To Green Angel Tower Volume 2 Page 4

  “She should have been coming here by now,” Binabik said. “I wonder if we should be waiting for her.”

  “Tell me what you can,” said Josua. “It has been a very long day and I am growing weary. Also, my wife is ill and I do not like being away from her.”

  “Of course, Prince Josua. I’m sorry. Of course.” Strangyeard gathered himself. “Morgenes tells that there is something in each sword that is not of Osten Ard—not of our earth. Thorn is made from a stone that fell from the sky. Bright-Nail, which was once Minneyar, was forged from the iron keel of Elvrit’s ship that came over the sea from the West. Those are lands that our ships can no longer find.” He cleared his throat. “And Sorrow is of both iron and the Sithi witchwood, two things that are inimical. The witchwood itself, Aditu tells me, came over as seedlings from the place that her people call the Garden. None of these things should be here, and also, none of them should be workable ... except perhaps the pure iron of Elvrit’s keel.”

  “So how were these swords made, then?” asked Josua. “Or is that the answer you still seek?”

  “There is something that Morgenes is mentioning,” Binabik offered. “It is also written in one of Ookekuq’s scrolls. It is called a Word of Making—a magic spell is what we might be naming it, although those who are knowing the Art do not use those words.”

  “A Word of Making?” Isgrimnur frowned. “Just a word?”

  “Yes ... and no,” Strangyeard said unhappily. “In truth, we are not sure. But Minneyar we know was made by the dwarrows—the dvernings as you would call them in your own tongue, Duke Isgrimnur—and Sorrow was made by Ineluki in the dwarrow forges beneath Asu‘a. The dwarrows alone had the lore to make such mighty things, although Ineluki learned it. Perhaps they had a hand in Thorn’s forging as well, or their lore was used somehow. In any case, it is possible that if we knew the way in which the swords were created, how the binding of forces was accomplished, it might teach us something about how we can use them against the Storm King.”

  “I wish I had thought to question Count Eolair more carefully when he was here,” said Josua, frowning. “He had met the dwarrows.”

  “Yes, and they told him of their part in the history of Bright-Nail,” Father Strangyeard added. “It is also possible, however, that it is not the making of them that is important for our purpose, but just the fact that they exist. Still, if we have some chance in the future to send word to the dwarrows, and if they will speak with us, I for one would have many questions.”

  Josua looked at the archivist speculatively. “This chore suits you, Strangyeard. I always thought you were wasted dusting books and searching out the most obscure points of canon law.”

  The priest reddened. “Thank you, Prince Josua. Whatever I can do is because of your kindness.”

  The prince waved his hand, dismissing the compliment. “Still, as much as you and Binabik and the rest have accomplished, there is still far more to do. We remain afloat in deep waters, praying for a sight of land ...” He paused. “What is that noise?”

  Isgrimnur had noticed it, too, a rising murmur that had slowly grown louder than the wind. “It sounds like an argument,” he said, then waited for a moment, listening. “No, it is more than that—there are too many voices.” He stood. “Dror’s Hammer, I hope that someone has not started a rebellion.” He reached for Kvalnir and was calmed by its reassuring heft. “I had hoped for a quiet day tomorrow before we are to ride again.”

  Josua clambered to his feet. “Let us not sit here and wonder.”

  As Isgrimnur stepped out of the door flap, his eyes were abruptly drawn across the vast camp. It was plain in an instant what was happening.

  “Fire!” he called to the others as they spilled out after him. “At least one tent burning badly, but it looks like a few more have caught, too.” People were now rushing about between the tents, shadowy figures that shouted and gesticulated. Men dragged on their sword belts, cursing in confusion. Mothers dragged screaming children out of their blankets and carried them into the open air. All the pathways were full of terrified, milling campfolk. Isgrimnur saw one old woman fall to her knees, crying, although she was only a few paces from where he stood, a long distance from the nearest flames.

  “Aedon save us!” said Josua. “Binabik, Strangyeard, call for buckets and waterskins, then take some of these mad-wandering folk and head for the river—we need water ! Better yet, pull down some of the oiled tents and see how much water you can carry in them!” He sprang away toward the conflagration; Isgrimnur hastened after him.

  The flames were leaping high now, filling the night sky with a hellish orange light. As he and Josua approached the fire, a flurry of dancing sparks sailed out, hissing as they caught in Isgrimnur’s beard. He beat them out, cursing.

  Tiamak awakened and promptly threw up, then struggled to catch his breath. His head was hammering like a Perdruinese church bell.

  There were flames all around him, beating hot against his skin, sucking away the air. In a blind panic, he dragged himself across the crisping grass of the tent floor toward what looked like a patch of cool darkness, only to find his face pushed up against some black, slippery fabric. He struggled with it for a moment, dimly noting its strange resistance; then it flopped aside, exposing a white face buried in the black hood. The eyes were turned up, and blood slicked the lips. Tiamak tried to scream, but his mouth was full of burning smoke and his own bile. He rolled away, choking.

  Suddenly, something grabbed at his arm and he was yanked forward violently, dragged across the pale-skinned corpse and through a wall of flame. For a moment he thought he was dead. Something was thrown over him, and he was rolled and pummeled with the same swift violence that had carried him away, then whatever covered him was lifted and he found himself lying on wet grass. Flames licked at the sky close beside him, but he was safe. Safe!

  “The Wrannaman is alive,” someone said near him. He thought he recognized the Sitha-woman’s lilting tones, although her voice was now almost sharp with fear and worry. “Camaris dragged him out. How the knight managed to stay awake after he had been poisoned I will never know, but he killed two of the Hikeda‘ya.” There was an unintelligible response.

  After he had lain in place for a few long moments, just breathing the clean air into his painful lungs, Tiamak rolled over. Aditu stood a few paces away, her white hair blackened and her golden face streaked with grime. Beneath her on the ground lay the forest woman Geloë, partially wrapped in a cloak, but obviously naked beneath it, her muscular legs shiny with dew or sweat. As Tiamak watched, she struggled to sit up.

  “No, you must not,” Aditu said to her, then took a step backward. “By the Grove, Geloë. you are wounded.”

  With a trembling effort, Geloë lifted her head. “No,” she said. Tiamak could barely hear her voice, a throaty whisper. “I am dying.”

  Aditu leaned forward, reaching out to her. “Let me help you....”

  “No!” Geloë’s voice grew stronger. “No, Aditu, it is ... too late. I have been stabbed ... a dozen times.” She coughed and a thin trickle of something dark ran down her chin, glinting in the light of the burning tents. Tiamak stared. He saw what he took to be Camaris’ feet and legs behind her, the rest of the knight’s long form stretched out in the grass hidden by her shadow. “I must go.” Geloë tried to clamber to her feet but could not do so.

  “There might be something ...” Aditu began.

  Geloë laughed weakly, then coughed again and spat out a gobbet of blood. “Do you think I ... do not ... know?” she said. “I have been a healer for ... a long time.” She held out a shaking hand. “Help me. Help me up.”

  Aditu’s face, which for a moment had seemed as stricken as any mortal‘s, grew solemn. She took Geloë’s hand, then leaned forward and clasped her other arm as well. The wise woman slowly rose to her feet; she swayed, but Aditu supported her.

  “I must ... go. I do not wish to die here.” Geloë pushed away from Aditu and took a few staggering steps.
The cloak fell away, exposing her nakedness to the leaping firelight. Her skin was slick with sweat and great smears of blood. “I will go back to my forest. Let me go while I still can.”

  Aditu hesitated a moment longer, then stepped back and lowered her head. “As you wish, Valada Geloë. Farewell, Ruyan’s Own. Farewell ... my friend. Sinya‘a dun’s ha é-d’treyesa inro. ”

  Trembling, Geloë raised her arms, then took another step. The heat from the flames seemed to grow more intense, for Tiamak, where he lay, saw Geloë begin to shimmer. Her outline grew insubstantial, then a cloud of shadow or smoke seemed to appear where she stood. For a moment, the very night seemed to surge inward toward the spot, as though a stitch had been taken in the fabric of the Wrannaman’s vision. Then the night was whole again.

  The owl circled slowly for a moment where Geloë had been, then flew off, close above the wind-tossed grasses. Its movements were stiff and awkward, and several times it seemed that it must lose the wind and fall tumbling to the earth, but its lurching flight continued until the night sky had swallowed it.

  His head still full of murk and painful clangor, Tiamak slumped back. He was not sure what he had seen, but he knew that something terrible had happened. A great sadness lurked just out of his reach. He was in no hurry to bring it closer.

  What had been the thin sound of voices in the distance became a raucous shouting. Legs moved past him; the night seemed suddenly full of movement. There was a rush and sizzle of steam as someone threw a pail of water into the flames of what had been Camaris’ tent.

  A few moments later he felt Aditu’s strong hands under his arms. “You will be trampled, brave marsh man,” she said into his ear, then pulled him farther away from the conflagration, into the cool darkness beside some tents untouched by the blaze. She left him there, then returned shortly with a water skin. The Sitha pressed it against his cracked lips until he understood what it was, then left him to drink—which he did, greedily.

  A dark shadow loomed, then abruptly sank down beside him. It was Camaris. His silvery hair, like Aditu‘s, was scorched and blackened. Haunted eyes stared from his ash-smeared face. Tiamak handed him the water skin, then prodded him until he lifted it to his lips.

  “God have mercy on us ...” Camaris croaked. He stared dazedly at the spreading fires and the shouting mob that was trying to douse them.

  Aditu returned and sat down beside them. When Camaris offered her the water skin, she took it from him and downed a single swallow before handing it back.

  “Geloë... ?” Tiamak asked.

  Aditu shook her head. “Dying. She has gone away.”

  “Who ...” It was still hard to speak. Tiamak almost did not want to, but he suddenly felt a desire to know, to have some reasons with which to balance off the terrible events. He also needed something—words if nothing . else—to fill the emptiness inside of him. He took the skin bag from Camaris and moistened his throat. “Who was it...?”

  “The Hikeda‘ya,” she said, watching the efforts to quell the flames. “The Norns. That was Utuk’ku’s long arm that reached out tonight.”

  “I ... I tried to ... to call for help. But I couldn’t.”

  Aditu nodded. “Kei-vishaa. It is a sort of poison that floats on the wind. It kills the voice for a time, and also brings sleep.” She looked at Camaris, who had leaned back against the tent wall that sheltered them. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed. “I do not know how he stood against it for the time he did. If he had not, we would have been too late. Geloë’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.” She turned to the Wrannaman. “You, too, Tiamak. Things would have been different without your aid: you found Camaris’ sword. Also, the fire frightened them. They knew they did not have much time, and that made them careless. Otherwise, I think we would all be there still.” She indicated the burning tent.

  Geloë’s sacrifice. Tiamak found his eyes filling with tears. They stung.

  She Who Waits to Take All Back, he prayed desperately, do not let her drift by!

  He covered his face with his hands. He did not want to think any more.

  Josua ran faster. When Isgrimnur caught him at last, the prince had already stopped to make sure that the fires were being mastered. The original blaze had spread only a little way, catching perhaps a half-dozen other tents at most, and all but some in the first tent had escaped. Sangfugol was one of them. He stood, clothed only in a long shirt, and blearily watched the proceedings.

  After assuring himself that everything possible was being done, Isgrimnur followed Josua to Camaris and the other two survivors, the Sitha-woman and little Tiamak, who were resting nearby. They were all bloodied and singed, but Isgrimnur felt sure after looking them over quickly that they would all live.

  “Ah, praise merciful Aedon that you escaped, Sir Camaris,” said Josua, kneeling at the side of the old knight. “I feared rightly that it might be your tent when we first saw the blaze.” He turned to Aditu, who seemed to have her wits about her, which could not quite be said of Camaris and the marsh man. “Who have we lost? I am told there are bodies inside the tent still.”

  Aditu looked up. “Geloë, I fear. She was badly wounded. Dying.”

  “God curse it!” Josua’s voice cracked. “Cursed day!” He pulled a handful of grass and flung it down angrily. With an effort, he calmed himself. “Is she still in there? And who are the others?”

  “They are none of them Geloë,” she said. “The three inside the tent are those you call Norns. Geloë has gone to the forest.”

  “What!” Josua sat back, stunned. “What do you mean, gone to the forest? You said she was dead.”

  “Dying.” Aditu spread her fingers. “She did not want us to see her last moments, I think. She was strange, Josua—stranger than you know. She went away.”

  “Gone?”

  The Sitha nodded slowly. “Gone.”

  The prince made the sign of the Tree and bowed his head. When he looked up, there were tears running on his cheek; Isgrimnur did not think they were caused by the smoke. He, too, felt a shadow move over him as he thought of the loss of Geloë. With so many pressing tasks he could not dwell on it now, but the duke knew from long experience in battle that it would strike him hard later.

  “We have been attacked in our very heart,” the prince said bitterly. “How did they get past the sentries?”

  “The one I fought was dripping wet,” said Aditu. “They may have come down the river.”

  Josua swore. “We have been dangerously lax, and I am the worst miscreant. I had thought it strange we had escaped the Norns’ attentions so long, but my precautions were inadequate. Were there more than those three?”

  “I think there were no more,” Aditu replied. “And they would have been more than enough, but that we were lucky. If Geloë and I had not guessed something was amiss, and if Tiamak had not somehow known and arrived when he did, this tale would have had a different ending. I think they meant to kill Camaris, or at least to take him.”

  “But why?” Josua looked at the old knight, then back to Aditu.

  “I do not know. But let us carry him, and Tiamak, too, to some warm place, Prince Josua. Camaris has at least one wound, perhaps more, and Tiamak is burned, I think.”

  “Aedon’s mercy, you are right,” said Josua. “‘Thoughtless, thoughtless. One moment.” He turned and called some of his soldiers together, then sent them off with orders for the sentries to search the camp. “We cannot be sure there were not more Norns or other attackers,” Josua said. “At the very least, we may find something to tell us how these came into our camp without being seen.”

  “None of the Gardenborn are easily seen by mortals—if they do not wish to be seen,” said Aditu. “May we take Camaris and Tiamak away now?”

  “Of course.” Josua called two of the bucket carriers. “You men! Come and help us!” He turned to Isgrimnur. “Four should be enough to carry them, even though Camaris is large.” He shook his head. “Aditu is right—we have made these brave one
s wait too long.”

  The duke had been in such situations before, and knew that too much haste was as bad as too little. “I think we would be better to find something to carry them on,” he said. “If one of those outer tents has been saved from the fire, we might use it to make a litter or two.”

  “Good.” Josua stood. “Aditu, I did not ask if you had wounds that needed tending.”

  “Nothing I cannot care for myself, Prince Josua. When these two have been seen to, we should gather those that you trust and talk.”

  “I agree. There is much to talk about. We will meet at Isgrimnur’s tent within the hour. Does that suit you, Isgrimnur?” The prince turned aside for a moment, then turned back. His face was haggard with grief. “I was thinking that we should find Geloë to come nurse them ... then I remembered.”

  Aditu made a gesture, fingers touching fingers before her. “This is not the last time we shall miss her, I think.”

  “It is Josua,” the prince called from outside the tent. When he stepped inside, Gutrun still had the knife held before her. The duchess looked fierce as an undenned badger, ready to protect herself and Vorzheva from whatever danger might show itself. She lowered the dagger as Josua entered, relieved but still full of worry.

  “What is it? We heard the shouting. Is my husband with you?”

  “He is safe, Gutrun.” Josua walked to the bed, then leaned forward and pulled Vorzheva to him in a swift embrace. He kissed her brow as he released her. “But we have been attacked by the Storm King’s minions. We have lost only one, but that is a great loss.”

  “Who?” Vorzheva caught his arm as he tried to straighten.

  “Geloë.”

  She cried out in grief.

  “Three Norns attacked Camaris,” Josua explained. “Aditu, Geloë, and the Wrannaman Tiamak came to his aid. The Norns were killed, but Aditu says that Geloë took a fatal wound.” He shook his head. “I think she was the wisest of us all. Now she is gone and we cannot replace her.”

  Vorzheva fell back. “But she was just here, Josua. She came with Aditu to see me. Now she is dead?” Tears filled her eyes.