“I assume you all know how large a roc is? Even the smallest of them can pick up a war-horse with one claw and its armoured rider with the other, and fly away with them. One man—and one pegasus—cannot possibly defeat a roc alone.
“And so Ascur watched in great anguish, waiting to see the death of his third son, for two of his sons had perished already, and he was himself sore wounded, and his horse killed, and he could not go to Tilbad’s aid; nor were any of his soldiers in any better state, and Ascur feared any fumbling interference would only bring about the deaths of Tilbad and Erex the sooner. The only magician present lay half delirious on a rough pallet. His own pegasus—Erex’s father, the pegasus king—stood trembling beside him, his broken wing tied awkwardly over his back. Time, for Ascur, slowed.
“And, because it slowed, and because of the great pain and distress of mind he was in, which sharpened his perceptions almost past bearing, he noticed something more clearly than he had ever done before: the curiously intense partnership of Tilbad and Erex. It was almost as if they could talk to each other—as if they could hear each other’s thoughts. They moved around the roc as if each knew what the other was doing—even when they were out of sight of each other—what each was trying to do, and would do next. They covered for each other in ways no ordinary human soldiers, nor any ordinary pair of bound Excellent Friends, should have been able to do.
“It was at the moment Ascur was saying these things to himself that the truly impossible thing happened: Tilbad slew the roc. But in dancing out of the way of the roc’s sword-sharp beak one last time— for the death throes of a roc are also deadly to the smaller folk within its long reach—Erex stumbled with weariness. And a ladon which had been waiting its chance thudded down upon her, and broke her back, and she fell lifeless to the earth.
“Then the second miracle happened: for the roc, instead of seizing Tilbad as he threw himself heedlessly upon the body of his friend, seized the ladon—and squeezed the breath out of it, and tossed its body down to lie beside Erex.
“Everyone knows that a roc speaks truth as it dies, although rarely is the truth it speaks welcome. This roc opened its beak, and its dark blood dripped upon the ground. ‘A curse upon that ladon, and a curse upon its children, and its children’s children’s children. For we have come within a breath of taking this land back from the inimical humans and the skulking pegasi which allied themselves with the invaders; and by the deed of one ladon we will lose all.
“ ‘For that alliance is rotten at the heart of it; humans are set apart from the other creatures of the earth, and no other race may bind itself to them. You have been protected by the weakness of the binding between your two races, in that human and pegasus cannot speak each other’s language and be understood. Have you not wondered why this should be so? That it takes your best magicians’ best efforts to make any communication possible? The pegasus shamans gave it up generations ago; to save their miserable skins they forbore to tell you humans the truth. The truth is that your selves, your spirits, your beings, are absolutely opposed to each other: to draw you closer together is to press the sword point to your own hearts.’ ”
Ebon was hearing Fthoom through Sylvi—in her anguish the story poured through her; it was as if she were shouting at him. It would have been better if he had heard it from Ahathin, a story translated from another world, as if nothing to do with him. She wished she could hold it off, close that door, turn her face away from her best friend—no, she needed him to hear what she was hearing, and what use to protect him? She heard the faint creak of feathers as his wings flattened; she heard Fazuur, who was translating for Lrrianay, stumble over the soft pegasi syllables, and could imagine his nimble, speaking hands suddenly drop motionless to his sides; had his silent-speech also stuttered to a halt?
She had not noticed that the smell of blood and death had grown stronger; only that her sense of despair was growing as huge as the wingspread of a roc.
“ ‘Your son and your daughter, they who lie now at my feet, they could speak to each other. And by that speaking they have indeed bound your two races closer together; but that closeness is a wound, and the blood and breath of each is poisonous to the other, and the bodies of your two races are dying of it. When this war was first mooted, I was one of those who spoke against it: the humans are too strong, I said. And I have been amazed that it is not so. I have been amazed, till this last half hour.’
“ The roc gasped, and the death rattle was in its breast. ‘This ladon, this single, wretched creature, has ruined all that; for the partnership is broken too soon. Such a thing will not come again for generations—generations upon generations—and I—I—I will not be here to see it.’ And the roc drew in one last, terrible, rasping breath, and died.
“Ascur, not knowing what else to do, went to his son, and attempted to lift him, but his own wounds prevented him; and he said, ‘We must get away from here; there is nothing you can do for Erex.’ Tilbad rose to his feet, but his gaze was turned inward, and it was as though he did not see that his own father stood before him sore injured. He said, ‘I will die of this wound, Father,’ though there was no mark on him.
“And so it was, for Tilbad died twenty-three months later, having lived long enough to be a part of the driving of the remaining rocs and their allies out of his father’s kingdom, for as if upon the death of Erex, the human army rallied; it grew stronger and fiercer than anyone who had stood with Ascur that day and watched Tilbad kill a roc would have believed possible. Tilbad saw peace re-established, and the farmers growing a new year’s crops untroubled in their old fields, and the stock fattening, and children playing in the meadows.
“It was said of Tilbad that from the moment of Erex’s death he never smiled, nor spoke any word that was not absolutely necessary; and that he fought tirelessly, and took risks no sane man would take—and lived; which is as some men do, from a grief too great for them to bear. And when Tilbad had seen that his father’s land—his own land—our sweet green land—was safe again, he disappeared. But when the news had come to the king that Tilbad could not be found, the king blanched, saying nothing, but rose from his chair and went at once to Erex’s grave. Few pegasi are buried within the palace Wall, but Tilbad had begged this favour of both his father and Erex’s, and so she had been buried in a little private glade some distance from the palace, in a place no one would notice or go, unless they wished to visit her grave. And there Tilbad’s breathless body was found, curled up on its side, head resting near the head of the grave. And there was no mark on him.”
Sylvi was paralysed. She could feel her mouth fallen a little open, feel her body bent a little forward and resting its weight on her two clenched hands on the chair-arms, her elbows bent up and behind her like rudimentary wings. In her mind a tiny voice said, And what wound was it Tilbad died of? The loss of his friend or the lie the roc told? Rocs speak the truth when they are dying, her conscience answered miserably; it is in the histories. They speak the truth when they are dying, and they live almost forever—if that roc hadn’t been killed, it might be one of those facing us now; those we face might remember it, and remember its death. But the tiny wild voice replied, Who says they tell the truth? And what truth do they not tell?
Ebon still stood like a stone pegasus.
The bearer moved very slightly again, causing the faintest hush sound of his robe against the sigil-stamped fabric, or of the fabric against whatever it protected.