Harry smiled weakly. "That's blasphemous, you know. I'll have you court-martialed."
"By Homelanders or Hillfolk?" Jack inquired blandly. "Can you stand?"
"I am gathering my courage to find out," replied Harry. She had flopped over onto her back—Narknon was now nibbling lovingly on her hair—and then hauled herself up on one elbow; now Senay and Richard propped her up on both sides, and she reeled to her feet. Her leather vest seemed as stiff as iron. "I feel like a potato that's recently been mashed," she said. Narknon leaned against her knee and purred madly.
"Shall we carry you?" Terim said, hovering anxiously, torn between respect and caution.
"Not yet, thank you," said Harry. "But you could hand me Gonturan. I don't quite feel like bending over just now."
This was said in Hill-speech, so it is possible that Richard did not understand. But of the other three there was a brief but obvious moment when no one moved, and everyone thought of the blue fire on the mountaintop, and everyone's palms prickled. Then Jack took a step forward and bent and picked up Harimad-sol's blade, flat silver now, glinting faintly in the sunlight, and offered the hilt to her. One narrow gleam of white fire ran up the edge of the blue sword, and outlined Jack's fingers. Jack's and Harry's eyes met, for it was only when it was too late to stop her words that she realized what she was—or might be—asking. "Thank you," she said. "I probably should have bent over myself, to find out if I could." She resheathed the sword. Jack looked at his glowing white hand, and rubbed his palm along his thigh. There was a tingle in that hand that buzzed up his arm and fluttered for a moment in his brain. It was not an unpleasant sensation.
As her fingers closed on Gonturan, Harry realized that her body was functioning; that she would be able to walk. She kept her hand on the hilt of Gonturan and took a step forward. "We'll stop where we are tonight," she said. "Tomorrow we ride back to find Corlath." She shut her eyes a moment; the world spun, then steadied. "They're farther west than they expected to be. Six days, if we hurry. If we can hurry." She frowned, her eyes still closed. "They are beating the Northerners back; they are winning." She opened her eyes again. "They're winning," she repeated, and the color rose in her cheeks, and her three friends smiled at her.
Harry concentrated on walking, and by the time they came to the rockface at the Gate she had gotten pretty good at it; she still kept her eyes on her feet, but she slid and scrambled down by herself, while Jack and Richard, who had gone before her, tried very hard not to reach up and help her. When she got to the bottom, and her people were standing around her, and Tsornin was bumping her shoulder angrily, asking her why she had gone anywhere he couldn't come too, and her Hillfolk were flicking their finger salute at her, Kentarre very deliberately touched her forehead too and flicked the fingers out, and all the archers followed suit. And Jack's Outlanders stared and bowed and pointed saber hilts at her, and she realized how quiet they were. Too quiet. She turned to look at the valley.
She turned white, and then Jack and Richard did put out hands to steady her. "My God," she said. "That was a bit of … something, wasn't it?" The dust still swirled in clouds over the desert of rubble they looked at, and it hung thickly enough that they could not see beyond it. There were threads of blue woven through and over it, as if there were a webbing holding it in place. The sun burned brightly over the blue-shot fog, and hurt the eyes. The dust got into eyes and noses and throats as they breathed, and mouths as they talked, and their voices grew hoarse with it.
"Kentarre," said Harry. "Will a lot of rock simply falling on him stop someone like Thurra?"
Kentarre shrugged. "My sol, I don't believe it has been tried before."
Harry smiled wanly.
"It will at least have stopped his army," said Terim; "few of them have any kelar of their own."
"They have never needed it," said Senay, "for Thurra has always been stronger."
Jack said, "There's more than rock out there. There's something holding the rock down." He stared out, the flecks of blue teasing the corners of his eyes.
Kentarre and Senay and Terim, who knew the legends of the Northern mage, were silent. "It is possible that he will rest here," said Kentarre at last. "But we can say that today is ours."
"Today is Harimad-sol's," said Terim firmly, and Senay's face lit up, and she cried, "Harimad-sol!" Kentarre drew her dagger and tapped herself on the chest with the hilt and then shook the point over her head. "Harimad-sol!" she called, and "Harimad-sol!" the other archers echoed, drawing their daggers in the same gesture; and Senay's people picked up the shout next. Jack's men, shaken out of their half-fearful amazement, began to applaud and stamp, as if they didn't know what else to do; and it was Richard who yelled, "Angharad!" whereupon the Outlanders shouted "Angharad!" too, and a few whistled, as though Harry had just sung an aria at the opera. When at last they stopped, everyone was smiling and easy again, as if individually inspired landslides and earthquakes were quite a normal feat of warfare, or at least of leadership. Then everyone heaved a sigh and settled down, and supper fires were lit; and Narknon appeared, dragging a brown deer larger than herself, and looking terribly pleased with herself. The sunset that evening over the mountains was violet-blue.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning they left the Madamer Gate, to go back down the mountain as they had come. The little troop was less than half what it had been the morning before, and it moved more slowly, from weariness, wounds and … a slight feeling of anticlimax, Harry thought. She had a foul headache. Every step Sungold took struck like a mallet behind her eyes, and her vision sparkled with it. "Does one always feel a bit lost, the day after a battle?" she asked Jack, who was riding somewhat stiffly at her side. Draco had suffered a cut over his poll, and the headpiece of the bridle was paddled with a bit of blue cloth.
"Yes," he said. "Even when you win."
They rode gently but steadily all that day. That evening Harry said to Kentarre: "You may leave now, if you wish, to go home. I—we're all grateful for your help. It's very likely we would not have held them off even long enough for—for Gonturan to drop the mountains on them, without you. And," Harry said more hesitantly, "it is also good to find another friend and ally."
Kentarre smiled. She smiled much more easily now than she had when she and her archers first stepped out of the trees to pledge to Harimad-sol; and Harry didn't think it was only because the threat of the Northerners had been halted. "It is good to find a friend, lady, as you say, and it is ill to lose one too soon. We would follow you still, and see your king, and give you a little more glory at your return. I think perhaps we filanon have held alone in our woods too long; and without you, Harimad-sol, we would have no homes now to go back to. We were Damarians not so very long ago, and our fathers called Corlath's fathers king. We would go with you." Four of her archers had materialized out of the firelight to stand beside her when she began to speak, and they nodded. One wore a white rag around his forehead, and it covered one eyebrow, which gave him a puzzled uncertain look; but there was no uncertainty in his sharp nod.
Harry looked unhappily at her hands. "I—I'm not sure it would be wise of you to come to Corlath on my heels, calling me sol. I came here—left him and his army and his battle plans—expressly against his wishes, and I think it more than likely that I'm riding into trouble, as I choose to go back. I—er—applaud the idea that you should declare yourselves as Damarians again, but I—well—highly recommend that you make your own path to Corlath, without me."