He has ensorceled you. I know the spell well. Here is the counter.

She cried out, for it felt as if someone had thrown acid on her. She felt a terrible tearing, as if her limbs were being rent from their sockets.

"No!" Guazu screamed. "Who would dare . . . !"

But the spell had been ripped asunder. Krystren had regained her senses, she knew what he had done to her, how he had almost sucked her dry. She bent her neck and bit down hard on the hand that was still around her neck. She caught the tender triangle that ran between thumb and forefinger, and she clashed her teeth together through skin and flesh.

Then it was his turn to try and twist away, but she held him fast with her teeth. She used her mind to worm her way between his defenses. The sorcery was new to him, and powerful as he was, there were still great gaps in his knowledge and, thankfully, his ability.

"Silensia!" she hissed.

She wrapped her silence around him so that when he opened his mouth to scream nothing-not even the tiniest squeak-emerged. She had weapons on her, of course, but she had no need of them. Using the wedge of her fingers, she punctured the soft spot just beneath the left side of his rib cage. Hot blood flowed, and his thrashing became so frenzied that he tore his hand free. He went for her eyes first, as she knew he would, and she ducked her head away. At the same time, the wedge of her fingers drove deep into him, rising until she gripped his living heart.

She squeezed with all her might.

Minnum felt the life being literally squeezed out of the Sarakkon. It was like a dim shaft of moonlight over the hills and far away. Here, inside him, he was bathed in the sunlight given off by Krystren. There was something about her fierceness that moved him, that sent part of him spinning away like a skate blade on ice. He had saved her life as she had saved his, and his elation knew no bounds. At the sight ofher, pink with her enemy's entrails, he felt that he could do anything now, that defeating even Varda was within his power.

He saw her turn at his approach. He had been silent, but she had become aware of him. He saw the smile begin to form on her face, and his heart leapt. There was a connection between them, the intimate bond of life and death, of time condensed, for when you were in battle an hour encompa.s.sed a lifetime.

The last of the sunlight fluttered across her face, then winked out as dark clouds formed overhead, but the moment remained in his memory. The glitter of the sea in her eyes, her full lips turned slightly up at their corners, stray wisps of her dark brown hair floating about her face like a corona. The spark of her tattoos, as if they were responding to his feelings.

He was coming toward her, and his heart felt as if it was bursting. There was a moment that seemed to last a lifetime when he thought that the only thing he asked of life was a kiss from her.

Her arm reached out. Was it his hand she wanted to hold? Oh, if only it were sol But now her smile was gone. She shouted, and a bolt of energy he could feel but could not see shot from her outflung fingers, pa.s.sing beyond his right shoulder.

He was turning when the pain struck him in the back. His eyes opened wide, he emitted a tiny, weak cry, and his spine seemed to shatter. On his knees, his head twisted around, and he saw Varda, tall and cadaverously thin, black-robed, black-haired. His skin had the greenish patina of old copper. This strange hue made his necromantic eye all the more apparent. And then to his horror, Minnum saw a ripple run through Varda's robe, an hallucinatory shimmering like the horizon in the desert. The robe shone like liquid metal, and then as Varda moved, he could see that it was made not of cloth but of a host of warrior-beetles.

The ice-white orb blazed, and Minnum felt an unimaginable agony. His spine was shattering-tiny shards of bone impaling themselves in the surrounding muscles and soft tissue, minuscule scalpels severing nerve connections, pinging like the plucked strings of bent longbows. At the same time, he was aware of Krystren's psychic energy attacking Varda, making him back up a pace with its ferocity.

But then Varda, regaining his balance, threw his arms open wide and his robe fell apart as squads of voracious warrior-beetles scuttled toward her at his command.

"No!" Minnum cried, and tried to get up, but too many nerves had already been shattered and all he was able to manage was to fall into their path. He still had use of his fists, and he used them as hammers, crushing the clicking insects. Their bites and stings were as nothing compared to the agony that racked him. Though they tore at his flesh with their pincers and their mouths, he ground scores of them into a viscous mulch even as more crawled over him. He flopped over on his back, crushing hundreds more.

They spread their translucent wings, then, and took to the air, flying at Krystren in a dark, buzzing curtain.

She stood her ground, but was obliged to turn from attacking Varda to defending herself against them.

As a consequence, the archon resumed his attack on Minnum. But the respite that she had provided, though brief, was telling. Minnum ignored the blood dripping from a thousand wounds, forgot about his degenerating nerves. He used every spell at his command, casting them in bunches at his nemesis.

Though Varda had caused his body to fail, his mind was sharper than it had ever been. He felt a pulse deep inside him, a desire, a need to do whatever he could to keep the warrior-beetles from eating Krystren alive.

He was unaware, if Krystren wasn't, that the Eye of Ajbal, which had been heading toward the Abbey of Five Pivots, was now adrift as Varda's attention focused on defending himself against Minnum's flurry of spells.

Minnum could see that no single spell alone was powerful enough to penetrate the archon's defensive perimeter. But it was conceivable that if he kept up the barrage he could wear down the perimeter to a point where a spell could make it through.

Behind him, he was dimly aware of Krystren holding the swarm of warrior-beetles in stasis. But it was obviously a temporary achievement. Already, here and there, a warrior-beetle broke free to sting or bite.

They were trying to concentrate on her face and neck, where she was most vulnerable.

He redoubled his efforts and was gratified to see Varda's defensive perimeter shrinking. He could sense that the archon was obliged to use more and more energy simply to defend himself. He seemedtaken aback by the breadth of Minnum's sorcerous ability as well as the depths of the little sauromician's determination. Minnum used this advantage to continue the ferocity of the attack, but now he had run through the entire gamut of spells, and Varda was becoming familiar with their workings. He started to pick them apart, one by one.

Minnum, realizing that sorcery alone would not win the day, began to crawl through the stinking mire of ground-up warrior-beetle corpses. On hands and knees he dragged himself toward where the archon stood, spread-legged, grimacing with the effort.

The archon's defensive perimeter was so compromised that it would have been a simple matter for Minnum to stand on his feet and, had he a weapon, to bury it in Varda's narrow chest. The trouble was he could no longer stand. Worse, the energy he was expending was rapidly sapping his reserves. He had very little else to give.

But then he felt a thread running through him, ten, then a score, making repairs in his torn nerves. It was Krystren coming to his rescue again. He almost wept with joy. Riding the confidence she had in him, he slowly and painfully rose to his feet and, swaying, lunged for Varda's vulnerable black sixth finger. But even as he caught hold of it he felt another burst of agony as another section of his spine exploded.

He gasped and fell to his knees. He would not let go of the abominable finger, and with his last ounce of strength he began to bend it backward. Varda kicked him over so that he lay on his back. The finger was still in Minnum's grip, Varda's arm twisted horribly. He would never let it go, never, until it was broken off and Varda lay dead at his feet.

Without thought to the pain he must be in, Varda jammed his slippered boot on Minnum's throat and, gritting his teeth, pressed down hard. Minnum, with his last defensive spell, stopped the boot from crushing his windpipe. He was almost done. He needed to make one last effort, but breaking off the finger was by then beyond him. He steeled himself to make one more expenditure of the little he had left.

He could do it. He thought of Krystren, imagined her there beside him, smiling down at him, her lips coming down over his, the press of her cool lips . . .

One more effort, and he chose it wisely.

Krystren, finally free of the warrior-beetle swarm, saw the two sau-romicians struggling on the ground.

She saw the black sixth finger in Minnum's grip. She knew how badly he was hurt-the extent of the damage apparent to her the moment she inserted her healing threads into him. She had almost cried out, then, unable to understand how he was managing to continue the attack. She knew many Sarakkon who would already be dead by now if they had sustained his injuries.

While the warrior-beetles burned in the sorcerous fire she had conjured up, she channeled all her mental energy in an attempt to give Minnum strength where he needed it most-his hands. She saw Varda's finger being bent farther back.

Then the archon kicked Minnum savagely in the side of the head. Varda turned to her, and she gasped at the power of his mind. He had a lock on her throat, an invisible hand choking her. But at that moment she heard a sound, like a dry rustle, a death rattle. He looked up and his grip on her weakened.

By the time she freed herself completely, he had vanished among the trees. She ran to where Minnum lay in a twisted heap. She looked up briefly, saw what Varda had seen: the Eye of Ajbal was growing dark.

Like a flower starved of water, its edges were curling inward toward the center.

Giyan! she thought, even as she knelt beside the little sauromician. She was extending her healing threads into him, as many as she could- more than she had ever done before-and they were making their repairs. But it was not enough. For every nerve they knit, four others turned necrotic. Her heart grew heavy. There wasn't any more she could do, save to safeguard his body from being disemboweled by Varda, used for the archon's necromancy. Despite these mournful thoughts, she managed to smile when his eyes opened.

For a moment, Minnum was lost in a cosmos of pain. Then, as she cradled his head in her lap, his eyes slowly cleared, came into focus. His lips formed into words she could not hear, and she was obligedto bend over, to put her ear so close to his half-open mouth she could smell his death.

"You . . . you are all right." His whispered voice lacked both tone and timbre.

"Yes," she said, very close to him. "Thanks to you."

He smiled. His breathing was shallow, his pulse erratic. Still, she kept her threads working, repairing what she could, for the moment keeping the inevitable at bay.

"The Eye is dying."

"We gave Giyan enough time."

"What a hero you are," she said, and meant it.

"Hero."

For a moment, his eyes went out of focus, and she was afraid that he was gone.

But they cleared when she called his name.

"Is Varda still alive?"

He nodded, though the tiny effort cost him. Odd, he thought, how he was aware of every move he made, every word that pa.s.sed his lips. They were so precious, these quotidian things to which he had never given any thought at all.

"Let me tell you about Varda," he said so softly, she had to bend closer in order to hear him. "I attached Spirit Bell to him. Tell Giyan when you see her."

"I will, but-"

"Promise me!" he said fiercely.

And she nodded. "Of course. I promise."

A great wave of exhaustion overcame him. "I am no hero. I am nothing more than-"

"Hush!" She put a finger to his lips, and his eyes closed. "Hero by deed, hero by heart."

"Krystren ..."

"Not now," she said. "Save your strength. We are repairing you."

When he opened his eyes they were wet. "I thank you. For everything. But there is no point in prolonging it. We both know what comes."

"In time," she whispered. "But now listen to the Marre pines whispering, feel the cool breeze on your face, smell the forest all around you."

"I want to remember." He breathed it all in-all that she had told him was there, and more. He felt himself cradled so tenderly in her arms. The pleasure of it was overwhelming. It was more than he had ever wanted. He gazed up at her, filling himself with her face. "Disengage them."

"What? No." She held him tighter. "Absolutely not."

"All of them."

She said nothing, she did not trust herself to speak, but she did as he asked.

He coughed, the sound thick with his own blood. "I want-"

"We know what you want, Minnum."

And she leaned over, pressing her lips to his, a taste so sweet he took it with him all the way down into death.

23.

The Harder They Fall Kurgan was in the middle of his interview with Nith Na.s.sam when the banestone called to him. He had told Nith Na.s.sam just enough of what he had learned from Lujon to make his lies seem plausible. He was gratified to see the lamp of avidity alight in the Gyrgon's crimson-irised eyes, for Nith Na.s.sam now believed he knew the nature of Courion's relationship with Nith Batox.x.x.

"Not one, but two secret societies, working behind the framework of the Orieniad," Nith Na.s.sam said. "I wonder what other secrets the Sarakkon have kept from us?"

"You could have asked Courion, but unfortunately Nith Batox.x.x killed him." All Kurgan wanted now was the promised access to Nith Batox.x.x's lab-orb, and this he asked for, as was his right.

Nith Na.s.sam beamed an utterly benign smile at Kurgan. "You will get your wish, regent, when you have brought me the information I want. What was Courion doing in Axis Tyr?"

"I brought you something better," Kurgan said, trying to keep his outrage in check. "Intelligence noother Gyrgon knows-the existence of the Onnda and the Sintire."

"You have done well. Very well, indeed. But it is only a start." Nith Na.s.sam grunted. "Get cracking, regent. The faster you give me what I want, the faster you will have what you want."

Kurgan ground his teeth in fury, but said nothing in return. He spat upon the floor of his own chamber the moment Nith Na.s.sam had disappeared around a corner, for he knew now that the Gyrgon would never allow him into the lab-orb. He would milk Kurgan for as much information as Kurgan could deliver. Which was, from then on, nothing. He would have to find another way into the lab-orb.

For the moment, however, that burning question would have to wait. The banestone was calling him, its emanations so powerful that he had a pain in his head. But before he could gather it into his hands he had to suffer through yet another interruption, this time from the ubiquitous First-Captain Kwenn, who had with him straining on its leash the new wyr-hound, growling and mewling so that Kurgan regretted ever replacing the one that had been torn to pieces down in the Black Farm.

"I have told you repeatedly not to bring that filthy creature into my quarters," Kurgan said shortly.

"Yes, regent, but I was feeding him when I was made aware of the situation."

"What situation?"

"I felt I needed to come straightaway."

"N'Luuura take it, First-Captain!"

"That matter you asked me to look into concerning the whereabouts of your sister," Kwenn said.

"There have been several confirmed sightings of a young Tuskugggun in the high country of Receive Tears Ridge."

"Doubtless a Looorm imported for Mennus' troops." Kurgan rubbed his temple. The insistent pain was becoming intolerable. "Why do you come to me with something I already know?"

The wyr-hound pup growled louder, possibly in response to Kurgan's abrupt tone.

"The Tuskugggun is not dressed like a Tuskugggun. She is not dressed like a V'ornn at all. She is dressed as Resistance." Kwenn cleared his throat, obviously ill at ease. "Regent, the Tuskugggun is your sister, Marethyn."

"What is that you say?"

"I have an eyewitness account-"

"Obviously, he is mistaken, and you are an idiot! My sister may be many things but a member of the Kundalan Resistance? What do you take me for!"

By that time, Kurgan was shouting. The wyr-hound, straining at its leash, leapt at him, its teeth bared, and the only thing stopping it from sinking them into Kurgan's throat was a tight tug on its leash.

"A thousand apologies, regent." Kwenn, breaking into a cold sweat, wound the leash around and around his wrist. "Please pay him no mind. He is just a pup."

Kurgan, eyes glaring, the pain in his head inserting a red haze between him and the rest of the Cosmos, drew his dagger and, with one swift stroke, slit the wyr-hound's throat.

First-Captain Kwenn gave a little cry as blood fountained. The wyr-hound's paws all tried to leave the floor at once, causing it to collapse on its side, its extremities spasming. Kwenn went down on his knees, but with an oath Kurgan hauled him back up to his feet.

"This is what happens when you disobey me, First-Captain. Now get that carca.s.s out of here before it permanently stains my carpet."

There was rain when the Nawatir set out from the Abbey of Floating White. Rain and a low-lying fog enveloped the night, making it as dank and desolate as a tireless hearth. His narbuck was a part of the elements, and he pranced on the raindrops, leaping upward from one to another, using them as the Nawatir would use stones to ford a stream. As they crossed over the village of Stone Border the narbuck shook his head. The Nawatir could feel the dread antic.i.p.ation that was spread through the darkened streets like a kris-spider's web. The night was alive with the soft creaks and ion leakage of the Khagggun encampment, which lay just south of the village.The Nawatir, having once been a Pack-Commander himself, was well versed in the Khagggun protocol for setting perimeters, sentinel deployment, and photonic-grid security measures in hostile territory. He busied himself with identifying each one of the cleverly hidden systems not only because he had to but to keep his mind off Inggres.