We re done, he said curtly, freeing his hand from Hjel s. We can go.
Gil, I ll be waiting for you.
Good.
He looks away along the wind-plucked fjord waters. He held down a spike of unreasonable jealousy. That what was for him a dead memory, Hjel had yet to look forward to.
The grave-clad thing makes a diplomatic noise in its throat.
There is a tide to catch.
Ringil nodded, eyes still on the water. Then get me to my berth.
He still doesn t know what a tide is, except that it presages change.
But change will be enough for now.
In the dory, watching the wrapped figures bend silently over their oars, he felt it begin the creeping shift of the Margins, Seethlaw s Gray Places, call them what you will, the seeping through like cold marsh water, washing away anything fixed that could be told out like a tale, bringing instead the endless expanse of untold possibilities, scuttling like spiders, beckoning for attention, for momentary existence at the corners of his gaze. He turned and looked back to the shore, where Hjel stands or does not, the strand is empty on the aged jetty boards.
He sees others, standing there, too.
Three more figures, one slight, one broad and bulky, one gaunt and tall. Flickery and gray, like Hjel, but where the dispossessed prince stands erect and motionless as he fades, these seem to dart about as if tethered and anxious to be free.
The cold legions wrap around you
The sky is changing overhead, boiling something up it looks like a storm, but is ominously silent. The rowers ignore it, and their captain makes no comment Ringil held on for one final moment to the cold, hard certainty he d had on waking and then he let go and it s gone, like a fish in the water. He looks up and there s the sensation of tilting.
The cold legions
On the jetty, as if at a signal, the three restless, gray-candle-flame figures break suddenly loose and streak out across the water, like the shadows of cloud blowing by overhead. Ringil watches numbly as they chase the boat, as they close on the stern, as they slip aboard and wrap tight around him with a shock like a cold-water bath.
And are gone.
The black-rigged caravel looms; a rope boarding ladder is hanging over the side. There s a shiver to the whole vessel, as if it, too, has been wrapped tightly in something that s now fraying and fluttering in the rising wind.
Ringil stands, takes one last look back at the empty jetty. Then he grabs hold of the ladder, and hauls himself up the sagging, damp-rope rungs to see what s waiting at the top.
CHAPTER 26
Oddly, the only thing Egar felt now was an icy calm.
As if everything around him the cracked and decaying frame of the temple by night, the desolate, dust- crunch emptiness of the place had only ever been a mask, and now its nocturnal wearer cupped hand to visage, doffed the disguise, and stood grinning feral in the gloom.
As if he d been expecting it all along, this dwenda.
It came slowly down the stairs above them, coruscating blue fire moving behind the balustrade, the hinted dimensions of a dark figure at its heart. It seemed to be singing.
At his back, a choked curse from Harath.
Egar s eyes never left the blue light. He let go of the girl s hand, shook it loose with a single sharp motion. Measured the angles.
Get this right, Dragonbane.
Harath, these things are fast, he called in Majak. Get yourself a lance off that wall, and get ready. Go!
He whirled and sprang, to the wall and the two staff lances still leaned there where Harath s former comrades had never had the chance to grab them. Soft rush of cloth at his side as Harath moved with him and suddenly he was glad, so very glad of the younger man s speed. He snatched one of the lances. Smooth wood grain across his palm and the rolling weight of the thing he felt his lips split in a snarl of joy at the feeling. Heft and spin, one-handed, two-handed and round and
The dwenda stood before him. block!
Like a shriek through him as he saw the shadow blade come leaping. The creature had to have vaulted right over the balustrade, hit the ground soft and silent, and straightened up barely a yard away. The impact of sword against staff shivered through him, stung his grasp. He grunted with it, tilted down, levered the blow away.
Harath swung in, yelling, from the right.
The dwenda caught it, swung about, snake-swift. The dark blade dripped an arc of blue fire through the air. Smashed the Ishlinak s attack away.
Mother fucker!
Harath s yell of surprise he d not been expecting the strength. Egar had scant time for sympathy. He bellowed and thrust, pike style, low, at the dwenda s knees. The blue fire was down to tracery now, they were facing a figure made of dark, etched with the flicker of lightnings, but for all that shaped like a man.
And a man, well you can always kill a man.
The dwenda shrieked at him and leapt the thrust, put its sword blade through the air in a sweeping slice at head height. Egar swayed back, felt the whicker of air past his cheek. He circled out, away from Harath, try to bracket this fucker, and the dwenda came down cat-like, soft crunch as it hit the dusty floor. It wore the same smooth, featureless helmet he d seen at Ennishmin, now swinging back and forth, questing, like some blunt slug s head detecting a threat. The same one-piece suit of what looked like shining leather but Egar knew from bloody experience resisted edged weaponry like mail.
Bracket the fucker! bellowed Harath, like he d just thought of the tactic himself. And launched himself forward.
The dwenda twisted to meet the attack. Clang as the shadow sword met the blade on the end of the staff lance, grunt from the Ishlinak as he felt the impact. Still, he looped back, trapped the sword point high. Egar saw the moment, fell off it like a cliff, and rushed in screaming. He didn t bother with blades, rammed the staff before him at chest height instead. The dwenda must have sensed the attack, but Harath had it overextended. A desperate side-kick flung out to hold Egar back, but he d put everything he had into the rush, and the dwenda s aim was off. He took the glancing kick in the belly, nearly puked from the force of it, did not let it stop him. He collided with the dwenda and they both went sprawling. A slim black-clad arm whipped out for his throat he battered it aside with a lucky swipe of the staff lance. The dwenda shrilled. It was a cry he knew, it was distress, and his heart went black with joy at the sound. He smothered with his weight. A sword pommel hammered him in the kidneys the world went stumbling around him, little points of light in the gloom, he drew ragged breath and shrieked down at the blunt head under him.
Oh, you cunt!
Cocked a fist, but as he did Harath stepped in and drove his staff lance down into the thing s throat. Full- throated berserker bellow behind the stroke, he twisted the blade and leaned his full weight on it. The dwenda shrilled again, shuddered and thrashed like a gaffed fish
Lay still.
Blood pooled out from under the neck. Egar smelled the spiced alien reek of it as he reeled upright from the corpse.
Nice one, he rasped, and nearly fell over again. Harath stuck out an arm to steady him.
Easy, old man. Sucking breath. What the fuck was that?
Egar shook himself, wet-dog-like. Tell you later. C mon, there ll be more of them. Let s get out of here.
