The Twisted Citadel

  But however vast that cloud had been, there were still many thousands left on the ground.

  Axis had finished stitching Inardle's wound, and now helped her to her feet.

  "There is no chance you can fly?" he said, desperately wanting her to get to safety somehow.

  He knew the answer before she spoke. Inardle was so weak she could barely stand, and Axis had to support her to keep her upright.

  "My wing is too stiff," she said. "Axis, you should go."

  "I am going to be the only thing that might keep you alive," he said.

  "The woman is right, Axis," said Zeboath, walking out of the night. "You should go. I've heard that Armat is close. There's no reason for you to stay."

  "And you?" said Axis.

  "There are wounded who need my attention," said Zeboath, "and--"

  "Then I am staying," Axis said. He began to say something else, but then everyone stiffened at the sound of a horse's hooves. They relaxed, if only slightly, when Georgdi rode his horse into their range of vision.

  "Oh, for the gods' sakes," Axis said. "What are you doing back?"

  "I won't leave you," said Georgdi. "My men are riding for Serpent's Nest, and have orders to gather there along with those other of my men who can leave their families. But you thought that I would just ride away?"

  "You're dead if you stay," Axis said.

  Georgdi dismounted, patting his horse on the neck once he'd jumped to the ground. "I'm as dead as you are, Axis," he said, "which is to say not very much. We're both too valuable to Armat, as is Zeboath. No general, even in his most maddened moments, ever killed a physician."

  Axis noted that Georgdi had left Inardle out of the list of those sure to be spared. He wasted a moment wondering if he'd ever felt this useless before. There were thousands upon thousands of Lealfast left, desperately wounded, and no means to protect them.

  "You did the right thing, Axis," Georgdi said softly, watching the emotions play about Axis' face. "There was no point keeping soldiers here to fight. They would have died uselessly."

  "Armat hates me," said Axis. "He will take it out on--" He couldn't finish.

  "Listen," said Georgdi.

  They stood, listening to the sounds around them: the soft voices of some Lealfast; someone crying in pain, very quietly; the footfalls of one of Zeboath's assistants as he moved from one Lealfast to another.

  The sound, very low, of horses' bits.

  Axis glanced at Georgdi's horse, now wandered away a few paces to graze.

  The sound hadn't come from him, and the next moment Axis heard the sound again, louder this time.

  Many horses.

  "Armat," he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  On the Road to Serpent's Nest

  Ishbel spiraled down into darkness. She followed the route that the god priests had taken when first they'd torn the soul from the body of the living man and imprisoned it in the bronze statue.

  She followed the trail of pain.

  The pain Ishbel could steel herself against, even though it was frightful--gods, what had the god priests done to this man?--but it was the sense of despair that almost murdered her. This man, whoever he was, had somehow known from a very early age that this was his fate, and that he was destined to be abandoned.

  The sense of abandonment; that was what was so frightful. This man had been abandoned in every sense.

  His parents had turned their backs on him. His brother, also. He'd been sent from his home--Serpent's Nest! He had come from Serpent's Nest!--to this fate, and no one had tried to save him, or had ever thought of him again.

  No one had ever remembered him. He had been lost within the bronze, and no one, no one, had cared.

  Ishbel moaned, and for the longest time it was as if she were trapped again in her parents' house, the rotting bodies of her family about her, and the bleak crowd outside, shouting at her to die, die soon, so that they might burn the house.

  And turn their backs, and forget her.

  Maximilian glanced at StarDrifter, who had shifted uncomfortably, then looked back to Ishbel. She sat cross-legged, the Weeper resting in her lap, her hands resting gently atop it. Her eyes were closed, her head very slightly thrown back, a wisp of her fair hair caught across one cheek. Maximilian wanted to reach out and tuck it behind an ear--it irritated him, that wisp of hair--but he did not want to break Ishbel's concentration.

  She moaned, very softly, and Maximilian tensed. He looked at StarDrifter, who gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  I don't know. I cannot tell.

  Maximilian looked quickly at the rest of the group--everyone had their eyes locked on Ishbel--then looked back to Ishbel.

  There were colors and textures about her now. Initially, Ishbel's journey had been through darkness, but after what had felt like endless pain and despair different emotions and sensations began to trickle in.

  Fright.

  The man had initially been overwhelmed by pain and despair, but he'd managed to conquer them, or at least set them partially to one side. But in doing that, he'd allowed other emotions to beset him.

  Fright.

  Not so much at what was happening to him, but at the thought that he'd not ever be able to endure. He'd believed that he wasn't strong enough, and that he would fail. He'd wept. The god priests had been torturing him, slowly and with infinite pleasure, and the man had wept. Not from the pain or the hatred that surrounded him, but from the thought that he'd not be able to endure.

  He'd been sent to suffer this fate for a reason...it was not happenchance that the god priests had seized him, but someone...someone...His father! His father had sent him.

  "Go and be destroyed," his father had said, "for it will serve my purpose well."

  Ishbel wept.

  His father had been the Lord of Elcho Falling.

  Venetia sat alone in her tent. Like Ishbel she was cross-legged, her head thrown back a little, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid breaths and her pale skin gleamed with perspiration.

  She was in a forest, following Ishbel down, deeper and deeper into the Weeper.

  Into a forest of pain and despair and terror and such aching loneliness that Venetia could hardly bear it.

  Ishbel did not know of it, but Venetia could feel another in that forest, trailing her to one side, all her attention fixed on Ishbel.

  The colors were harsh and textured. They hid shapes, but Ishbel could not determine them. It was as if she were in a maze of sensation, and she could no longer decide which way she should go. The path had been clear, now it was muddled.

  The god priests had left traps.

  Ishbel was starting to sweat now, and was very, very pale. Her hands trembled slightly where they rested on the Weeper.

  I don't like this, Maximilian thought. He wished he could follow Ishbel, but he did not have the knowledge or power to penetrate the Weeper.

  He wished also that he hadn't asked Ishbel to do this. It was so dangerous, and Maximilian very suddenly and very painfully realized how deeply he cared for Ishbel.

  "StarDrifter?" he said.

  StarDrifter shook his head. "This is magic unknown to me, Maxel. I wish...oh stars, I wish I could help, but there is nothing I can do."

  Now Maximilian looked to Garth.

  "I can't touch her," Garth said. "I can't touch her with my hand or my Touch. Anything like that will disturb and distract and likely kill her."

  "Hello, Ishbel," Ravenna said, and stepped through the colors to block Ishbel's path.

  Ishbel stopped dead, forcing herself not to panic and to keep her focus.

  "All I need do," said Ravenna, "is to break your concentration, and you're trapped here. Your soul, that is. The rest of you will die when your heart stops."

  "Let me pass, Ravenna."

  "No. I'm sorry, Ishbel. Under different circumstances I think I may have liked you. But you are so bad for Maxel, and for the land."

  "Ravenna--"

  "You can't
attack me," said Ravenna. "I can see how intently you maintain your concentration just in conversation. You cannot accomplish anything more without losing the faint strands of connection back to your own body."

  "Ravenna, I won't harm Maximilian! All I want is to help--"

  "You mean well, Ishbel. I know you do. I am sorry, but the only way for you to help Maximilian is to die."

  Then Ravenna leapt forward, catching Ishbel about the throat.

  Venetia cried out, "Ravenna!"

  She tried to move faster, move to where she could see the forms of Ishbel and Ravenna struggling deeper within the forest of memory and pain, but, oh, it was so hard to move, so hard, and Venetia struggled to maintain both her determination to reach Ishbel and Ravenna, and her hold on the life force of her body that lay slumped in its tent.

  Ishbel closed her eyes. Ravenna had her by the throat and was strangling her, but Ishbel did nothing to throw off the woman. She focussed her entire being on holding her concentration, on her desperately fragile hold over the links which led back to her body, and on ignoring Ravenna as best she could.

  That was difficult, given that Ravenna was sinking her fingers deeper and deeper into her throat.

  Ishbel? Ishbel jerked, her eyes opening.

  Ishbel? Hold on just a moment, hang on to my voice. Help is coming.

  It was the Weeper, or the soul which inhabited it, and Ishbel clung to the sound of his voice with all her strength. He kept talking, murmuring her name over and over, his voice forming a pathway of light deeper and deeper into the sorceries that bound him.

  Ravenna tightened her grip, strengthening her efforts to either kill Ishbel or force the woman to lose her concentration and her hold on her physical body.

  Then, unbelievably, Ravenna let go, staring over Ishbel's shoulder in amazement.

  Venetia was there, fighting with everything she had to maintain her own concentration.

  "Stop," she said to her daughter. "Are you mad, to so dishonor the marshlands and your mother?"

  Ravenna was, for the moment, so shocked by her mother's appearance that she did nothing.

  "Run," Venetia said to Ishbel. "Run now, and leave me with my daughter."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Central Outlands

  Axis SunSoar. Where the glory now, eh?" Armat lifted a leg over the wither of his horse and slid to the ground.

  All around Axis could hear columns of horsemen moving to surround the wounded Lealfast.

  Armat came to stand directly before Axis, who was still supporting Inardle. Armat looked at her, then back at Axis.

  "They're very pretty, Axis," Armat said, "but what in the world ever made you think they could fight?

  They have shamed you...or...is it that they are but a reflection of your own shameful lack of ability?"

  Axis said nothing.

  Again Armat slid his eyes back to Inardle. "They are pitiful. Pathetic." He moved his eyes about the group. "Georgdi, and Zeboath. Is this all that is left?"

  "You will not catch the others," said Georgdi.

  "Was that a challenge?" Armat said, a smile of what appeared to be genuine amusement on his face. "I

  do not need to catch the others, Georgdi. Not just yet. Looks like there is work for me to do here. Why did you stay?"

  "I would not leave the wounded," said Axis.

  "Ah, he speaks," Armat said. "And so nobly. `I would not leave the wounded.' Just this one, Axis," he nodded at Inardle, "or do you feel emotional toward the entire lot?"

  "They are my responsibility," Axis said.

  "Not for much longer," Armat said, and he lifted a hand to signal to his men.

  "Stop!" said Axis. "For gods' sakes, Armat, these wounded are of no danger to you. They--"

  "They are lying here dying in slow degrees," said Armat. "I am merely being efficient in hurrying them along a little. Even if I were not here, Axis, what could you do to aid them? Zeboath is a good man, but by the gods, even this lot might stretch his capabilities." He lifted his hand again, then brought it down in a swift movement.

  Axis did not so much hear as sense the movement in the dark behind him. He thrust Inardle into Zeboath's arms, then took several steps toward where the mass of Lealfast were lying.

  There were shapes moving through the darkness, bending down to the first ranks of the Lealfast.

  "No!" Axis cried. "For the gods' sakes, stop this--"

  Then there came a great blow to the back of his head, and the darkness consumed him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On the Road to Serpent's Nest

  Ishbel's body jerked, and her hands half raised.

  Dark bruises appeared about her throat.

  Ravenna. Maximilian almost panicked. He knew instantly what it was--Ravenna had managed to follow Ishbel deep into the Weeper--but he had no idea what to do. To touch Ishbel could be catastrophic.

  StarDrifter had started forward, but Garth held him back.

  "Don't touch her," Garth said. "Don't touch her!"

  "Oh gods, Ishbel," Maximilian murmured. He was on one knee before her, one hand partly extended.

  Ishbel...

  Ishbel's breath wheezed in her throat, and then, suddenly, just as Maximilian thought he could not bear it any longer, her entire body relaxed, her breathing grew easy, and the bruises about her throat, although they did not vanish entirely, became far less marked.

  Maximilian's shoulders slumped in relief, and he allowed his hand to rest on Ishbel's knee, knowing instinctively that his touch would no longer disturb her.

  "Maxel," Garth said, his voice tight. "Look at the Weeper."

  It was icing over.

  There was a battle going on behind her, but Ishbel ignored it. Any further distraction and she knew she'd lose her focus.

  She followed the voice, now almost a soft litany in her mind--Ishbel, Ishbel, Ishbel--like a pathway. The sorceries still twisted about her, the pain and despair and terror still battered at her, but the man's voice tolled like a temple bell on a snowy night.

  All she had to do was to concentrate on his voice.

  Then, suddenly, horrifically, death seethed down behind her.

  Maximilian cried out, jerking to one side as Ishbel's face and body spattered with blood.

  In an instant Garth was at his side, one hand grabbing at Maximilian's shoulder. "It isn't her blood, Maxel. It isn't her blood!"

  Maximilian forced himself to look at Ishbel, sure he would see her slack in death, despite what Garth had said.

  But Ishbel wasn't dead. Instead, she wore a faint smile on her face.

  Death surged up behind her, then as suddenly receded, and Ishbel was free. She fled down the path, following the light of the man's voice.

  "Ishbel? You must be able to hear me audibly now. Can you see my hand?"

  "Yes, yes, I can see it. Where is Ravenna?"

  "Too far behind now to catch you."

  "Venetia?"

  "She is dead. I am sorry. Come, take my hand."

  "She saved my life."

  "Yes, she did. Ishbel. Come, come, take my hand."

  Then, suddenly, there it was, and Ishbel reached out and took it in both of hers.

  Everyone in Maximilian's command tent jumped and cried out in surprise as the bronze statue in Ishbel's hands suddenly exploded into thousands of tiny pieces.

  Maximilian grabbed at Ishbel, pulling her head against his shoulder and shielding her face from the flying shards of metal. He closed his own eyes and turned his face aside, hoping everyone inside the tent would escape the flying shrapnel. Several of the shards caught one of his cheeks, causing some minor scratches, but when he opened his eyes again he saw that no one had suffered any serious injuries by the disintegrating bronze statue.

  He blinked, using his free hand to brush some of the debris out of his hair, and looked about, expecting to see...well, someone extra.

  There was no one.

  Very carefully, Maximilian looked at Ishbel. She was breathing easily, bu
t was not conscious. Garth raised an eyebrow at Maximilian, then laid a hand on one of hers at Maximilian's nod.

  "She is all right, Maxel," Garth said. "For the moment she is in a deep sleep--a reaction against where she has been, and the effort it took. My guess is that she will sleep for several hours at least."

  "Thank you," Maximilian said. "Salome, Garth, can you look after her for the moment?"

  Then he rose, and left the tent.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  On the Road to Serpent's Nest

  What have you done?"

  Ravenna turned about as Maximilian entered her tent. "You speak so harshly to me," she said.

  Maximilian barely managed to keep his anger under control. Gods, the nerve of the woman! She stood so pale, her eyes so huge, her hand just so faintly trembling as it hung at her side, and all of it, he knew, was pretense.

  "You tried to kill Ishbel," he said, coming to a halt and trying, largely unsuccessfully, to keep his hands from clenching at his sides.

  "I tried to help you."

  "You--"

  "Maxel, please, listen to me! I know you love Ishbel, but--"

  "Do you have any idea how sick I am of hearing this petty chorus?"

  "You have seen the vision! Do you have any idea of how heartsick I am that you continue to ignore it?"

  Maximilian half turned away, hands now on hips, smothering a curse.

  "Ishbel loves you, but she will murder you, Maxel, and murder Elcho Falling. Nothing shall come of her but sorrow."

  "What must I do to prise you out of my life?" Maximilian said, turning back to Ravenna. "What must I do to--"

  He stopped, staring. His movement in turning back to Ravenna had altered his stance enough that he could now see beyond the chair that stood just behind Ravenna.

  He could see a hand, and a pale arm, outstretched on the carpet.

  He pushed past Ravenna, dropping on one knee beside Venetia.

  Her skin was gray, clammy, and very cool.

  She was dead, her throat torn apart by strong, cruel fingers, and he finally knew from where had come the blood that had spattered over Ishbel.

  Maximilian laid a hand on Venetia's forehead, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stood and looked at Ravenna, the expression on his face making her take a step backward.