Roland Green: The Wayward Knights

Everyone remembered what happened next. Some sharp-eyed watchers had just said the star was actually a minotaur and a human, closely bound together, and received only scornful laughter, when the zenith turned the same shade of blue as the "rising star." It blazed across half the sky before it faded. Before it faded, it had also blinded a few watchers for life, and left many seeing blue spots before their eyes for many days.

The most frightening thing about the blue star, however, was that it came and went without a sound. The blazing light seemed to swallow even the sound of the two bodies soaring upward through the air.

Not so silent, however, was the rumble from the mountain soon afterward. Nor did the rumbling cease-and fear for those in or on the mountain spread through those who watched.

In the chamber, the rock above cut off all within from a view of the zenith. So the blue glare dazzled few and blinded none. It was being occupied with rallying his fighters that kept Pirvan's attention elsewhere, until he suddenly realized that the chamber was much more crowded than it had been.

His first thought was a foolish one, that Wilthur had left behind a further host of enslaved creatures, these with human form. Then he saw a human form he could not mistake-the towering one of Darin-and realized that the underground raiders had somehow joined his own party.

Darin actually picked Pirvan up in the course of their embrace, something the younger knight had never done before. Pirvan did not worry about his dignity, of which he had precious little remaining. He only hoped Darin would not drop him. The younger knight looked weary and filthy, Pirvan's legs were none too steady, and the floor was still hard.

"The Creation is dead," Darin said at last, then looked toward the skyward hole. "Is Wilthur-?"

"Gone," Pirvan breathed. "Lujimar with him, likewise Tarothin, Sir Niebar-this is a victory almost worse than a defeat."

"To the Abyss with your sorrow!" Lady Revella snapped. "Wilthur sought godhood. Lujimar knew that if the Brown One took in his strength, Wilthur might yet succeed. So Lujimar bound them together in such a way that what befell one must befall the other. Then he flung them both into the sky, so that if what came about was too violent…"

"Let no one ever say in my hearing that Lujimar was without honor," Darin said.

"My young friend," Zeskuk rumbled, "a minotaur should also say that. But it is enough for now that one taught by a minotaur has done so. We have more urgent matters, such as departing this mountain while we still can."

Pirvan noted that no minotaur used the word "flee" that day under the rocks of the Smoker of Suivinari, but they obeyed Zeskuk's command to depart with such alacrity that if they had been humans one would have said they were running for their lives.

On the whole, the gods were pleased with the outcome at Suivinari.

Takhisis was the exception, but the other gods, including her consort Sargonnas, sat back and let Zeboim speak plainly to her mother. It was the sort of mother-daughter quarrel which, among mortals, takes a heavy toll among the crockery and other household goods.

Among the gods, the quarrel entertained most, except Mishakal, too kind to wish disharmony even where mutual ill will made it inevitable. Among mortals, there were storms at sea and portents on land, including rumors of dragons waking from dragonsleep.

Also among mortals-specifically, the mortals fleeing Tirabot Manor-Ellysta was not pleased. Gerik was taking too long to join them, and she was thinking of sending messengers to the other parties, to see if he had been obliged to join them. It would be as well to know what stood between them and their enemies.

She had just realized that there were few riders to spare for messenger work, when Grimsoar One-Eye approached her, with an ill-sounding message of his own.

"Riders on the road. Coming on fast, and too many to be Gerik's," he said. "We'll have to get the folk into the woods and let the wagons go."

"Your Armor, curse you!" Serafina screamed at her husband. To Ellysta, she sounded more like a fishmonger with a scanty stock than a concerned wife. But Serafina was doubtless weary and frightened. They all were, here in the forest as they awaited the enemy's attack.

Ellysta pushed through a tangle of vines, to see Grimsoar struggling to lay yet another fallen branch atop the modest barricade they had built. It blocked the trail, and to the left the ground was marshy, while to the right a ravine would make mounted attacks difficult.

The barricade would buy time; they needed nothing more. Most of the enemy could not have their heart in this work, and Gerik would be up and striking their rear within minutes anyway.

Ellysta told herself this, as she hurried down the slope toward Grimsoar. She told herself this because if she believed otherwise she would be sitting under a bush, biting the back of her hand to keep from screaming or even whimpering. I am not of warrior blood, Gerik, she said to herself, as if she were speaking to Pirvan's son. Are you sure you want to breed up sons from me?

Being a warrior can be in the blood, she heard, in Gerik's voice. Or it can be learned. Don't doubt that you can learn it.

Meanwhile, there was a barricade to strengthen.

Ellysta had just wedged a third stone in behind one log, when the thud of fast-moving hooves swelled farther along the trail. War cries joined the hoofbeats, and the trail seemed to rise in her face and hurl mounted fighters at the barricade.

Grimsoar snatched up Ellysta by the collar of her tunic and the seat of her breeches and flung her over the barricade. She landed sprawling, the breath knocked out of her, as the first rider set his mount at the logs and stones and took them without drawing rein. A hoof stamped down within a finger of Ellysta's skull, and she rolled desperately to one side, praying that it was the safe side.

The rider was lashing about him with a long-handled battle-axe, and two men and a woman of Ellysta's party were already down. She lurched to her feet, drawing her longest knife, knowing that she had small chance against the rider unless she could surprise him but sure that her friends had still less.

A scream behind her jerked her head around. Grimsoar had grabbed the second rider by the leg and bodily twisted him out of the saddle, shattering the leg in the process. The old thief and sailor had his sword up to greet the third rider, and crushed the skull of the rider's mount with one blow, before an arrow sprouted in Grimsoar's shoulder.

That was all Ellysta saw before she whirled again and ran blindly toward where the first rider had been. The space was empty, though, and an arrow whispered past her ear as she turned wildly, seeking the rider.

He and his mount were halfway to the trees, and a small dark-clad figure was clinging to the horse's bridle. The rider was flourishing the battle-axe like a wizard with a conjure-stick, but his mount was bucking and skittering; he could not aim a blow.

He also could not guard his unarmored thigh. His attacker leaped, slashing desperately, and the man's thigh opened in a long red mouth of a wound. The axe flashed down, but the attacker darted under the horse's belly. The man was reeling in the saddle when she caught the off stirrup, heaved herself up, and thrust the knife in again, below the rim of the man's helmet.

The man toppled, Rubina held up her bloody knife with a shriek of triumph that made Ellysta's blood freeze in her body, and someone from beyond the barricade shouted in a cracked voice: "Fools! We didn't come here to fight childen! Back, and pray for the gods' mercy. Back, you fools, or be cursed forever!"

The rumbling from the Smoker and the swaying of the ground underfoot made Torvik think of being aboard a large ship in a moderate gale. But they were still on Suivinari Island, and it would be a close-call if they all made it safely back to friendly decks before the mountain erupted and scoured the island clean of life.