The story seemed clear enough, though Nim's time estimates did not fit. She insisted that two full "star cycles"—two years—had passed since they had first found D'Sanya and that she had stayed with them exactly three turnings of the moon. But the Lady had wandered out of the desert only eight months ago. Even Princess D'Sanya's power could not have kept her alive in the desert for more than a year; sorcery could not produce food or water, either one. But of more importance to our current mission, we gathered that the hauntings at the ruins, the return of the "demons," had begun just about the time the young Lord had disappeared from the hospice.
"I just can't believe the Lady D'Sanya could be in league with the Zhid, " I said to Paulo, once we'd traded some strips of dried meat and dried fruit for the return of our pots and cups and Nim's promise to return at nightfall. "She is D'Arnath's daughter. She's healed hundreds of the Zhid, and she cares for the sick and restores the land. None of this makes any sense."
"He said she had secrets," said Paulo, twisting the thongs that held the panniers closed until I thought he would shred the leather. "He said she couldn't have lived in Zhev'Na as long as she did and not have been changed by it. When the Prince had him search his memories of the Lords, he figured out that somebody must have a device called an avantir to be making the Zhid work together and power enough to work it"—Paulo paused, shaking his head firmly, his jaw set, his lips a firm line—"but he didn't think it was her running the Zhid. Even that night. He said she'd been a prisoner, not one of the Lords like him. If I'd not been so beat and fallen asleep on him, maybe he'd have told me more. But I know that if he'd thought it was her, it would have half killed him."
I didn't mention that from the cry I'd heard the next morning and the blood I'd found, it might have done exactly that. He knew it.
Just after sunset Nim returned as promised with one of her comrades—a bent, dusty man named Rab, thin as a stick. The two of them were terrified when we said we wanted to go into the ruined fortress. But we promised to give them food and water and whatever metal we could spare—I made an initial payment with three metal buttons from my jacket—and we swore to let them turn back if things got too dangerous.
They led us up the eastern slopes of the red crags, a wide well trampled roadway. Bones lay scattered along the way. This was the slave road. I tried to keep my mind focused on the route so we could get our business done and leave this cursed place.
Halfway to the summit, Nim led us away from the road and onto a path that climbed steeply through the broken slabs of rock. About the time the trail started looking too risky for goats, we found a niche with a mostly level floor, a gray stubble of grass, and a few thornbushes. "Beasts stay here," said Nim. "Too steep ahead."
Rab stayed behind with strict instructions as to which of our possessions could be touched and which could not. I started a little fire with a snap of my fingers, and the two Drudges dropped to their knees and put their heads on the ground. Misusing what little power I had to frighten them made me feel unclean. But I believed they would obey me.
Paulo and I each shouldered a rucksack loaded with two days' supply of food and water, and we set off with Nim toward the top of the ridge. Dry wind gusts whipped through the jagged pinnacles. The moon shone swollen and misshapen through the swirling dust. Paulo's shirt flapped about his lean body.
I dismissed the upheaval in my stomach that worsened as we neared the place of my captivity, calling myself a fool, though I took every opportunity to brush my fingers against my neck, breathing in relief each time I felt flesh rather than choking iron. As we approached the top of the ridge, the wind sighed and moaned, gnawing the gritty rocks into ragged, grotesque shapes that loomed fearfully in the night. I trod lightly, as nearly soundlessly as I could, though I could not have said why.
Paulo was doing the same. When Nim held up her leathery hand and pointed, trembling, to a last steep pitch across a flat boulder, we crept up it on our bellies like snakes.
Uttermost dismay stilled my heart as I gazed down on the plains of Ce Uroth. From my companion came a single whispered curse expelled on a breath of disbelief. Stretching to the farthest horizon, the plains teemed with warriors. As numerous as maggots on a dead beast, the legions of the Zhid marched past glowing campfires, surged against each other in mock battle lines that stretched for leagues into the darkness, built earthen fortifications, waved swords, and pumped bellows that flared the monstrous orange flames of their forges. The smell of blood was on the wind, and the acrid stench of coal and molten steel, and the stink of fear. It wasn't until Paulo laid his hand on mine that I realized I was shaking.
In the center of the crawling expanse was a huge, dark mound. As we watched, Zhid warriors threw torches all around its base, setting the mound afire. The black smoke coiled and billowed in the bilious moonlight. Flesh . . . burning flesh . . . the reeking death fog of Zhev'Na rising to blot out the stars. And in the towering blackness appeared a monstrous face straight from nightmare, gross and swollen, covering half the sky. Its eyes flamed red, and its bloated tongue licked cruel lips.
But even the sight of such horror did not sicken me as did the stench of burning slaves. Too often I'd smelled it and thought of my brothers, wondering if it was they who burned, or my father, or when it would be my turn. And the cries that rose from it . . . Not all the bodies in the mounds were dead. I buried my head in my arms, laying my face against the lingering warmth of the rough stone, trying to block out the foul smoke.
Nim whimpered in terror. Paulo tugged on my arms, trying to drag me down the sloping rock face. "It's looking this way," he whispered. "It's coming. We've got to get out of here."
"No! Wait!" Something was very odd. In the moment I had hidden my face, the screams and wails and drumbeats had fallen silent, and I could hear only the wind, and smell only my own stink and the hard, sandy warmth of the rock. I glanced up quickly, and all was as before: the eye of flame looming above us, the gross nostrils flaring as the red demon eyes hunted us, the surging warriors, the burning … I buried my face again, and all was silent.
What was the truth? This time I looked more carefully at the sights on the plain. The campfires and torches burned steadily, not a flicker or a bend in the wild wind. The endless movements of the warriors had no purpose. . . .
"Look away," I said. "Turn your back. It's not there."
Paulo did look away … to stare at me as if I were a lunatic. But as he did so, a streak of wary curiosity crossed his face. I was right. He flicked his gaze back and forth from me to the monster I could no longer see or hear, then he turned his back on Ce Uroth, sat up, and grinned. "Cripes!"
Nim was sure we were driven mad by the demon, but I grabbed her hand before she could crawl away. "It's all right," I said, pulling her to her feet and holding on firmly. "We can protect you from this particular demon. My power is quite sufficient."
I hefted my pack and led the way down the rocky path onto the plains of Ce Uroth.
Chapter 24
My confidence wavered as we abandoned the cliffs and gullies of the ridge and walked out under the demonic face in the sky. The foul smokes had us gagging, and the agonized screams of the captives and the hissing contempt of the Zhid curdled my blood. But, as I had guessed, neither demon nor captive nor Zhid took any note of us whatsoever.
We walked right through the chaotic war camp. Two Zhid wrestled in the dust to our left, cursing and spitting, slashing at each other with bloody knives. An entire troop marched past on the hammered roadway, their empty-eyed commander with red hair and thin lips riding a coal-black charger, and ten warriors dodged between the dusty tents answering a shouted summons. But not one of the Zhid challenged us.