Part 13 (1/2)

After that ritual shout the hall settled gradually to a breathy silence, undertoned with rustlings and coughings. The smoky air became charged with a smell of heat and sweat, wool and fur and leather.

A clear s.p.a.ce had been left around the soldiers. The officer drew his sword and lifted the hilt in salute.

”These are the captives, Ironmaster.”

The Ironmaster wore a fine purple robe. The cloth must have come up from the south in Amnir's wagons; the local weave was coa.r.s.e and undyed. He nodded his grizzled head and the officer put away his sword.

The Ironmaster turned to Gelmar. ”Are these the ones you wanted?”

Gelmar rose and came down from the dais. He wore a tunic of the somber red Stark remembered from Skeg, and he carried his wand of office. He came without haste, and he looked at Stark with cool deliberation. On the dais were three other Wandsmen, wearing green. One of them, in a seat next to Gelmar's, had a face deep-scarred and half blinded by a sword cut that had left an ugly groove from forehead to jaw. The wound was healed, but still showed an angry color. This man leaned forward in his chair, with the hunched quiver of an animal about to spring.

Gelmar looked into Stark's eyes, and his own were dark and somehow veiled, lacking the fire of triumph Stark had expected. Yet there was a cold ferocity about them that was frightening.

”I know this man,” said Gelmar. ”Yes. Concerning the others-” He beckoned to the scarred man on the dais. ”Vasth?”

Vasth came quickly to peer into Gerrith's face.

”There were two women,” said the Thyran officer. ”One of them fought like a man. A s.h.i.+eld-bearer, as we had been told. These Southrons defy all morality, allowing women to handle swords. We were forced to kill her.”

”No matter,” said Vasth. ”This woman is Gerrith, the daughter of Gerrith. And this-” He turned to Halk on his litter. ”This one is Halk, a ringleader, a killer of Wandsmen. I have cause to remember him.” He traced the groove of the scar. ”He gave me this.”

”A pity my hand was weak in that moment,” said Halk. He had not stood the journey well. He looked past the green Wandsman to Gelmar. ”What has happened to Irnan?”

”Irnan has fallen,” said Gelmar, and his mouth was cruel. ”So much for all your trouble.”

”And Ashton?” asked Stark.

”Ashton,” said Gelmar, and smiled, a small twisting of the lips as one might twist a knife blade in the yielding flesh. ”The Lords Protector were discussing what should be done with him when I left the Citadel. That decision will have been made by now. Perhaps he lives, perhaps he is already dead. I can't tell you. But you'll know soon enough.” He turned from Stark to face the Corn King and his priests.

Stark made one violent movement and was instantly quelled.

Gelmar took no notice of him. ”You were with these rebels, Hargoth, coming to attack us at the Citadel. Why did you do this folly?”

”Because we want the freedom of the stars.”

Hargoth still had his pride. His narrow head was as erect as ever, his eyes met Gelmar's defiantly. ”The man Stark and the Sun Woman told us that you, the Wandsmen, forbade this and so we must destroy you. We believed an omen; we believed them. But they were false prophets. They would not go south where the s.h.i.+ps are. They cheated Old Sun, because of the l.u.s.t of their bodies. And because we believed them, we have been punished.”

Gelmar nodded. He said, ”The s.h.i.+ps are gone from the south, Hargoth. Do you understand that?”

”I understand.”

”The s.h.i.+ps are gone. The foreign men and their ways are gone with them. The star-roads are closed. Our way lies as it always has, with Skaith and Old Sun. Do you understand that?”

Hargoth said, ”I understand.” In his voice was the deadness of understanding.

”Then go and tell your people, Hargoth.”

Hargoth bent his head.

Gelmar spoke to the dais, to the man in purple who watched smiling, pleased by the humbling of the gray men of the Towers.

”Open your doors, Ironmaster. Let them go.”

”I had rather see them slain,” said the Ironmaster. ”But-” He shrugged and ordered the doors to be opened.

The priests and warriors formed their meager ranks, beaten men, acquiescing not with patience but with anger.

And Hargoth said, ”Wait.”

He faced Gerrith. ”You prophesied for me, Sun Woman. Now I prophesy for you. Your body will yet feed Old Sun, though not as a parting gift.”

Gerrith's expression had changed. All the way from the guardpost she had looked tired to exhaustion, merely enduring. Now she seemed to be listening intently to some inner voice. Yet she heard Hargoth and answered him, ”That may be. But your people must find themselves a new Corn King, for you lead them badly. You cast the finger-bones and you prophesy, but you do not know truth from falsehood.”

Her head came erect, and her voice rang out strongly.

”Irnan has not fallen. The s.h.i.+ps have not gone from Skaith. The star-roads are open. New things are here, and the Wandsmen are afraid. In the end-”

Vasth struck her, viciously. Blood sprang from her mouth and she fell, past Stark with his bound hands, into the arms of a Thyran soldier, who caught her awkwardly.

”We have had enough of wise women,” said Vasth.

The hall had become suddenly still. In that stillness Gelmar spoke softly to Hargoth.

”Will you go?”

Hargoth turned and went, his priests and the remnant of his warriors following after.

Gelmar clapped his hands.

Men came in through a leather-curtained doorway at the side of the hall. They wore saffron-colored tunics and richly ornamented collars of some bright metal. They were of a breed that Stark had not seen before, one of the many things on Skaith he had not seen-beautiful men, beautifully proportioned, with aquiline faces almost too perfect, and they were so much alike that it was difficult to tell one from another, except for the color of the hair. This ranged from black to a reddish blond, but all had copper-colored eyes. The eyes were too wide apart and too long for their faces, and there was something odd about them. As they came closer, Stark saw what it was. They were like the inlaid eyes of statues, startlingly lifelike but without life, showing brilliance but no depth, As though they understood without orders what they must do, two of them picked up Halk's litter, and another helped Gerrith to her feet. Two more replaced the Thyran soldiers beside Stark. They had daggers at their belts, and smooth muscles showed powerfully beneath their tunics. A sixth man stood by, and it was to him that Gelmar spoke.

”Take them now. Guard them.”

Stark saw Gelmar's face clearly, very clearly. The lines, the tautness, the weariness. Some of that proud high confidence that he remembered from their first meeting had been left forever in the sea where Stark had taken him.

Stark said, ”Gerrith is right. You are afraid.”

Gelmar's men had them moving almost before the words were said, and Gelmar ignored him. No one beyond their small group had even heard him. But Stark knew that what he said was true.

New things had come, things the Wandsmen could neither control nor comprehend, and they felt their ancient power threatening to slip away from them. They must grasp it now and hold it firmly, regardless of the cost, or else it would be gone.

And grasp it they would, with all their strength, in whatever way seemed best to them. The fear, and the uncertainty, would only make them more dangerous.

And might already have cost Ashton his life.

The captives were taken into one of the adjoining wings, to a room rudely furnished with sleeping mats and a few random articles. The Thyrans seemed not to indulge themselves in luxury but the mats at least offered some comfort.