'My sword skill's too paltry to put all my faith in it,' Synalon said from behind Fost. 'Come on then, bastards. My venom's good for many more!'
And they did come on, barely giving Fost time to clamber to his feet. He and Synalon fought back to back as the Vridzish rushed. It seemed that each new attack must be the last; Fost didn't know how he parried the blinding strokes of mace and axe and sword. The Zr'gsz crowded in on all sides, jostling each other, making it difficult to attack. Fost buried his sword over and over until he was black with their blood. Synalon's poisonous sting littered the ground with convulsing victims. But there were too many Hissers, and beyond the circle of hard, dark faces Fost saw several score others still hunting down the Ethereals.
His face and arms stung from myriad shallow cuts. He dared not even glance over his shoulder at Synalon, but from her constant low-voiced cursing he guessed she was in no better shape.
He refused to have it end like this. The thought of dying filled him with rage.
'O, Ust!' he bellowed. 'Give me the strength to slay these sons of darkness!' Madness came on him, and he waded in among the Vridzish.
He scattered a dozen of the lower caste warriors. Another officer faced him. His speed outmatched Fost's berserker fury. Each stroke of his mace drove Fost's blade perilously near the man's own flesh. Sweat blinded Fost.
Then the noble's head departed its shoulders atop a column of blood.
'Again I greet you, O Chosen of Ust,' said Jennas, hetwoman of the bear clan, as she flicked black blood from the six-foot blade on her greatsword. 'This is getting to be a habit,' she added in a quieter voice.
The timely arrival of the Ust-alayakits threw the Zr'gsz into confusion. Jennas wheeled her bear Chubchuk away and launched herself against their common foe. The long hair and body fat of the bears provided excellent armor; the beasts absorbed savage blows without harm. Fost saw the plumed Zr'gsz captain fell a male bear rider only to have another rider roll down on him like an avalanche. The rider was a grossly fat woman with a steel cap strapped atop wiry red curls. The Hisser threw up his shining green blade. A giant axe swept down with all the force of that huge body. The green sword snapped. The axehead hurled on. Through gorgeous plume, through green helmet, through skull and body until it sank into the cold ground of the Steppe. The Zr'gsz was sheared in two, the halves quivering over dead legs for a second before falling in separate directions.
The Hissers ran for their rafts. The fat woman laughed and threw her giant axe into the air. It cartwheeled up until it was outlined against the swollen disk of the setting sun. Then it returned, a huge hand snared it and the battle was done.
Flames danced high against the nighttime sky. Drunken and boisterous, the bear riders staggered in a victory dance around the bonfire.
Fost sat with Jennas and the monstrous redheaded woman, Vancha Broad-Ax. Her great axe, Little Sister, was laid carefully on the ground by her huge rump where she patted it from time to time and crooned appreciatively to it. The Bear folk still talked about the way she'd struck down the Zr'gsz noble that afternoon. Fost had never seen anything like it, and to judge from the talk of the Ust-alayakits, neither had they.
'I had the proper motivation,' Vancha boomed in a voice as big as she was. 'Ust has kept little Jennas appraised of what goes on in the world north of our Steppe, by means of visions.' She laid a companionly slab of arm across 'little Jennas's' shoulders, who was every bit as tall as Fost and just as powerful. The hetwoman smiled, but her amber eyes were troubled.
'It's good to see you again, Fost,' the hetwoman said as Vancha poured herself a fresh mug of rakshak, the liquid fire that these nomads drank. 'It is as Ust foretold.' She looked away quickly.
Fost felt a tingling and glanced over his shoulder. Synalon sat away from the fire on a saddle taken from the corpse of Fost's dog. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts, and she regarded the courier with sullen, smouldering eyes. He bit his lip and turned away.
When the Vridzish had fled, Synalon had seized him and hugged him tight. Her lips had sought his; the slaying had aroused passions in her that wouldn't be put off. Yet he had shrugged her off to share a tearful embrace with Jennas. Only when he had literally felt Synalon's gaze laid across his back like a whip had he turned from Jennas to see the anger and hurt glowing in Synalon's eyes.
Though Synalon drank nothing, she had grown more sullen since the sun fell from the sky. When a young bravo had swaggered up and tried to put his arm around her, she had given him a glare charged with more than anger. He cried out in a high-pitched voice and fled, stumbling and falling into the fire and being badly singed before his fellows dragged him out. The bear riders were of a rough humor and thought this a capital joke. Fost read darker implications in it.
'So you're herding these two-legged sheep to Athalau' Vancha said, her immense paw settling on his arm. She nodded toward the Ethereals, who sat like so many pallid statues. Silently Fost counted the unmoving figures. They didn't number one hundred. There was only one way of learning if they would be enough for the dangerous task ahead of them.
'Well, we're glad to strike a blow against the foul lizards. We'll gladly escort you to the Gate of the Mountains, won't we, Jennas?'
'What say?' Jennas asked, shaking herself. 'Oh, yes, we must do anything we can to help. Ust wills it.'
Vancha's pig eyes, as green and hard as emeralds, narrowed into slits amid fat.
'Something's eating you, girl.' The eyes flicked to Fost. 'I think I know what it is, too.' 'Thank you, Vancha, but you do not know.'
Fost studied the hetwoman. He had thought her handsome at first, but in the months they had spent together chasing Moriana all over the Sundered Realm, he had come to know the beauty in her strongly sculpted features, her high, proud cheekbones and close-cropped shock of reddish hair. And in ways he loved her, though he told himself Moriana took preeminence.
He hated himself for hurting her, but she knew from the start that he loved Moriana and would go to her if possible. It hadn't stopped them from becoming lovers.
It would be harder for Jennas to understand why they couldn't resume their relationship. He set down his mug, stretched, managed a good imitation of a yawn that turned into the real thing. 'It has been one hell of a day,' he said. 'I'm going to bed.'
Vancha rose and gave him a fond, spine-crushing squeeze. Across the campfire Ziore told dirty jokes to the younger warriors. She knew a surprising number for a nun. The trip to Medurim had given her more than any of the warriors.
He nodded to Jennas, not able to meet her eyes. He turned and walked off into the darkness, away from them, away from Synalon, too. It had all become too much for him. He wanted only to be alone.
He heard the crunch of a step behind him. His spine turned icy with premonition.
'Fost.' It was Jennas, soft-voiced, diffident. 'There's something I must tell you.' She took him by the shoulders. Her hands were slapped away.
'Get away from him!' screamed Synalon. I'll share him with my sister, but he's not going to be soiled by any filthy barbarian bitch!'
Jennas turned to face the sorceress. Her face was calm in the orange firelight. Around the fire voices were raised, asking what was amiss. Torches were lifted and the bear riders came at a run, sensing something deadly wrong.
'You thought to sneak off with him and seduce him,' hissed Synalon. 'Perhaps you got away with this before. But he's too good for the likes of you!' 'He can make his own choices,' Jennas said in a level voice.