Текст книги "Fortress in the Eye of Time"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 47 (всего у книги 47 страниц)

–Keep coming! Tristen shouted at it, taunted it, pleaded with it. Coward! Come to me!

Andas’-son, his horse and all went into a glare of white as if the world had torn like fabric and white nothingness shone through, pervisible, through a rip grown wider and closer. Numbing cold howled out of it as it grew. Horses reared up at the edge of it and fled in panic, trampling the dying and the dead as they escaped. Men left afoot cast down shields and weapons and ran until it passed over them and they lay dead.

“M’lord!” Uwen cried close behind him, and knowing Uwen was in its path, Tristen’s heart went cold—for he was staring now directly into the rippling light-through-water burning at the very center of the rift. He was deafened by the roar of the winds. Dys, refusing to go, came up on his hind legs.

He gripped his sword and for the first time truly used the spurs, sending Dys forward as Dys himself seemed then to take his madness and go with a will, into the burning heart of the light.

It was like passing through water. Things beyond that limit were distorted, but in perfect clarity within the compass of it, he saw the bodies of men and horses lying on the ground. Debris of the forest buffeted him, flying in the wind, but he clung to the silver-wrapped sword, and the light, no illusion here, blazed from the silver until his glove smoked. The letters on the blade shone with white light: Truth, and Illusion.

Around him were ragged shapes that whirled like torn rags, that shrieked with terrified voices, and whipped away on the winds. He and Dys were the only creatures alive within the compass of the light.

Then—then the wind stopped. Then a silence. A stillness. A hush, as if hearing failed. A loneliness, a white light, with no other living creatures.

–Why, there you are, the Shadow said to him in that quiet, and the tones embraced, caressed, as the wind slid around him and beneath Dys, caressing and gentle. There you are, my prince. And here I am. Take my allegiance. I give it. I ask nothing else of you. I can show you your heart’s desire. Ask me any favor and I am yours.

Time stopped, and slipped sidelong. All the world seemed extended about him, and he struggled out of that burning light into grayness again, clinging to the illusion that was himself, on the truth that was a field near

Emwy.

But that place fell away from him in dizzy depth. He was elsewhere.

Came a distant sibilance like the whispering of leaves before a storm.

Ynefel loomed up through a veil of mist and he stood on a promontory facing it, though he knew the fortress stood alone.

Came a rumbling in the earth, and the rock under him began to crumble in a rushing of winds and water. He had a sword—but it was useless against his enemy in this place.

Came a wind through woods, as, on the white stones of the Road, he saw himself asleep among the trees, against a stream-bank. And the Book was there.

–Tristen of Ynefel. Came a whisper through the dark and came a light through the leaves. Tristen, I do not in any fashion oppose you. I never did. Leave this intention against me, and go through the light. Be with Mauryl. You can find him again. You have that power.

He remembered leaves in the courtyard, leaves that whirled and rose up with the dust of the ground into the shape of a man. He remembered that Time was one time, and that Place was one place.

He sat, still on Dys, in the paved courtyard. He saw a young man new sitting on the step, trying to read a Book. He saw Mauryl’s face looking clown from the wall, the youth all unseeing of his danger. And the Book was there, on the young man’s knees, perilously within Hasufin’s reach.

Rapidly the shadow of the walls joined the shadow of the tower, and grew long across the courtyard stones. It touched the walls, complete across the courtyard, now, and he knew that on any ordinary day he should be inside and off the parapets and out of the courtyard ....

But he was thinking as that young man. The enemy was waiting for him. And for the Book the young man held.

–Take it up, the Wind said to him. Or shall I?

The wind suddenly picked up, skirled up the dead leaves from a corner of the wall, and those leaves rose higher and higher, dancing down the paving stones toward the tower—toward the youth, who shivered, with the Book folded in his hands, his hands between his knees as the wind danced back again. The faces set in the walls looked down in apprehension, in desperation, saying, with a voice as great as the winds, Look up, look up, young fool, and runt

The youth looked up then at the walls above his head—and recoiled from off the step. Mauryl’s face loomed above him, stone like the others, wide-mouthed and angry.

The youth stumbled off the middle step, fell on the bottom one and picked himself up, staring at the face—retreated farther and farther across the stones, carrying the Book as he fled.

Came a strangely human sound, that began like the wind and ended in the choked sobs of someone in grief, but distant, as if cast up and echoed from some deep. It might have been in the real world. It might have been the youth making that sound. It might have been himself.

–Tristen, the Wind said to him, Ynefel is your proper place, this is your home, Sihhé soul, and I am your own kind—well, let us be honest: at least more hospitable than Men. The world outside offers nothing worth the baying—not for the likes of us. Be reasonable. Save this young man the bother—and the grief. Would you look ahead? Ahead might persuade you.

–I am not your kind, Tristen returned angrily—and yet the niggling doubt was there, the doubt that wondered—But what else am I? And what shall I be?

–A weapon. That’s all. That’s all you ever were, my prince. Mauryl used you. Men use you, and unwisely, at that. You always had questions. Ask me. I’ll answer. Or change things. With the Book, if you take it up, you can do that. You can be anywhere you’ve ever been. Only the future changes. Would you free Mauryl? You can. I’m certain I don’t care, if he’ll mend his manners. But you can change that. I’m sure you can.

He saw light.., light as he had seen at the beginning of everything.

The other side of that light was Mauryl’s fireside. He could step right through the firelight. He would be there, that first of the safest nights, most kindly nights of his life, welcomed by Mauryl’s voice and warmed by Mauryl’s cloak.

He would be there. Mauryl would be alive again, Summoning him out of the fire.

He could think of the library, the warm colors of faded tapestry, the many wooden balconies and the scaffolding. He could think of Mauryl’s wrinkled face and white beard.

He could think of Mauryl at his ciphering, the tip of the quill working and the dry scratch of Mauryl’s pen on parchment, as real as if he stood there at Mauryl’s shoulder. He could step through. He could stand in the study. He could be at that very moment Mauryl Called him. He saw the firelight like a curtain before him. He could all but hear Mauryl’s voice.

It was that moment. He could have it all again.  Forever.

–You see? said the Wind. Seemings are all alterable. Restore what was? You are of the West, not the East. Never fear what you were. Glory in it. Look to the dawn of reason. Look to the dawn of our kind. Your name—

“My name,” he shouted at it, “is Tristen, Tristen, Tristen!”

Wings—he was certain it was Owl—clove the air in front of him. And he—he moved them all through Time, following Owl, chasing Owl back to where Owl belonged.

He heard his horse’s hoofbeats. He felt Dys striding under him. He saw Owl flying ahead of him, black against the heart of that white luminance in the very moment it came down on him. There was no feeling out, no conativeattack this time. The Wind enveloped him with cold and sound.

–Barrakkêth! it wailed. Barrakkêth, Kingbreaker, listen to me, only listen—I know you now! Deathmaker, you are far too great to be Mauryl’s toy—listen to met

He fought to hold the sword, but he gripped its mortal weight, swung it into the heart of the light—the sword met insubstance, clove it, echoing, shrieking into dark as the silver burned and seared his hand.

The cold poured over him as Dys and Owl and he lost each other then.

He spun through dark, nowhere, formless and cold. He had no will to move, to think, even to dream, nor wanted any.

“M’lord. Tristen, lad. Tristen!”

A horse gave a snort. He was aware of dark huge feet near his head.

Of something trailing across his face, a horse’s breath in his eyes. Of the world from an unaccustomed angle.

Of silence.

“M’lord.” Another snort. A thump and clatter of armor nearby.

He saw a shadow, felt the touch of a hand on his face, a hat burned his cheek, it was so very warm.

Then strong arms seized him and tried to lift him. “M’lord, h, here. Come on, ye said ye’ll heed me. Come on. Come back t m’lord. Don’t lie to me.”

It was Uwen’s distant voice, Uwen wanted help for something, andobliged to try, he drew a deep breath and tried to do what Uwen wanted, which required listening, and moving, and hurting.

He saw Uwen’s face, grimed and bloody, with trails of moisture C his cheeks, shadowed against a pearl gray sky. The air about them was quiet, so very, very quiet he could hear Dys and Cass as they moved.

He could hear the wind in the leaves. The world. had such a web of textures, of colors, sights, shapes, sounds, substance, it all came pouring in, and the breath hurt his chest as he tried to drink it all.

“Oh, m’lord,” Uwen said. “I was sure ye was dead. I looked an, looked.” He stripped the wreckage of the shield from his left arm; moved the fingers of his right hand and realized that he still held sword. The blade was scored and bright along one edge as if some fire had burned it away. The silver circlet was fused to the quillons and the hilt, the leather wrappings hung loose and silver writing was burned bright along its center. He tried to loose his fingers and much of th, gauntlet came away as if rotten with age. The skin there peeled away, leaving new, raw flesh.

He struggled to rise, with the other hand using the sword to lean on, and Uwen took it from him and helped him to stand.

All the field was leveled where they stood. There were only bodies of men and horses, and themselves.

“We won,” Uwen said. “Gods know how, —we won, m’lord. Umanon and Cevulirn took the hills and kept the ambush off our backs. Then the Amefin foot come in, Lanfarnesse showed up late, and the lady’s coming with the baggage. It was you we couldn’t find.”  “Is Cefwyn safe?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Uwen lifted the hand that held his sword. “See, His Majesty’s banner, bright as day, there by the center.”

Tristen let go his breath, stumbled as he tried to walk toward that place shining in sunlight—the gray clouds were over them, but it was brilliant color, that banner, brilliant, hard-edged and truer than the world had ever seemed. A piece of his armor had come loose, and rattled against his leg, another against his arm.

“Don’t you try,” Uwen said, pulling at him as he tried to walk. “Easy, m’lord. Easy. Ye daren’t walk this field, m’lord. Let me get you up on your horse. I can do it.”

He nodded numbly, and let Uwen turn him toward Dys, who, exhausted, gave little difficulty about being caught. Uwen made a stirrup of his hands and gave him a lift, enough to qk~% b2xx’ix~e~to the saddle.

When Uwen ttta~.%e~ %~)climb onto Cass with a grunt and a groan, and landed across the saddle until he could sort himself into it: Tristen waited, and Dys started to move, on his own, as Cass did, slowly.

Around them, from that vantage, the field showed littered with dead, until it reached the place where he had lain; and after that the ground was almost clear.

“It stopped?” he asked Uwen. “The Wind stopped here?”

“Aye, m’lord, the instant it veered off and took you, it stopped. Just one great shriek and it were gone, taking some of its own wi’ it. And some of ours, gods help ’em. Andas is gone. So’s Lusin. I thought you was gone for good, m’lord. I thought I was goin’. I thought that thing was coming right over us. But Cass was off like a fool, and I come back again and searched, and I guess I just mistook the ground, ’cause there ye was, this time, plain as plain, and Dys4ad standing over ye, having a bite of grass.”

He looked up at the pallid, clouded, ordinary sky.

“What were that thing, m’lord?”

He shook his head slowly. For what it was, he had no Word, nor would Uwen. He turned Dys toward the place where Cefwyn’s red banner flew, and saw that Ninévrisé’s had just joined it.

The land along the forest-edge and across the hills had become a place of horror, riven armor and flesh tangled in clots and heaps, wherever the fighting had been thick. Someone moaned and cried for water, another for help they were not able, themselves, to give. Men moved among them in the distance, bringing both, he hoped.

They came on a little knoll, a tree, and a dead horse. One man sat with another in his arms. They wore the red of the Guelenfolk.

Erion and Denyn. The Ivanim, wounded himself, held the boy, rocking to and fro, and looked up at them as they stopped.

“Come with us,” Tristen said gently. “We shall take you to the King.”

“I will go there soon,” Erion said faintly and bent his head against the boy’s, with nothing more to say.

Tristen lingered, wishing there were magic to work, a miracle he dared do; but there was none: the boy was dead—and he would not.

He rode on with Uwen. He saw the Heron banner of Lanfarnesse and the Amefin Eagle planted on the nearer hill, the White Horse and the

Wheel on the slope of the farther. They rode to the tattered red banner of the Marhanen Dragon, and the knot of weary men gathered about it.

They rode up among the Guelenfolk. He saw the faces of those about

Cefwyn turn toward him. He saw hands laid on weapons. He thought that they did not know him, and lifted his free hand to show it empty ... he saw Cefwyn’s face, that was likewise stricken with fear.

“Cefwyn,” he said, and dismounted.

Idrys was there, and caught at Cefwyn’s arm when Cefwyn moved toward him, but Cefwyn shook him off and came and took his hand as if he feared he would break.

“I lost my shield,” Tristen said, only then feeling his heart come back to him. “—And my helm. I don’t know where, my lord.”

“Gods.” Cefwyn embraced him with a grate of metal. He shuddered and held to Cefwyn’s arms when he let go. “You fool,” Cefwyn said gently.

“You great fool—he’s gone. Asdyneddin is dead, his whole damned army has fled the field, or surrendered under m’lady’s banner! Come. Come.

The rest of us are coming in. Pelumer is found ... lost himself in the woods, to his great disgust ...”  “It is no fault of his.”

“Holy gods, —Wizards. No, I knew it. Ninévrisé’s had word of Sovrag; his cousin was wiped out, lost, and Sovrag couldn’t pass upriver. A blackness hung over the river, and the boats lost themselves while it lasted ... even so, they’ve taken down the Emwy bridge. The rebels that did escape us won’t cross. —Gods, are you all right, Tristen?”

He flexed his hand, wiped at his eyes. “I’m very well.”

He walked away then. Uwen led Dys and Cass behind him.

He had no idea where to go, now. He thought he would sleep a while.

True sleep had been very long absent from him.

–Emuin, he said, but he had no answer—a sense of presence, but nothing close. Possibly Emuin was asleep himself.

“Where are ye goin’, m’lord?” Uwen asked. “Sounds as if they’ll be bringin’ the wagons in, if ye please. We’ll have canvas ’twixt us and the weather. She’s clouded up, looking like rain tonight.”

He looked at the sky, at common, gray-bottomed clouds. He looked about him at the woods. Owl had gone, Shadow that he was, into the trees, where he was more comfortable. But he knew where Owl was.

Owl had gone to the river, where the small creatures had not been startled into hiding. Owl would wait for night. That was the kind of creature Owl was, as kings were kings and lords were lords and the likes of Uwen Lewen’s-son would always stay faithful.

He saw no shadow in the sky. None on the horizon. He did not know how to answer Uwen’s question, but he thought that he would sit down on the rocks near the road, and wait, and see what the world of Men was about to be.