Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Read online

  She drew in the immortal earth power, gathered it and thrust it at the pit of emptiness that was Dherim. He grasped the streams of energy and drank them in. His body swelled, like those of his own shadow wolves. His belly distended, huge and rounded. The more he drank, the greater his thirst, and yet he could not use what he consumed. It sat within him, untouched.

  The mage-ball blazed. The dragon-thing, born of earth and magic, bellowed again, this time in pain. It reared high, its talons clawing air. Its head collided with the cavern roof. Then it collapsed. Its massive body slammed into solid rock. The cavern resounded with the impact.

  Rumbling shook the cavern. Shards of rock broke off from the cavern roof. The blue sphere, shaken from its armature, rolled off the table. Its light faltered. Of Dherim, standing directly in the beast's shadow, there was no sign.

  "Lionel!" Cinnabar's voice echoed in the emptiness.

  He lay on his side, partly covered by stones and rock dust. The tip of his blade protruded from his back. His fingers were still locked around the blade of the sword. She wrapped him in her arms.

  Lionel's lids opened. Cinnabar bent over until their lips were almost touching and she could feel his breath, faint on her skin.

  Her heart ached with wishing she had some trace of magic left to give him. But the earth spirit had never been hers to command. She could only surrender to it. As to parting gifts, Lionel himself had already given her what he could.

  Dherim had ordered him to kill, and he had obeyed.

  The earth trembled once more. The mage-light dimmed. A jagged crack split the cavern floor. Its depths glowed, sullen red.

  Cinnabar took Lionel's face in her hands. Quietness filled her. She remembered how he'd looked beside the fire before they'd made love, the wonder in his eyes as she'd bent to kiss him.

  Flame's blessing upon thee, my love. Go in grace...

  She pulled the sword from his body.

  He arched and then lay still.

  She looked up, into the heart of the mountain. Her vision blurred. She tried to see past the immensity of rock to the high clear skies, the sun, the fields of Westfields. All the things that he would never see again.

  A faint vibration filled her, perhaps the resonance of her beating heart. But no, she felt it in Lionel's body as well. With her inward eyes, she caught a glimmer of light, the first pure radiance of a sunrise...

  ...and then sound, the ripple of a mountain stream, the cry of a bird for its mate...

  ...and color, the warm brown of a deer's coat as it bounded through the forest shadows, the white of a mother's milk, the tawny gold of ripening barley-corn...

  Like the fading final notes of a song, the images vanished, leaving Cinnabar alone in the shuddering dark.

  Lionel stirred at her side.

  No, it could not be. She must be imagining it from longing so bright and sharp it ate away her heart. But her body responded to the warmth of his breath on her neck, the touch of his fingers on her hair.

  The earth beneath them heaved. Steam burst from a crevice in the nearby rock.

  Cinnabar hauled Lionel to his feet and pulled his arm over her shoulders. Together, they stumbled for the stairs.

  A crack! resounded through the cavern. The form of the fallen dragon shattered into splinters of dark glass. It collapsed in on itself, a hollow shell. Under it, covered by dust and shards, lay a pile of rags and blackened bones.

  The mage-light died just as Cinnabar and Lionel reached the opening. She pushed herself upwards in darkness. Heat and acrid fumes followed on her heels. The air turned thick. Her breath caught below her ribs. Her muscles burned and the thigh wound throbbed with each step.

  It seemed they'd been climbing forever, that they would never find the light. If it were only herself, she would have sunk down and let the mountain have her. But whenever she could no longer lift her knees or heave herself up one step more, she found some way to go on.

  * * * *

  Ice-tipped wind hit Cinnabar full in the face as she and Lionel stumbled from the rocky cleft. She squinted in the sudden brightness, although the day was gray and watery. Lionel was barely conscious, wavering on his feet. They scrambled down the incline just as the ground shook again. Steam and ashes spurted from the opening above them.

  An excited whinny greeted them. The mare, her coat glossy with sweat, paced at the base of the incline. She pricked her ears and trotted closer, tail held high. Cinnabar laid one hand flat on the sorrel neck. It was the same hand, she realized, with which she'd touched the dragon.

  A favor, old friend, she whispered silently, not a command.

  By some miracle, perhaps a lingering of the earth magic or else his own will, Lionel managed to pull himself up behind Cinnabar on the mare's back. He wrapped his arms around her.

  The mare needed no urging. At a headlong gallop, she raced toward the westward hills, back the way they'd come. She ran as if possessed, the muscles of her powerful hindquarters driving her on, her hooves pummeling the ground. When the terrain turned rough, she scrambled over it, hardly slowing.

  Billows of ash and smoke rose into the sky behind them. The earth trembled, but less frequently and intensely.

  Cinnabar clung to the mare's barrel-round back, her fingers laced in the mane. The coarse hairs whipped across her cheeks. Wind streamed past her face and blew away her tears.

  * * * *

  The setting sun caught them near the camp where the shadow wolves had attacked. Of the wolves themselves, there was no sign. The horses' bodies had been picked nearly clean. Cinnabar almost sobbed aloud when she spotted the packs they'd left behind. She eased Lionel to the ground, wrapped him in both their cloaks, and gathered up everything she could find. Relief spread through her, for the cache included extra clothing, food, and a cook knife. She watered the sorrel at the little pool and made camp.

  The night lay still and quiet, except for the hoot of an owl. Cinnabar sat beside the fire, watching Lionel sleep. She'd covered him with all their blankets and he'd finally stopped shivering. The wound left by his sword was already healing.

  The mare browsed nearby. The sound of her teeth tearing through the late grass was unexpectedly comforting. For so many nights, Cinnabar had camped with just the horse for company, neither wanting nor needing any other. She ran her hands over her abdomen, imagining the child even now taking shape inside her.

  Cinnabar crept under the layers of blankets next to Lionel. She turned away from him, afraid to put pressure on his belly. He stirred and laid his hand on her back. She felt his touch radiate through her bones, her sinews, her heart. Shifting carefully, she guided his hand to rest low on her abdomen.

  After a long moment, he said, "Oh."

  She smiled and snuggled closer.

  Would the child be a son for Westfields or a warrior daughter for Quallin? Or neither, something greater, the best of what they knew, the harmony of seasons as well as sword?

  For now, this moment of peace under the stars, like the opening posture of the Quallin dance, was enough.

  Winter in Khotan

  Catherine Soto

  This is the fifth of Catherine's "Temple Cats" stories, and she is now thinking of turning them into a novel. She informs me that this part of Central Asia is still in the news. As this is being written, in June 2010, there is fighting in the Fergana Valley (now in Uzbekistan), and the Russian Intelligence Service is operating in pursuit of goals and objectives similar to those pursued by the Chinese Intelligence Service over 1300 years ago. While there have been some changes (from fertile, Indo-European, and Buddhist to arid, Turkic, and Muslim) it is still strategic ground. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...

  The story of Prince Firuz, son of the last Sassanid King of Persia, is well known in China, and is recounted in the chronicles of Narsen, his son. Both Firuz and Narsen rose to become Generals in the Chinese army, and both died in China.

  Catherine Soto lives in San Francisco. She divides the time remaining after the obligatory
day job between the Asian Art Museum and the local sushi bars.

  The buildings were nestled against the royal compound's walls. The alleys were narrow, barely as wide as a man was tall. It was an easy jump for both her and the cats. The three of them ran silently along the rooftops, dark shadows in darker night.

  Two jumps across narrow alleys and they were at the small square just inside the Western Gate of the city. Guards manned the twin towers on either side of the gate at the other end of the square but their eyes were on the road winding in from the lands farther West. Lin Mei went to the edge of the roof, peering over the low wall to the street below. It was empty. A silent command to the cats and they settled down to wait, their paws tucked decorously under them.

  The building was of cut stone, quarried from the mountains nearby. The stonework was crude, and the gaps between the blocks were enough for a good grip. A few moments of work and she was at the window. In seconds she was inside, crouching in the darkness, hands near her daggers.

  She was alone. Shelves next to the walls held scrolls and assorted artwork. Neatly-stacked boxes and bundles on the floor held trade goods. This was the storehouse of the ruling family, who traded on their own account with the rich lands to the West. More valuable goods rested in the heavily guarded and locked storerooms below. But those held no interest for her.

  She went to the door, unbarred it and carefully pulled it open. The hallway was empty, but from one end she could hear mutterings from the guards that stood watch at the bottom of the stairs. They would be new, replacements for the guards who had stood watch earlier that day, who were now on their way to stand watch on the frontiers of Khotan.

  She went to the other end of the hallway to a thick wooden door. A few moments with a small pick and the door opened. She entered a small room cluttered with more boxes and bundles. A narrow window at the end opened onto the courtyard.

  From the window she could see the broad avenue leading to the palace, where the sound of feasting and music could be heard. Her brother was one of the guests being honored there that night. She didn't mind being excluded from the guest list. She had other matters to occupy her time. In front of her she could see one end of the square. The window was just large enough for her to stick her head out and look back at the City's gate.

  She pulled her head back in, her eyes narrowed in thought. Time to go. The hallway was still empty, she went back out the same way she had come in, alerting the cats as she went up the roof terrace. She no longer had to go into a semi-trance to enter their minds, to see through their eyes and hear with their ears, now a portion of her mind did that while she concentrated on her surroundings.

  The rooftop was clear. She climbed back up and started back toward their rooms when she froze, alerted by something the cats sensed. Along with them she melted into the shadows, her eyes and ears straining. The cats crouched low, ears back, eyes drawn into slits. Something dangerous? Yes, very dangerous. A portion of her mind teased hints of sensation from her companions. Not sound, not sight, scent maybe? Whatever it was, she was not the only one scouting the rooftops that night.

  A slight movement at the edge of vision caught her attention. Only her eyes moved as she made out the outline of a shadowy figure on the rooftop next to hers.

  It was all in dark, as she was, only the garb was closer fitting and darker, as if it was all black, and skintight. It carried what appeared to be a short, straight sword in one hand.

  Anshazhe? The secretive and mysterious mercenary spies and assassins? But she had never heard of them operating so far outside the empire. Suddenly it jerked its head in her direction, as if seeing her for the first time, and Lin Mei felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. It stared at her for a moment, then vanished into the darkness with a speed that startled her. After waiting a few moments to ensure that it was truly gone, she resumed her journey, Shadow and Twilight leading the way.

  Back in her rooms she changed into the silk robes that had been provided for her and poured herself a cup of wine. Shadow and Twilight settled onto a folded up blanket near the wall and closed their eyes in the half-sleep they favored. Near them were the remains of their meal, two bowls of meat stew. Nearby on a table were the remains of her meal, a fowl and a bowl of dried fruit. It had been a long time since she and her brother had enjoyed such luxury, and she savored every moment of it. Biao Mei was enjoying even more at the palace, where in addition to food and drink there was music and the company of dancing girls. She had no worries for him with regard to the latter, his heart was in thrall to an enigmatic and attractive archer/bodyguard/secret agent back in Kendar.

  This brought her mind back to their mission. It had started back in Kendar, on the fringe of the Empire.

  "Horses," Ro Min had said. "The Empire is menaced by barbarian nomads from the North and West. To counter them the Son of Heaven has commanded that cavalry horses be obtained from where ever possible. The best come from the Fergana Valley, to the West. You will accompany a mission to that land. Zhin Hua, of the Empire's Agency of Supply, will negotiate the purchase of a thousand horses. He will have his own guards, but you will assist in your own unique way." Her eyes darted to the two cats watching from a corner. "You and your brother will accompany the caravan, in your usual role as caravan guards."

  And so they had come to this strange land in the Far West of the Empire. Nominally the land of Khotan was part of the Empire, a tributary state, but she was beginning to learn that people in far-off lands often had their own thoughts on the matter of their relations with the Empire. And she was also learning that the so-called "Barbarian" lands were often of a high culture, if strange in customs, dress, and food.

  Within two days of their arrival a band of royal refugees had arrived from even farther West, from the land of An-Zhi, reputed to be rich and powerful. Invaders from the South had conquered the land in the name of a new God and beheaded the King. The Crown Prince, Firuz, had fled with the remnants of his court into exile across the mountains into the Ferghana Valley and then to Khotan.

  Where an ambush waited. Lin Mei and her brother had been in the crowd watching the exhausted train of courtiers and guards enter the city gates when Lin Mei had spotted an arrow poking out of a window overlooking the courtyard, the same window she had looked out of just a short while earlier. She had shouted in alarm, and Biao Mei had seized a pole supporting an awning, torn it loose, and hurled it at the window, spoiling the shot and saving the Prince.

  Of course after that nothing else would do but that Biao Mei and his sister would be honored guests of the Lord of Khotan, housed in sumptuous quarters near the royal compound. And tonight Biao Mei and Prince Firuz were honored guests at the royal court.

  And now she had more to think about. The Prince and his bedraggled entourage had arrived unannounced, to a hastily arranged official greeting. She was familiar with the mechanics of an ambush, having dealt with them often enough. There had been little time to plan one, if indeed Prince Firuz had been the intended target. He and his family had just been entering the gate when she and Biao Mei had thwarted the attack. They were not yet in the would-be assassin's sight. And what was an Anshazhe, if that was what it was, doing so far outside the Empire?

  She made a face. It could all wait until the morning. She finished off her cup and crawled under the silk coverlets of her sleeping mat.

  * * * *

  She awoke to find both cats snuggled at her sides. From the next room she could hear her brother's snores and smell the odor of last night's wine, which explained why Shadow was sleeping next to her.

  Carefully, to avoid waking the cats, she slid out from under the covers and dressed in her traveling clothes. They would do for a stroll about town. Her two daggers went in her sash. She stuffed a small purse under her quilted brown jacket and went out.

  Even at that hour the market square was bustling. People of all types and occupations jostled, haggled, strolled. Merchants led strings of camels through the crowd, laden with bales of good
s. Venders hawked wares and buyers purchased. Lin Mei stopped and purchased some cheese, bread, and dried meat from a stall run by a hawk-nosed man with a full black beard.

  "Quite a commotion last night," Lin Mei ventured around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

  "Huh," the man replied, suspiciously eyeing some urchins nearby. "Trouble in distant lands. People say they are on their way to your country. Prince Firuz is rumored to be the brother of one of the Emperor's wives, and will seek shelter there." Lin Mei nodded. Such dynastic marriages were common.

  They paused to watch a squad of cavalry ride past, mail armor jingling and spear points glinting in the sun. Bows in bow cases and arrows in quivers hung from their saddles. Twin daggers were thrust in their sashes, and long swords hung from their belts. The horses were impressive, thick bodied and with strong arched necks, able to carry a heavily armed and armored man with ease.

  "The horses of Ferghana," the vendor said proudly. "Prized above all others."

  "The Son of Heaven wants to buy a thousand of them," Lin Mei commented. The old man shrugged.

  "So does everyone else. An envoy from Hind is also at court, with gold to buy another thousand horses."

  "Any talk of who may have been behind the attack yesterday?" she asked. He made a face.

  "Much talk, little news. Why would anyone here want to kill a refugee? Too bad the attacker was able to escape. He might have told something useful." She nodded in agreement and left.

  The rest of the morning passed in agreeable gossip. The market, like markets everywhere, was a good place to gather news, not all of it truthful. But even lies and errors can contain information, and she returned to their quarters before noon satisfied with her morning's quest. Her brother was up, bleary eyed and wan from the night before. She offered him a cup of tea, which he took.