David Drake: The Gods Return

Ilna said, coldly furious. She hadn't really thought the giant would listen to her, though. She stepped forward, casting the new pattern before her. Hili turned toward the movement in surprise, then stabbed at Ilna with a expression of rage. Her lightning sizzled and caught in Ilna's pattern. Its meshes curled around Hili like a minnow net and closed. Hili shrieked, ripping her trident through the encirclement.

She was no longer a giant. The place they fought wasn't the cavern either, but in a corner of Ilna's mind she could see the door to that stone prison standing open. The captives were streaming out behind Usun. Perrin and Perrine were being carried by the ape servants, while the twins' aged parents stumbled along behind. "No one can oppose me!"

Hili shouted, gripping her trident in both hands and shoving the points toward Ilna's face. "I am God!" The trident blasted glittering black fire again. Ilna's reformed pattern tangled the bolts, stretching as it dragged them to silent oblivion. Ilna stepped forward, weaving a new pattern. She smiled coldly. What the other woman meant was that nobody couldsuccessfully oppose her, which the recent past should've taught her was a lie. But just to oppose this ranting bully-Ilna would've done that if it certainly meant her life.

You didn't give into bullies. And it wasn't as though life meant a lot to her anyway. Hili danced aside, her handsome features suddenly as cold as a statue's. Hair-fine needles rained from the trident's points. Ilna's net caught most of the cascade, but pain shivered across her skin and under her eyeballs. She could see nothing but black pain. Ilna drew her pattern tight. She didn't ignore the pain-it couldn't be ignored; it was her whole being-but she did what was necessary anyway, as she'd always done. There was a squawk of surprise; the pain stopped and a moment later Ilna could see again.

Hili was struggling in Ilna's net, slashing at it with the trident though the meshes fouled her limbs. She broke free at last and stood glaring at her opponent. Ilna had been breathing hard. She straightened and began to repair her pattern. There wasn't as much damage this time. She considered making the strands thinner and the meshes tighter so that they would better protect her, but that wasn't really necessary. It was only pain, after all. She started forward, her pattern swirling before her. Hili hunched, holding out her trident. She screamed like a trapped wildcat, then retreated instead of attacking. Ilna smiled without humor and continued toward the other woman. She didn't know how this was going to end, but she was going to keep on going until she'd ended it. The trident spat a net of sparkling blackness that pressed against Ilna's pattern instead of trying to stab through it. Ilna paused, not stopped by her opponent but stopping to measure Hili's strength. Yes, this would do…

Ilna's pattern enveloped the pulsing black and the trident it sprang from. The cosmos twisted. Hili gave a despairing shriek; her protection and power vanished as if thrown into bottomless quicksand.

Ilna paused, breathing hard again. "You should have listened to me," she said. "But you're not the first one who didn't." She started forward. Hili retreated, her face desperate. "I yield!" she cried. She threw down her helmet and fumbled for the catches of her body armor.

"I surrender to you! I am your slave!" "You're mistaking me for my brother Cashel," Ilna said as she continued to advance. "He's a much nicer person than I am." Ilna spread the pattern that had just crushed the trident out of existence. Howling, Hili turned to run. She stumbled, threw her arms out before her, and fell-not downward but out, shrinking and screaming and finally vanishing into utter blackness. "Now that, dear heart," said Chalcus, "was as nice a piece of work as I ever hope to see." "We've been waiting for you, Ilna," said Merota. "I'm glad you've come." Ilna embraced them. She was crying. She never cried. "Sharina needs help still, of course," said Chalcus, "but that can wait for a moment. Dear heart, dear love, dear life of my life." The King of Man's former prisoners had reached the surface of the valley. With little Usun standing on an overturned cart to lead the cheers, they shouted, "Honor to the Sister! All praises to the Sister!" Ilna cried and hugged her family. *** Cashel spun his staff sunwise in a figure-8 as he walked forward, then switched the hand that led on the shaft and reversed its rotation. He wasn't being fancy and he sure wasn't trying to spook the pirate; Archas pretty clearly wasn't the sort to spook. Cashel just needed to be sure his muscles were ready for whatever happened.

Archas, Fallin as he called himself now, laughed. "If you get out of my way, you stupid ox," he said cheerfully, "then I'll kill you quickly. If not, I'll take my time… and I'll let you live in pieces. Forever." His swords did a pretty dance in opposite directions to each other, spinning off wizardlight as bright as necklaces of rubies. He stepped in and, though his lips were still laughing, his right-hand sword thrust at Cashel's heart. The quarterstaff blocked it with a ferrule and abang! like a ram battering an iron-faced door.

Wizardlight spewed out in a mixed shower. When red sparks landed on Cashel's wrist and arm, they stung and the little hairs shriveled up.

Archas jumped back, though, swearing like the pirate he was; the scattered blue light had sprayed him too. Cashel grinned and held where he was for a moment, keeping the staff moving widdershins.

Archas didn't look much like a god now. The pirate came in quickly, his right hand stabbing again but chopping with his left a half-heartbeat later. Cashel was moving before the strokes even started. Even so he couldn't have blocked both, but his quarterstaff met the thrust. The blast knocked him and Archas back, just like it had before. The air had the burned smell of nearby lightning. Cashel wasn't in the old temple any more, and Liane and Rasile weren't anywhere about. He got his quarterstaff back into a rhythm. This time he stepped forward instead of letting Archas come to him. "I am Fallin!" the pirate shouted again. Cashel straightened the staff into a thrust, left hand leading. Archas brought his swords together like scissor blades on the straps of the butt cap, catching it and stopping the stroke like Cashel had punched the side of a cliff. The shock hurled them apart again. Cashel's palms tingled all the way to his elbows, and there were blisters on both forearms. Cashel set the staff spinning, sunwise this time. He was breathing through his mouth. He stepped in again, just moving forward. The tips of the quarterstaff knitted a round of vivid blue before him, like the sky on a cloudless summer afternoon. He and Archas circled on a featureless black plain.

The stars gleamed above, not the familiar constellations but all stars, a universe of stars, each shining with a subtle difference in color. Archas tapped his sword points against the sparkling blue shield in a pattern as careful as a spider placing the lines of her web. Part of Cashel's mind knew that what he saw-the staff and the swords-wasn't really what was happening any more, but it was easier to imagine it in the fashion he was used to. Cashel felt growing pressure. His arms ached like he was pushing a board through sand, heaping up the pile in front of him. His shield dimpled with each touch of a sword, and spots of heat swelled behind the dents. He kept walking forward, slower now but still moving. He wondered how long this could last. Archas' blond hair spread like a halo. His beardless face was smiling, but there were beads of sweat on the pirate's clear brow. Cashel took another step, as slow as ice creeping down a roof under its own weight. It was like pushing a mountain. People thought fighting was about how strong you were. That was part of it, sure, but there are other strong people around. Then it came down to timing.