Twenty went into the sepulchre in the end and I do not think any of us expected to leave it. Aydor accompanied me, I asked him to bring Celot but he would not, saying Rufra needed more than just Dinay to guard him. Marrel ap Marrel’s Heartblade, Gonan, had come, together with three of his troops. Marrel’s sons had wanted to come but I had forbidden that too. The man had suffered enough heartbreak and his sons were safer in the Low Tower with him. I had also forbidden Dinay, the head of Rufra’s cavalry, from coming. She was formidable and would become more so given enough experience. If we didn’t get out with Darsese I trusted her and Celot to get Rufra and his family away from Ceadoc.
Vinwulf had volunteered to come with us, and I had supported him in it. Rufra said no, of course. The boy was a fighter but it would be nobody’s loss if he fell. Our numbers were made up with Rufra’s men and women and all carried his famous hornbows, capable of cutting through a shield, as well as longsword, stabsword and shield of their own. The plan had been for thirty but in the tight corridors it had been decided we would only get in each other’s way. I had even considered leaving all our equipment and going in fast, but without shields all it would take was a few well-trained crossbowyers or spearholders and we would be finished. The whole idea of this attack made me jittery. This was not how I was best used. I was quick and acrobatic. Forcing me into the position of shieldbearer where life depended on luck as much as skill felt wrong. But it was necessary, there were no others and, as Darsese was a sorcerer, skills I kept secret may well be all that kept us alive.
Rufra stood with Vinwulf by his side, watching as we prepared. The king was similarly jittery, pacing backwards and forwards before he sent us off into the darkness.
“Keep safe,” he said, walking up and down our small group as we smeared black panstick over our faces, the better to hide us. “What I have asked you to do is hard,” he said, “and I would go myself if Girton would let me.” Unconsciously, his hand went to his side. “But he will not. He is ever the protective one.” Grins went around our little group. “I hope to the dead gods that you can get in and out without being seen. If you are scared it is no shame, but if you worry that you may not succeed remember the birds of Xus,” he said. He suddenly had my full attention. It was rare for him to mention religion. “The birds came to protect Girton. Xus the unseen walks with him, and as such he walks with you but not for you.” He stepped in close to me and put a hand on my arm, his face drawn and serious. “Bring them back to me, Girton,” he said, “and yourself, bring yourself back too. I need a friend at my side.”
I wondered at this sudden glimpse of the friend I had not seen for years, but when I looked into his eyes I saw the reason for it. I think he believed he sent us to our deaths in the labyrinth of Ceadoc. The Rufra I had known when I was younger would never have doubted, but this one was worn by difficulty and misfortune and I forced a smile on to my face.
“I shall do my best not to die,” I said. “It would ruin an otherwise pleasant day.”
“Good.” He clapped me on the arm, his smile returning. “You walk with the Chosen of Xus,” he shouted, “and as such I do not believe you can fail. Now go. Bring me back the high king and then we’ll scour Ceadoc of its filth.” There was the banging of hands of the inside of shields. It was brief—we did not want to attract attention—but it was heartfelt. Rufra gave us a sad nod.
“I’m more worried about Rufra than us,” whispered Aydor as we moved carefully along the base of the Low Tower. I glanced up at the walls.
“Aye, the Landsmen can rain down havoc from up there.”
“Not that,” said Aydor. “Rufra can stay in the tower. The Landsmen will have to draw him out if they really want him. I mean Vinwulf. That boy is hungry, you saw him with Fureth. I’ve seen him sneaking round Ceadoc. He feels his father’s leash keenly.”
“You think he would act against his father?”
“Possibly,” said Aydor. “I am not sure he is brave enough to act, but in the heat of battle if he thought he could get away with it? He has no love for his father, not like a child should.”
“I wish you had not told me this, Aydor.”
“That is why I wanted Celot to watch out for Rufra. The king will not fail us as long as Celot stands.”
“Then I would say Rufra is far safer than us.”
“No,” grinned Aydor and punched me on the arm. “You are the Chosen of Xus. We cannot fail.”
I started to laugh but it died in my mouth when I realised Aydor was deathly serious. I was about to tell him I was no one’s Chosen when I saw the faces of the men and women around me—all staring, all full of hope—and I realised it was not what any of them wanted to hear.
“Xus walks with us,” I said, my voice breaking halfway through the words so I had to cough to clear my throat. “Now come, we must collect Arketh. I left Tinia Speaks-Not to watch over her.”
“Only watch?” said Aydor.
“Yes.”
“Pity.”
I shook my head and brought us to a halt. The courtyard echoed with the quiet sounds of men and women preparing themselves, swords being lifted from scabbards to make sure they ran smoothly, bowstrings being tested, the creak of armour. Far above us one of Xus’s birds let out a squawk in the night.
“The god is ready,” said a voice, but I could not identify who spoke. I was glad they thought Xus was ready. I was not sure I was.
Arketh waited with Tinia Speaks-Not by the entrance to the castle. The highguard, who we would usually have to slip past, had vanished just as their commander had promised they would.
“Girton,” said Arketh, “the companion you sent me is a poor conversationalist. I am glad you are here. I was starting to feel lonely.”
Tinia Speaks-Not spat and moved into our group, standing close to me. I took comfort from her presence.
“We will not be doing any talking, Arketh. We will be trying to move as quietly as possible.” She shrugged.
“Shall I lead?” She raised an eyebrow. “I know the castle better than any here.”
“She will lead us straight into a trap,” said Aydor. “She is Gamelon’s creature.”
Arketh slipped around the soldiers in front of her, making it look effortless—like she was made of mist—then around Gonan until she stood in front of Aydor.
“I have only one master,” she said, putting a finger on Aydor’s forehead and slowly running it down his face, “and my master lies under Ceadoc.”
“And,” said Aydor, moving her hand away, “we have no one’s word on that but yours.”
“Are you saying my word is not good?”
“You hurt people,” said Aydor, “and you enjoy it.”
“And you, Aydor ap Mennix, kill people, and you enjoy it. Are we so different?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, we are.”
She shrugged and turned away from him.
“No matter,” she said. “It is not your decision anyway. It is Girton’s and he is not as squeamish as you.” She smiled at me.
“You can guide us,” I said, “but if you lead us into a trap you die first.”
She could not, of course, lead us into a trap. In the strange atmosphere of Ceadoc and its bizarre souring it did not take much for me to reach out and find the glowing signs of life. An ambush would shine in my mind well before we walked into it.
“Come,” I said. “We will go forward silent and slow. Landsmen will be moving through Ceadoc and we do not want them alert to us. Tinia Speaks-Not will bring up the rear.” She gave a smile and sauntered to the back of our small group.
It was eerie, to move through Ceadoc surrounded by silent men and woman, faces painted with black pigment. This was a scene more suited to outside, to sneaking through swamps at night or round castle walls looking for weaknesses, than moving through the tight confines of a castle. As we moved we could hear troops moving around us: the clank of armour; laughter that echoed down and along tunnels. Around me eyes were wide. Heads jerked at each noise.
“You must do something,” whispered Gonan to me.
“What do you mean?”
“This place. The troops with us are not used to sneaking about like thieves the way you and the other assassin are.” I bristled inwardly at the implication, but he meant it as no insult. “They will face any number head-on, and gladly, but this?” He waved a hand at the tight gloomy tunnel around us. “They think they will find a threat around every corner. Two already walk with strung bows. You need to calm them or by the time they need to fight their minds will be tired and they will be no use.”
I nodded and raised a hand, bringing them to a halt and gathering them around me.
“The voices you hear,” I said. “They are only echoes. If someone is in a tunnel in front of us then we will know. Trust me, I have been here before.” There were nods but I did not feel like I had particularly lessened the tension any. Behind them Tinia Speaks-Not watched me, amused, but she gave no clue as to why.
“And remember,” said Aydor, “Xus walks with Girton. He will warn us if there is danger well before we come upon it.” This elicited smiles and nods from the men and women around us, and though I wished Aydor had not said it I preferred being seen as chosen by a god to having jittery soldiers with bows behind me.
We moved on again and Arketh guided us deftly through tunnels I had never seen before. Many were covered with scrawl and when we stopped for a moment to listen, and so I could sense the space before us, I saw pictures of the gods—but down here they were different, older and stranger, more like hedge spirits than the images I was used to. I saw little sign of Dallad, the consort; instead a stylised Adallada sat on a throne and was worshipped by all.
“We are deep down now, Girton Club-Foot,” whispered Arketh. “We are a long way from the world you know.”
“Which way do we go?”
“Which way indeed?” She stared at me for a moment and then grinned, pointing into the gloom where a tunnel forked off to the left. “Down there, and then to the right and we are in a tunnel that meets the large tunnel before the pools.”
I nodded but I already knew we were near. The air was moist and thick with the smell of still water and, more than that, the sense of something wrong filled the air, something as filthy as the still water we headed toward. We moved forward and Arketh became more animated, only in small ways: a twitch of her fingers, a rattling shake of her braided, ratty hair, a smile growing across her face. All these things were completely unconscious on her part: she did not know she twitched and twisted, she did not know she gave away her excitement, and whether that was at the thought of violence or at seeing Darsese I did not know. Maybe it was both.
We would soon find out.
Before, we had walked straight into the room that sheltered the pools of return, but now the double doors were shut. I had everyone stop and moved ahead. The double doors were not locked, only held by simple bars and, up close, the wood was intricately carved. I found myself unable to stop myself touching it, my fingers running over the wood. Finding a history, a carving and recarving of it, a retelling of familiar stories with a hundred subtle variations, until the carving, as it was now, would be unrecognisable to those who had made the first crude marks in the wood.
“Girton,” hissed Aydor and I turned. “Open it. Don’t grope its chest.”
I nodded.
“Be ready.” A man and woman ran forward, kneeling in front of the doors and stringing their hornbows. I waited until they were prepared and pushed the doors. They were well balanced and opened easily. As soon as there was a small gap I saw two Landsmen within, stood in front of the pool. Before they could react I heard the whistle of arrows cutting through the air. The Landsman to my right was lifted from his feet and flung into the pool. His fellow barely had time to register surprise before the bowyers fired again, years of practice in Rufra’s mount archers manifesting as speed, and arrows split the air, one hitting the Landsman in the stomach and the second in his head, killing him instantly. I waved our troops through and they scurried into the pool room. The stink of stagnant water made my eyes water.
“Four to me. Be careful of the floor, the slime is slippery,” he said, with a wink at me. Then he tapped three troops on the shoulder as they passed him and beckoned over another. “We will watch the door.” In the pool the Landsman splashed, his breath coming in coughs and wheezes. “Someone quiet him then get the body out the pool,” said Aydor and another arrow sung, stilling the man.
“Arketh,” I said. “Will you be able to swim through the pools with us to get to the pump room? Or will you tell us what we need to do?”
Pulse.
Beyond the pools the sepulchre throbbed and for a moment I thought I would fall. The beat was heavy, red and dull.
“You will be glad you brought me,” she said. “Come, Girton.” And she took my hand, leading me away toward a room that Tinia and I had missed entirely on our first visit. “There will be no swimming for me,” she said. In the room waited huge machines, far bigger than the ones I had seen on the other side of the pool. Golden pipes ran from round vessels, seemingly without plan or thought. Heat leaked from the machine and I was thankful for it. This far down the heat of yearslife had not reached, and cold air seeped out of the walls, through clothes and armour to suck the heat from skin. “The wheels,” she said, pointing at two wooden wheels at the base of the machine. “We must turn the wheels before we pull the levers. You should warn your troops to be ready.”
“Ready?”
“The noise of the machine will alert anyone who is near.”
“Neander said the machine was silent.”
“Neander?” Her face twisted. “He knows little. When the machine is up and running it is silent. But it is not running. It must be started. Pipes will rattle and metal will shake as water runs through the system. Steam will hiss as the machine draws heat from the hearts of the gods beneath us.” Her eyes gleamed in the low light.
“Hearts of the gods?”
“The gods may be dead, Girton Club-Foot, but far below the sepulchre their hearts burn and the machine runs off that. That is why this is a holy place.”
“But the gods lie in the sea, Arketh.” I touched her arm. “And we are far from the sea.”
“So they say,” she said, “but who knows how big a god’s heart is, eh? Now, warn your troops.”
I did, slipping out to tell Aydor we may attract attention before returning to the pump room, feeling the beat of my heart at the thought of action, the dryness of my mouth, the sweat on my palms.
“Now, Girton, grab the wheel. We must turn it together.” The wheel was small, and it was hot to the touch.
“Turn,” she said. We did. A groan ran through the machine, a groan like a wounded soldier waking from deep sleep to terrible pain.
“Again.” A rattle, pipes shivering and cracking against each other and then another groan, a noise like great rocks rubbing together in the moments before the land shakes and cracks.
“Coil’s piss,” I said under my breath, sweat breaking across my forehead as the machine heated up. “It sounds like we release every hedge spirit in the land. This will bring the whole Landsman army running.”
“No, the machine only runs through the lowest parts of Ceadoc. Just turn the wheel,” she said.
“Someone is coming.” I pulled the wheel round.
Bright lights in my mind, bobbing through the empty darkness created by the souring.
Shouts from outside, Aydor’s voice cutting through the noise of the machine. “Bows ready! Shields up!”
My insides tightened another notch. The muscles in my cheeks ached from clenching my teeth.
With a rattling groan the whole machine jumped from the floor before settling in a cloud of choking dust.
“Do we pull the handle now?” I shouted over the rattling.
“No,” she shouted back. “We must wait for the noise to stop, then it will be ready. It should not be long.” Golden life moved in my mind, Aydor and our troops, in neat lines, and further away a mass of gold growing and changing. I could not count numbers; they were too close together. I guessed they were not as many as a hundred, but they were far more than our twenty. I reached for my blades, took a step toward the door, and as my club foot made painful contact with the floor I heard the squeak of the heavy sole on the stone. The room was silent.
“It is ready,” said Arketh quietly, though the machine seemed to sleep. Moisture wept from pipes and the air became harder to breathe as it was heated. She reached for the lever, pulling hard on it. “I need help,” she said. I grabbed the handle, my hands folding around hers, and I was surprised by how cold her skin was.
At first it was as if the golden lever fought us. My muscles strained. I was tempted to shout for Aydor but knew he would be needed outside. Shapes still moved in my mind. Battle was not joined yet, but it was coming. We pulled again. This time the lever gave, a small movement at first, then it slid backwards in a single smooth motion and the machine let out a gentle sigh, as if relieved. “Eleven minutes,” said Arketh. “That is how long it will take to empty the pools.”
The golden lights in my mind stopped moving. Set in lines. Prepared.
“I feel we may have a busy eleven minutes then.” I turned, running back to join Aydor, who stood amid our troops, waiting in two ranks holding bows, their shields leant against their sides. He towered over the troops as he peered into the darkness.
“Front ranks,” he said quietly, “bows away. Pick up your shields. I can’t see anything, but someone is there. One good round of crossbow bolts and we’re all finished.” Men and women picked up shields. Aydor squinted into the gloom. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Split: go to either side of the doors.” He picked up his own shield, a towering thing almost as big as me, and unhooked the warhammer from his belt.
I glanced at the pool. The still water did not appear to have moved.
“What is Aydor doing?” said Arketh, watching him as he took a step forward to stand between the two doors.
“Being the bait,” I said.
“A shield will not stop a crossbow bolt to his head,” said Arketh. “He is mad.”
“I am here to free Darsese, the true high king!” bellowed Aydor into the darkness. “I am his glorious warrior! I cannot be killed as I walk with Xus the unseen, god of death!”
“You may be right,” I said. A strange sound followed, a sound like rock falling into a well, and Aydor dropped behind his shield as a storm of crossbow bolts flew up the passage. Then he crept to the side, the bolts following him and by the time he joined us his huge shield was peppered with bolts.
“They definitely have crossbows,” he said, pulling bolts from his shield and looking up with a grin. “They will want to keep us away from the entrance so they can storm it. How long will your pool take to empty?”
I glanced over. The water level had still not moved.
“Arketh?” She scuttled over and knelt by the pool, putting a hand in the stinking water.
“It should be falling by now,” she shouted over and she lifted her hand. A mixture of water and green slime slopped back into the pool. “There is a drain at the bottom in the centre. “The mat must be in place.”
“Mat?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “There is a mat that can be used to cover the drain.”
“But you didn’t tell us this?”
She scratched at her ratty hair, as if we had all the time in the world.
“It is not generally used,” she said.
“Then how do we withdraw it? Where is the machine for that?”
“Through there.” She pointed at the wall. “On the other side.”
“So we have failed.” My heart sank. I did not want to die down here.
“No. The mat is attached by chains that run through the wall. If you swam down, you could probably pull it off.” I stared at the black water, at a loss for what to do.
Tinia’s fingers flickered out urgent signals, focusing my mind on the now. I nodded and ran back to Aydor.
“The pool may be harder to empty than we thought. Tinia thinks we should shut the door to buy us time,” I said.
“She is right,” said Aydor. He waved at Gonan on the other side and made pushing gestures, troops began to push the doors shut. “Won’t hold them for long,” he said with a grin. I had never met anyone who could be so relaxed before a fight. I felt like the knots in my stomach were being pulled tight by hedgelords. “These hinges open in our direction and we have nothing to brace the doors with. It will stop them using crossbows though. For a bit.” The big doors closed and he leant against them, listening. “Here they come,” he said, then shouted, “Rows!” Our twenty troops set up in two rows of ten fifteen paces back from the door. “Shields to the front, bows at the back.” He grabbed the door and nodded at Gonan opposite him. Then went back to listening at the wood as I walked over to kneel beside Arketh.
Tinia stepped forward, pointing at the water and then signed with her fingers: “I will do it.”
Arketh watched her, half-smiling. “Does she volunteer? Brave, but it will take two of you,” she said. “It is heavy.” The water was black as night, as death. Blue Watta’s weed-veined hands, tying up my legs, holding me down. “And the current—from the drain,” said Arketh. “It will be strong. It will pull you under.” Arketh stared into the water, pointed at it with a delicate finger. “To go in there is to step into the grave.”
Tinia tapped me on the shoulder. Her fingers flickered.
“What does she say now?”
“That she can hold her breath far longer than I can. That she should go alone.”
“She is lighter than you. Even if she can move the mat the current will hold her harder.”
“We need rope, to tie around her.”
Tinia shook her head, waving around the room.
“She is right,” said Arketh. “There is no rope here.” A mocking grin. “Is that not the sort of thing an assassin should always have?”
“I did not think we would need it in a tunnel fight.” Tinia was staring at me. I glanced at the doors where Aydor made ready to meet the coming Landsmen. “We must both go. Maybe working together we can fight the current.”
“That may work,” said Arketh. “It may not.”
“Well, it must,” I said. “We have no other choice.”
The doors boomed as men hit the other side, throwing their weight against them. Despite Aydor and Gonan’s weight, the doors started to move. The two men looked at one another then counted. On three they threw themselves aside, the doors burst open and the second rank of troops let loose with their bows, arrows cutting into the gathered Landsmen. Screams echoed round the chamber as arrows found flesh, then Aydor was shouting.
“Into them! Into them now!”
The wall of shields moved forward to take advantage of the Landsmen’s disarray. I watched, hands twitching for want of a blade as Rufra’s troops went to work, and then there was a tug on my arm, Tinia Speaks-Not, pulling me toward the water. I turned from the battle going on to hold the doorway and took several very deep breaths.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
I plunged into the pool.
And entered another world.
Water so much colder than it was before.
I knew they fought above. I heard they fought above. The dimming water reduced the clash of weapons to numb, round sounds. The water insulated me from cries of pain.
Down.
Pushing.
Kicking.
Lungs already aching. Panic at the hilt of my mind. Somewhere inside a child, struggling and terrified as they drown, held down by weeds.
Your master is not here to save you now.
That voice, so distant, as removed from me by the souring as the violence above is by the water. Alone, but I am not alone. A brief touch on my shoulder as Tinia Speaks-Not swims past me, her slim body undulating as she pushes into the depths and I follow. Down and down. It seems the pool is impossibly deep. There are tiny green spots of barely alive life suspended in it. The water is so cold it feels like nails scraping my skin. Above is a ring of dull, rippling light. Below is only a darkness as if I swim toward an end. Definitive and forever, the portcullis to Xus’s dark palace drawing me down. I follow Tinia’s feet as she kicks, the pressure of the water growing, pushing against my ears, crushing thought and sound into pain—until there is nothing but me and a silence so perfect I can hear my body working: the beat of my heart, the bellows of my lungs, the creak of my muscles.
The world ceases to have meaning.
The darkness becomes absolute.
I swim. I am nothing but movement. Thought and purpose are forgotten in the icy water.
Down.
All sense of direction is gone. Am I going down or up? Left or right?
Shocked from my reverie when my head makes contact with the floor, bouncing me off it and spinning me round.
I spin in the dark water.
The souring blinds me, no sense of where I am until Tinia’s hand steadies me: that strange shock; that feeling of knowing. She pulls my hand down, placing it on rough stone and moving it across. I find an edge in the darkness, something metal, part of a circle. Exploring with both hands. Aware of down now I find myself fighting my own buoyancy. What I feel must be the drain, I can feel the gentle pull of the pumps, a slight suction around the edges of the mat that covers it. The suction causes the thick material to outline the ribs of the metal beneath. It is like the corpse of some submerged beast. The mat covering the ribs like a layer of rotten flesh.
So hard to think.
Not flesh. Weed grows on the mat.
Thick and slimy. Hard to grasp.
I work my way round, finding the chains that run back through the wall. Pull. It moves. Pull again. The suction increases, like a growing breeze, grabbing at my hair, making my clothing swirl around me. The illusion is so complete I almost take the breath my lungs ache for.
No!
Keep pulling.
Some tipping point is reached. Some place where the power of the pumps can no longer hold the mat in place and I pull but meet almost no resistance. Unprepared, my hands slip from the thick chain and I spin in the dark water, losing all sense of direction. Something grabs me, something strong and cold and powerful. Blue Watta? I am pulled down, my face smashed into the grate. Small bubbles of air knocked out of me and then Tinia careens into me. Did the current grab her too? Or is she trying to save me? She cannot. No one can. Now the breeze no longer blows. Now it is as if a great gale holds me down, pinning me against the grate.
Blue Watta will finally have his due.
No!
Fighting anoxia’s lethargy. Tinia struggling against me as the water in the pool thunders by us, and through the grate. I weigh three, four, five times what is normal. Muscles fight against current. I hear the call of Blue Watta: it is a siren song. Such tiredness; so much easier to lie down and
breathe out.
A silver cascade of bubbles.
Don’t.
Breathe.
In.
Tinia’s hands on my shoulders. A subtle golden light. A little extra strength and, using each other as levers, we manage to stand. Feet braced on the grate against the howling water, the angry, grasping current. Trying to push up, trying to kick off. No chance. Cannot. Together. An unspoken agreement, an idea passed through the touch of skin. the last of our strength. Our knees bending, our muscles, bunching, tensing, releasing. For a moment we fly.
Lift! Lift!
But, like an arrow reaching for the sky, we are dragged back down. Smashed into the cold iron of the grate. Caught by the weight of water. Her hands are on my face. Then her mouth is on mine. A kiss. Her tongue quicksilver quick. A shot of warmth through my body. A shot of air into my lungs and the terrible suction from the grate ceases.
“Go!”
Her voice in my mind, the voice never used in life, and it is beautiful and clear and true.
“Go!”
I kick off, animal panic overriding all sense. Kick again. The current is still there but not as strong and I rise. I rise and rise. Kick by kick. Chest aching. Body lethargic and unresponsive. The circle of dull light seems a mountride away.
And then.
Breaking the surface.
Breathe!
Shouting, screaming, the scrape of blade on shield. Water covers me. Gasping, coughing. Surface. The cries of the dying. Dark water over my head.
The numbing cold of water.
The dulling of sound.
A hand on my collar. Pulling me up and out. Into the violence, the shrieking.
The air.
“Breathe, dead gods damn you!” The voice of Arketh. I let my head flop to the side. The world is out of focus. Pastel-hued torches illuminate a surging mass of metal and flesh. Coughing, filthy water leaving my lungs. Vomiting up more water.
“Tinia?” A gasp. A knowing before Arketh speaks.
“Only you came up.” Crawling for the water but Arketh holds me back. “If she’s still down there she’s dead. She was dying anyway. I can always tell. But you are needed. Gather your strength, Girton Club-Foot, while your troops buy you time to recover.”
As I lay there, the life flowing back into me, watching the water ebb, listening to the fight, the shouts. Aydor bullying his men and women, directing them, I realised what had happened and waited for what I knew I must see.
She appeared in no more than a foot of water. Her body looked smaller in death than it had in life. Though it had been big enough to do what she intended. Tinia Speaks-Not had spread her body across the grate, lessening the suction enough for me to escape the pull of the water by sacrificing herself. As the last of the water drained away, her body moved: a firework hope within me, but it was only the movement of death: the slack and meaningless rocking of limbs in water, moving without the volition of a mind.
“I never saw her fight,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.
“She bought your life with her own,” said Arketh. “I do not think we can doubt her bravery.”
I rolled on to my side, away from the body in the draining pool. She had been dying and she knew it. But that was little comfort.
“It is not about bravery, Arketh.” I pushed myself to my feet. Water that had been held against my skin, warmed by my body, poured away, leaving me cold. “It is about beauty. She was taught by a master, as was I. To watch her dance would have been beautiful.”
Arketh grabbed my face, turning me toward her and something awful flared in her eyes.
“Sentiment makes me sick and it makes you weak. We have a job to do and the way is now open.” She let go of me and stood back. “The pool is drained!” she shouted. Aydor glanced over his shoulder.
“Split!” he bellowed, and the rear rank of troops fell back to me, leaving Gonan with seven men and women to hold the door.
“How many wait for us through there?” Aydor asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He half-laughed.
“Then guess.” He smiled at me and shrugged. “I have noticed your guesses are usually good.”
I let my mind go, felt the men and women around me, strong and golden. Felt the Landsmen that were trying to break in—but there were not many of them left, twelve maybe, and if Gonan was canny he should beat them. The other way, through the pools, I felt that horrible throbbing.
The lair of something wrong, something that offended a spirit deep with me. And around it, like planets orbiting a sun, were some of those strange red and gold presences: eight in all.
“Eight,” I said quietly. I had unconsciously turned back to the pool and found myself staring at Tinia’s corpse.
“And we are nine,” said Aydor. “Should be more than enough.” He put a gentle hand on my arm and said quietly, “Let us not waste her sacrifice.”
“No,” I said, “let us not.”