David Drake: Master of the Cauldron

Hehad to go around. The wizard responsible for this had escaped northward just before the troll hurled the caudron into the sea. The soldiers there would see no more reason to stop their fleeing enemies than the men nearby did.

The wizard had survived a millennium underground to rebuild his inhuman army. He'd do so again if he got the chance. Garric wasn't going to give him that chance.

He jogged near three pale monsters. They were hunching toward an alley half-closed by the jumbled barrels of a fallen column. The nearest of the trio turned and faced Garric, moaning softly and raising the axes in two of its hands. When Garric went by, it dropped forward to lope after its fellows, bracchiating on its lower pair of arms. It'd behaved like a frightened dog, willing to bite if necessary but desperate to get away.

The wizard's foul overcast had dissipated, allowing sunlight to bathe the granite plug. The stone was gray with streaks of white and pink, seemingly normal in every way save the manner it'd come here.

It was warm, though. Garric felt the heat pulsing as he passed close to the rock on his way around.

The breeze teased a valley in the swirling dust. Garric saw a clump of white creatures-perhaps four of them, perhaps many-carrying something toward the Temple of the Shepherd Who Overwhelms. The massive temple would have deep foundations.

Garric didn't try to run faster. He knew that if he lost his pace he'd almost certainly stumble. He'd reach them in time. The mismatched creatures moved like a broken-backed centipede, each interfering with the others.

The groundhad stopped shaking, so the dust was settling gradually. The layer at Garric's mid-chest was thick, almost opaque, but above that only motes danced. They twinkled like droplets of spray over a breeze-whipped ocean. Four thick-bodied, thick-legged monsters carried a litter that'd been pegged together from human bones. On it rode the wizard Garric had briefly glimpsed in the underworld, a hump under a black robe.

The wizard turned. Its face was that of a corpse which'd half decayed before being mummified. It pointed its athame.

"Die!" Garric cried, his sword lifting as he strode the last two paces to his enemy.

There was a red flash. Garric's muscles froze. His skin prickled and the sword flew out of his hand. He skidded forward on his chest.

A javelin arced out of the sky, skewering both the creatures supporting the back of the litter. They bawled and collapsed, spilling the wizard to the pavement. The athame's point caught in a crack between two cobblestones; the tourmaline blade splintered.

Garric could move again. He squirmed forward and grasped the wizard's throat. He neither knew nor cared what the other two litter-bearers were doing. He squeezed, feeling bones and muscles as dry as dead bone crunching. Then there was nothing in his hands, and nothing but stinking dust spilling from the black robe.

Garric looked around. Prester and Pont trotted toward him, wearing satisfied expressions and drawing their swords. Behind the two marshals came a squad of soldiers who appeared worn beyond human endurance.

Lord Attaper had finished three of the bearers whom the javelins had put down. He stared in a mixture of amazement and disgust at the fourth creature, a pin-headed monster whose forearms were the size of a strong man's thighs.

Liane knelt on the back of the fourth bearer. She'd cut its throat but seemed determined to continue thrusting her little dagger between its ribs as long as it was still twitching in death.

Garric had taken off his armor. By the end of the fighting his helmet had looked like scrap that a tinker had snipped repeatedly to make patches for cookware. He'd wiped blood off his sword with a piece of bedding that'd been blowing in the street. Now that the patterned gray steel was clean, he was sharpening it with the small stone he kept in a pouch on his swordbelt.

The sky was clear and the wind off the sea had cleared Erdin of the smell of sulfur. A number of fires had started when buildings collapsed onto lighted braziers, but they weren't out of control.

The bodies remained. Even the stench of the monsters' gutted corpses seemed less nauseating in bright sunlight.

"Lord Tadai is here, your highness," Liane said primly.

Garric looked up in amazement. He was seated at a conference table pulled from the wreckage of a house which the troll had bumped on its way to… to saving the Isles, Garric supposed. Certainly on the way to saving Garric or-Reise and the people dearest to his heart and soul.

Soldiers had placed the table-and straight chairs from a nearby ruin-in a small plaza not far from where the palace had stood. Ensign Attarus commanded the detachment of Blood Eagles guarding the Prince, but Garric had sent Lord Attaper to take stock of the army as a whole.

Garric remembered giving that order and a series of similar ones, to prevent looting and to reorganize the army in case somethingelse happened suddenly. That had been-he looked up at the sun-over an hour ago. He didn't remember anything from that point till now.

King Carus smiled a little sadly from Garric's mind. "There's different ways to cope," he said. "Cleaning your weapons is a good one. But any way that gets you through to the next dawn is a good one."

"Lord Tadai," Garric said, nodding to the plump nobleman. He'd have gotten up for courtesy's sake-he was the Prince, of course, but Tadai was very powerful, very skilled; and (along with his rival Royhas) as much a real friend as Garric had at the highest levels of his government.

Hewould have gotten up, but he was just too tired.

Tadai's robe of peach-colored silk was spotless and perfectly arranged. He'd probably donned a fresh one in the past few minutes, before he set off for an audience with Garric. He'd lost part of the nail of his right index finger and the layer of tinted rice powder on his cheeks couldn't conceal the scratch from his left ear to the point of his chin.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well, your highness," Tadai said. He bowed but a stitch in one muscle or another made him stiffen in blank-faced pain; he didn't sweep as low as he'd normally have done.

"I was afraid you…," Garric said. He stopped, because there wasn't any honest way to continue.

In all truth, he hadn't thought about Tadai and the rest of the ministerial delegation to Erdin since the trouble broke out in the temple library in the morning, a lifetime ago. Apparently they, or at least Tadai, had gotten out of the palace before the creatures of the pit slaughtered everyone they found. Garric was glad of that, but he'd had more pressing problems until this very moment.

He grinned. Including the problem of cleaning and sharpening his sword.

Tadai cleared his throat. "I've set up an interim city administration," he said. "The Earl hasn't been seen in some time-"

"He won't be," Liane said. Her voice was musical, but there was a hard finality to it. "Ever."

"Ah," Tadai said. He cleared his throat again. "Well, that may be for the best. I've made contact with many of the watch committees and used them to organize bucket brigades. Erdin doesn't have a paid fire watch. Ah-"

"Milord!" Garric said, sounding harsh even in his own numb ears. "I have every confidence in your ability to deal with this… to deal with this-"

His hands were trembling. He laid the sword flat on the table and laced his fingers. Liane, who'd been studiously formal to that point, pressed her hand on top of his.

Garric rose cautiously. It was a good idea to work the muscles a little, though it'd be An honest grin spread across his face.

– a long time before he was up to digging ditches.

"Tadai, I don't have enough mind right at the moment to guess which direction the sun'll rise in the morning," Garric said gently. "I'm glad you do, I'm lucky and Erdin is more than lucky that you're able to take charge in this crisis. But you don't need to give me progress reports. You have my backing until I tell you otherwise."