David Drake - The Fortress of Glass

"What does it do, Tenoctris?" Sharina asked, looking at the vaguely greenish bead with greater interest. "Does it increase your powers?"

"It doesn't do anything at all, dear," the old woman said, smiling faintly. "But it's from the moon."

She gestured toward the shelves and bookcases which covered the workroom's outside wall. They were a hodge-podge of objects, codices, and (in pigeonholes) scrolls. None of the jumbled contents were labeled.

"That's generally the case with Cervoran's collection," she explained. "Many of the objects I've examined are quite remarkable, but they're not reallygood for anything. They're not important."

Sharina cleared her throat. "Tenoctris," she said, "King Cervoran wants to go out to where the meteor fell as we approached the island. Chalcus is ready to take him if I agree. Should I let him go?"

Tenoctris stood motionless for a moment; then she dipped her head three times quickly like a nuthatch cracking a seed. 'Yes, I believe so," she said. "But I'd like to go along."

"To see what Cervoran's searching for, Tenoctris?" Cashel said. "Or to watch Cervoran?"

Tenoctris chuckled. "A little of both, I suppose," she said. "He's a greater puzzle than any of the objects in his collection. The divinatory spells I've attempted haven't helped me to understand him better."

Sharina's right hand touched the Pewle knife. The cool horn scales settled the gooseflesh that was starting to spring up on her arms.

"I wonder if he was always like he is now?" she said. "I don't see how he could've been. I think he changed during the time he was, well, the time heseemed dead."

"I don't know, dear," Tenoctris said in a regretful tone. "The wizard who amassed this collection was of considerable power but no real focus. He was a scholar of a sort, one who preferred to use his art to learn things rather than to search them out in books as I've always done for choice. But he wasn't a man with interests beyond his studies, and he certainly didn't have an enemy who would send a creature like that plant to kill him.'

She gave Sharina one of the quick, bright smiles that took twenty years off her apparent age. "And before you ask, no, I don't know who the Green Woman is either."

"Maybe we'll learn today," said Cashel. He looked at Sharina.

"I know you have to stay here and, well, be queen," he said. "But do you mind if I go with Tenoctris? I think there ought to be somebody with her that was, well, hers."

"I think that's a good idea," Sharina said. She stepped quickly to Cashel and hugged him, careful to hold the knife out in her hand so that the sheath didn't prod him in the back. "We need Tenoctris. But Cashel?"

"Ma'am?" Cashel said, his voice a calm rumble like the purr of a sleeping lion.

"Be careful of yourself, too," Sharina said, still holding herself tight against his solid bulk. "Because I needyou, my love."

Garric awakened in shocked awareness that something was wrong. Somebody shouted! he thought.

Somebody screamed, but Garric was already worming his way out from under Marzan's house. The dog was gone and an angry yapping sounded from the direction of the village gate. That was where the scream'd come from, too.

It was dark: cloud-wrapped, moonless, starlessdark. Even so the house had a presence in the darkness.

Garric reached up the sidewall, groping. The fishnet hung where he remembered it. He jerked it down, pulling a wall peg out in his haste. The size of the house showed that Marzan was a great man for this village, but that didn't save him or his wife from having to catch their own fish. He wondered if they had to work in the raised fields as well, or if wizardry at least saved them from that back-breaking drudgery.

Heartbeats after the scream, a dozen or morethings shrieked from around the whole eastern circumference of the village. They weren't human and they weren't in pain: they were beasts, hunting.

"Coerli," the ghost of Carus said in Garric's mind. "They looked very quick."

Neither he nor Garric had any doubt about what was going on, though thus far they'd only seen the cat men in silent topaz visions. This must be a larger band than the five who'd raided the field before, though.

Garric stepped to the fence, moving by memory and instinct. He felt along the top rail to an upright and gripped it firmly. The railings were cane, but the support posts were wrist-thick and of a dense wood probably chosen to resist rot.

Garric half-squatted, then straightened his knees and pulled the post up with a squelch of wet clay. The railings were bound on with cane splits. A quick shake right and left snapped them free.

A sword'd be better, but even that probably wouldn't be good enough. The Coerli were inhumanly quick, impossibly quick; but you did what you could.

Marzan's door opened and fanned out light, shocking in the previous darkness. Garric risked a glance over his shoulder. Soma stood in the doorway with a rushlight: a reed stripped to the pith, dried, and soaked with oil or wax. It lit quickly and wasn't as easy to blow out as a candle, though the flames didn't last long either. In her right hand was a knife made of horn or ivory.

There were more screams in the night, all of them human. A pair of yellow-green eyes flared in the rushlight's circle, ten or a dozen feet from Garric. He spun the net out as though he were casting for minnows, keeping hold of the drag. He couldn't reach the Corl with it, but he saw the spinning meshes bell as the cat man's own hooked line tangled with them.

Garric pulled his left arm backhard while swinging the sturdy post outward, a crushing blow directed at the empty air in front of him. He felt the weight as the slack came out and the net brought the Corl with it.

The beast shrilled in startled fury. Like the cat men Garric had watched in the topaz, this one had wrapped the end of its casting line around its wrist for a more secure grip. Racing charioteers regularly did the same thing with their reins-and were regularly dragged to their deaths when they fell or their vehicle broke up beneath them.

The cat creature was lithe and muscular, but its slight frame weighed less than a human female; Garric's furious strength could've overmastered an opponent twice as heavy. When this one realized it couldn't resist the pull, it twisted in the air and leveled its delicate spear at Garric's face. Garric's club brushed the light shaft out of the way and smashed the Corl's left arm and ribs.

The cat man slammed to the ground, instantly curling face-up despite its injuries. Garric kicked at its face with his heel. He missed because the Corl ducked its head aside faster than a human could've thought.

Garric spun the net widdershins. Despite its speed, the wounded creature couldn't completely avoid the spreading meshes. It yowled again and-Gods! it was fast-stabbed Garric in the thigh with its spear. His club stroke had broken the flint blade straight across, but this thrust was a strong one and tore into the muscle.

Garric swung the club a second time. The Corl would've dodged but Garric scissored his arms, tugging the net toward him at the same time he brought the club down. The cat man's skull was large to give the strong jaw muscles leverage, but the bones were light and crunched beneath the powerful blow. The creature's saw-edged scream died in the middle of a rising note.

There were glowing eyes to right, left and center. Garric flattened and heard the spitefulbwee! of a thorn-barbed line arcing through the air above him.

He started to roll. A Corl landed on his back and looped his neck with a garrote.

Garric's throat was a ball of white fire. He gripped the Corl's calf with his left hand, then swung the creature like a flail into the ground beside him. It bounced with a moan of pain, losing both ends of the garrote.