David Drake - The Fortress of Glass

"Corl," a voice in Garric's mind. The wizard's mouth continued to chant the words of power.

Marzan's chant was a barely heard backdrop, a rhythm outside the crystalline boundaries of the stone. The cat-faced image drew back to show Garric the whole creature: two-legged and as tall as a man, but lithe and as quick as light playing on the waves of the sea. It wore a harness but no clothing; a coat of thin, brindled fur covered its body. In its four-fingered left hand was a bamboo spear with a point of delicately flaked stone; in its right was a coil with weighted hooks on the end.

The cat man leaped onto a vaguely seen landscape from a fissure in the ground. Garric couldn't tell whether the fog shrouding the figure was real or a distortion of the stone which the wizard used for scrying. A second of the creatures followed the first, then three more. They loped across the sodden landscape, moving in quick short leaps rather than striding like men walking.

The cat men were armed with spears or axes with slim stone heads, along with the hook-headed cords. They formed a widely spaced line abreast as they vanished into the mist. The images faded.

"Coerli," said the voice in Garric's mind as Marzan chanted. "Coerli…"

Garric's mind had never left the boundaries of the crystal. A new image formed around him, a series of planting beds like those around this village. Oats grew on the nearest. The grain was still dark green, but it'd reached the height of the adults' chests and must be near its full growth.

It was late evening, and with their tools in their hands the villagers were moving toward the walkway that led to the walled community. A family-man, woman, and a quartet of children ranging from five to ten years old-had been cultivating the nearest bed. All carried hoes with clamshell blades, but the father had a spear as well.

Coerli came out of a grove of scale-barked trees, their long, narrow feet kicking up splashes of water. Their jaws were open and probably shrieking something, but Marzan's chant filled Garric's ears like the surf roaring in a heavy storm.

The youngest child was in the lead. She stopped transfixed and pointed; the hoe fell from her hand. Her mother clouted her on the side of the head and grabbed her wrist, dragging the girl with her along the narrow walkway.

The two boys and the eldest child, another girl, followed, their light capes flapping like bat wings. The walkway swayed but held, and the people running didn't slip on the wet wood.

The father ran toward the wider walkway the led from the village to the solid ground where the Coerli had been hiding. He got to it just as the cat men reached the other end. There were five of them, perhaps the same band Marzan had shown Garric in the first scene.

Terror drew the skin of the father's face taut over the bones. Villagers who'd been in the other planting beds continued running for the stockade; no one tried to help the family whom the Coerli had chosen.

The human waggled his spear, then hurled it. The leading Corl dodged, then leaped and batted the man into the pond with a swipe of his axe. The motion was swifter and smoother than the spear's wobbling flight.

As the father fell, the Corl made another great leap along the walkway and snapped out his weighted line. It curled over the heads of the older children to wrap the mother's throat, jerking her backward. Her left arm flailed wildly but her right hurled the little girl away from her and the cat men.

The child kept her feet and managed to run three steps before the last of the Coerli sprang onto her as the others were trussing the older children. Twisting her arms behind her back, the Corl thrust a thorn through both wrists to pinion them.

Fog rose to cover the images in the stone's heart. Garric felt a sucking sensation as his mind returned to his own control. His eyes felt gritty, even after he'd blinked several times.

Marzan slumped. He would've fallen across the topaz if Soma hadn't knelt beside him and reached an arm around his torso for support.

When Garric was a boy reading Old Kingdom epics, he'd thought wizardry was a matter of waving a wand and watching wonders occur. He'd seen the reality, now, the crushing effort needed to create visions like the ones Marzan had just shown him.

Garric grinned back at the ghost in his mind. Aye, he thought, the poets didn't give me much feel for how bone weary I'd be after a battle, either.

Soma held a drinking gourd to the wizard's lips, tilting it slightly as he slurped the contents. He laid his hand on hers; she lowered the gourd and shifted a little in preparation for lifting him to his feet.

Marzan said something to her, then looked at Garric. He began to speak, not loudly but with hoarse-voiced determination. The only words Garric could understand were his own name and one other: Coerli. He had no context, nor did it help when Marzan gestured or took Garric's hands in his own and raised them.

At last Marzan gave up. He muttered to Soma, who helped him to one of the couches. He was shivering in reaction to his wizardry. Soma tucked a blanket around him with surprising gentleness.

Garric stood, working the stiffness out of his legs. The sun was down. The only light in the hut was an oil lamp-a gourd on a hook near the closed door with a twist of fiber for a wick-and the dull red glow of the hearth fire.

Two terra cotta pots waited at the edge of the hearth; Soma had cooked a meal while Garric was entranced in the topaz. No wonder Marzan was exhausted!

"Garric," she said and gestured him to her. She sat down, using the hearth as a low table. He joined her, moving carefully. He was tired, not just stiff. It'd been a full day, if he could call it a day…

Soma broke off a piece of oat cake, dipped it into fish stew from one of the pots, and tried to feed Garric with it. He waved her away and took the remainder of the cake himself to dip. The stew was delicious, and so was the mixture of squash and beans that'd steamed in the other container.

"I've eaten harness leather," Carus observed wryly, "and thought it was fine."

Garric smiled and nodded to Soma in appreciation. She handed him a gourd of beer, thin but with a pleasant astringence. It cleared the phlegm from the back of his throat.

There was something in what Carus said, but thiswas a good meal. Garric had been unjust to the woman, assuming she couldn't cook just because Katchin's wife Feydra couldn't.

When Garric had finished eating, Soma rose and gestured him toward the other couch. She drew back another thin blanket. He rose, suddenly so tired that he was dizzy, and thankfully walked to the couch. It was covered with a pad of fine wicker rather than a stuffed mattress; it gave pleasantly when he sat down on the edge.

Soma sat beside him and reached between his legs.

"No," Garric said, jumping to his feet again. He made a wiping motion in the air as he'd done when he refused to let her feed him.

Soma tugged at his only garment, the cape he'd borrowed when he met Scarface and his band. The loose knot opened at the pull, but Garric snatched it out of her hand. "No!" he repeated forcefully as he backed away.

Soma stood and lifted her tunic over her head. Garric turned and scrambled out the hut, closing the door behind him. He heard an angry shout; then something hit the panel from the inside.

There were many reasons Garric wasn't interested in Soma's offer. The fact that Marzan was his best chance of returning to his own friends was only a minor one.

It was raining again. Well, that wasn't a surprise. No lights showed in the village and the sky was black. Garric thought of stumbling to Wandalo's compound next door, but nothing he'd seen when he'd arrived here suggested the chief would be a friend. Perhaps in the morning he could find Scarface.