The Blackgod

For one awful, helpless moment, Perkar did want to hit the half man. But at last he let the fist drop, uncurling it. He was opening his mouth to apologize when his head yanked around of its own volition—or rather, Harka's.

“In the trees,” he suddenly whispered, just as an arrow struck him in the shoulder. He gasped at the impact, surprised that there was no more pain. He had a confused glimpse of Ngangata in motion, heard the dull flat whine of his bow.

“Watch out!” Harka warned, as Perkar fumbled him out. The blade trailed out into the light, a sliver of aquamarine ice.

As he stumbled back to his feet, his gaze was again drawn to the trees; another shaft whirred from them, though not in his direction. Ngangata—the likely target—was nowhere to be seen. Of more immediate concern were the two horsemen churning through the snow toward him, both mounted on striped Mang horses. The men were Mang, too, multiple braids indicating that they were warriors of some rank, the red-dyed horsehair plumes on their leather helmets a sign that they were at war. Perkar had never seen Mang at war until now. They looked like wolves.

They bore down on him, one with a lance, the second with a short, curved sword. Perkar whooped at them, his father's battle cry, and waited, Harka held steady with both hands. The arrow, he now guessed, had not penetrated more deeply than his outer flesh, halted by the thick coat of elk hide and the light lacquered armor beneath.

He waited until they were nearly on him, and then suddenly darted to his right; both horsemen swerved, still hoping to catch him between them, but Perkar sank to one knee and cut through both front legs of the nearest horse. The animal shrieked piteously and pitched past him, into the snow, the rider sprawling over his mount's neck.

An absolute master of his steed, the second Mang pulled in tight, but had to strike awkwardly to reach Perkar. Perkar avoided the blow entirely, stepped up, and slashed deeply into the warrior's leg. The man uttered no sound, but his face registered a vast surprise as the blade sliced through the heavy lacquered layers of wood, bone, and leather that protected his thigh.

Perkar turned back to his first opponent, who was rising to his feet, murder on his face. Unfortunately for him, his lance was too long to bring around effectively, and though he managed to graze Perkar's shoulder, he soon held only a wooden pole, the steel blade severed from it by a quick blow from Harka. The Mang shot one glance at his mutilated steed, snarled, and hurled himself weaponless at Perkar, though a knife flapped against his hip. Harka took him in the heart, yet the man remained on his feet for a few instants, the purest look of hatred Perkar had ever seen only reluctantly replaced by death's cold gaze.

The second man was lying on his horse's neck, teeth clenched; as Perkar watched, the blade dropped from his hand into the blood-spattered snow. The horse itself pranced nervously, as if unused to having no direction.

Another shaft sped past Perkar, but almost at the same moment, he heard a sharp cry from the direction of the trees. He crouched behind the quivering body of the downed horse, waiting for more attacks, but hone came, and Harka remained still and quiet.

After a moment, Ngangata emerged, cautiously, from a clump of trees. “Are there more?” he asked, eyes nervously picking through the valley.

“I don't think so. Harka?”

“No more. But there is someone else. ”

“What?” Perkar turned to Ngangata. “Harka says no more Mang, but there is someone else.”

Ngangata nodded. “Someone killed the archer.”

“Ah. I thought you did that.”

“No,” Ngangata denied.

Perkar drew a deep breath. “Come out, if you are a friend. If not, ride on.”

There was a pause, and then a stirring in the trees. The figure of a man emerged and began walking leisurely toward them.

“That, ” Harka informed him, “is not Human. ”

IV The Godsight

SHE stood beneath a leaden sky, the vastness of the River stretched before her. Those waters seemed a perfect reflection of the obscure heavens—his substance seemed dense, as if it were really polished slate or beveled steel—and it radiated a cold strength that numbed and quickened her simultaneously.

She bent closer, touched her finger to the dark water, then gasped when she saw impressions upon the surface, as if invisible objects lay pressed upon the skin of the River God. Nearest was a hollow shaped like a water scorpion, so clear that she could even make out the delicate patterning of its plated underbelly. There, a trumpet-cuttlefish, long tapering horn of its shell smooth, the tentacles and a single large eye pressed in relief And there—she gasped and looked away from the detailed mold of her cousin D'en 's face, as she had last seen it, with his eyes on stalks, like those of a crab.

Trembling, she turned from the River, but looking away, she felt less comfort than ever. Four masked priests strode toward her, grim-faced, swinging their water cans and spirit-brooms. In front of them came Yen, the young engineer who had playfully courted her, only to reveal himself as a coldhearted assassin named Ghe. Behind those five figures were a hundred others, obscured by a veil of mist, but all threatening her, all intent on locking her away. As panic whetted keen in her breast, however, she felt something cross her toes; she looked down to see what it might be.

It was a tiny snake, no bigger than a worm. It shimmered in iridescent colors, and something about it made her happy, promised to protect her from her enemies. She stooped and picked up the small reptile, and, on impulse, she swallowed it.

I have just swallowed a snake. She wondered, Now, why did I do that?

At that moment, the snake stirred in her belly. Then lightning seemed to course out into her arms. The gray waters rushed into her toes, and as she watched, the River began to drop in level, even as the worm in her grew and grew, as the greedy serpent heads that her toes had become drank and drank. The River was drying up, but it was entering her, and with a cold horror she felt the weight of his vast sentience crushing her own, squeezing her like a giants fist. But part of her was delighted ta at last have the power to destroy any who threatened her, who wished her harm…

The revulsion was stronger than the joy. Shrieking, she spit the snake out, and with it went her power, as the water flowed back into the River and returned it to its former level. But then she saw something else, a thing by a small stony cairn, and the horror began again.

Until she awoke, fingers balled into fists, wondering where she was. She sat thus for long, terrible moments as it all came back to her. A dream, a dream, a dream, she repeated to herself, but she knew it for more than that. It was really a distorted memory of what had actually happened scant months ago, when the River tried to manifest in her frail body and had very nearly succeeded. But she had escaped that, hadn't she? Escaped her curse?

She gradually understood that she was in a ben', one of the horsehide tents the Mang used for camping. She was cold, except on her left side, where the dog, Heen, lay curled against her, snoring raspily. Nearby, Brother Horse snuffled out a harmony to the canine's tuneless song. Earlier, Hezhi had found these noises distracting; now they comforted her, for they were Human, mundane.

But she was in danger again, as certainly as Heen was a dog. And Brother Horse knew it. He had forced camp before they had gone half a league beyond the cairn where she saw…

Tomorrow he would explain. Tomorrow.

She lay back, her breathing growing calmer, but sleep did not return to her that night.

HEZHI drew her knees up beneath her chin as she watched the colorful riders enter the village, listened to their raucous shouts. The half Giant sitting next to her stirred restlessly, shifting a frame easily twice as massive as that of any Human as he braided and unbraided fingers like fat sausages into a double fist resting against his thick- featured face. The knotted hand hid a scowl, and she could imagine she heard his teeth grinding.

“Princess …” the Giant began, but Hezhi shook her head.

“Hush, Tsem,” she said. “Watch the riders. I want to write Ghan about this.”

“I've seen plenty of these barbarians enter the camp in the past few days,” Tsem grumbled. “I've had little else