David Drake - The Mirror of Worlds

The Last will be the only men in this world." "I'm planning to go, Tenoctris," Garric said quietly. "I planned to from the first." Carus grinned broadly in Garric's mind, waking Garric's grin as well. And maybe even a little before I knewI was the champion… He felt enormous relief. The weight of the crown had been lifted away from him. He was free to be himself again; just a man, a person who made decisions for himself alone. "I felt that way in battle," Carus said, his face unexpectedly somber. "That was the only time I was free of being king. But it made me look for battles to fight, lad, and that made me an even worse king than I'd have been if I'd worked harder at the job." "How many troops will you be taking with you, your highness?" Attaper said in a coolly matter-of-fact tone of voice. "Ho, and you'd trick the Yellow King into accepting an army when he sent for a man?" said Shin in a trill of golden mockery. "Is that what you think, Lord Attaper? The champion will travel alone, as he knows and as you know also." "He can fight alone in your tournament or whatever it is," Attaper said harshly. "As he did with the catmen, since he insisted. But he'll have an escort to get there!" Three voices swelled toward a babble-and cut off sharply when Cashel cracked the butt of his staff twice quickly on the stone floor. "Tenoctris needs to talk!" he said, not quite as loudly as he'd spoken before when he called to get attention, but loudly enough. The old wizard straightened, using Cashel's shoulder to brace her. She'd bent forward to speak into his ear so he could hear her. She flashed Garric a smile when their eyes met, but he thought he saw sadness under the bright expression. "Our own efforts won't save the world for the thingsof this world,"

Tenoctris said. When she began to speak there were still whispers rustling, but at the first words of her thin voice they stilled. "Lord Tadai-" Her eyes, momentarily those of a hawk rather than a sparrow, lighted on the commander of the Blood Eagles. "-and Lord Attaper especially, all of you: we must have help. The Yellow King has offered an alliance at a price we can pay." The aegipan, quivering in place as his hooves danced, made a half-bow of acknowledgment. The coarse black hairs of his beard seemed to twist more tightly together as though they had minds of their own. Tenoctris dipped her head in response, smiling wryly. "The world is more important than the kingdom, milords," she said. "If we fail, every man and Corl and sheep in the world will die. There won't even be worms in the ground, because the Last will smooth and bake andkill it." No one spoke for a moment.

Garric nodded, stroking the hilt of the new sword with his fingertips.

He said, "Lady Tenoctris, have you anything further to add or may we get down to the business of organizing the government during my absence?" "One more thing, your highness," Tenoctris said. The formality wasn't for humor; she was recognizing that the kingdom did still matter even though it couldn't be their first priority. "We'll also need the help of a wizard far more powerful than I." Garric started to speak. The old wizard waved the words back with a moue of irritation. "This is no time for pretty words. Yes, I've done things and we've all done things, but now we need help!" "Sorry," Garric muttered, in apology for what he hadn't said. "What do you want from us toward finding a, the, wizard?" The thought made him shiver inside, but he didn't let that show on his face. Liane recognized it, though; she shifted slightly so that he could feel the warmth of her body so close to his upper arm. Garric didn't hate or fear wizardry the way many folk-the ghost in his mind among them-did. Nonetheless, with the exception of Tenoctris herself the wizards he'd met in the past two years were either unpleasant or dangerous or-very often-unpleasantly dangerous. The disaster that ended the Old Kingdom had been caused by a wizard; the cataclysm that shattered Garric's world into its present confusion had been caused by wizards; and the thought of trusting the safety of the world to a powerful wizard was profoundly disturbing. He grinned. We've survived this long by accepting Tenoctris' judgment.

I'm not going to stop doing that now. "All I need at the moment is your permission to leave," Tenoctris said, flashing a brief smile that returned her face to its usual cheerful optimism. "I'd like to go to the Temple of the Mighty Shepherd. When I've done that, perhaps I'll have a better notion of what the next step will be." "That temple's in ruins, is it not?" Liane said. She stiffened in sudden embarrassment.

"That is, it was before the Change. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken." "It was in ruins in my day too, dear," Tenoctris said. "I intend to meditate or perhaps dream, I suppose, rather than sacrifice.

And if I may…" She touched Cashel's shoulder again. He didn't turn to look at her. "I'd like Cashel to accompany me," she went on.

"In part because heis a mighty shepherd." "If Cashel agrees-" Garric said, but it was toward his sister that his eyes shifted. She gave a quick nod of agreement, though her expression had frozen for a moment.

"-then yes, of course." "Sure, Garric," Cashel said quietly. His staff was upright beside him, as usual. "I like to help, and you don't need me here." Though maybe Sharina does, Garric thought, but that was a matter between her and Cashel; and anyway, she'd agreed. Tenoctris stepped carefully down from the bench, bracing herself on Cashel's arm. Garric looked around the assembly. "In that case, counselors," he said, "let's rough out the details of the administration during my absence." A thought struck him; he glanced toward the aegipan at his side. "That is… how much time do I have to prepare, Master Shin?"

Shin chuckled, making his beard dance though his feet were still for the moment. "You have all the time you wish to take, Prince Garric," he said. "But I would advise you not to take very long if you wish your world to survive." *** "Oh, Shepherd, hear me!" Ilna wailed hoarsely. "Guide my husband to the Realm of Peace. Protect him with Thy staff." Her voice had a right to crack: she'd been calling in false grief since just before sunset and by now they were well into the fourth watch of the night. The moon had set, and within an hour the light that precedes the dawn would tinge the northeastern sky. Despite Asion's assurance, the catmen had waited. Ilna glanced at the pattern her fingers were knotting and unknotting, just to keep themselves occupied during the delay. They wouldn't wait much longer, though. "Oh, Lady, my daughter was a good child," she cried. "Hold her safe beneath the hem of Thy mantle." To the best of Ilna's knowledge, the catmen couldn't understand human words any better than she could make sense of their yowls and shrieks. Though her present grief was as false as the belief in the Great Gods that she implied, she sang real words because they were part of the pattern she was weaving. Chalcus would've understood what she was doing, and perhaps Merota would as well. Merota had learned from her and Chalcus to see the patterns that most people didn't, couldn't, see. Patterns in the way a sword blade shimmered, patterns in the way leaves rustled in a forest… Merota was a clever girl, smarter than either her or Chalcus, rich andeducated.

She'd have gone far. Merota was dead, her skull crushed by a catman's axe. Chalcus was dead, pierced through by several points; dead on his feet but nonetheless cutting down his slayers and the girl's before he let himself fall. And Ilna os-Kenset had died also, killed by the same strokes that slew her family. She caught herself. Her eyes were open, but for a few instants she'd seen only the past. The wordless cries which grief had torn from her memory were real. Ilna tossed three billets of dry, pitchy pine knots on the sunken fire, the light-wood she'd kept ready for this moment. The waiting was over. "They're coming," she said, speaking to the hidden men. She grasped the hem of the blanket she'd hung across the front of the cabin and waited. The fire flared, its sudden light winking from the eyes of the four catmen who'd approached to the edge of the farmyard. One of the beasts snarled in angry discomfort, rising from his crouch. He carried what looked like a fishing spear, its two springy points spreading from where they were bound to the shaft. The thorn barbs were on the inside so they'd grip instead of killing the victim quickly. The Corl stalked closer, bending his course to skirt the fire by more than his own height. His three companions rose also, though they were careful not to rush past their leader. The beasts hunted in packs, but from what Ilna'd seen they weren't much more social than cockerels. They fought for dominance frequently, brutally, and to the death… which saved Ilna a little trouble, though a kind of trouble she didn't mind. The Coerli didn't like fire, but they'd followed the haze of smoke back to this farm which they must've thought was abandoned. The blaze in front of Ilna wouldn't help them from leaping on her from the sides, of course. She smiled with anticipation: the fire was to illuminate, not to protect. The leader growled deep in his throat. His muscles were heavier than those of an ordinary warrior and his mane had begun to sprout, but that was true to a lesser degree of the three Coerli accompanying him. In a fully fledged pack the chieftain limited the amount of meat his warriors ate, since without it the males remained sexually neutral and didn't threaten the chief's dominance. This hunting party probably ateonly meat, so the members were on terms of dangerous equality. The beasts weren't going to live long enough to kill each other in dominance battles, however. Ilna jerked the blanket from its pegs, uncovering the pattern she'd laid against the wall.