Eleal cried aloud and jerked back, her ears ringing from the crash. Her eyes burned with a dazzling afterimage, as if she had been blinded. Lightning out of a clear sky? She wiped away tears with shaking hands.
"By the moons, sir!” Gover Envoy was shouting, but his voice sounded muffled through the hum in her ears. “You answered his arguments!” He laughed shrilly.
T'lin was muttering. Forcing her eyes to work, Eleal saw that he had fallen on his knees in prayer. The reaper was stretched out flat on his back, motionless. Envoy was supporting Kriiton. There was a strange, tingling scent in the air.
"Crude!” Kriiton muttered. “Lost control."
"It worked!” said the Thargian. “That one filled no sacks."
"Worked too well. Drained me. Far too much!” He made an effort to stand by himself. “I wanted to stun him, not fry him. All right, where are those clothes?"
Eleal's eyes were recovering. Her ears still buzzed. In the heavy darkness, tiny red fireflies shone on the body of the reaper, and she did not understand those. She heard, more than saw, that T'lin had scrambled to his feet and unrolled his bundle.
So where was the Liberator? And what was this Kriiton, who appeared out of empty air and called down thunderbolts? Was he man or god? His paleness faded away as he hauled a smock over his head, and then he was just a dark shape like the others. He staggered, and Envoy reached out an arm to steady him, but obviously he was recovering.
"Right,” he grunted. “Shoes? Fornication! I had D'ward right with me. Damned good kid, too, from what I saw."
A razor cut of light in the sky in the background heralded the return of Trumb. The pillars glimmered back into view and the stars faded. Puzzled, Eleal strained to make out what the men were doing. There seemed to be four of them. There were four of them! She opened her mouth to yell a warning, but her dry throat made no sound. Another reaper had joined the group.
Two men went down in fast succession, without a sound. They thrashed on the ground and then she heard some muffled choking, but that was all.
The third one yelled, and leaped back. Then he turned and fled. His feet slapped noisily over the stones.
The reaper laughed, a deep and horribly familiar sound. “Come back! I want you!” It was Dolm Actor! He also ran, but in total silence, a black cloud flowing swiftly across the court. His quarry vanished between the pillars, and shrubbery crashed as he plowed into it. The reaper followed him out without a rustle. The two dying men lay still.
Gone!
The sounds of the fugitive's flight had stopped, but that might be either because he had reached the path or because the reaper had caught him—and would then return, perhaps.
Eleal felt sick. Her heart was hammering its way out of her chest and there was a bitter swirling sensation in her head. Swift, unwelcome brightness was flooding the Sacrarium as if a door was opening, revealing the carnage. She wanted to cry Stop! She preferred the dark. Three bodies, three men dead, and probably one more corpse out in the woods now. Dolm Reaper might come back at any moment, to gather more souls for Zath. Hers.
She couldn't leave dying men, however little she expected to be able to help.
And she had to know which ones they were.
Quick, then! She staggered to her feet and tried to run forward. It was only a few yards, but she was so stiff and unsteady from lying still that she nearly fell. She stumbled to her knees beside the Thargian, almost on top of his fallen sword. Gover Envoy lay on his side because his back was bent like a bow, his limbs twisted behind him. His mouth was still dribbling blood, black in the green light, and his dead eyes bulged as if he had perished in terrible agony. He had not made a sound, but obviously a reaper death was not an easy one.
The first reaper lay on his back, spread-eagled. He had a gaping black hole in his chest, and there was a nasty scent of scorched cloth and charred meat around him, but at least his ending had been quick. His cowl had fallen back to expose his face. She had never seen him before, a bearded man of middle years. His eyes were rolled up, the whites shining green in the light of his god.
The third corpse lay in the same contorted arch as Envoy, but he was on his belly, head and limbs bent up grotesquely. His face was distorted by the same rictus of agony—teeth exposed, dead eyes bulging, and a puddle of blood congealing under his mouth. He was not T'lin, and therefore had to be the strange Kriiton, whose powers had been able to slay one reaper but not defend against another. His nose was prominent, his eyebrows heavy, and he had a stubbly mustache. Man or demon, he was very obviously as dead as the other two.
So T'lin Dragontrader had escaped, if he had managed to run fast enough. Run, T'lin, run! Very faintly, she heard a dragon burp in the distance.
Nothing Eleal could do here.
She scrambled to her feet and glanced around to make sure no reapers were approaching. Right before her eyes, a man rolled to the paving out of empty air. He thrashed a whirl of bare limbs, and screamed.
46
WHEN EDWARD SAW CREIGHTON'S DRUM ROLLING ON the grass, he felt as if time itself had stopped. He knew his heart had. He was conscious of the darkness, the wind on his heated skin, and utter disaster. Billy and the dogcart had gone and would not return.
To be arrested stark naked on Salisbury Plain would certainly reinforce a plea of insanity, but he did not want to spend the rest of his life locked up in Broadmoor. That might be the better choice, though, if his only alternative was to be eaten by lions. He did not for one moment believe that some escaped circus animal had chanced to wander past Stonehenge. There might or might not be a flesh-and-blood carnivore out there, but without doubt there was an enemy.
Time had not stopped, and he had none of it to waste. For a brief moment he considered trying some of the African chants and dances he knew, but he saw at once that those might take him to the wrong place. He must believe what Creighton had told him. He must follow Creighton; without Creighton he would be hopelessly lost. As he was about to start tapping, he heard laughter in the darkness, human laughter. He did not look. He began the ritual again, concentrating on the beat, trying not to think about the interdiction Creighton had mentioned.
Laugh away, friends! We'll try this again.
He let the rhythm grow in his mind, shutting out everything else. De-de-de-DAH-de, DAH-de ... He began the beat. Creighton had been taking it too slowly. He began the dance. Affalino kaspik ... He ignored the laughter. DAH de-de-DAH Affaliki suspino ayakairo...
Faster, faster! He let the rhythm flower, seeking its subtleties, its complex cross-beats, three against four, left against right, four against five, tasting it in his mind, living it. The words rolled and jigged. The movements flowed. He absorbed the ritual soaking through him, bearing him back to childhood and farther yet, to atavistic tribal memories. My fathers danced here in the Dreamtime! He felt the response, the surge of power, the thrill, rising like a life force, a thrill permeating his whole body.
Now the aura of awe and sanctity swelled in wonder.
Here it comes! DAH-de, DAH-de-de ... The power grew up around him. Waves of excitement surging—he could feel them in his blood and along his bones. His heart moved in time. He felt awe, sanctity, power. The laughter had stopped. Legs, head, elbows—hands beating the intricate rhythm, primitive, primal. Kalafano Nokte! Finothoanam ... Stronger, harder. He was one with the world and the pulse of worlds. The power roared. Something tried to block it and he overrode it, wielding strength and will. A voice howled in sudden fury. The cosmos opened for him and he plunged through.