David Drake - The Gods Return

"Selinus, with me!" he said, unstrapping his shield so that he could hold it by the edge. "The rest of you scuts keep back!" Sharina watched in puzzlement as the two non-coms faced one another, turning the shield endwise and gripping what had been the top edge. "On three," Pont said. They leaned back together, one leg forward against the lintel and the other well back to brace them. "One, two, three -"

Together the men used used the whole strength of their upper bodies to slam the shield into the right-hand door valve, just inside the edge where a stiffener would be. The panel was massive but centuries old; the curved shield was of triple-ply birch, inches thick and bound with gilding metal. It smashed a hole a hand's breadth deep where it struck the door. Instead of rearing back to batter the door again, Pont dropped the shield and thrust his sword through the split in the panel. Sharina frowned, at a loss as to what the veteran thought he was doing. Pont gripped the sword hilt with both hands and jerked upward, lifting the crossbar from its track before the priests inside understood what was happening. "Hit it, boys!" he shouted. Six soldiers threw their shoulders against the valves, shoving them inward. There was a brief struggle in the doorway. The priests had swords or iron-studded cudgels, but the troops' armor and superior training ended the fight before it began. Sharina jumped the wrack of bodies as she followed the first squad into the anteroom. She thought there'd been four or five priests, but she couldn't be sure: the short, stiff infantry swords made terrible wounds when driven by excitement and strong arms. She burst into the nave with the troops.

The lanterns hanging from brackets on either side still burned, but pre-dawn light, entering through the rose window in the pediment over the entrance, dimmed them. At the back was a pierced bronze screen which could be opened to display the tall statue of the Lady. Sharina hadn't been in this temple before; she wondered whether the image would be an old one of painted wood or if that had been replaced by a gold and ivory masterpiece. How ready had the pirate chiefs been to spend their looted wealth on the Queen of Heaven? There were half a dozen priests in the nave. Three with swords had been running toward the entrance when the soldiers appeared: javelins sent them sprawling on the mosaic floor without an order. Sharina already knew that Prester and Pont taught their men always to use missiles when that was an option: it wasn't as heroic as wading in hand to hand, but it did the job and saved the right kind of lives-your own and your buddies'.

The remaining priests were unarmed, an old man with wild white hair and two young aides. They halted when they saw the troops. The old man raised his hands in the air and cried, "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" "We want prisoners!" Sharina said as she sprinted toward them. Burne sprang from her bosom and hunched over the floor even faster than she did. The nave was easily a hundred feet long, and the soldiers' hobnailed boots skidded dangerously on the polished stone. The priests started back toward the wicket in the bronze screen. Sharina closed on the old man. One of the aides threw himself at her. She swatted him across the forehead with the square back edge of the Pewle knife; the heavy steel rang, knocking the priest to the floor, stunned and bloodied. The old man flung his arms out and pitched onto his face with a gabbling cry. Burne jumped clear of his legs. The remaining priest ran through the wicket into the sanctum. Sharina was only a hand's-breadth behind him. The screen was perforated, but it shadowed the interior. For a moment Sharina couldn't identify the dark mass crouching where the image of the Lady should have been. It started toward her. It was black and the size of an ox, and it was a scorpion.

Sharina retreated through the wicket. "Get back!" she screamed. "It's a scorpion! Get-" The bronze screen ripped open. The scorpion, its huge pincers high, stepped over the ruin and into the nave. Its claws clacked on the mosaic floor. *** Ilna watched the leading apes push in single file between two clumps of evening olive, then fade away. It was as though night had fallen and shadows had swallowed them. Perrin walked after them and also vanished; the stiff, upslanting olive stems closed behind the youth's body, but that body was no longer in the waking world. Ilna made a sour face and followed. She hadn't known what to expect, and now that it was happening she wasn't any wiser. She ducked instead of spreading her arms to keep the olive from slapping her cheeks. She had to keep both hands on her pattern to be able to open it instantly. Her skin prickled. She was behind Perrin again. The liveried apes led them down a track toward a sprawling mansion a furlong away at the base of the hills. For as far as she could see to either side, there were planting mounds between shallow irrigation ditches. On them grew crocuses in purple profusion, and occasional pistachio trees. Widely scattered among the rows were apes bending to pick the flowers and toss them into baskets. Ilna stopped. She started to count the laborers, then realized it was a hopeless task. The whole broad valley was a single field. There were more tens of tens of apes visible than there were sheep in the borough where she'd grown up. Perrine, Ingens, and the remaining pair of apes walked out of the air behind her. There was nothing to see where they appeared except the rows of plantings stretching into the misty distance. The princess was leading Ingens by the hand. Ilna wasn't sure he even noticed that they weren't in the world where the gong hung. "You see, Mistress Ilna?" Prince Perrin said, turning with a welcoming smile. "We are at peace here in our valley, because we've withdrawn from your world. No one can threaten us, and we threaten no one." "Except the flowers," said his sister with a pleasant giggle. She waved her free hand across the purple expanse. "But they grow back from the bulbs and we tend them, so I don't think they grudge us their pollen." Ilna stepped two rows away and laid her rolled cloak in the ditch; it was dry at the moment, though when her feet disturbed the stony soil she noticed that the undersides of flat pebbles were wet. They must run the water at night.

The others walked past, putting Ilna's body between them and the cloak. She knelt and looked closely at a crocus to explain why she was delaying here. Ilna had never been interested in flowers. Their bright colors didn't fade, which was impressive; but they couldn't be transferred to cloth either, and besides-she preferred earth tones and neutrals. People didn't appreciate how pleasing neutrals could be until they'd seen a garment Ilna'd woven solely from gray shades. The crocus petals pleased her well enough, but the yellow and deep red pistils from which the spice came thread by tiny thread were garish and intrusive even by themselves. In combination with the purple flowers- Ilna smiled-broadly, for her. Feydra, her aunt by marriage, would have found the yellow/red/purple combination attractive. There might be a more damning comment about the flower than that a fat, cloth-headed slattern would have liked it, but that would do. "Aren't they lovely?" Prince Perrin said, kneeling across the mound from Ilna.

He smiled. "I was just thinking how much you remind me of a crocus, mistress, with your grace and beauty." Ilna looked at him without expression. She might have gotten angry at his attempts to make himself agreeable, but he was so remarkably clumsy at it that she was on the verge of laughing instead. In a mild voice she said, "My colors are more muted, I believe." She stood, fluffing her tunics slightly, and picked up the rolled cloak. As she'd expected, the bundle was lighter now. She didn't look back to call attention to Usun, though she doubted that even she could've found the little hunter if he'd had a few moments to conceal himself. "Shall we go?" she said. "Of course," said Perrin. He seemed to have no expressions but a half-smile and a smile, though it seemed to her that a hint of fear underlay the jollity. He offered his arm. "May I take your hand, mistress?" he said. Ilna glowered. "Certainly not," she said, returning to the track by stepping from ditch to ditch in two long strides. Ingens and Perrine were in close conversation a few paces beyond. They broke apart as Ilna approached; the secretary with a look of embarrassment, the princess turning her face away. "Our father will be so pleased to see you both!" Perrine said brightly as she and Ingens led the way toward the house. The sprawling mansion of stuccoed brick was probably no more than one story high, but a tall false front over the central section made it look more imposing. The pillars of the full-length colonnade were each of three twisted strands supporting arches, and the roofline had curlicues that suggested battlements but served no purpose but decoration. Which meant no purpose at all, so far as Ilna was concerned. Well, her taste rarely jibed with that of other people. More apes in livery were holding open the valves of the front door. They were of fruitwood, carved in a pattern of acanthus vines growing through a lattice. The design was a trifle florid for Ilna, but it had been well executed and she liked the shades within the russet wood. The field hands hadn't looked up as the entourage passed. Ilna wondered what they-and the attendants-thought of the human beings they labored for. They seemed completely placid, but not even sheep were really spiritless if you knew them well. Sheep generally had unpleasant personalities. Well, so did human beings, in Ilna's experience. A middle-aged man with a worn face stepped onto the porch. He bore an obvious family resemblance to the twins. "Father," Perrine called. "We're back with Master Ingens.