A Man Rides Through

  “Tholden!” people screamed.

  “Help!”

  “Tell us what to do!”

  “We don’t know what to do!”

  “Run,” he coughed weakly. He had never felt such intense fire in his life, never seen anything that terrified him as much as this firecat did. “Run.” The heat drew tears from his eyes as if he were weeping. Houseldon was built of wood. The whole place would burn. “Get out of the way.”

  Automatically, without thought, he retreated to keep the heat at a distance. The firecat ambled after him with an indirect, even nonchalant gait, as if he were an especially tasty and helpless mouse.

  Moving like a madman, he led the firecat in among the buildings.

  The cat moved to the side of the lane while it followed him. Fire swept up the wall of a granary; then, with a detonation like a thunderclap, the grain itself took flame. Fire and smoke and blazing grain swirled a hundred feet into the air.

  The merchant who owned the granary lived in a house beside it. He was an old man with a vast quantity of fat and no reputation whatsoever for valor; yet he ran raging out onto his porch and flung a washbasin full of water at the cat.

  The cat didn’t notice his attack.

  Almost instantly, the fire consumed him.

  Tholden retreated as slowly as he could bear, bringing Houseldon’s destruction with him.

  He nearly missed what had happened when the firecat abruptly let out a roar of vexation – perhaps even of pain – and flinched to the side. A bit of flame clung to the pads of one forepaw. The beast hunched over and licked its paw clean; its tail switched malevolently. When it started moving again, it appeared angrier, more determined; it looked like it intended to pounce on him without further delay.

  Tholden gaped dumbly, transfixed by the incomprehensible fact that the creature had hurt itself by stepping in a small pile of sheepdung.

  As if this information were too much for him, his eyes rolled in his head; his scorched and naked face stretched into a wail; his numb arm flapped against his side.

  Awkwardly, he turned and dashed out of the firecat’s path, fled between the nearest houses as if he had vultures beating around his head. The people who saw him go believed that his mind had snapped.

  The cat didn’t pursue him. It was after other prey.

  Setting homes and shops ablaze almost casually as it went, it continued its malign stroll into the heart of Houseldon.

  Toward Terisa and Geraden.

  Terisa and Geraden and the Domne heard the screams; they saw fire and smoke blasting into the sky. “Glass and splinters!” Geraden hissed between his teeth. “What’s that?”

  “Not wolves, I’m afraid,” muttered the Domne. He nudged the carcass at his feet. “Even wolves like that don’t set fires.”

  Alarm cleared the giddiness out of Terisa’s head. She took her weight on her legs and tried to think.

  “Where’s Tholden?”

  Geraden glanced at her. He and the Domne didn’t look at each other.

  One of the bowmen led the rout down the street. Waving people past him, he stopped in front of the Domne. “My lord,” he gasped, urgent for breath, “the wall is breached. Houses are burning.”

  “I can see that,” replied the Domne with uncharacteristic asperity. “How did it happen?”

  “A creature of Imagery. A cat as big as a steer. It sets fire to everything.

  “It’s coming this way.”

  Terisa felt a cold hand close around her heart. Sets fire to everything. “Castellan Lebbick told me about a cat like that. It killed his guards.” He sent out fifty men, and it killed them. “When they were trying to capture the Congery’s champion.”

  Geraden nodded grimly. “Eremis hasn’t got enough men. Or enough men to spare. Or he can’t translate enough of them here without making them mad. So he’s using Imagery to attack us. Trying to slaughter us wholesale instead of murdering us individually.”

  The fires came closer. A warehouse tossed flames in all directions as kegs of oil exploded. The destruction of Houseldon already seemed to be raging out of control.

  The Domne watched his people flee past him as if the sight made him want to throw up. He kept his voice quiet, however. “You’re the only Imager in the family, Geraden. How do we defend ourselves?”

  “With mirrors,” Geraden snarled. Terisa thought he looked exactly like his father at that moment – so hard and horrified that he wanted to throw up. “Which we haven’t got.”

  Then she caught her first glimpse of the firecat. Involuntarily, she took a step backward.

  “Where’s Tholden?” she asked again. She was suddenly afraid that he was already dead.

  Tholden was running for his life.

  His shoulder wasn’t broken. If it were broken, it would have started to hurt before this. Nevertheless it remained numb; he still couldn’t use it. It hampered his balance, his gait. Because of it, he ran like a hunchback.

  Ran between the houses and along the lanes of Houseldon as if he were terrified.

  He had forgotten the wolves – forgotten them completely. His desperation didn’t hold room for any other danger. One of the houses he passed had had its door torn off the hinges, but he didn’t notice that. He didn’t hear the dying whimpers from inside, didn’t see the beast munching flesh in the doorway. He had no idea what was happening when the wolf left the infant it was eating and leaped at his head.

  Because of his lurching gait, it missed his head. Yet its claws raked his back as it went by him.

  That pain got his attention. He and the wolf wheeled to meet each other; as fierce as the beast, he faced its charge.

  Slobbering blood, it sprang again.

  He had no time for fear or forethought. In fact, he had no time for the wolf. Striding forward as the beast leaped, he kicked it in the ribcage so hard that he ruptured its heart.

  Then he ran on.

  His back bled as if it were on fire. Coughing for help, he ran toward the nearest wastepit where Houseldon accumulated fertilizer for the orchards and fields.

  He didn’t have much time. The people fleeing along the street had scattered; Terisa, Geraden, and the Domne could see the firecat clearly now.

  And it could see them: that was obvious. Its eyes were fixed on them as if at last it had recognized its true prey.

  Well, of course. Stunned with fright and helplessness, Terisa had been reduced to talking to herself. Eremis wouldn’t trust random violence to kill them. And he must be able to talk to that thing. Otherwise how could he get it to do what he wanted? It might have attacked the champion instead of the Castellan’s guards. He probably gave it a description of the people it was supposed to kill.

  Uselessly, she wondered what kind of description the firecat would understand. Could Eremis really talk to it?

  “Terisa.” Geraden had a hand on her arm; he shook her. “Terisa, listen to me. If that creature is after me, you can get away. You’ve got to get away. Get out of here – get out of Houseldon. Go north. To the Termigan. Maybe he’s got some glass you can use. At least you can warn him. He’ll protect you.

  “I’ll try to give you as much time as I can.”

  “Thanks.” What was she talking about? She had no idea. “I appreciate that.” Words seem to come out of her mouth without passing through her consciousness first. “What if it’s after me? How are you going to get away?”

  “An interesting question,” the Domne put in dryly. “Let’s discuss it later, shall we? Start running, both of you. If it’s engrossed in destroying Houseldon, you might both get away.” Abruptly, he started to shout, cracking his command at them like a whip. “I said start running!”

  Both Terisa and Geraden nodded.

  Neither of them moved.

  She began to feel the heat of the fire on her face. The firecat was so close now that she could have hit it with a rock. It wasn’t in any hurry – but it was definitely coming straight for them. Its eyes stared malice; its tail lashed the dust.
br />   She and Geraden and the Domne stood their ground as if they had lost their minds.

  And the firecat stopped. It regarded them warily. They acted like they weren’t afraid of it. Why was that? Terisa had the odd impression that she knew exactly what the cat was thinking. Why were they standing there as if fire and fangs couldn’t hurt them? What kind of danger did they represent?

  Beyond question, she had lost her mind, even if the men with her were still sane. While the firecat studied them all, she waved her hand at it and said, “Scat. Go away.” She could feel her hair growing crisp in the heat. “We won’t hurt you. If you go away.”

  Good. Brilliant. Instead of retreating, the creature crouched to spring.

  Unexpectedly, Minick arrived at the Domne’s side. In spite of his apparent haste, he didn’t seem to be breathing hard – didn’t seem to be breathing at all.

  Each of his strong, brown hands carried a large wooden bucket.

  Water, Terisa thought. Good idea. Too bad it won’t work. The firecat certainly hadn’t been hindered by the snow when it had attacked Castellan Lebbick’s men.

  Precisely, as if he were following an elaborate set of instructions, Minick set the buckets down beside him.

  Gasping and blowing as though his chest were about to burst, Tholden came into the street. He nearly ran up against the firecat’s flank; the heat must have been tremendous.

  He held one of the watertubs hugged in his arms.

  Full of water, it must have been far too heavy for any one man to lift. Nevertheless he supported it alone, staggered out into the open without help; there he let the tub thud into the dirt.

  That dull, hard sound distracted the creature. Dancing aside as daintily as a kitten, it turned to see what he was doing.

  “Now!” Tholden croaked hoarsely.

  Reaching into his watertub with both hands, he scooped a load of sheepdung into the firecat’s face.

  The hard pellets hit the cat’s whiskers, cheeks, jaws, eyes.

  Hit and stuck.

  They were fuel: they burned hotly. But they didn’t fall away, as water and wood and even iron fell away. They clung to the creature’s fur and flesh.

  With a scream, the firecat did a complete backflip. Immediately, it began to scrub at its face, trying to dislodge the fiery pellets.

  In an instant, its forepaws were covered with fire.

  Minick was a little slow; even in an emergency, he couldn’t act without his usual care. On this occasion, however, he was quick enough. Before the cat could turn, he stepped forward and splashed its back with the contents of his first bucket.

  More sheepdung.

  This time, the creature’s scream seemed to come from the marrow of its bones. It wrenched itself around in a circle and rammed its burning side into the dirt to extinguish the fire of the pellets.

  Abruptly, five or six more men rushed into the street, carrying buckets and baskets and pots of sheepdung; they hurled more fuel into the cat’s flames. Stooping to his tub, Tholden shoveled up great handfuls of pellets. Minick emptied his second bucket at the mounting conflagration.

  Then all the men had to stop, had to draw back. The creature had begun to burn so hotly that they couldn’t get near it. Terisa put up her hands to protect her face.

  With a sizzling noise like the shriek of meat on a griddle, of hot iron in oil, the firecat died horribly, consumed by its own blaze.

  Tholden staggered, stumbled to his knees; his scorched and beardless face gaped at the charred carcass.

  Slowly, the Domne limped around the circle of heat to his eldest son. Minick, Geraden, and Terisa followed; they were there when the Domne put his arms around Tholden’s bloody back.

  “As I said,” the Domne murmured in a voice congested with pride and pain. “The right man for the job.”

  Before Terisa could think of it, Geraden left to go get Quiss.

  Quiss took care of her husband grimly. Like the Domne’s, her emotions were too strong – and too mixed – to let her be calm about Tholden’s condition.

  Standing in the street with his canes propped under his hands, the Domne rallied his bowmen and put them in charge of the hunt for the remaining wolves.

  Gently, Minick helped Stead out of the Domne’s house. Together, the brothers set about organizing the evacuation of Houseldon.

  The firecat’s blaze was too well established to be fought. Even without the distraction and damage of the wolves, with nothing on their minds except the safety of their homes, the Domne’s people might not have been able to beat this fire. But the truth was that they were seriously distracted, badly hurt. And there might be more attacks—When Minick suggested fighting the flames, the Domne forbade him flatly.

  Instead of trying uselessly to save Houseldon, every man, woman, and child who could move himself, lift weight, or accept responsibility was put to work getting supplies and possessions, horses and livestock, infants and invalids out of the stockade.

  Geraden ignored all this activity. Taking Terisa with him, he put together a breakfast for the two of them, then found a quiet corner in his father’s house where they could eat in peace.

  Baffled, she asked him what he thought he was doing.

  “Saving time,” he muttered through a cold chicken sandwich. “We’ve got to eat sometime. Better now than later.”

  That didn’t shed any light. She tried again. “What’s going to happen?”

  “They’ll go up to the Closed Fist and dig in. With all the stuff they have to carry, they won’t get there for two or three days. But I don’t think that matters. If Eremis had anything else ready to attack with, he would have used it by now. I think the first danger is over. And once they’re entrenched in those caves and rocks, he’ll need an army to root them out.”

  Terisa didn’t understand him at all. Dimly, it occurred to her that the Closed Fist would be an impossible place in which to work glass. “You keep saying ‘they.’ Aren’t you going with them?”

  He shook his head and tried to hide the gleam in his eyes.

  She studied him as if she had become stupid. His home was in flames around him. Soon Houseldon would be reduced to ashes and cinders. The survivors were being forced into hiding. One of his brothers had been seriously hurt. People he had known all his life were dead. Really, it was astonishing how much his mood had improved.

  He was hard and strong, she could see that; but the grim iron was gone, the bitterness. Last night, he had remembered how to laugh. The shine in his gaze promised that he would be able to laugh again.

  Looking at him, the numbness which too much fear and destruction had imposed on her heart began to fade. Almost smiling, as if she already knew the answer, she asked, “Why not?”

  He shrugged cheerfully. “I’ve been looking at everything backward. My usual instinct for mishap. In a sense, what happened today is good news. What Eremis did today is good news. It means he’s afraid of us – too afraid to wait until he can strike intelligently and be sure of killing us. He thinks there’s something we can do to hurt him.

  “If he thinks that, he’s probably right. He’s too smart to scare himself over nothing. All we have to do is find it.”

  Incongruously, while Houseldon burned, Terisa felt some of the past night’s joy come back. “Maybe his plans aren’t ready,” she said. “Maybe we still have time to warn Orison.”

  “Right. And along the way we can try to warn some of the lords. When they know what’s going on, maybe the Fayle or even the Termigan can be persuaded to do something against him.”

  She couldn’t help herself; she jumped up and kissed him, hugged him so hard she thought her arms would break.

  “Come on, mooncalves,” Stead snorted from the doorway. “The fire’s already on the other side of the lane. This house is going next.”

  In response, both Terisa and Geraden started to laugh.

  They left Houseldon holding hands.

  By midmorning, the Domne’s Seat was little more than a smoldering husk.
/>
  From his stretcher, Tholden watched the ruin and wept as if he had failed; but his father would have none of it. “Don’t be silly, boy. You saved all our lives. Houses can be built again. You saved your people. I call it a great victory. Nobody else could have done it.”

  “That’s right, Da,” Quiss said because her husband was too emotional to reply. “He’ll agree with you when he’s had a little rest. If he knows what’s good for him.”

  Ignoring embarrassment, Geraden kissed all three of them. Quiss and the Domne kissed Terisa. Then Terisa and Geraden went to their horses, the bay and the appaloosa which had brought them down from the Closed Fist.

  “Now it’s your turn, Geraden,” the Domne announced in front of all the inhabitants of Houseldon. “Make us proud of you. Make what we’re doing worthwhile.” Then he added, “And, in the name of sanity, remember to call me ‘Da.’ ”

  Helplessly, Geraden colored.

  Terisa wanted to laugh again. “Don’t worry, Da. I won’t let him forget.”

  When the Domne’s people began cheering, she and Geraden rode away to meet Mordant’s need.

  THIRTY-FOUR: FRUSTRATED STATES

  Toward the end of the first day of the siege – the day which eventually led to Master Quillon’s murder and Terisa’s escape – Prince Kragen indicated his ruined catapults and asked the lady Elega what she thought he should do.

  “Attack,” she replied at once. “Attack and attack.”

  Raising one eyebrow, he waited for an explanation.

  “I am no Imager – but everyone knows that Imagery requires strength and concentration. Translations are exhausting. And in this” – she gestured at the catapults – “you have only one opponent. Only one Master can use the glass which frustrates you. He must be weary by now. Perhaps he has already worn out his endurance.

  “If you apply enough pressure, he must fail. Then you will be able to bring down that curtain-wall. Orison will be opened to you.”

  Despite his confident demeanor, his air of assurance, Prince Kragen couldn’t restrain a scowl. “My lady,” he asked softly, harshly, “how many siege engines do you think I have? They are difficult to move. If we had brought them from Alend, we would be on the road yet – and Cadwal’s victory would be unchallenged. We were forced to rely on what we could appropriate from the Armigite.” Thinking about the Armigite always made Kragen want to spit. “It seems likely to me that we will run out of catapults before that cursed Imager is exhausted.