Daniel Akamarino laughed, took out his recorder. He whistled a snatch of the tune. “Like that?”
“Like that.” She kicked one leg up, grimaced as the cloth of her trousers limited her range. As Daniel began to play, she stripped off her trousers, kicked them away. Ahzurdan scowled, pulled the broad collar of his robe up about his ears and sat hunched over, staring out to sea. At first she moved tentatively, seeking to recover the body memory of what she’d done with Taguiloa, then she flung herself into the dance, words and worry stripped from her head; she existed wholly in the moment with only the frailest of feelers into the immediate future, enough to let her give shape to the shift of her body.
Finally she collapsed in a laughing panting heap and listened to the music laugh with her and the water whisper as it retreated. In the east there was a ghost light along the peaks and the snowtop of Isspyrivo had a pale shimmer that seemed to come from within. She lay until the chill in the damp sand struck up through her body and the light in the east was more than a promise.
She rolled over, got onto her knees, then pushed onto her feet. As she stood brushing herself off, she heard the sound of hooves on the sand, felt the tingling brush as the children let her know they were coming. “Transport,” she said. “We’ll be leaving for the
Yaril and Jaril brought three mules, two bays and a blue roan. They were saddled and bridled, with water-skins, long braided ropes tied on, a half a sack of seed-grain snugged behind the blue roan’s saddle. Brann raised her brows. “I see why you took so long.”
“Town was pretty well closed down.” Jaril’s eyes flicked toward the silent brooding figure of the sorceror, turned back to Brann. “We decided since we were leaving three golds behind and one of them could buy ten mules and a farm to keep them on and since we didn’t know how well they,” a jerk of his thumb toward Daniel and Ahzurdan, “could ride, we might as well make it as easy as we could. We raided a stable and the gear was all there, no problem, so why not.”
While the children flew overhead keeping watch and Ahzurdan stood aside pulling himself together and rebuilding his defenses, Brann and Daniel Akamarino distributed the gear and supplies among the three mules and roped the packs in place. By the time they were finished the tip of the sun was poking around the side of Isspyrivo, a red bead growing like a drop of blood oozing from a pinprick.
Following the lead of the two hawks they wound through brushy foothills for the better part of the morning, a still, hot morning spent in the clouds of dust and dying leaves kicked up by the plodding mules. They stopped briefly at noon for a meal of dried meat and trail bars washed down with strong-tasting lukewarm water from the skins. Even Daniel wasn’t drinking any of Tungjii’s wine, he was too hot, sweaty and sore to appreciate it (though he did go behind a bush, drop his trousers and smooth a handful of it over his abraded thighs).
During the morning Ahzurdan had been braced to fend off an attack from Maksim. Nothing happened. He prowled about the small grassy space where they stopped to eat, watching ariels swirl invisibly over them coming and going in that endless loop between them and Settsimaksimin. Nothing happened.
They started on. With Yaril plotting the route and Jaril on wide ranging guard swings, they climbed out of the hills and the rattling brush into the mountain forests, trees growing taller, the way getting steeper and more difficult as they rose higher and higher above sea level.
Ahzurdan flung himself from the saddle, landed in a stumbling run waving his arms to stop the others. “Brann,” he shouted, “to me. Daniel, hold the mules.” He braced himself, hands circling, spreading, smoothing. “Bilaga anaaaa nihi ta yi ka i gy shee ta a doo le eh doo ya ah tee,” he intoned as the earth about them rippled and surged, great trees toppled, roots loosened as the soil about them fluxed and flowed and formed into eyeless giants with ragged hands reaching reaching, deflected from them by the sphere Ahzurdan threw about them. Brann ran to him, flattened her hand in the middle of his back, fed energy into him, steadying him. The mules were squealing and sidling, jerking about, trying to break free from Daniel who was too busy with them to worry much about what was happening. Yaril darted from the sky, changed from hawk to shimmersphere in midcourse and went whipping through the earth giants emerging into greater and greater definition as the attack intensified. She went whipping through and through them, drawing force from them until she was swollen with it. She dropped beside Brann, extended a pseudopod to her spine and fed the earthstrength into her. Brann filtered it and passed it slowly, steadily to Ahzurdan. As soon as Yaril emptied herself, she was a hawk again, powering up to circle overhead while Jaril passed through the giants and stole more from them and fed it to Brann. Turn and turn they went while the attack mounted. Trees tumbled but never onto them, hurled aside by the sphere of negation Ahzurdan held about them, the earth outside boiled and shifted, walked in manshape, surged in shapeless waves but the earth beneath them stayed solid and still. Ahzurdan sweated and strained, his back quivered increas
The turmoil quit.
Ahzurdan screamed and collapsed.
The mules shrilled and reared, jerked Daniel Akamarino off his feet-until the Yaril and Jaril shimmer-globes darted over and settled briefly on the beasts, calming them.
They darted back to Brann, shifted to their child-shapes and knelt with her beside Ahzurdan. He was foaming at the mouth, writhing, groaning, his face twisting in a mask of pain and fear. Brann flattened her
He shrugged and complied, stood over her watching with interest as she wiped the sorceror’s drawn face clean of spittle and dirt. Ahzurdan’s limbs straightened and his face smoothed, his staring eyes closed. He was asleep. Deeply asleep. Brann rubbed at her back, groaned. Yaril oozed out of Ahzurdan, took her child-shape back and came round to crouch beside Brann, leaning into her looking sleepy. Brann patted her, smiled wearily. “Yaro, what does Jay see ahead? How close is the mountain?”
Silent at first, blankfaced for a long minute, Yaril’s mouth began moving several beats before she finally spoke. “He says the going is really bad for several miles, ground’s chewed up, trees are knitted into knots, but after that it’s pretty clear. Maybe a couple hours’ ride beyond the mess we should be on the lower slopes of Isspyrivo.”
Braun scratched at her chin. “He needs rest, but we can’t afford the time. Maksim should be worn out for a while. With a little luck the god will get to us before he recovers.” She pushed onto her feet, stretched, worked her shoulders. “Daniel…”
Sometime after they left the battleground, Ahzurdan groaned and tried to sit up. He was roped face down across the saddle of his mule; the moment he opened his eyes, he vomited and nearly choked.
Brann swung her mule hastily around, produced a knife and slashed his ropes. “Daniel!” Daniel rode close on the other side, caught a fistful of robe, dragged Ahzurdan off the saddle and lowered him until his feet touched the ground. Ahzurdan was coughing, sputtering and trying to curse around a swollen tongue, struggling feebly against the clutch between his shoulders that pulled his robe so tightly about his neck and chest it threatened to strangle him.