The One Tree

vision to replace the old. “Kasreyn is ended-and his Guards with him. Yet our peril remains. None now in the Sandhold can call back the commands he has given. And I fear as well that there will be war this night, to determine who will hold power in Bhrathairealm. You must flee if you wish to live.”

The First nodded. She bent quickly to look at Ceer. He was dead-had bled to death like Linden's father, though the two men could not have been more dissimilar. The First touched his cheek in benediction, sent a dark glance at Linden. But she did not speak. Honninscrave was still urgent for his ship. Picking her way among the dead and dying hustin, she set off along the top of the Sandwall at a swinging stride.

Honninscrave joined her. Pitchwife scrambled to follow. Moaning inarticulately deep in his throat, Seadreamer left Ceer. And Cail, who had not eased one jot of his grip on Linden's lifeless arm, impelled her roughly after the Giants.

She had no sensation from the shoulder to the hand of her right arm. It hung strengthless and empty in spite of the way her heart laboured. Cail's kick must have crushed a nerve. There was blood on her head, responsibility which she had never acknowledged to anyone. Her pants were thickly soaked with blood. They stuck to her legs like sin. The void was closing more rapidly now, afflicting her with pangs of self-awareness. How could she walk with Ceer's life so intimately drenched about her? It was the same potent Haruchai blood with which the Clave had fed the Banefire for generations; and she was only one ineffectual woman, numbed of arm and soul. She would never escape the sweet cloying stain and adhesion of blame.

The sounds of breakage from the heights of the Sandhold went on, a granite counterpoint to the sirens; but the wild light of power began to fade. Darkness slowly regained its hold over Bhrathairealm. Moonlight covered the huge bulk of the Sandhold and the wide ridge of the Sandwall with a suggestion of evanescence, lay across the duned waste of the Great Desert like the caress of a lover. In that allusive light, the pulsing screech of the alarms sounded fanatic and belorn.

The company was drawing closer to their source. As the questers hastened out onto the arm which stretched toward the Harbour, crossed above the western courtyard, the screaming seemed to change pitch. It arose from the gargoyles which crouched like basilisks over the inner gates.

Instinctively, the companions quickened pace. The gates themselves appeared deserted. The hustin had left their posts, and the gaddhi's Horse was surely occupied elsewhere. But the sirens still compelled apprehension and flight. Kasreyn was dead; the peril he had set in motion was not. As swiftly as

Linden and the Lady Alif could move, the company hurried northward.

From the juncture beyond the courtyard, the wall sloped downward as the terrain declined toward the sea. In moments, stone came between the questers and the sirens, blunting the wail. And the companions were able to see out over Bhrathairain.

Laid bare under the moon, the town swept toward the Harbour in a complex network of fixed and moving lights. The lamps of aroused homes and defended merchantries stood against roving brands held by looters, or soldiers, or fleeing sailors. Bhrathairain looked like a writhe of sparks, as if the whole town were gathering toward flame.

In the Harbour, the fire had already begun.

The Giants sprang to the parapet, stared fervidly toward the berth where they had left Starfare's Gem. Honninscrave chewed curses as if he could hardly prevent himself from leaping over the wall.

Linden was not as far-eyed as either the Giants or the Haruchai. But she was nearly restored to herself. The void still muffled all her thoughts and movements as if her brain were swaddled in cotton; but it did not keep her from tasting the urgency of her companions. She followed them to the parapet, tried to see what they saw.

In the area where the dromond had been docked, all the ships were ablaze.

The shock brought her back into her body. The weight of her numb arm, and Cail's grip on it, became suddenly too heavy to be borne. She stumbled forward. At once, the Haruchai hauled her back. The force of his jerk swung her to face him.

She confronted his flat face, the fires reflecting in his eyes. “I can't-” Her voice seemed as inutile as her arm. There were so many things she should say to him, would have to say to him. But not now. She swallowed thickly. “Can't see. That far. What happened to the ship?”

Cail's gaze narrowed as he gauged the change in her. Slowly, he unclawed his fingers from her arm. His expression did not relent. But he lifted one hand to point toward the Harbour.

Pitchwife had heard her. He placed a hand on her shoulder as if he were accepting her from Cail-or perhaps interposing himself between them-and steered her to a view of the bay.

As he did so, he spoke carefully, like a man whose lungs had been damaged by his exertions.

“This is the Anchormaster's doing. It was his intent to contrive a means that we might be warned, should the Bhrathair once again attempt harm to Starfare's Gem. Now it appears that such an attempt was indeed made. Therefore he has set this fire, hoping that some word of it might tell us of his peril.”

“But where-?” Her thoughts limped after him. She saw nothing along the wharves but one huge blaze. “Where's the ship?”

“There.” He directed her gaze some distance out from the piers. Still she could not see the dromond. “Sevinhand has done bravely.” Pitchwife's voice was tight in his throat. “But now Starfare's Gem must strive for its life.” Then she saw it.

Small in the distance, a fireball arced silently over the black face of the water, casting a lurid light and wide reflections. It came from an armoured galleass with a catapult braced on its decks.

The fireball carried toward the unmistakable stone spars of Starfare's Gem.

Sevinhand had raised every span of canvas which the Giantship's two remaining masts could hold. Vivid in that moment of light, the gap between them gaped like a fatal wound; and the sails themselves seemed to reach out for the fireball.

Other ships were there as well: two penteconters nearly as large as Starfare's Gem; two triremes, both massively iron-prowed for ramming; another catapult-armed galleass. They were hounding the dromond, seeking a way to bring it down. But it was already turning. The fireball carried over its stern, crashed into the oily heaving of the sea. At once, the ball detonated, spreading sheets of flame across the water. Gouts and blazes struck the Giantship's sides; but they fell back from the moire-stone, did no damage.

Before the flames guttered out, Linden saw one of the triremes curving inward, racing to sink its prow athwart the dromond. Ranks of oars frothed the sea. Then the light was gone. In spite of the moon, the ships disappeared.

Through his teeth, Honninscrave snarled instructions Sevinhand could not hear. The Master was desperate for his vessel. Linden held her breath involuntarily. No sound reached them. The tumult in Bhrathairain, the battle in the Harbour, were inaudible through the sirens. But then a new fireball kicked upward from the second galleass. It had been hastily launched, poorly aimed. It accomplished nothing except illumination.

In the glare, Linden saw Starfare's Gem veering through the wreckage of the trireme. The back of the attacker had been broken. Its remains went down under the dromond's heel. For a moment, the flames were full of tiny writhing shapes. Then the darkness returned, effacing Starfare's Gem as it moved to engage the nearest penteconter.

Honninscrave and Seadreamer were unable to look away from the combat. But the Lady Alif pulled at the First's arm. With an effort, the First wrenched her attention back from the Harbour.

“You must hasten to the Spikes,” the Lady was saying. “Be wary-they are warded. But only there may you hope to rejoin your vessel. And the way is long.”

“Do you not accompany us?” the First asked in quick concern.

“There is a stair nigh,” came the reply. “I will return to my people.”

“Lady.” The First's voice was soft with protest. “What life do you hope here? After this night, Bhrathairealm will not be what it was. You have risked much for us. Let us in return bear