Her face was floating just above me. And another thing . . . And another thing . . .

"Shut up," I growled in my delirium, and I shoved the frozen meat-and-bone thing called my fist through her face. It punched through the snow overhead . . .

. . . and touched nothing.

I couldn't believe it. My flesh was so numb, my mind so frozen, that it took a few moments for the significance of what I wasn't feeling to set in. The surface. The surface was just above me.

There was still no sensation in my legs, and yet somehow I managed to muster enough strength to push my way up and through the snow. It was like being born again as my head crunched through the h.o.a.ry crust, and I gasped in great lungsful of air. I struggled like mad, throwing aside caution, pushing and shoving and clawing the rest of the way until I had pulled myself completely clear.

I looked up. The edge of the cliff we'd gone over looked hideously high. I couldn't believe I'd survived the fall.

Then I saw that the snow around me had a large area of red on it, and I wondered about the source of that until I touched my forehead and saw my hand come away stained with a dark red. The snow had actually benefited me as the chill had slowed the blood loss. Still, I felt dizzy, the world beginning to spin around me.

Then I saw her hand.

It was sticking out of the snow not three feet away.

She's not worth it, came Sharee's warning unbidden to me, but I ignored it and lunged for Entipy. I grabbed the hand; it felt frozen solid. For one moment I was actually worried that it might snap off the wrist. "Entipy! I'm up here! Don't you die on me! Don't do it!" I shouted, knowing that I might already be addressing a corpse. I had set my staff on the ground next to me and shoved aside the snow as frantically as I could. The towering mountains looked down upon us, uncaring of whether we lived or died. came Sharee's warning unbidden to me, but I ignored it and lunged for Entipy. I grabbed the hand; it felt frozen solid. For one moment I was actually worried that it might snap off the wrist. "Entipy! I'm up here! Don't you die on me! Don't do it!" I shouted, knowing that I might already be addressing a corpse. I had set my staff on the ground next to me and shoved aside the snow as frantically as I could. The towering mountains looked down upon us, uncaring of whether we lived or died.

I kept calling her name, trying to let her know that I was there, trying to get some sort of response out of her. She was giving me absolutely no help. If she wasn't dead, she was most certainly unconscious. Fortunately, the one benefit I had was that my arms were strong, almost tireless, especially with the goal so close. It took me seconds to clear away enough snow to expose her head and shoulders and then pull her clear of her snowy entombment.

Her eyes were closed, her face and clothes covered with frost, her skin slightly blue. She looked terrible, and I can only imagine how I must have looked. I shook her violently, trying to bring her to wakefulness. Nothing. I put my head to her chest, tried to hear some sign of a heartbeat. I thought I detected something faintly, but couldn't be sure. What I knew beyond question, though, was that she wasn't breathing.

"Breathe! Breathe!" I shouted at her. She didn't respond. I shook her again. Still nothing. I did the only thing I could think of: I opened her mouth, brought my lips down upon hers, and blew into her mouth. Her lips were frozen solid; it was like sucking on ice. I tried to keep my breath slow and steady, tried to simulate normal breathing. Her chest rose up and down, but not on its own. I kept going, despair clutching me and chilling me as thoroughly as the snow had. I lost track of how long I breathed into her mouth. I lost track of time . . . of myself . . . of everything . . . the world was swirling around me, and I fought desperately to hang on, to push back the blackness.

And I failed. Failed as I had at so many things in my life.

I slumped forward onto her body, unable to keep my mind functioning anymore. My head lay on her chest . . .

. . . and rose slightly . . .

. . . and settled down slightly . . . and rose again . . .

She was breathing.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h, I thought, right before I pa.s.sed out. I thought, right before I pa.s.sed out.

Chapter 22.

I awoke slowly and painfully to find myself on the floor of a surprisingly warm cave. awoke slowly and painfully to find myself on the floor of a surprisingly warm cave.

As caves went, it was quite sizable. Not only that, but it was clear that someone had gone to a good deal of effort to transform it from a simple shelter into something that was actually rather homey. Several torches were mounted on the walls, the flames flickering pleasantly and providing both light and warmth.

I was lying on what appeared to be a bed of hay. Someone had lined the floors as well. I glanced to my right and saw the princess lying a short distance away. A similar layer of hay had been laid down for her as well, and she appeared to be resting comfortably.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw someone, or some thing, huddling just beyond the glow of light that the torches were giving off. He (if it was a he) was crouched over in a corner, and he appeared to be watching me. I sat up slowly, feeling the creaking in my joints, and blinked against the dimness. "Who's there?" I called.

The figure in the darkness slowly stood. Actually, he didn't stand so much as he seemed to uncoil. He took a step forward, then a second, and emerged into the pool of light.

My breath caught in my throat.

Tacit glowered at me with his one good eye.

I let out an ear-piercing scream and jolted, waking from a horrible dream. Except when I looked around I was saddened to discover that I had not, in fact, awoken, because I was not dreaming. The cave, the torches, the bed of hay, and Tacit were all still there, and my shriek of alarm was just starting to fade in its echo. Tacit said nothing, but simply t.i.tled his head slightly as he stared at me. I looked to the princess. She stirred slightly but otherwise continued to slumber.

My sword was to my right. My staff was to my left. He'd left both of my weapons within easy grabbing distance. But Tacit was not the type who was sloppy or forgetful; if he'd done that, it was because he didn't care whether I reached them or not. That showed a remarkable degree of confidence. Would that I had possessed some.

Still he did not speak. I said nothing either. I was actually somewhat curious, even as my heart hammered against my chest, who would break the silence first.

Tacit did so.

"How could you?" he asked.

Except I didn't quite understand him. It came more along the lines of, "Howcudoo." I frowned and said, "What?"

He rolled his eye slightly, the other obscured by the patch, and when he spoke again he did so very meticulously, moving his tongue slowly over each syllable, repeating the question.

"How could I what?"

Tacit shook his head, as if astounded that I would even have to ask. In retrospect, I suppose it was pretty obvious. He was asking how I could possibly have betrayed him the way that I had. In fact, it was so obvious that he apparently didn't feel the need to repeat the question, probably going on the a.s.sumption that he wouldn't get a straight answer out of me.

Now that I saw him closer, I could make out the residual damage from our last encounter months ago. There was a fearsome scar where I had laid open his forehead. It had healed, but irregularly, almost zigzag. There was some disfigurement to his nose as well, and his jaw seemed a bit askew. I could see where the teeth were missing on the side. When he spoke, not only did he have to fight to make his words clear, but there was a faint whistling sound through the s.p.a.ce. His hair was wild and matted, his beard scraggly. He didn't look remotely heroic.

He looked insane.

"I had to reset my jaw on my own," he said as casually as if we were sitting at a table in a pub knocking back drinks and he was looking back on a portion of his life that had provided him some mild inconvenience. "You did quite a thorough job, Po." He paused and then said again, "How could you?"

I tried to find an answer. After all this time, I felt I owed him one. Nothing came to mind, and finally I shrugged and said, "I had to."

He nodded. In a bizarre way, it seemed to be an answer that made sense to him. "We all do what we have to," he said philosophically. "We cannot help ourselves. Just as now: I'm going to have to kill you, Po. Nothing else for it. Hope you understand. No offense."

"None taken," I said hollowly. I paused and then said, "Are . . . you going to do it now?"

"Oh, no!" he said with astonishment, as if the very idea was unthinkable. "No, why would I do that? While Entipy is unconscious? No, Po. No . . . first we have to wait until she wakes up. Then you have to grovel. That's very important. She has to see you grovel."

"Why does she have to do that?"

"Because she's fallen in love with you by now. Am I right? You can tell me; I won't get upset."

"Won't get upset?" I yelped. "You just got through telling me you're going to kill me!"

Tacit came toward me and knelt a few feet away. He focused his one eye on me, and when he spoke-again, carefully caressing each word-it was as if something had died in his throat. "Yes. I am going to kill you. But there's no upset over that. There was at first. I would like to tell you that, as a true hero, I rose above such petty concerns as anger . . . or revenge. I would have liked to, truly. But I did not. When you ambushed me, left me lying there . . . then I wanted to kill you with a pa.s.sion hotter than a thousand suns."

"That's . . . very hot," I said, not knowing how else to respond.

"Then when I had to reset my jaw, when I felt that agony that lanced through my skull as if it had been cut in half, it just inflamed my fury all the more. A thousand suns? Say a hundred thousand and you'd be closer to the mark. But you know what, Po?"

"No. What."

"It is most difficult to maintain that level of intensity of hatred. Not when you're expending energy to try and survive at the same time. One has to pick and choose. To decide where one's priorities are going to be. And I had to set my priorities on healing . . . on surviving . . . on hoping that somehow, in some way, we would meet up again. Following you wasn't difficult. The phoenix was newly hatched; as a result, he left a small fire trail behind him when he flew. It singed the tops of trees. Left a trail of burnt wood that most others could not have followed. But I could. You know what I'm capable of, don't you, Apropos."

I nodded. Strength had surged back into my limbs, possibly a giddy rush of energy coming from the fact that I was still alive. But I made no motion. What motion could I make, after all? I was on his terrain, under his control.

"Actually, I might not have been able to survive at all . . . had I not met my friend."

"Friend?"

He puckered his lips, putting his front teeth against his lower lip, and blew a sharp whistle of a note. I heard a faint clip-clop approaching, and braced myself for another onslaught by unicorns. And then a large, equine shape glided into the cavern. I could scarce believe what I was seeing.

"t.i.tan!" I said in astonishment. For indeed it was; G.o.ds knew that I had combed down that coat so many times, I could likely have recognized the steed of the late Sir Umbrage even if I were blindfolded. I could see scar tissue on the horse's magnificent coat, but otherwise it appeared unharmed.

Tacit looked mildly surprised, but only mildly. "So . . . Ulysses, as I called you . . . or t.i.tan, as you were formerly known . . ." He looked at the horse. "It appears that you did, indeed, recognize him at that. Take a long look at him, Apropos. This n.o.ble beast may well be the only creature in the world, walking on two legs or four, who feels any loyalty to you whatsoever."

"But . . . this is impossible . . ."

"I found the mighty beast after the caravan transporting my beloved Entipy had been a.s.sailed by the Harpers Bizarre. Oh, yes, Apropos," and he smiled at my obvious confused surprise. "Between the scents, the broken branches, the bodies . . . I was more than capable of figuring out what had happened. Ulys-my apologies-t.i.tan . . . had been gravely wounded. I took it upon myself to attend to the horse, to nurse it back to health. Thanks to the burn trail, I knew which direction you had gone in . . . at least in general terms. t.i.tan was too magnificent a creature to leave to the untender mercies of the forest. So I aided him."

As if knowing that he was the topic of discussion, t.i.tan let out a little whinny and bobbed his head up and down.

Entipy was starting to stir. I heard a low moan from her. Tacit cast a glance toward her before turning his focus back to me.

"We came as far in this direction as we could before the winter set in. Unfortunately we traveled somewhat slower than you. After all, we did not have a phoenix upon which to ride . . . thanks to the intervention of my erstwhile friend, Apropos. We took refuge here, and it is here that we have been residing for some time now. All this time I have been hoping, praying that somehow I would catch up with you, Po. And then . . . then . . ." and he sighed softly, blissfully. "I smelled the lilacs. I smelled the unicorns. My olfactory senses are not what they once were; the damage done to my face by my good friend, Apropos, attended to that. But even though I was not what I once was, I knew a herd had come to the area. I was going to go to them, find a way to them . . . when I sensed that they were disturbed. The next thing I knew, there was an avalanche, cutting off the mountain pa.s.ses that would have enabled me to join them. I cursed my fates once again, as I have a great deal recently. And then . . . then t.i.tan here seemed to scent something. He insisted on going out into the snow, in searching out something that he was sure was there. And he was right. He found you, Po. Nor did he protest in the slightest at the additional weight when I loaded both you and Entipy onto his back so that you could be brought here. His loyalty to you knows no bounds. That sort of loyalty is very touching, don't you think? And so rare . . . so rare . . ."

"Your jaw must be exhausted, considering you're using it so much," I said. I was beginning to tire of the snide remarks, the backhanded insults. "If you're going to kill me, then be done with it."

"I told you . . . she has to witness it. She has to understand, to know, to . . ."

Entipy was sitting up, her eyes bleary, her att.i.tude confused. She was trying to make out the interior of the cave, and was looking directly away from us. "Apropos . . . ?" she called out in a gravelly voice.

"He's right here, my beautiful girl."

Naturally she knew his voice in a heartbeat, as she looked at him and gasped. "Tacit!"

"The one and the same. My beautiful girl, I'm here for you, as I said-"

He reached for her . . . and she flinched back. She squinted at him in the darkness.

"You look terrible," she said.

"I have . . . looked better, I admit," he said. "But-"

"What did you say? It sounded like, 'I have . . . look becker, dammit.' "

My heart was leaping with delirious joy as inwardly I chortled at Tacit's discomfiture and frustration. Entipy was not reaching out and falling into the arms of her long-lost hero. Instead she was looking at him like a squashed bug, and with about as much affection. She seemed confused as to why he should even be here, as if . . . as if his time was already past. This was just getting better and better, provided I could survive it.

Tacit displayed a momentary flare of impatience, but he quickly stifled it. Instead he went back to speaking very slowly, very carefully, and once he'd repeated the first sentence, continued-just as precisely-"Entipy . . . I know that you are someone who has always been capable of seeing beyond the surface. When you first met me, you were able to see through the exterior of a young cutpurse . . . and your belief gave me the strength to pursue my heroic undertakings. You have been my strength, my support, my-"

As if she hadn't heard a word, she commented, "No, you don't understand, you really really look look terrible. terrible. You're not handsome at all anymore. You're disfigured, you're unkempt." You're not handsome at all anymore. You're disfigured, you're unkempt."

"It's what is inside that-"

"And you smell ghastly . . . ."

"What would you have me do?! Bathe in snow?!" he shouted. "It's been freezing! I could barely find enough fresh water to drink, much less-"

"Don't yell at me. I'm a princess. You've no right to yell at me."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, steadying himself. It was all I could do not to laugh out loud as I watched. "You're right. But you have to understand . . . everything I've done of any note has been for you. For you, I accomplished the three tasks of the Elder Giant. For you, I sought the Ring of Poseidon, which enabled me to command the loyalties of the Naiad . . . which wound up saving me from certain death when the Harpers Bizarre sent me hurtling into-"

"That's all very nice," Entipy shot back, "but in the meantime, while you were off gallivanting from one epic task to the next, I was being made a personal slave of the Faith Women, and then I was attacked by the Harpers, and then I wound up cleaning tables in a tavern in the Outer Lawless regions. Did you think I enjoyed being up to my a.s.s in menial tasks while you were out adventuring? If it weren't for Apropos . . ."

"If it weren't for Apropos?!" He looked on the verge of having a seizure. "Entipy . . . they've written songs about me! Epic poems! You compare me to him? What have they written about him to celebrate his 'great deeds,' eh?"

I leaned forward and offered, "I heard one of the squires came up with a couple of obscene limericks . . . ."

"Shut up!" he snapped at me. "It was a rhetorical question! Entipy, you would turn your attentions, your loyalties, to him? Him! Virtually all of the troubles you've encountered were because of his actions!"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

I braced myself, not daring to interrupt considering that Tacit looked ready to take my head off if I said another word. Tacit proceeded to tell her everything. How his epic journey and series of adventures had led him to the birthing place of the phoenix. How he had witnessed the creature's death and rebirth. How he had been about to reach the culmination of his personal crusade . . . only to be blindsided by the wretched and scheming Apropos. How his phoenix had been absconded with while he'd been left to suffer owing to the unworthy and cowardly attack.

In short, he told the truth.

Entipy took it all in, listening without interruption, nodding in places. When Tacit finally stopped speaking, she did not answer immediately. She turned to look at me . . . and then back at him. Her face was unreadable.

"Tacit," she said softly.

"Yes, my love."

"That is, without question," and her voice hardened, oozing with contempt, "the most appalling set of fabrications I have ever heard."

"F-fabrications . . . ?" He could barely believe she was saying it. No, not barely. He really couldn't believe it.

"How dare you," she continued. "How dare you try to foist off blame for your own shortcomings upon Apropos . . ."

"Shortcomings! Foist off blame!" He seemed to have lost the ability to do anything other than repeat what she had already said.

"Here Apropos was resourceful enough to find the phoenix after you had clearly failed . . . and then he risked himself to come back and rescue me, and watch out for me all these months . . . and now you have the temerity to sit there and tell me that this brave squire-"

Oh G.o.ds, I did it. I actually pulled it off.

"-that this brave squire mounted some sort of sneak attack on you, just for the purpose of stealing your glory!"