David Drake - Out of the waters

Alphena swallowed. She put her cup down to free herself to embrace her mother.

Corylus fumbled with his body armor as he climbed the steps to the west entrance of the Altar of Peace. The orichalc cuirass was heavy, awkward, and it shone even during the rainstorm, calling unwanted attention to him. He would have taken it off before now, except that he couldn't get the catches to work.

On other days, the naked sprite beside him would have attracted even more attention, but the scattered fires and confusion had left many people running about the Field of Mars in states of undress. Coryla was more attractive than most, but the crowd was too excited about the flaming battle in the sky to pay attention to women, even pretty women.

As for the golden-furred Ancient on the sprite's other side-Carce was used to exotic animals. Mostly they died on the sand, shot by archers who stayed on the other side of the fence from their victims, but not a few came as pets for the Great and Good.

Pulto halted at the top. "Here, master," he said, reaching for the catches.

Corylus heard the click, click, click and felt the breastplate sag from his right side. "I got it on with no trouble," he muttered. "I've had it on and off lots of times since, since…"

His voice trailed off. He couldn't remember when all this had started. Days ago, but was a day in that dreamworld the same as one here in Carce?

"You take care of your business," Pulto said, lifting the breastplate away. "Then we'll get you to the baths and a long soak in the steam room. I ought to know what you need, as often as I've been standing where you are."

Blood still streaked the orichalc despite the storm which was only now slackening. The Minos had bled like a whale spouting when Corylus jerked his sword free; gore had covered his right arm as well.

"Right, take care of my duties," Corylus said. He looked into the altar enclosure, feeling his mind sharpen a little; tactical awareness became reflexive on the frontier, especially if you regularly visited the far side of the river.

"Don't worry about the east entrance," Pulto said. "I had some of Saxa's boys block the doorway with the deck of one of them crashed ships. They'll make sure nobody tries to move it while you're inside. Ah-I told'em you'd see them right for the work, you know?"

"Yes, of course," said Corylus. He had to finish this quickly; otherwise he'd fall asleep. "I don't think we'll be long."

The problem wasn't so much the stress of battle: he would normally still be keyed up by the humors which fighting had released into his system.

His present exhaustion came from the blur of time Corylus had spent in the dreamworld. The release of that tension, that existence in a place not meant for living men, had wrung him out more than he could have guessed before the strain released.

"Take as long as you need, master," Pulto said. "Nobody's going to bother you this way neither."

Pulto stepped to the center of the entrance and turned his back to the altar; his legs were spread slightly, and his hand was on a barely hidden sword hilt. No, nobody's going to bother us.

Pulto had stayed with Lenatus in Saxa's house after the attempt to catch the western magicians. That was the proper response for a non-commissioned officer in a crisis: if there wasn't an obvious solution, report to headquarters where people are paid to think beyond straight ranks and a sharp sword.

At the alarm, he had joined the Consul's entourage-figuring that reports of ships throwing lightning bolts in the clouds was likely to be cut from the same cloth as Corylus disappearing into thin air. He'd been right.

It had stopped raining, but water stood in shallow pools in the marble pavement and on the charred top of the central altar. The Ancient scraped a finger across the ash, then sniffed what he had caught under his nail. He grinned at Corylus.

The sprite touched the glass amulet, visible now that Corylus had taken off the breastplate. "What now, cousin?" she said.

Corylus licked his lips. "You both have helped me," he said. "You've saved me, many times. What is it that you want from me?"

The sprite laughed. "Freedom, of course," she said. "Freedom to die."

She looked at the Ancient. He gave a terse growl. He didn't move from where he stood by the altar, but the fur along his spine had rippled.

"Both of us want freedom," the sprite said. "But you would be a fool to free us, cousin. You need us."

Corylus took off the amulet and weighed the glass in his hand. He looked from the sprite to the Ancient. Neither of them moved.

"If I didn't treat my friends honorably," Corylus said, "I would soon have no friends."

He put the leather thong over his left index finger and held it out to Coryla.

She looked at the bead; her tongue touched her lips. Very softly she said, "The times are in crisis, cousin. The Spirits of the Earth are rising, against you and all who live on the surface."

"My honor is good!" Corylus said. "I am citizen of Carce!"

The sprite hesitated. The Ancient took the thong from Corylus and settled the amulet between the teeth at the back of his jaw.

The sprite laughed merrily. She stepped forward and kissed Corylus hard, then put her arm around the Ancient; he bit down.

Then Corylus was alone within the enclosure, except for the pinch of powdered glass drifting to the pavement.