The Fortress of Glass coti-1 Read online

  Garric's mind had never left the boundaries of the crystal. A new image formed around him, a series of planting beds like those around this village. Oats grew on the nearest. The grain was still dark green, but it'd reached the height of the adults' chests and must be near its full growth.

  It was late evening, and with their tools in their hands the villagers were moving toward the walkway that led to the walled community. A family-man, woman, and a quartet of children ranging from five to ten years old-had been cultivating the nearest bed. All carried hoes with clamshell blades, but the father had a spear as well.

  Coerli came out of a grove of scale-barked trees, their long, narrow feet kicking up splashes of water. Their jaws were open and probably shrieking something, but Marzan's chant filled Garric's ears like the surf roaring in a heavy storm.

  The youngest child was in the lead. She stopped transfixed and pointed; the hoe fell from her hand. Her mother clouted her on the side of the head and grabbed her wrist, dragging the girl with her along the narrow walkway.

  The two boys and the eldest child, another girl, followed, their light capes flapping like bat wings. The walkway swayed but held, and the people running didn't slip on the wet wood.

  The father ran toward the wider walkway the led from the village to the solid ground where the Coerli had been hiding. He got to it just as the cat men reached the other end. There were five of them, perhaps the same band Marzan had shown Garric in the first scene.

  Terror drew the skin of the father's face taut over the bones. Villagers who'd been in the other planting beds continued running for the stockade; no one tried to help the family whom the Coerli had chosen.

  The human waggled his spear, then hurled it. The leading Corl dodged, then leaped and batted the man into the pond with a swipe of his axe. The motion was swifter and smoother than the spear's wobbling flight.

  As the father fell, the Corl made another great leap along the walkway and snapped out his weighted line. It curled over the heads of the older children to wrap the mother's throat, jerking her backward. Her left arm flailed wildly but her right hurled the little girl away from her and the cat men.

  The child kept her feet and managed to run three steps before the last of the Coerli sprang onto her as the others were trussing the older children. Twisting her arms behind her back, the Corl thrust a thorn through both wrists to pinion them.

  Fog rose to cover the images in the stone's heart. Garric felt a sucking sensation as his mind returned to his own control. His eyes felt gritty, even after he'd blinked several times.

  Marzan slumped. He would've fallen across the topaz if Soma hadn't knelt beside him and reached an arm around his torso for support.

  When Garric was a boy reading Old Kingdom epics, he'd thought wizardry was a matter of waving a wand and watching wonders occur. He'd seen the reality, now, the crushing effort needed to create visions like the ones Marzan had just shown him.

  Garric grinned back at the ghost in his mind. Aye, he thought, the poets didn't give me much feel for how bone weary I'd be after a battle, either.

  Soma held a drinking gourd to the wizard's lips, tilting it slightly as he slurped the contents. He laid his hand on hers; she lowered the gourd and shifted a little in preparation for lifting him to his feet.

  Marzan said something to her, then looked at Garric. He began to speak, not loudly but with hoarse-voiced determination. The only words Garric could understand were his own name and one other: Coerli. He had no context, nor did it help when Marzan gestured or took Garric's hands in his own and raised them.

  At last Marzan gave up. He muttered to Soma, who helped him to one of the couches. He was shivering in reaction to his wizardry. Soma tucked a blanket around him with surprising gentleness.

  Garric stood, working the stiffness out of his legs. The sun was down. The only light in the hut was an oil lamp-a gourd on a hook near the closed door with a twist of fiber for a wick-and the dull red glow of the hearth fire.

  Two terra cotta pots waited at the edge of the hearth; Soma had cooked a meal while Garric was entranced in the topaz. No wonder Marzan was exhausted!

  "Garric," she said and gestured him to her. She sat down, using the hearth as a low table. He joined her, moving carefully. He was tired, not just stiff. It'd been a full day, if he could call it a day…

  Soma broke off a piece of oat cake, dipped it into fish stew from one of the pots, and tried to feed Garric with it. He waved her away and took the remainder of the cake himself to dip. The stew was delicious, and so was the mixture of squash and beans that'd steamed in the other container.

  "I've eaten harness leather," Carus observed wryly, "and thought it was fine."

  Garric smiled and nodded to Soma in appreciation. She handed him a gourd of beer, thin but with a pleasant astringence. It cleared the phlegm from the back of his throat.

  There was something in what Carus said, but thiswas a good meal. Garric had been unjust to the woman, assuming she couldn't cook just because Katchin's wife Feydra couldn't.

  When Garric had finished eating, Soma rose and gestured him toward the other couch. She drew back another thin blanket. He rose, suddenly so tired that he was dizzy, and thankfully walked to the couch. It was covered with a pad of fine wicker rather than a stuffed mattress; it gave pleasantly when he sat down on the edge.

  Soma sat beside him and reached between his legs.

  "No," Garric said, jumping to his feet again. He made a wiping motion in the air as he'd done when he refused to let her feed him.

  Soma tugged at his only garment, the cape he'd borrowed when he met Scarface and his band. The loose knot opened at the pull, but Garric snatched it out of her hand. "No!" he repeated forcefully as he backed away.

  Soma stood and lifted her tunic over her head. Garric turned and scrambled out the hut, closing the door behind him. He heard an angry shout; then something hit the panel from the inside.

  There were many reasons Garric wasn't interested in Soma's offer. The fact that Marzan was his best chance of returning to his own friends was only a minor one.

  It was raining again. Well, that wasn't a surprise. No lights showed in the village and the sky was black. Garric thought of stumbling to Wandalo's compound next door, but nothing he'd seen when he'd arrived here suggested the chief would be a friend. Perhaps in the morning he could find Scarface.

  For now, though… Garric crawled under Marzan's hut. The clay was damp, but at least there wasn't standing water. Yet, of course.

  As Garric turned, trying to find the least uncomfortable position, he heard a whine. A dog snuffled him, then licked his hand and curled up next to him. Back to back with the warm furry body, Garric slept.

  He'd been in worse places.

  ***

  King Cervoran turned toward Cashel. It was his first action since he threw the lantern. He moved with the deliberation of something much larger: a tree falling or the ice covering the mill's roof slipping thunderously when the winter sun warmed the black slates beneath it.

  "Where is the diadem?" he asked in his odd, thin voice. "Where is the topaz?"

  "You mean the crown?" Cashel said. "Lady Liane took it after Garric, well, Garric disappeared. I guess it's in the room we were in when you came and fetched me."

  Without speaking further Cervoran started across the courtyard. The mess was worse than in Fall when sheep were slaughtered so there was enough fodder to winter the rest of the flock. There was blood and frightened bleats then too, but it was sheep, not men.

  The oil flames had died, but the remains of the hellplant still smoldered; the air was hazy and rank. Green vegetation always stank when you burned it, but it seemed to Cashel that it wasn't just memory of what the thing was that made this worse'n usual.

  Sharina was talking to Waldron and Attaper. Well, they were both talking at her, loudly and not paying attention to what each other said. Cashel started to go to her-but she was all right, he knew that. He wanted to go back into the pantry and fe
tch his quarterstaff, but that could wait too.

  He knew in his heart what he ought to do, so he did it even though it was about the last thing he'd 've done for choice: he went after Cervoran, catching up with him in two quick strides and using the spear shaft to tap folks and make a passage. Anybody who saw Cervoran got out of the way, but in the noisy confusion people weren't paying attention to much outside their own frightened imaginations just now.

  It wouldn't do to have the wizard trampled and maybe even killed. He'd been the only one who knew what to do when the plant attacked, and the fact he'd known what to do even before it happened was important too.

  There were guards-again-at the door to the conference room, but they stepped out of the way with obvious relief when they saw Cashel. They'd have felt they had to stop Cervoran, and they really didn't want anything to do with a corpse. Maybe Cervoran'd just had a fit, but even now helooked dead.

  "Good to see you, milord," said the officer, a man Cashel didn't know. "I didn't see how we were going to handle that thing till you took care of it."

  "It was really King Cervoran here," Cashel said, but he opened the door and followed Cervoran into the room without trying to convince the soldiers. They'd believe what they wanted to believe, and theydidn't want to believe a walking corpse had saved their lives.

  Liane and civilians travelling with Garric were busy inside. Lord Tadai stood in the middle of a whole handful of clerks from his department. Several of Liane's assistants were waiting for a word too, but she was in a corner of the room talking to a fellow who was dressed like a servant here in the palace. He was a lotsolider to look at than you generally saw carrying trays and announcing guests.

  Liane had spies all over the Isles; this man must be another of them. The fact that she was talking with him right out in the open probably didn't please either her or the spy, but at a time like this you might have to do lots of things you weren't happy about.

  Everybody looked up when the door opened. They kept on looking when they saw who it was who'd come in.

  "Give me the topaz," Cervoran said. His eyes weren't really focused on anybody, but Cashel had the funny feeling that he saw everybody around him. "Give me the jewel Bass One-Thumb took from the amber sarcophagus. It is necessary."

  "He wants the crown, ah, Liane," Cashel said in the immediate silence. "Ma'am, he was the one who knew to burn that creature outside."

  "It is necessary," Cervoran repeated. His voice hurt to listen to, though it wasn't loud or anything. Cashel wondered if the king had always sounded like that.

  "Where do you propose to take the diadem?" Liane said. She sounded calm, but her fingers were hidden in a fold of her sash where Cashel knew she carried a little knife.

  "What does it matter where this flesh is?" Cervoran said with obvious contempt. "I will use it here if you like. It is necessary."

  "Yes, that will do," Liane said, her expression unchanged. She nodded to the assistant sitting with a velvet-wrapped bundle on his lap.

  That fellow hopped to his feet and offered the package to her. "Give it to Lord Cervoran," she said sharply. She was generally polite as could be, but it seemed the things going on were affecting her too.

  The clerk twitched. Cashel stepped forward, took the bundle, and handed it to Cervoran. The velvet dropped to the floor; Cervoran stared at the yellow stone as if he was trying to see through it to the veins of the rocks beneath the palace.

  "Milady?" said the assistant timidly. "Does hehave to be here?"

  "Be silent!" Liane snapped.

  Cervoran looked up. "Are you afraid, fool?" he said. His swollen lips spread in a minute grin. "Shall I tell you how you will die?"

  The assistant's face went white. He opened his mouth to speak, then toppled forward in a dead faint. Cashel caught him and carried him back to the couch where he'd been sitting.

  That was the first really human thing he'd seen Cervoran do since he walked off the pyre. It was a nasty thing to do to the poor clerk, but it was human.

  When Cashel turned, Cervoran was looking at the stone again and standing like a wax statue. Tadai and his clerks talked in muted voices, and the spy was whispering to Liane. Nobody was paying Cashel any attention, maybe because he was standing close to Cervoran who nobody wanted to notice.

  "Well, I'll go…," Cashel said. "Ah, outside."

  Liane nodded as Cashel stepped into the courtyard again, but nobody said anything. He was used to being ignored, of course, though this was a different business from what'd happened in the borough because he was a poor orphan. Everybody here was afraid, and they were afraid to learn anything that they didn't already know.

  The bustle around the hellplant was getting organized now. Lord Waldron was giving orders while Sharina looked on at his side and Tenoctris bent over the smoking remains. Ilna was helping the old wizard, prodding layers of sodden greenery apart with the blade of her paring knife.

  Cashel would've gone to join them, but his eye caught Prince Protas standing forlornly to the side. The boy's face was formally calm, but he looked awfully lonely. Cashel walked over to him.

  "Lord Cashel!" Protas said, suddenly a frightened boy again in his enthusiasm. "Oh, sir, I heard you defeated the monster!"

  "Your father knew to burn it," Cashel said. "I just carried the jar. I'll grant it was a big jar."

  He spoke quietly, but he knew he sounded proud. He had a right to be proud, but it was true the real credit went to Cervoran.

  Though Cashel wasn't completely sure "your father" was quite the right thing to call him now.

  "Where did the monster come from, milor-" Protas said. He caught himself and finished, "Cashel, I mean."

  Cashel grinned. "I don't know," he said, "but I'll bet if we follow that-"

  He pointed the spear shaft toward the hole in the courtyard wall. He wasn't much of a woodsman-picking squirrels off a branch with a hard-flung stone was about as much hunting as he did-but the hellplant's root-like legs had left a track of slime on the ground behind them. It smelled of salt and sour vegetable matter.

  "-we can learn for ourselves. You want to come?"

  "With you?" said the boy. "Yessir!"

  He sobered and said, "My tutor hid in a clothes chest when he looked out of the window and saw the thing here in the courtyard. When he comes out, he'll want me to get back to my mathematics lesson."

  Cashel thought for a moment. He cleared his throat.

  "I guess mathematics is important to know," he said. He wasn't sure exactly what mathematics was, though he thought it meant counting without having to drop dried beans in a sack. That was how Cashel did it when the number got more than his fingers. "But I think this afternoon you can miss a lesson without it being too bad. What with, you know, the trouble that happened."

  Cashel looked at the spear shaft waggling in his hand while he thought. "But before we do that," he added, "let's get my quarterstaff back. Just in case."

  He and the boy went into the west wing of the palace, through the kitchens and the crowd of clerks and servants chattering there. Protas looked around with real interest. Cashel couldn't understand why till the boy said, "I've never been here before, you know. Is this where the food comes from?"

  "I guess it is," Cashel agreed. "It's fancier than I'm used to."

  It must be funny to be a prince. When you're just a boy, anyway. Garric seemed to be taking to it fine but he had his growth. Though Garric as a boy would probably have gotten out more than Protas seemed to've done.

  Two servants were in the pantry. The woman looked down into the cellars through the open trapdoor, but the man had picked up the quarterstaff and was turning it in his hands.

  "I'll take that!" Cashel said, tossing the spear away. He hadn't meant to've shouted but he wasn't sorry that he had. The woman shrieked like she'd been stabbed; the dropped the quarterstaff and turned so quick that he got his feet tangled.

  Cashel stepped forward, grabbing the hickory with his right hand and the servant's arm with his
left. The fellow screamed near as bad as the woman had. Cashel guessed he'd gripped as hard with one hand as the other, so there'd be bruises on the man's biceps in the morning. That wouldn't be near as bad as what he'd have gotten by toppling headfirst into the cellars the way he'd started to do, though.

  "What were you doing with Lord Cashel's property, sirrah?" Protas said. His voice sounded a lot like King Cervoran's, though the boy being twelve was at least some of the reason.

  "What?" said the servant, blinking as he realized it was the prince speaking. "May the Shepherd save me, I didn't mean-I mean we saw it and didn't know-that is-"

  "It's all right," Cashel said, stroking his staff's smooth, familiar surface. The poor fellow was getting hit from all sides, it must seem like to him. "You ought to close that cellar door before somebody breaks his neck, though."

  He led Protas back out through the kitchen. The folks there had been looking at the pantry and whispering. One woman got down on her knees and said, "May the Lady bless you, your lordship, for saving us from that terrible monster!"

  "Ma'am, I just carried the jar," Cashel muttered. Goodness, she was trying to grab the hem of his tunic! He pulled away, striding out much quicker than he normally chose to do. The boy kept up, but he had to run to do it.

  The sun was getting low in the sky, but it was still an hour short of sundown. They skirted the soldiers, who probably had a job here in the courtyard; and the civilians, who were mostly just gawking.

  As they neared where the back gate had been a voice behind them called, "Your highness? Prince Protas?"

  Cashel turned; Lord Martous was bearing down on them from the other wing of the palace. "He's with me, sir!" Cashel said loudly.

  To his surprise, the chamberlain bowed low and backed away. Cashel muttered to the boy, "I thought he'd tell me you had to go off with him anyhow."

  "Oh, no, Cashel," Protas said in amazement. "Why, I'll bet even Prince Garric would have to do what you said if you told him something."

  "I don't guess he would," Cashel said, blushing in embarrassment. "Anyway, I wouldn't do anything like that!"