place until the fighting's done. We'll need her healing skills, after.”

Boaz asked, “The three disguised as market gardeners, they've gone into the city?”

“They left this morning,” said Embry. “If they're successful, if they've arranged for the palace slaves to meet you in the cellars to be armed, by dark tonight they'll place a white flag near the end of the old coastal road, where it peters out into the Citadel hills. If there's no flag, we'll have to manage without
the slave uprising, in which case come back to fight with us in the battle.”

Boaz nodded, and Embry came and said good-bye to me. As he shook my hand the Navoran way, he said, “Sovereign God go with you, Gabriel's daughter. I'll see you in the morning of the Eagle, in the surrendered city of Navora.”

Then we rode out. Before we turned toward the coast, I stopped for a few moments, looking across the empty grasslands. I expected to see the combined forces of all the Hena and Igaal, raising long lines of dust across the summer plains. But the lands were still, empty, with no sign of human life. Seeing where I looked, Boaz stopped beside me. “They'll be sticking close to the foothills,” he said. “Surprise is still our best ally. Jaganath won't know what's hit him until they all pour in through Taroth Pass, across your land. Never fear, Avala; there are close to twenty thousand Hena and Igaal out there, waiting for their moment. By midnight tonight, this plain outside Taroth Pass will be black with a sea of warriors—your people, and their allies.”

The sun was setting by the time we reached the coast. We were not going through Taroth Pass, but through a narrow cleft between the mountains and the cliff, that led through to an old coastal road that skirted the Shinali plain. In single file, leading our horses, we passed through the rocky cleft and out onto the road. By then the first stars were out, and on our right stretched the Shinali lands, purple in the dusk. We went only a little way down the coastal road, then descended a steep track in the cliffs onto a sandy beach. We rested the horses, letting them drink at a stream
that trickled down into the sea, and there the soldiers refilled their metal water containers.

As we ate the food we had brought I asked Boaz what weapons they were taking to the slaves, for I saw none.

“Knives,” Boaz replied. “We have about seven hundred in our saddlebags, just small eating knives given by our battalion, but lethal enough if slipped between the right ribs. The slaves will have to conceal their knives in their clothes until the signal is given for attack. They're searched after every slave-duty for anything they might have stolen, that could be a weapon. They'll not be searched as they report for work, and we'll be seeing them just before then. Soon after dawn one of my men will sound a trumpet from the top of one of the palace towers. The trumpet will sound over the entire city; every slave, within and without the palace, will hear it.”

“The city slaves, the ones outside the palace, will they also be in the rebellion?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “But who will arm them?”

“Our three harmless gardeners,” replied Boaz, with a grin. “They'll have been busy this afternoon, taking vegetables from the farmers to the city markets, too, along with knives. Always the wealthy send their slaves to buy produce. The city slaves will also be ready. Now, we must move on. With luck we'll be at the catacombs an hour or two before midnight. We'll rest in the palace cellars while we wait for the slaves.”

That hasty ride along the hills to Navora was a time burned forever into my memory. With every heartbeat I was aware that, far behind us, my people were on the march; and that in
the foothills of the mountains all around the wide Igaal lands, the tribes were also on the move. This day's long ride would change history for us all.

It was a clear night, and a chill wind blew straight into our faces. Suddenly Boaz signaled us to stop. I realized that the flat stones of the road had given way to grass, and just ahead, gleaming faintly in the starlight, streamed a white flag.

“It's all on!” said Boaz quietly, but I caught the triumph in his voice. Past the flag were dark hills, and Boaz told us to dismount and tether our horses in a little wood not an arrow shot off. Each man took from his saddlebag a pack that he strapped onto his back: the knives for the slaves. Boaz divided us into ten groups, and we were to go, one group at a time, through the hills and around the wharves to the city. “You'll have to cross the river,” Boaz said, “but it's only knee-deep about half a mile inland, and can easily be forded. Keep close to the city walls, and where the river enters the sea, look for a track down to the cliffs just below the corner of the palace. Somewhere there is the exit of the catacombs. It's a big cave just above high-tide mark. We'll gather there. The sea's rough at the bottom of those cliffs, so take care. A fall would mean death.”

I interpreted his words to Ishtok, though he had understood most of the instructions. Then the first group departed. We watched their black forms vanish into the dark shadows of the hills, then, after what seemed an age, the next group left. Ishtok and I were in the group with Boaz, and we left last of all. As we crept over the brow of the last hill, I saw the harbor spread out before us, its waters pale as steel under the crescent moon, its
wharves and ships lit with the red glow of burning torches and lamps. A ship was about to leave, for we could see lights moving along the wharf beside it, and already the great sails were being unfurled. Beyond the water was the city of Navora, its walls towering black against the star-studded skies, and within the walls I saw the glimmering domes of roofs and towers. A thrill went through me as I remembered the painting on the wall at Ravinath. But it was not all pleasure, this first experience of my father's city; the wind brought with it alien and unpleasant smells, and in the dark the city looked ominous, forbidding. I remembered that the evil there, that my father had glimpsed and denounced, now had full hold.

In single file, with myself in the middle and Ishtok just in front of me, we ran down the grassy hollow to the river. I smelled it before I saw it. I found out later that it bore away all the city's sewage and waste, including the corpses of nameless beggars and unwanted babies, and the various smells mingled with a strong reek of rotting fish. I nearly retched as we stepped into its murky flow, and I noticed that two of the men with us held the ends of their cloaks over their noses and mouths. The water was only knee-deep, muddy in parts, and Boaz held my arm as we crossed, almost lifting me off my feet. To our right, beyond the shadow of the city wall and too exposed for us to use, was a stone bridge.

Moving in line again, we went up onto stones into the total blackness immediately under the city walls. They soared above us and seemed to lean down, to slowly fall. I hated being under them. I could smell moss and damp stones, and in places could
hear water trickling down. Here, sheltered from the roaring of the wind, we seemed to make more noise, and even our breaths sounded loud. I was thankful that behind us men were shouting on the wharves, occupied with the ship that was pulling slowly away, its sails full and gleaming. I could see the black shapes of other ships moored beyond it on the moonlit water, and the outline of a small island in the center of the bay. I stumbled on in the dark, and Ishtok reached back and offered me his hand. In the black moon-shadow, I could barely see the white paint on his face, or the white plumes on the helmet of the man in front of him.

As we neared the end of the city wall I heard the thundering of the sea against the cliffs, and our way became rocky and steep. We rounded the corner, and the force of the sea wind almost blew me off my feet. But here the moon glimmered on the rocks, and we could see well enough. Even so, it was a terrifying climb. Deafened by the crashing sea not far below, at times feeling its spray stinging like cold rain, I clung to Ishtok's hand and stumbled on. Occasionally I glanced behind me to make sure the last two soldiers still followed; I saw the face of the one immediately behind grinning up at me, gleaming with salt spray. We climbed steeply over rocks slippery with seaweed from higher tides, with the sea foaming and thundering over the jagged rocks below. I shook with fear and cold, and was unspeakably relieved when at last I was unceremoniously hauled up onto a flat place, and found myself in a large cave.

The men were laughing now, relieved that we all were safe, shaking the salt water from their plumes and drying their faces on their cloaks. The paint had run on Ishtok's face, and he wiped
it off on his sleeve. Then, suddenly, everyone fell silent, their eyes wandering uneasily to the four pitch-black holes leading inland from the back of the cave.

Boaz came and put his hand on my shoulder. “Well, lass,” he said, “I know it's been a long ride, and a hard climb up the cliff; but if you're ready, it's time for you to play your part.”

S
hivering, facing the back of the cave, I closed my eyes and shut out everything but Chetobuh's memories, and the way through the tunnels that I had walked with him. I thought of how my father, too, had escaped through these catacombs, and I wondered if I could possibly attune myself with his memories, if they could somehow come to me from the realms of the All-father. And as I stilled my mind and prayed, something happened that I can hardly speak of, for wonder. But I have to tell it, for it is part of my story, part of what happened when we entered Navora that momentous morning.

I cannot say I had a vision, or was aware of entering a trance, or saw images or heard anything spoken; but I felt a warmth, and a presence came to me, as real and solid as the rocks around and the soldiers who crowded behind, and I knew, with everything in me, that as long as I stayed with that presence all would be well. The presence was so intense, so clear, that, though I saw nothing, I knew he stood just in front of me, a little to my right. I knew it was a man, and I knew he loved me, and I knew I could
trust him; more than that I will not say, for even now what happened remains a sacred mystery to me. With my eyes wide open I walked to the entranceway of the tunnel on the far left. I stopped, waiting, as aware of the soldiers behind me as I was of the presence in front. One of the soldiers spoke to me, but though I heard his words clearly, for my senses seemed intensified, I could not reply. I was bound, all of me, with the One who led. I heard Boaz tell the men not to speak to me, and to be silent. Then I heard flints being struck, and the dim glow of candlelight spread across the tunnel entrance. With the soldiers and Ishtok pressing behind, I walked into the blackness.

The way rose steeply and was rough. Often I stumbled and had to steady myself by putting out my hands, and my palms brushed damp walls slippery with moss and slime. I was conscious of the people following me, of their fear and uncertainty, and of the dank foul air, and the intolerable weight of mountains of rock on top of me. There were times when the walls seemed to press in, to crush and to suffocate, and I came close to panicking. But most of the time I was wrapped and shielded in incredible peace, unaware of everything but the beautiful and strong assurance that Another led me.

Sometimes I saw, almost lost in the dimness, long crypts carved into the tunnel sides, with corpses laid there, wrapped in pale, rotting cloths. Some of the tombs were carved deep, and there were many people laid there. Our dim lights shone faintly on ancient pots and the long shafts of spears and arrows. Sometimes I became aware that I could barely breathe, and that an awful stench thickened the darkness, and I stepped over decaying bundles on the tunnel floor. Once I realized we were passing
through a huge cave, and I glimpsed paintings on the walls, broken pots on the floor, and stones marking out ancient hearths. A few times, when I felt most afraid, there came to me a scent like spice or incense, that reminded me of Ravinath, and gave me courage.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I came to a hardness in front of me, like a door. At the same moment the guiding presence withdrew. Both things frightened me, and I shook myself, as if waking up, and cried out.

Someone pushed past me; it was Boaz. “It's all right, Avala—it's just something concealing the entrance,” he said, pushing it carefully aside. It was an old wooden screen. As it was moved aside light seemed to pour over us. It was only a torch flaming on a wall outside the tunnel, but it seemed bright after the blackness we had been through, with our meager candles.

We stepped out into a large room that was really a cavern with rock walls, but it was filled with urns and statues and bits of furniture such as I had seen at Ravinath. Lamps burned on the walls, in readiness for our arrival. It was an underground palace storage room, and, from the stale air and layers of dust on everything, I guessed it was seldom entered. As we crowded in, there were quiet words of jubilation, and the soldiers gripped hands with one another the Navoran way, with fierce joy. Grinning, Boaz thanked me. Ishtok, too, was smiling, though there was a tension about him, and I realized how much he hated being underground.

Then they were busy removing the knives from the packs ready to hand out, and Boaz talked at length to one of the soldiers, giving him orders about the signal for the revolt. The man left, running quickly up a narrow flight of stairs to an upper part of
the palace. I noticed the smooth curve of a Navoran horn in his left hand.

After he left Boaz said to me, “During the slaves' revolt you'll wait here. If we're successful, I'll send someone to fetch you.” He added directly to Ishtok, “Stick with her, and don't let her move from this place. If no one comes with news—if the whole battle goes against us—go out with her through the catacombs, and get as far from here as you can. She's the daughter of Jaganath's worst enemy, the man he hated more than anyone else. She must not be captured. Do you understand?”

Ishtok nodded, his face pale.

The preparations made, we all grew quiet, tense. It was warm in that room with so many of us crowded together, and at last I stopped shivering, and my damp clothes began to dry. We had no idea of time, and it seemed that long hours of the night crawled by. Many of the soldiers rested, wrapped in their thick cloaks on the stone floor, or sitting on the broken pieces of furniture.

At last came the muffled sounds of many bare feet on the stairs, and in moments all the soldiers were on their feet, alert and ready. The first slaves arrived, crowding in among us, their lamp-lit faces glimmering with hope and a desperate eagerness. It shocked me, though I don't know why I had not thought of it before, that there were women among them, and some slaves barely out of childhood. I heard their murmurs of gratitude, and the solemn voices of the soldiers telling them how to use their knives to kill quickly and cleanly, and to wait until they heard the signal, the blowing of the Navoran horn. Hands slipped the weapons inside tunics and under cloaks, and the slaves left. The
last of them had barely disappeared when the next group arrived. The ghostly scenes of those hundreds of slaves being armed, of the darkness and the secrecy, the looks of hope and liberation, the whispered thanks, are pressed forever into my mind. It was terrible and it was glorious, that plotting of death and of freedom.

When they were all gone Boaz said, “We can't hear the signal from here. When the revolt begins, one of the slaves will call us. He'll use the word ‘Freedom.' Some of the slaves will set the palace on fire, to distract the guards. When the fighting starts, use your swords for defense only. Remember that most people here want this revolt to happen. Most of the people you fight will be your friends. Jaganath has few true supporters. So if anyone surrenders, show mercy. The hardest part will be to take Jaganath. God only knows what horrors he'll call up, to defend himself. I want him taken alive for trial, but if you can't withstand his powers, kill him.

“May Sovereign God be on the side of good people everywhere, and may this be the dawn of freedom for us all. May victory be ours, in this Time of the Eagle.”

“For the Time of the Eagle!” they all said and drew their swords and raised them point uppermost in front of their faces, like a salute.

Soon after that there was a shout, echoing down the stone stairs and ringing around the walls above our heads: “Freedom!”

Then the soldiers were running, streaming up those narrow stairs into the palace, and I thought on how the hopes of nations went with them. When they were gone an awful quiet was left.
Ishtok took his bow from his back and placed an arrow in readiness. Then he sat on the edge of a dusty table, to wait. He looked toward the stairs, and I could not see his face in the dimness, but I sensed the sudden, overwhelming disappointment in him, that his people were marching into battle and he was not with them. I might have felt the regret myself, had I not another battle to fight.

“Don't get too settled,” I said. “We're going into the palace.”

“You can't,” he said. “Boaz's orders.”

“I've got business with Jaganath,” I replied. “Are you coming with me, or not?”

Slowly, he stood up again, his eyes searching my face. “You are joking, aren't you?” he said.

“No, I'm not. I'll go alone if I have to.”

“You can't! All the things we've heard of him, of the things he does, his evil! How can you fight him? You don't have those powers! Besides, Boaz gave me orders. If Jaganath takes you prisoner . . .”

“Come and stand here, by me,” I said.

He obeyed, though a fear was in him. And then, for the only time in my life, I created an illusion just to impress: I lifted my right hand, palm upward, and sent up from it a flame, tiny at first, that increased until it was a column higher than a spear; a perfect fire, blazing fine and strong against the ancient stones all around. I breathed on it, and the fire faded, spread out like glass, a shining wall between us, high as the lofty roof, and hard as steel.

“Touch it,” I said.

Hesitantly, with fear, he leaned forward and touched the glass. He knocked on it with his knuckles, and it hummed softly like a metal gong. I melted it, and his hand went through as if it were smoke. He withdrew his fingers and wiped them on his tunic, as if something from the image clung to them. I blew out my breath again, and the illusion vanished.

Ishtok was shaking.

I lifted the amulet Sheel Chandra had given me and held it out. “The man who gave me this,” I said, “is called Sheel Chandra. He is the one man in the world who equals Jaganath in power. Sheel Chandra taught me how to spin images out of nothing. He taught me to fly in my mind, to see my people wherever they are, as he taught me to see you when your Hena family visited. I can shield my thoughts with a force greater than that simple illusion you just saw. And I know that this hour, in these very moments, that great and powerful man, my teacher, will be shielding me with powers far stronger than anything Jaganath can conjure up.

“I don't ask you to face Jaganath with me, Ishtok. That is my battle, and I will not be alone in it. But I would be grateful if you would make it possible for me to get past his guards. Your arrows are swifter and farther-reaching than Navoran swords. I know I ask you to fight some of the strongest guards in the Empire, and I will understand if—”

“Of course I'll clear the way for you,” he said, with a tense smile. “I would rather do that—fight Jaganath's personal guards faithful to him—than fight unwilling soldiers in his army, men like Embry and Boaz. I'll be glad to go with you to your battleground.”

Briefly I lifted Sheel Chandra's amulet to my forehead, and
saw a white light full of goodness and wisdom and power. In absolute trust, I took off the amulet and put it about Ishtok's neck. Then we ascended the stairs into the palace.

We came out in a kitchen deserted and dim. We walked through, and almost slipped in the blood of a dead guard just outside the door. There were more passages and ascending stairs, and with each step the darkness grew more gray. We came out in a small courtyard made of white stone. Above, the skies were turning pink, their blush reflecting in polished pillars and paving stones. There was no grass. Across the courtyard was a wide pillared walkway with gracefully arched doors leading to rooms and passages beyond. There was a pool in the middle of the courtyard, and a fountain. It was unbelievably serene. Yet we could smell burning, and a column of black smoke was rising from somewhere beyond.

Again I recalled Chetobuh's memories, his knowledge of the palace layout. He had served Jaganath himself and knew well the way to the royal rooms. I was surprised at how familiar the palace seemed to me. Ishtok followed me so close behind, I could hear his quick breaths. He had an arrow in place, and I could feel the tension in him, but no fear anymore. Neither was I afraid; I had an incredible sense of peace, of being shielded and guided, and felt only eagerness to at last meet face-to-face this man in whose presence lay my true battleground.

We went down white stone passageways, through arched and curtained doors, through splendid rooms with domed ceilings painted with silver stars, and up flights of stairs. In many of the doorways guards lay with their throats cut. We pressed on, past pillars of black polished stone, along carpets of stunning design.
Smoke was thick now, swirling about the high pillars and in the curved ceilings, and billowing out the elegant windows. Everywhere curtains burned, fiery fragments falling from windows and doorways. Carpets smoldered, and wooden furniture flamed against blackening stone walls.

From somewhere close came shouts and screams, and the sound of blades clashing. Suddenly there was a man, his back to us. He heard us and swung around, his sword drawn. He wore black, with a red horse embroidered on the front of his tunic. Before he could take breath, I heard the swift wind of an arrow, and the guard fell, pierced through the heart, his sword clattering on the polished floor beside him. Ishtok got another arrow, and we hurried deeper into the palace. Twice more we were accosted by guards, and those, too, Ishtok left dead. We saw many more guards in black, lying dead or dying, some with knives in their backs. The floors around were stained with blood.