Part 62 (1/2)
”Then there's hope! It's not here!”
Josua opened his mouth to reply, but a loud moan of pain from Camaris stopped him.
”Ah, G.o.d, why do You torment me?” the old man cried. He lifted his free hand to his head as though he had been struck by a stone. ”It is wrong-that answer is wrong!”
The prince's face was full of startled concern. ”We must take him out of this place. Something in the sword drew him here. While he still has his wits about him, we must get him outside again.”
”But Pryrates was making some barrier around the tower,” said Binabik anxiously. ”Our only hope is that now . . .”
”This is my punishment!” cried Camaris. ”Oh, my G.o.d, there is too much blackness, too much sin. I am sorry ... so sorry!”
Josua took a step toward him, then leaped away again as Thorn flickered through the air. The prince backed toward the stairwell, trying to keep himself between Camaris and whatever called him so powerfully.
”The thing Pryrates has begun is not yet being finished,” Binabik shouted. ”The sword must not be going further!”
Josua danced back from another awkward blow. He held Naidel before him, but seemed reluctant even to use it for defense, as though fearing he might hurt the old man. Miriamele, full of fluttering panic, knew that the prince would be killed if he did not resist with all his power.
”Uncle Josua! Fight back! Stop him!”
As Josua backed up the wide stairway and Camaris reached the bottom step, Binabik bolted from her side. He leaped across the motionless bodies lying before the stairs and threw himself at the back of the old knight's legs, knocking Camaris down. As Miriamele hurried forward to help the troll, another figure came up beside her. She was amazed to see that it was the Wrannaman, Tiamak.
”Take one of his arms, Lady Miriamele.” The marsh man's eyes were wide with fear and his voice shook, but he was already reaching down. ”I will take the other.”
Although Binabik had wrapped both his arms and legs around the old knight's knees, Camaris was already beginning to rise. Miriamele grasped at the hand that sought to pull Binabik loose, but it slipped from her sweating grip. She clutched again at his upper arm and this time hung on as Camaris' long muscles bunched beneath her. A moment later all four of them tumbled to the floor again, landing among the scatter of bodies. Miriamele found herself staring down into the half-open eyes of Isorn, whose slack face was as white as one of the Norns. A scream tried to force its way out of her, but she was clinging so fiercely to Camaris' flailing arm that she could not think much about Isgrimnur's son. There was only the scent of fear-sweat and rolling bodies.
She caught a glimpse of Josua, who stood a short distance away on the stairs. Camaris again began to climb to his feet, dragging his attackers up with him.
”Josua,” she panted. ”He'll ... get away from us! Kill him ... if you have to ... but stop him!”
The prince only stared. Miriamele could feel the old knight's tremendous strength. He would shake them off in a few moments.
”Kill him, Josua!” she screamed. Camaris was half-standing now, but Tiamak was draped around his sword arm; the knight's chest and stomach were unprotected.
”Something!” Binabik grunted in pain, struggling to hold Camaris' legs together. ”Be doing something!”
But Josua only took a hesitant step forward, Naidel hanging slack in his hand.
Miriamele let go with one arm and hurriedly groped for Camaris' sword belt. When she had it, she slid off his arm and grasped the belt with both hands, then braced her legs against the bottom step and pulled backward as hard as she could. The old man swayed for a moment, but the tangling weight of Tiamak and Binabik were making his movements clumsy and he could not keep his balance. He tottered, then fell backward as heavily as an axed tree.
Miriamele's legs were caught beneath the knight. His collapse knocked the breath from her. When Camaris stirred after a long moment, she knew she did not have the strength to pull him down again.
”Ah, G.o.d,” the knight murmured to the ceiling. ”Free me from this song! I do not wish to go-but it is too strong for me. I have paid and paid....”
Josua seemed almost as wracked with torment as Camaris. He took another step downward, then paused before backing up again. ”Merciful G.o.d,” said the prince. ”Merciful G.o.d.” He straightened, blinking. ”Keep Camaris there as long as you can. I think I know who is waiting at the top of the stairs.” He turned away.
”Come back, Josua!” cried Miriamele. ”Don't go!”
”There is no time left,” he called over his shoulder as he mounted upward. ”I must get to him while I can. He is waiting for me.”
She suddenly realized who he meant. ”No,” she whispered.
Camaris was still lying on the floor, but Binabik had not let go of the knight's legs. Tiamak had been flung to one side; he crouched at the foot of the stairs, rubbing a bruised arm and staring at Camaris with fearful antic.i.p.ation.
”Tiamak, follow him,” pleaded Miriamele. ”Follow my uncle. Hurry! Don't let them kill each other.”
The Wrannaman's eyes widened. He looked at her, then back to Camaris, his face solemn as a frightened child's. At last he clambered to his feet and hobbled up the stairs after Josua, who had already disappeared into the shadows.
Camaris drew himself into a sitting position. ”Let me up. I do not wish to hurt you, whoever you are.” His eyes were fixed on some distant point beyond the antechamber. ”It is calling me.”
Miriamele pulled herself free and, trembling, took his hand. ”Sir Camaris, please. It is an evil spell that is calling you. Don't go. If you take the sword there, everything you have fought for may be destroyed.”
The old knight lowered his pale eyes to meet hers. His face was bleak, drawn with terrible strain. ”Tell the wind not to blow,” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”Tell the thunder not to roar. Tell this cursed sword not to sing and pull at me.” But he seemed to sag, as though for a moment the summoning grew less powerful.
A wordless cry like a howl of animal fear rang through the antechamber. Miriamele suddenly remembered Cadrach. She whirled to look at him where he crouched by the doorway, but the monk yowled again and pointed.
Pryrates was climbing slowly to his feet, loose-limbed as a drunkard. The arrow still protruded from either side of his neck. A faint, putrescent glow played about the torn flesh.
But he's dead! he's dead! Horror gusted through her. Horror gusted through her. He's dead! Sweet Elysia, Mother of G.o.d, I He's dead! Sweet Elysia, Mother of G.o.d, I killed killed him! him!
The priest staggered a step, groaning, then turned his sharklike gaze toward Miriamele. His voice was even harsher than before, ripped raw. ”You ... hurt hurt me. For that, I will ... I will keep you alive a long time, womanchild.” me. For that, I will ... I will keep you alive a long time, womanchild.”
”Daughter of the Mountains,” Binabik said hopelessly. He still clung to the old knight's legs. Camaris lay staring at the ceiling, oblivious to all but the call from above.
Swaying, the priest reached up and grasped the black shaft just behind the arrowhead and snapped it off, bringing a fresh dribble of blood from the wound. He took a couple of whistling breaths, then grasped the feathers and drew the rest of the arrow back out through his throat, his face stretched in a rictus of agony. He stared at the blood-smeared thing for a moment before tossing it disdainfully onto the floor.
”A Nakkiga shaft,” he rasped. ”I should have known. The Norns make strong weapons-but not strong enough.” The bleeding had stopped, and now a tiny wisp of smoke wafted from one of the holes in his neck.
Miriamele had nocked another arrow, and now trem blingly drew her bow and leveled the black point at his face. ”May ... may G.o.d send you to h.e.l.l, Pryrates!” She struggled to form the words without falling into panicked shrieking. ”What have you done with my father?!”
”He is upstairs.” The priest laughed suddenly. He stood now without wavering, and seemed almost gleefully drunk on his own display of power. ”Your father is waiting. The time we have both waited for is come. I wonder who shall enjoy it more?” Pryrates lifted his fingers and curled them. The air grew momentarily hotter around Miriamele's hand, then the arrow snapped. The suddenly empty bow almost flew from her grasp.
”It is not so pleasant tugging out arrows that I will stand and let you feather me all day, girl.” Pryrates turned to look back across the antechamber at Cadrach. The broken doorway behind the monk, barred by the alchemist's ward, was full of s.h.i.+fting, crimson-streaked shadows. The priest beckoned. ”Padreic, come here.”
Cadrach gave a low moan, then stood and took a lurching step.
”Don't do it!” Miriamele called to him.
”Do not be so cruel,” said Pryrates. ”He wishes to attend his master.”
”Fight him, Cadrach!”
The priest c.o.c.ked his head. ”Enough. Soon I shall have to go and attend to my my duties.” He lifted his hand again. ”Come here, Padreic.” duties.” He lifted his hand again. ”Come here, Padreic.”
The monk staggered forward, sweating and mumbling. As Miriamele watched helplessly, he sank into a heap at Pryrates' feet, face pressed against the stone. He edged forward, quivering, and laid his cheek against one of the priest's black boots.
”That is better,” Pryrates crooned. ”I am glad you are not so foolish as to challenge me-glad that you remem remember. I feared you had forgotten me during your travels. And where have you been, little Padreic? You left me and went to keep company with traitors, I see.”
”It is you who are being the traitor,” Binabik shouted at him. He grimaced as Camaris s.h.i.+fted, trying at last to break the troll's grip on his legs. ”To Morgenes, to my master Ookequk, to all who were taking you in and teaching you their secrets.”