David Drake - The Mirror of Worlds

Temple's sword had pierced the wyvern's chest just below the right wing, leaving a gash as wide as Ilna's palm. The wound had stopped bleeding, but judging from the blood covering the street and neighboring buildings it must've spurted like a mill race. Temple sat on a feed trough in the courtyard, polishing his sword with a tunic the householders had left behind when they fled. His back was to Ilna and the others, but he watched them in the mirrored face of the buckler which leaned against the wall. "Greetings, Ilna," Temple said, sheathing his sword. He draped the cloth over the trough. "I'm glad you three are all right." Ilna bunched her pattern and started immediately to pick it back to strands of yarn. It would've worked on Temple also, if he'd been facing her directly. "By theLady, friend!"

Karpos said in amazement as he relaxed his bow. "How did you do that?

How did you kill the brute by yourself?" Temple turned and slung his buckler again by its strap. "They're quick, as you saw for yourself," he said calmly, "but they don't think more than one step ahead. I dodged around walls until I was in a place where the step it took was past where I was hiding." Asion lifted one of the wyvern's claws with the butt of his sling staff, then let it drop flaccidly. The middle claw on each foot was as long as a man's hand, thick, and as sharp as one of Karpos' arrows. The little hunter looked at Temple. "That was a good job," he said, but his tone sounded harsh to Ilna. "Putting the blade between two ribs the way you did. If you'd hit bone, you'd have had a problem, wouldn't you?" Temple shrugged as he stood up. "I told you I had experience," he said. He looked across the valley. Ilna followed his eyes and saw villagers streaming toward the homes they'd abandoned when the wyverns came. Ilna looked at the yarn in her left hand. "There's still the woman, Bistona," she said. Sharply she added,

"I don't intend to kill her." Asion grimaced; Karpos gave an unconcerned nod. Temple smiled and said, "Of course, but we'd best be with her when her neighbors arrive. They may be less charitable than we are." Karpos looked puzzled and said, "She's crazy, isn't she? And the Lady protects crazy people. They wouldn't hurt her." Ilna sniffed.

"It's possible Master Breccon and his fellows are less religious than you are, Karpos," she said. "Yes, let's see to Bistona now." The main street led directly to the archway into the temple enclosure. There was no gate and the posts were stuccoed wood with a wicker trellis to form the arch. The grapevines planted at the base of each column were only beginning to leaf out. In summer when the foliage had spread, broad leaves would hide the wicker. Ilna smiled faintly. That'd be a pity, because whoever'd woven the willow shoots into an arch had been quite skillful. Her craftsmanship-Ilna touched the wicker for a fleeting image of the maker, a woman well into her sixties with gnarled fingers-was of more interest to Ilna than the artless twistings of vines. Bistona stood between the two pillars of the shrine's porch. They were wood also and had been carved as statues, though the paint and details had weathered off. Ilna couldn't tell if they were meant to be men or woman. Or both, she supposed. She'd seen statues in Erdin that were women from the waist up and men below;

Liane had called them hermaphrodites. Ilna had better reasons to dislike Erdin than a few statues, but the statues had disgusted her.

The compound was littered with the stinking remnants of the wyverns' meals. Their jaws were strong enough to shear the largest bones, but they were messy eaters. For a month bone splinters and bits of flesh, now rotted to pools of liquid, had been flung in all directions. There was no clear path to the steps of the shrine, so Ilna tramped through the filth. Initially her face was set with distaste, but it suddenly struck her that only a few minutes ago it'd seemed likely that her own corpse would be contributing to the mess. "You're smiling, mistress?" said Asion in surprise. The little hunter was walking almost beside Ilna. She'd intended to lead. But she was in a good humor, so she merely said, "I prided myself on neatness when I kept house for my brother and me. It'd have been very unpleasant to become part of this garbage midden." Asion blinked but didn't speak further. Temple, walking behind them with Karpos, chuckled. Bistona stood like a third statue across the front of the porch. Close up she looked much younger than Ilna had thought from across the valley; her wild hair was blonde, not white. She was probably only a few years older than Ilna herself. Bistona's staring eyes looked generations' old. Well, so did Ilna's own, she supposed. Ilna walked up the first of three steps to the porch, then paused on the second. She held a pattern, this time a gentler one, knotted in her hand, but instead of opening it she said,

"Mistress Bistona? We've come to help you." Is that a lie? Well, we've come to save her from being burned alive by her neighbors, at least.

Bistona shuddered; her eyes focused on Ilna. The irises were bright blue, disconcertingly similar to those of the wyverns. "My sons are dead," she said. Her voice cracked; perhaps she hadn't spoken since the Change. "I thought they were still alive, but I was wrong."

Bistona was filthier than the wyverns because unlike them, she didn't lick herself clean. Ilna kept from sneering only because she had a great deal of experience in holding her tongue. That would've surprised many of those who knew her, but they couldn't see what was going on in her head. "I'm sorry about your sons," Ilna said. "We've killed the animals responsible." After thinking for a moment-the priest's house was close by, but it was probably as squalid as the shrine's compound-she added, "Mistress, let's go to your home. You need to lie down, I'm sure." The villagers had returned. Most of them were going first to their own houses, but Breccon, Graia, and the elder with the mutilated hand had entered the compound. The men were muttering bitterly about the disorder. Bistona turned and reentered the shrine. Something inside croaked harshly. Ilna frowned but walked in behind the woman. She was mad, just as Asion had said, and it was possible that her seeming normalcy would vanish into murderous rage at any instant. Still, they'd determined to help her, so Ilna didn't have any choice. The interior of the shrine was lighted only through the front doors, but that was enough for the small room. A mosaic of the Lady spreading her hands was set into the back wall; it was made with bits of colored glass, not stone, and She wore the broad smile of a simpleton. There wasn't a statue, however. Where it should've been was a couch. It looked real, but even the bolster and the tucks in the mattress were carved from marble. Bistona lay on it as though it was stuffed with goose down. Open trusses supported the roof. The raven perching on the end beam croaked again, startling Ilna. She hadn't noticed the bird in the shadows. "No!" she said sharply to Karpos, but he was already relaxing the bow he'd drawn in surprise. She smiled: it hadn't been just her. The shrine's interior smelled like a snake den in winter, though the wyverns hadn't fouled it with their droppings.

The plastered walls had been painted deep red, but the beasts had worn much of that off. Scratching themselves, Ilna supposed. Sheep did the same. "Have you found the demonspawn Bistona?" Breccon demanded. Ilna turned. Breccon stood on the porch with his wife and the other elder.

They might've tried to follow her and the hunters in, but Temple had drawn his sword and slanted it across the doorway. "There's no need for that," Ilna said tartly to Temple. "Perhaps," said the big man with a smile. He sheathed his purplish blade with the smooth ease of water poured from a ewer, but the villagers remained where they were.