P. Hodgell - The Sea of Time

Harn raised his big hands to stop the wrangle. Religion was the last thing on his mind at present.

“What about the treasure towers?” he asked.

“We share guard duty there,” said the Brandan. “Everyone knows that control of them equals control of the city. Needham and his followers are constantly threatening to storm them, while Prince Ton wants to distribute their wealth to buy himself support.”

“And the Rose Tower?”

“Krothen prefers native guards, or so we hear,” said the Brandan. “These days, nothing comes from him directly.”

The others stirred uneasily. Krothen was the Host’s paymaster, but he had paid no wages since the beginning of the Change. The Kencyr quartermaster had been reduced to buying rations on credit in the common market.

“I still say we should break into the towers and take what’s owed us,” grumbled the Caineron.

“If we do that,” said the Brandan, “how can we justify keeping others out? We are sworn to protect Kothifir, not to loot it. Anyway, it would start a riot.”

Harn waved away this troubling subject as he had that of Kothifiran religion. “What about the rumor of Karnids in the city?”

The Ardeth shrugged. “No question, they are there in the shadows, biding their time.”

“Until what?”

“We don’t know.”

“How many of them?”

“We don’t know that either.”

The Caineron snorted.

There were other, more mundane subjects to discuss: class schedules involving the training fields, a clash between cadets and regular troops, thieves sneaking into the camp. Harn started to relax as the usual wrangles played themselves out.

“If that’s all . . .” he began, rising to dismiss the council.

But the Randir Frost didn’t move. “There is one other thing,” she said, examining her nails. “What are we going to do about the Knorth Lordan, Jamethiel? She’s been absent without leave for—what? Twenty days?”

“That is house business,” Harn growled, and began to pace around the table. Here was the topic that he had feared most. “Also remember: this isn’t a meeting of the senior Randon Council. Our authority is limited to the Southern Host.”

“Which is where she belongs,” said the Randir. “What are you going to do about her?”

Ran Onyx-eyed, the Knorth commander, had barely spoken during the meeting, but that was her way. Now she looked up. “We’ve made inquiries, of course,” she said mildly. “Our patrols have visited all the places in Kothifir she might be, without success. She does have a record of disappearing, though, as noted during her career at Tentir.”

“Might she be dead?”

“No,” said Harn. Brier would have told him if that were true. For that matter, he suspected that he himself would have known, given his link to the Knorth.

“With any other cadet, such behavior would merit being sent home in disgrace. Are we to judge lordan by a different standard?”

“We did your Randiroc,” snapped the Danior. “Ancestors know, he was as peculiar a cadet as ever won his randon’s collar.”

Frost’s smile turned brittle. “We won’t discuss the so-called Randir Heir, thank you very much.”

“There is also such a thing as detached duty,” remarked the Jaran. “Your cadet Nightshade has been assigned to Ran Awl this entire year. And she’s missing too, along with a dozen others of your house.”

Harn continued to pace as they wrangled. From the beginning, he had sensed that Jameth, or Jamethiel as he supposed he must learn to call her, had other duties than most cadets, first with the Merikit hill tribe and now here in Kothifir. He was aware of her unique status as the only other Highborn besides Torisen to possess pure Knorth blood, discounting for the moment rumors about their cousin Kindrie. The Knorth had led the Kencyrath from the beginning. To disrupt their fragile hold now felt to him like the end of the world.

“You put great faith in your two remaining Highborn,” said Frost, as if reading his mind. “Do they really merit it?”

Onyx-eyed stirred. “At Gothregor, Torisen opened a door that to all others was locked. In the camp, on her first day here, his sister did the same. I don’t quarrel with such power. You should think twice before you do.”

Hasty footsteps sounded on the stair, and the Coman commander burst into the room, red-faced, panting.

“I told you,” he wheezed, hands on knees, pausing to regain his breath. “I said Gemma was up to something. My scouts report a Gemman army on its way to Kothifir.”

“By what route?” snapped Harn.

“Along the Rim.”

“How strong?”

“At a guess, twenty thousand, composed of Gemmans, raiders, and any other opportunists they’ve been able to hire. Kothifir’s weakness draws them. Besides, I always said that Krothen shouldn’t have hung that assembly man’s son. They will be here by dusk with horses, chariots, and mounted war lizards.”

Everyone had risen.

“The livestock is a challenge,” said the Jaran, “but we should be a match for the rest. We’ve got to get everyone on top of the Escarpment and outside the city walls to meet them. There are four lift cages, but only one of them is big enough to accommodate horses.”

“So, no horses,” said Harn.

He could see the battlefield laid out in his mind. The Gemmans would lead with their thunder lizards, not as big as rhi-sars but quite large enough to rout an unprepared foe. The Kencyrath, on the other hand, had clashed with such beasts before. The rest, discounting chariots, would be hand to hand. It could indeed be done, if enough Kencyr could be conveyed to the battlefield in time.

“We need to move,” he said. “The cadets should stay in camp, though. For one thing, we haven’t time to get everyone Overcliff. For another, someone has to watch our back door. Commanders, see that your second-in-commands stay behind to monitor them.”

Thus the Kencryath rose to war and streamed through the city streets toward the wall, watched by many dark eyes. In their wake, as the sun set, the shadows began to move.

The step-forward tunnel snaked through the earth, one side of it plunging down into an abyss with a pulse of fire in its depths. Rising heat made the air dance. The lichen which had provided Jame with light before now crunched to powder underfoot. Everything trembled.

Shade went first, clutching the wall. Jorin followed her, and then Jame.

The path seemed very narrow, making Jame wonder how she had trod it before, in the near dark, without falling off. Underfoot, the way sloped toward the abyss, and stones dislodged by their boots rattled over the edge.

She also worried about the Randir. Shade seemed to have pulled herself together, but her face still twitched grotesquely as memories of those whom she had slain distorted it.

Jame wondered if she could have done the same, granting such dire mercy. True, people often died around her, but she seldom killed them, even in a berserker rage. It was more as if she created a climate in which death was prone to occur. How much worse would it be if she became That-Which-Destroys? Who would be safe from her then?

The earth belched and coughed up a fiery plume. The mass of molten rock was still far down, but rising, and the surrounding walls shook with its approach. Judging by the number of calderas within calderas at Urakarn, Jame guessed that such volcanic activity happened there relatively often. This, however, seemed like something special.

With a sharp crack, the path fragmented under her feet. She threw herself forward to claw at what remained, her frantic nails finding cracks, involuntarily widening them. Jorin squawked as Shade thrust him aside. Her hands closed over Jame’s wrists. For a moment, Jame thought that all three of them would go over the edge—no, all four since Addy still clung to her neck. The serpent slithered up her arm onto Shade’s, then higher still around the Randir’s shoulders. Jame had the distinct impression that Addy didn’t care if she fell or not, but Shade hung on. The changer’s shape altered to that of a short, burly Kendar, spreading from her hands up. With a sudden jerk, she hauled Jame to safety.