Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

—You pair of foul insects! The High Fortress protested. Is it not enough to torment this house? Must you wreck its structure as well?

Terril had no time to argue. Trapped by his own choosing in a singlehanded struggle for his life, he had time only to respond to attacks. And he was terrified by the possibilities.

Joooms had already started down the stable stairs when he discovered they were no longer there. They had been burned away by Mar-Yilot’s fire. He fell into the ashes. It was a long drop, but his lizard form absorbed such shocks well. He rolled onto his four legs with a flick of his tail and looked around.

He’d come in search of a horse. There were none. What he did see was a tugolith, who appeared to be cowering in a charred corner. “Hello there,” he said, taking his human shape right in Thuganlitha’s face.

The tug grunted in surprise, and backed further into the corner. “Aren’t you supposed to be mauling people out on the battlefield?”

The tugolith seemed chagrined. “I can’t,” Thuganlitha answered.

“Why not?”

“Chimolitha stuck me.”

“I see.” Joooms nodded. “Well I happen to need a mount and there are no horses available. Would you be willing to carry me?”

Thuganlitha didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t much like the idea of going back out to face Chimolitha, however. “I’ll eat you!” he threatened, hoping to chase the man away.

“No, you won’t,” Joooms said and he climbed onto Thug’s head. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

“I won’t,” Thug grumbled. A moment later a ball of flame exploded under his belly, and Thuganlitha bolted out of the stables, content that here, at last, was a man who could enforce his directives.

As they rumbled down the main street, Joooms studied the action. He saw Ngarl and Qirl leading a group of warriors toward the north and decided to follow them. “That way,” he told Thuganlitha, and the beast dutifully turned the corner. When they turned westward again on the next major artery, they barrelled into the thick of a battle. Syth mod Syth-el had made good progress toward the castle, and the city’s defenders were going to be hard-pressed to stop them. The tugolith’s appearance turned the tide immediately.

It surprised Joooms to see Syth. He had never before seen him in battle. Although they’d been on opposite sides many times, Mar-Yilot had always had Syth carefully cloaked. But Mar-Yilot was busy, Joooms remembered with some satisfaction. He bore no animosity toward Syth. But Joooms had battled Mar-Yilot all morning, and this was merely an extension of that same struggle. His purpose was to do injury to the Autumn Lady, and nothing could injure her more than the death of this warrior. “That man,” Joooms said to Thuganlitha as he pointed. “Trample him.” The tugolith gave a happy trumpet, and charged. Syth saw the monster coming. He glanced around for some route of escape, but his way was blocked on all sides by horses and riders. Then he saw Joooms on the tugolith’s back and realized there was no chance. Other men were being trampled, but only because they happened to be in the way. The beast was coming for him. Syth glanced up at the High Fortress, bidding a bittersweet good-bye to his lady. When he looked back, monster and magician had disappeared—just as he’d known they would. But he could still hear the rumble of the heavy beast’s horrible hooves.

Mar-Yilot was ducking around a corner when it struck her that Joooms was gone. An inexplicable fear clutched her. She dove recklessly for the nearest window, and beat the air with her wings, seeking a breeze that would carry her over the battlefield.

“Where is she?” Terril demanded a moment later.

—She has left. Good riddance! The High Fortress replied.

Terril, too, found a window, and flew out in pursuit. He had more speed than Mar-Yilot; but if she caught a wind, those widespread wings would carry her off like a sail. If he could only brush her butterfly body, he could stun her to the ground, but first he had to catch her.

The city lay spread out below her, and she marveled at what she beheld. The allied attackers had reached the plateau! She sought out the banner of Sythia Isle and dropped toward them. Suddenly Terril buzzed before her, cutting her off. She dodged around him—an easy trick, since her own form of flight was so erratic in contrast to his. The sugar-clawsp moved quickly, though, and he blocked her again. He swooped toward her, trying desperately to brush her with his purple shell. Again she fluttered aside.

When Terril buzzed toward her again, she was ready. She timed her transformation perfectly. There, in midair, she took her human shape and clapped the insect between her two palms. “Got you!” she shouted as again she donned her altershape. Then she glided onward toward the pennants of Syth. The body of Terril the twin-killer plummeted from the sky and smashed through a housetop. He was already dead, however. He’d thought his last thought within the stinking body he despised and died as a squashed insect.

Mar-Yilot soared above the skirmish, frantically scanning the faces of the living. Things were going badly for Syth’s men. The city’s defenders were driving them back toward the edge of the cliff. Mar-Yilot made no effort to protect them. She had other concerns that drove her desperately on, fluttering back and forth above the heads of the battlers. Her hope was fading fast. Then she saw his body and dived toward it.

She alighted beside him, a woman again, and knelt to touch his face. “Syth,” she called quietly. “Syth.”

The battle still swirled around her, but she was oblivious to it as she called his name over and over and stroked his thick black hair. Only a tugolith could have so utterly crushed and ruined his handsome body. And she’d not been here to protect him! She dropped her head to his chest to listen. Was it wishful thinking, or was there a faint rhythm still to his heart?

“My Lady!” pleaded a voice nearby, and she glanced up to see a warrior from the Isle reaching out his free hand in supplication. “Autumn Lady, defend us!” he cried as a pair of Ngari’s swordsmen fell upon him.

Mar-Yilot blinked. She knew what Syth would do. Syth would help. But she was not Syth. She was Mar-Yilot, and her first and only concern was preserving her husband’s fragile hold on life. Ignoring the warrior’s pleas, she pulled a magic cloak around Syth and herself. Then she bent her head across his chest and wept with mingled fear and relief.

It snowed. Large, fluffy flakes drifted out of the sky. On the plain below, the tugoliths frolicked in excitement. Gerrig could have seen them if he’d looked over his shoulder. He and those with him had been driven near to the edge of the cliff. He had no time, though, to look at anything save the weapons that sliced toward him.

The snow made the cobbled streets slick. Between parries, he shifted his feet in search of more secure footing. All around him men were slipping. Some never had the chance to get back up. Others had already taken too many steps backward and fallen off the High Plateau. Gerrig certainly would have panicked if he’d had a chance to think about it, but he was too busy surviving to think at all. He could see Bronwynn about thirty feet in front of him. She was still mounted and still dealing misery to anyone with the temerity to challenge her. But the burst of power, the magical explosion that Gerrig and his comrades kept expecting, had still not materialized. She was proving to be a wonderful warrior, but at the moment they needed her to be much more.

Syth’s flanking attack had evidently collapsed. Mari defenders swarmed in from the right side. The top of the Down Road was also to Gerrig’s right, and a quick glance that way told him that soon the enemy would control it, cutting off any possibility of retreat. He longed for an intermission, but none was forthcoming. Suddenly the screams behind him took on a very different quality, and he looked around to see what caused the change.