Part 8 (2/2)
Marrha was leaning against the remains of a stone wall. She pa.s.sed a hand back through her hair, felt the frizzy remains of what had once been a precise braid. ”A week, I think, would do us more good, but half a night it will have to be.”
Wykla was still uncertain about the ruins. ”Do we wish to camp here?” she said. ”Perhaps the fields would be better.''
Kyria shook her head abruptly. ”Stay out of those fields.” Her face was drawn, and she was staring at the dead farmland as though a nightmare had invaded her waking hours. After a moment, she dropped her eyes, shook her head. ”Chemicals,” she said softly. ”Defoliants. Nothing will grow in those fields for years now. If you spend much time in them, you might well become ill. Or worse.”
Dindrane was outraged. ”What kind of monster would do such a thing?” But she broke off and sat down heavily. She knew. She had seen it, confronted it, fought it... and learned some of its secrets. ”Oh, my G.o.ddess ...”
”Go to sleep,” said Kyria. Her tone was muted. ”We have a few hours: let us make the best of them.”
Karthin and Wykla claimed the first watch, and sleep took their comrades quickly. The wind swept the surface of the lake, and the moon, full and bright, splashed silver across the land. Karthin scanned the ruins at their backs, then turned and checked the fields. Nothing moved. Mallaen was gone. ”They treated us well here, Wykla,” he said softly. ”Enite and Ceinen and all.”
The Mullaen that Wykla remembered was alive and full of faces that had not turned away from the sight of swords and armor. It was a place where the wounded had been healed, and, more important, where she had finally ceased her struggles against womanhood. In Mullaen, she had at last embraced her new life fully, with no regrets, and acceptance and optimism had filled her heart like water.
But now the square where she had worn a gown and plaited flowers with Manda was burned and blackened, its songbirds gone. The fountain was dry, and the circle of standing stones that was as much of a temple as the Vayllens needed had been overthrown.
”Tell me of Darham, Wykla,” said Karthin. ”Manda said a little, but matters . . .”He shook his head as though he contemplated the failure of a crop. ”... matters have kept us from lengthy talk. How is my king?”
Wykla tore her eyes from the ruins, fought to keep clear her memories of the town. ”He is well, Karthin,” she said. ”Good-hearted and strong, though he seems at times sad.”
He nodded. ”As are we all at times.” He leaned on his sword as he kept an eye on the fields. ”He called you his daughter, I hear.''
Wykla squirmed uncomfortably. ”Aye, Karthin. He did. At first I thought it but a figure of speech, or courtesy, but Manda told me that his words were in earnest.''
”They were indeed.” Karthin's gaze rested for a moment on Marrha. ”His wife died of illness years ago, and she had borne no children. Since then, Dar-ham has looked upon all of Corrin as his child.” He nodded to Wykla. ”And now you also, my princess.”
Acutely embarra.s.sed by the t.i.tle, Wykla fought with her tongue. ”Why?” she managed.
Karthin shrugged. ”He is a deep man, Darham is. The loss of his wife and then his brother have brought him wisdom.” For a moment, he paused as though listening. Silence. ”I would guess that he saw an honorable woman who lacked only one thing: a family that esteemed her.”
Wykla looked away. Her eyes smarted. Months now, and the wound still bled freely.
”Aye, my friend.” Karthin's voice was compa.s.sionate. ”I heard what happened.”
”They are nonetheless my family.”
”That is so. But now so is Darham. And you may believe me when I say that should you ever bring yourself to call him father, he will answer gladly.”
Wykla wiped her nose with a ragged sleeve and sniffed softly, irritated that she sounded like a simpering child. ”I . . .” Whenever she thought of it, Dar-ham's generous offer plunged her into a sea that seemed of equal parts happiness and grief. And so she tried not to think of it. ”But I have a father already, and-”
A noise. Her head snapped up. Her tears choked off instantly.
Karthin lifted his sword. Together, they slipped towards a group of ruined buildings that stood off a little distance from the town, a straggling heap that lay like a decaying arm across a path of undefoliated land. Weeds and dust silenced their steps as they climbed through the tumbled wood and stone. Cautiously, they lifted their heads above the crest of the pile.
Even without the bright moon, Karthin and Wykla would have been able to see the three faintly glowing beasts that shambled amid the sterile fields, their eyes flickering like lamps and their teeth glinting. The hounds, though, seemed unaware that they were not alone. Rooting in the dead ground, pawing at one another, their playful jibes flaring now and again into snarling hostility, they milled and wheeled in the moonlight.
”I wonder what they ate last,” said Wykla tone-lessly.
”For now,” said Karthin, ”I care not about what. I am more concerned with when.”
”I am not sure that it matters. Shall we wake Kyria?”
”It may not be necessary. Let her sleep.”
Squatting down in the ruins, they resumed their watch. A good sprint would take them back to their friends long before the hounds could arrive, and their clear view in all directions precluded a surprise attack; but aside from the movement of the hounds, the fields were still.
Wykla was still nervous. ”I am not sure that we two should stay together like this.”
”Agreed. One of us should . . .” Karthin squinted at the fields. ”Wait. Look at that.”
”What? The hounds?”
”No. To the right. Near the water.”
Wykla followed his pointing linger, and in a moment she noticed something wrong with the moonlight near the lake. An odd patch had appeared, s.h.i.+mmering with faint light like a piece of dark cloth woven with silver threads. It flickered and pulsed in the air, and as they watched, it brightened and spread slowly until it reached the ground.
”I do not understand,” she said.
”Nor do I.”
”Sorcery.”
”Well, yes . . .”
Dead ruins, strange apparitions. Wykla did not like it at all. ”I will run and fetch Kyria,” she said, but when she turned, her sleeve caught on a splintered beam and pulled it down in a clatter of gravel and dry thatch.
The hounds looked up, eyes glowing, mouths grinning.
”Curse me for a stupid girl,” Wykla cried. She tugged at the sleeve, but the beam had ground down to the stone beneath it, wedging the cloth firmly between.
Grinning and yelping, the hounds were on their way. Karthin tugged at the snag, shrugged dourly, and cut it away with a knife. ”Do not speak unkindly of yourself, dear lady,” he said, and then he turned to the rubble and kicked a pa.s.sage clear.
They ran for the camp, hair streaming, boots thudding on the hard packed ground. ”Kyria!” shouted Wykla. ”Hounds!”
The camp struggled into consciousness, but the sorceress was already on her feet. ”Where?”
The cries of the hounds carried clearly through the night air. ”Behind us,” said Karthin, pointing.
Kyria nodded and lifted her hands. Moonlight suddenly wove about her in a bright nimbus, and when the hounds rounded the heaped ruins, they were met by a wave of silver fire. Yelping and whining frantically, they tumbled to the ground as though struck by a club. For a moment they scrambled among the weeds, claws furrowing the damp earth, and then they found their feet and fled.
Kyria's voice came out of the s.h.i.+mmering aura that surrounded her. ”Enough for a start. But I do not want them running about loose. Let us go and make an end of this.”
The sounds of the beasts' retreat was loud as Kyria and the others made for the ruins, but instead of fading gradually, the whines and frantic yipes cut off of a sudden. When the party reached the ruins, they found only empty fields beyond.
Wykla strained her eyes. ”Killed?”
”No ...” Kyria rubbed her eyes tiredly, and the nimbus of moonlight faded. ”That was not a lethal blast. It was ...” She dropped her hands, staring. Out by the lake, the s.h.i.+mmer hung from sky to earth like a doorway into a realm of mist and light. ' 'What in heaven's name is that?”
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