David Drake - The Fortress of Glass

Tenoctris looked at her fellow wizard with the sharp, emotionless interest that she showed for any new thing. "Does he?" she said.

Cervoran didn't look around or otherwise acknowledge the newcomers' presence. Tenoctris shrugged and gave Sharina a smile tinged with sadness. "I've practiced necromancy myself, dear," she said. "When it was necessary. When Ithought it was necessary."

"Yes, all right, Master Cervoran," Sharina said. "Tenoctris will accompany you on behalf of the kingdom."

She raised an eyebrow at the older woman, since she hadn't actually asked if she was willing to go. Tenoctris nodded agreement.

"She may go or stay," Cervoran said. He took off the diadem he was wearing and concentrated again on whatever he saw in the depths of the topaz. "It makes no difference. She has no power."

Tenoctris nodded. "That's quite true," she said, "in his terms."

Her voice was pleasant, but there was the least edge in the way she spoke the words. Tenoctris was both a noblewoman and the most accomplished scholar Sharina had ever met. There were various kinds of power, but knowledge was one kind-as Sharina knew, and as Tenoctris certainly knew.

Chalcus, limping slightly but wearing his usual expression of bright insouciance, sauntered up from the ship. He'd tied a portion of sail into a linen breechclout, and he'd found a red silk kerchief to twist into a replacement for the headband he'd lost in the fighting.

Cervoran looked up from the topaz. He pointed a fat white finger at Cashel. "You will come with me, Cashel," he said. "At dawn, as soon as the night's dead have been brought in."

He rotated his head toward Ilna, though his pointing hand didn't shift. "And that one, your sister," he said. "Your name is Ilna? You will come, Ilna."

Chalcus didn't seem to move, but the point of his curved dagger hooked into Cervoran's right nostril. "Now I wonder," Chalcus said in a light, bantering voice, "what there is about common politeness that's so hard for some folk to learn? There's places a fellow'd get his nose notched for treating Mistress Ilna in such a way, my good fellow… and you're in one of those places now. Would you care to try again?"

Ilna smiled faintly and placed her fingertips on the hand holding the dagger. "I sometimes fail to be perfectly polite myself, Captain Chalcus," she said. "But I appreciate your concern."

"Master Cervoran?" said Sharina. When the wizard spoke, she'd had an icy recollection of white fire enveloping the sea where theHeron was floating. "You don't give orders to my associates."

She paused to consider, then went on, "Nor, I think, do you give orders in the kingdom I administer in my brother's absence. Your ignorance has already cost the lives of citizens and endangered the lives of all those accompanying you on theHeron. I'll arrange for an escort of soldiers-"

"That's all right, Sharina," Cashel said. He was rubbing the shaft of his quarterstaff with a wad of raw wool, working the oils into the pores of the wood. "I don't guess that thing-"

He dipped the staff toward the glitter on the horizon, the Fortress of Glass.

"-was Master Cervoran's fault. And anyhow, he was a big help out to sea. We wouldn't've got back without him."

"Master Cervoran was the reason we were at sea in the first place," Ilna said waspishly. "Still, I see no reason why I shouldn't go with Tenoctris and Cashel in the morning. I can't imagine what I could do that would be more useful."

She looked out at the fortress also. "And it's obvious," she added, speaking as crisply and precisely as she did all things, "thatsomething has to be done."

Torag roused his band and their captives at dusk. It'd rained at least three times during the day, and the shelter of twigs and brush the warriors'd woven was meant for shade, not to shed water. Part of Garric's mind doubted that he'd slept at all, but he knew he was probably wrong. The pain of his injuries, the drizzle, and the growing discomfort of his tight bonds kept him from enjoying rest, but there'd doubtless been some.

Growling among themselves-Coerli voices sounded peevish to a human, even when they weren't-four warriors set off in the lead. Torag and Sirawhil paced along beside Garric, with Eny and Nerga on guard immediately behind him. The women, bound together by the necks, followed. Two warriors were with them, more to guide than to guard them: they obviously weren't a danger to anyone.

That left four warriors. Garric supposed they were the rear guard, though he was well out of sight before they'd have left the temporary camp.

"What are they worried about, do you suppose?" Carus wondered mentally. "I didn't see anything in the village that'd concern me-nobody even able to lead a rescue attempt except maybe Scarface. Do these cat-creatures prey on each other?"

The Bird on Sirawhil's shoulder turned its glittering eyes toward Garric. "Every band is a potential enemy of every other band," it said silently. "They only attack if they have an overwhelming advantage, which isn't likely when every band is always on their guard against every other."

You hear my ancestor, then? Garric asked, this time silently. As well as hearing my thoughts?

The Bird said nothing. Garric grimaced. That'd been a stupid question, but he wasn't in good shape.

They slogged on in the sopping darkness. Garric's wrists had been tied since capture, and when they camped the Coerli had lashed them to his waist as well. Garric worked at his bonds for want of anything better to do, but apart from wearing his wrists bloody he didn't accomplish anything.

Because he couldn't throw out his arms for balance as he instinctively tried to do, he stumbled frequently and occasionally fell. The Coerli didn't help him. Once when he was slow getting up-he'd braced his hands on a log which collapsed to mush, skidding him on his face again-one of the warriors kicked him with a clawed foot.

Garric heard the captured women whimper occasionally, but they seemed to be having less trouble than he did even though they were tied together. They couldn't have night vision like the Coerli, but at least they were used to starless nights and constant overcast.

"That makes these cat beasts easy meat in daylight, lad," Carus noted. His image had a quiet smile. "Even what passes for daylight in this bloody bog."

Meat, perhaps, Garric amended, but he smiled too. Perhaps he and Carus were being wildly optimistic, but it was better than resigning himself to a gray future ending in butchery.

A plangentKlok! Klok! rang across the marsh. Torag lifted his great maned head and roared a coughing reply.

"Are we being attacked?" Garric asked Sirawhil sharply.

Too sharply, apparently. A guard slapped him across the head with the butt of his spear and snarled, "Silence, beast!"

It wasn't a serious blow-the spear shaft was no more than thumb-thick-but Garric's head still throbbed from the stroke that'd captured him. He staggered, dropping to one knee in a blur of white light; his skin burned. With an effort he lurched forward and managed to keep going so that the Corl didn't hit him again.

In its own dry voice, the Bird said, "We're approaching Torag's keep. The warriors left as a garrison have given the alarm, and Torag has announced himself in reply."

"The Coerli can see any way in this?" Garric said. He spoke aloud but without the harshness that'd gotten him swatted a moment earlier. He couldn't be sure of the distance, but the gong note was dulled by what seemed like several hundred yards of drizzle and darkness.

"The distance is close to a quarter of one of your miles," the Bird said, answering both the question Garric had asked and the one he'd only thought. "While the tower guard might have seen movement, it's more likely that he heard the party returning. The Coerli have keen hearing, and you humans make a great deal of noise in the darkness."