work…'
'It's under way.' The officers had gotten the rubberneckers moving at last.
Hecht spied Cloven Februaren back up the slope. Which had begun to shake with vigor.
The light grew feeble. Hecht barely made out Februaren falling. He headed for the old man, moving as though through waist-deep honey. Muniero Delari shouted something he did not understand.
The old man uphill tried to get his feet under him. He fell again and began to slide toward the tear where the grub had begun to thrash.
Two more charges ripped along its flank and back. And did not fade.
And did not fade.
The black began to spread.
The deep honey drag weakened.
The grub's thrashing increased. Like the writhing of a broken snake.
A sour, stink bug reek hit Hecht. His nose and eyes watered.
Cloven Februaren's slide toward catastrophe quickened.
The old man clawed at the grass. Hecht knew he would not get there in time.
The old man's left foot tangled in a ground-hugging vine. Hecht did get there as Februaren swung end for end. He snagged the old man's tangled ankle, ripped him loose, pulled him in, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and ran.
Instinct more than thought drove him. He had trouble staying upright. The grub kept punishing the earth around it. The stench punished the air.
He had staggered a hundred yards, gasping painfully, when he recalled the Gray Walker's death.
He pushed even harder, till the fire in his chest forced his collapse. He dragged himself into a low place, pulling Cloven Februaren. The ancient muttered some unintelligible warning.
Where was Muniero Delari?
Lightning filled the universe. The ground shook its worst yet. The earth itself rumbled but no thunder followed the ferocious flash.
Cloven Februaren moved feebly. He tried to say something. Hecht could not hear. The old man stabbed one weak finger.
Hecht looked.
A pillar of scarlet stood a thousand feet tall, its red deepening fast. A red and black ball churned atop it. It seemed to include a cherubic demon's face, looking for something it could never see because it was blind.
Hecht lay there a long time, watching. The pillar degenerated into smoke and soot. Some drifted on the wind. Most fell in a fine black snow.
The old man wanted him to do something.
Get up and take charge. Get up and find Muniero Delari. Get up and growl defiance at the Night.
Hecht got his feet under him. He had no strength left. He spotted a wooden shaft nearby. It had been part of a tool for swabbing the bore of a falcon. Now it was a broken stick but long enough to lean on.
He got the pole, then hoisted the old man. 'Hang on. I can't carry you anymore. But I'll go slow.'
Februaren grabbed hold, then tried to say something about pain in his side.
Hecht moved a dozen yards uphill, to a vantage from which he could see how fortunate he had been to get down when he had.
From that small eminence he could see that half the world had been toasted. Fires still burned where bushes and trees had stood. Smoke still rose from burnt grass. Yet patches and stripes of green spotted and wove through it all, fading into obscurity beneath falling soot.
A firepowder caisson exploded.
The falcon in a smoldering carriage nearby looked like wax left too long in the sun.
There were human shapes everywhere. Those in the black were charred, though a few still tried to move. Songs of pain rose all around. From the greens, though, healthier men appeared, all fascinated by the collapsing tower above the god grub pyre.
The black extended a quarter mile toward the mill. Which still stood, though its ruined sails had fallen and were burning. The black itself faded into the brown of dead grass, then the yellow-green of sick grass. A mile away the earth was normal.
The ruined castle had collapsed. A gray dust cloud still trailed downwind.
Februaren made a feeble gesture indicating direction.
'Go. Help Muno.'
Hecht set him down where he could be found easily, then shuffled off as fast as his body would allow.
He found the Principate a hundred yards away, stirring weakly in a low place that had not been quite low enough. Delari's backside had been crisped. His behind had suffered local roasting. 'Principate? Can you understand me?'
Delari made funny noises. Hecht turned him gently. There was blood in the old man's nose and mouth. He wiped at it with his fingers, having nothing better to hand. Delari croaked, 'Grandfather?'
'He's alive. Maybe a little bruised from me falling on him. I don't know about anyone else. I see a lot of bodies.'
Another cask of firepowder exploded. The Patriarch would be livid about the waste.
'Anyone who… wasn't in a… direct line… should be all… right.'
A racking cough seized him. It sounded like the cough that had dogged Grade Drocker when he was dying.
Was his conscience dredging up evils to haunt him?
Delari gasped, 'I'm not broken… like Grade. I'll… recover.' He tried to get onto his hands and knees. He managed, but not without a cry of pain. 'What the hell?' He panted like a dog for twenty seconds, then tried to reach back behind him.
Hecht told him, 'You didn't get all of you down out of the flash.'
'How can I… ever go back… to the baths?'
Hecht chuckled. 'I'm wondering how you're going to ride.'
A voice suggested, 'On a litter, facedown.' Cloven Februaren had arrived unnoticed. Much recovered. He wore a broad smile. 'This should be amusing in the baths.'
Delari snapped, 'When did you ever visit the baths? And don't you think you ought to be a little less visible? I'm not the only member of the Collegium here. The rest are going to come weaseling around trying to profit now the danger is past.' He turned slightly, looked over Hecht's shoulder. 'Here comes Ghort.'
Pinkus, with stripes burned on his clothing, wobbled as he walked. He tripped, spent half a minute on hands and knees before getting his feet under him again. Hecht moved his way. When he glanced back Cloven Februaren was gone.
'How did he do that?'
Delari said, 'I wish I knew. It would be handy in a few minutes.'
Gervase Saluda and the Principate from Aparion were leading the return of the curious. Carefully.
Hecht said, 'Saluda is no coward.'
'Nor is Gorin Linczski. He spent several years in the Holy Lands. Their caution is justified.'
A recollection from Esther's Wood. 'If you're able… Let's look in that crack.' Titus Consent and other officers were headed his way, too. The falcon crews had begun to rematerialize.
Another keg of powder cooked off. Those approaching hit the ground.
Moving toward the crack, Hecht asked, 'Can you manage?'
'Just don't ask me to run.'
The ground nearer the grub gash was still hot. It hurt through Hecht's soles. Defunct sheep and goats spotted the slope. With their herd dog.
Delari gasped, 'There's your mutton.'
'We'll eat well tonight.' He looked down. And saw what he expected. 'There. The egg-shaped thing. Still glowing.'
'Yes?'
He had to force it. 'I've seen one before. In the Holy Lands. I don't know what happened to it.' Which was as
