David Drake - Master of the Cauldron

Dasborn laughed. "The citizens thought I was hard," he said, looking around his fellows. "It must've been the same for all of you in your day. But they didn't know what hard really was, because they only saw surfaces."

He bowed to Mab and went on, "We didn't serve you, milady, we served Ronn and her people. But it was an honor to servewith you, and I'm pleased to be doing that again."

"He speaks for all of us, I think," Virdin said. "Anybody disagree?"

"We're here, aren't we?" Valeri snapped. He hunched, settling his cuirass to ride more comfortably on his shoulders. "Let's get on with it."

"One thing first," Virdin said, turning to Cashel. The Hero's features were those of Herron, but nobody could've mistaken the boy from sunlit Ronn for the man who faced Cashel now.

"You're a stranger, Master Cashel," Virdin said. "You've done a man's duty to come to this place to wake us, but you have no business with what comes next. Go home with our thanks and the thanks of the city."

"I've come this far," Cashel said, facing the men in armor. "I guess I'll go the rest of the way with you."

"This is Ronn's business," Hrandis said, his eyes on Mab. "Ours and the citizens. He doesn't belong."

"He belongs," Mab said. "He's said he's willing to accompany us, and he doesn't say things he doesn't mean."

Cashel smiled. "No ma'am," he said, his voice husky. "I don't."

"I want Cashel with me," Mab said. "He's made it his business. He belongs with me, and with us."

"All right," said Valeri. "We've talked enough."

He turned and touched the great bronze door where the valves met in the middle. It opened with the soundless majesty of sunrise. Drawing their swords and Hrandis lifting his two axes, the Heroes stepped from the temple.

Darkness fled before them.

Sharina knelt and picked up one of the larger stream-washed stones. It was some dense pinkish rock, about the size of her both fists clenched.

The lizard was hunting her by smell. She wasn't sure she'd gain by walking downwind with the stream, but it was something shecould do. The water wasn't deep but the bottom was dangerously slick, especially when cold water had numbed the soles of her feet. She'd like to have run, but that wasn't possible.

Sharina's silken inner tunic had long sleeves. As she paced over the smooth, algae-haired stones, she ripped the right one off at the shoulder seam to create a fabric tube. She knotted the wrist end into a bag, then dropped the stone into it. That gave her a mace of sorts, easier to hold than the bare stone and much harder-hitting.

She continued on. The nearest horn called, followed at intervals by horns at a greater distance to either side.

The willows and mimosas were a good screen against anybody looking this way from the fields, but they wouldn't hide Sharina if the rider reached the creek and chose to follow it. That's what hewould do almost certainly, if his mount lost the scent. The lizard's long legs could in a few minutes go farther up and down stream than Sharina could walk before the hunter arrived.

She glanced through the mimosa stems toward the cultivated field. She'd reached the edge where an irrigation channel separated the maize and beans from a field of dark green rape. The rider wasn't in sight yet, but he would be soon.

The builders had stubbed the irrigation channel off just short of the creek so that the measured water didn't drain away. Trees must sprout along the channel's margin, but they'd been trimmed away; cattails grew from the muddy bottom, however. Without hesitating Sharina scrambled out of the creek and across the short stretch of waste ground, then threw herself into the channel. It was shallow, but she could wriggle down into the soft bottom to conceal herself among the cattails. The standing water was blood-warm and opaque with mud.

Sharina lay down full length and settled a mat of leaves from last years growth over her head. She hoped she'd covered her blond hair completely, but she'd decided that she had to keep her eyes above water so that she could see. Settling her breathing again, she waited.

What would Cashel do if he were here with her? Hide in the ditch, she supposed, just as she was doing. There was no other choice, not against the band of hunters coursing her. She could hear the horn calls coming closer. She might escape the nearest rider, but she didn't see how she could get off the island without using the ring and taking her chances with where it sent her. Nothing Cashel could do would change that.

But she'd feel better with Cashel beside her. Things were never hopeless if Cashel was there with you.

Sharina grinned, the way Cashel'd expect her to do. She shifted to grip her mace's silken shaft with both hands. Things weren't hopeless now, either.

The horn sounded from where she'd entered the stream. After a brief pause, Sharina heard loud splashes mixed with the clack of stones being knocked together by the weight of the great lizard. Chance or instinct had caused the hunter to turn downstream, the correct direction.

Well, Sharina couldn't do anything until he'd come past her. That made his choice her good luck, didn't it?

And perhaps it did, but she wouldn't pretend that she reallyfelt that way about it.

The hunter came closer, though Sharina still couldn't see him. There was aBraaaa! from the lizard's throat, a startled, "Ho! Ho!" from the rider, and then a sloshing like a waterfall. The beast had slipped.

"Up!" the rider called. "Come, come up!"

The scene waswrong, but it took Sharina a moment to understand how. She was expecting a torrent of shouted curses. She'd never met a human, no matter how saintly, who wouldn't have reacted excitedly to that dangerous fall. The People appeared to have no more emotions than dung beetles did.

The lizard's head and clawed right foot slid into her field of vision over the creekbank. The beast lurched forward in the rainbow spray as its tail lashed the water for balance. Its pebbled skin was pale gray with darker stripes that looked purple when the light was on them.

The rider'd been lying close over his mount's long neck. He straightened, looking first forward and then back the way he'd come. He clucked the lizard into motion, holding the reins in his left hand and raising his trumpet to his lips with his right. He blew his long, sighing call as he strode past the ditch where Sharina lay. The lizard cast its head from side to side, obviously restive.

The saddle was over the lizard's hips, more than six feet in the air. Its high crupper would incidently protect the rider against a blow from behnd.

As the lizard's head swung away from Sharina, she came out of the cattails swinging her stone mace from left to right. She was two strides from the hunter. He dropped the trumpet onto its neck chain and snatched at the long-shafted trident upright in a saddle scabbard.

The mace struck the center of the rider's polished bronze breastplate, just below the ribs. It bonged, dishing in the thin metal and throwing the rider out of the saddle. He tumbled backwards, hitting the ground with a crash; his helmet fell off.

Sharina caught the left stirrup. She couldn't stay hidden in this place. She supposed she'd be better off mounted. She wasn't planning, just reacting, but she didn't have enough informationor time to do better.

The lizard twisted its head back to bite her; it couldn't quite reach. Its breath, stinking of dead meat, made her gag.

The saddle was high and narrow, like a mule's only much larger. A downward extension formed a mounting step below the stirrup. Sharina put her right foot into it. As she did the lizard sidled away and tried to snap at her again.

She still held the mace in her right hand, gripping it close to the stone. She batted the beast's snout. It squealed like steam from under a pot lid and hopped sideways, dragging Sharina with it.