As he spoke, Lonal's hands had drifted to his sides, to rest on his waist, just above the sword belt. Before either Alemar or Elenya could move, he had drawn demonblades from duplicate scabbards and flung them simultaneously at their chests. Both landed hard at midtorso level, butt first, and flopped to the ground even as the targets dodged.
Elenya drew her rapier. Lonal folded his arms and smiled. Alemar, winded from the impact to his solar plexus, merely dropped his jaw, literally breathless at the thought that anyone could control two throwing knives with either hand at the same time.
"What was that for?" Elenya demanded.
"May I?" Lonal asked, gesturing toward his knives. Two wary observers allowed him to retrieve them, wipe off the dirt, and slide them into their scabbards. Elenya sheathed her rapier only after he had looped the flaps shut over the handles.
"Lesson three," the war-leader observed calmly, "is that people must help each other. God gave us challenges, and he gave us the social qualities that bring us together to meet those hurdles. When one is offered help, one should take it. Don't tempt good fortune. I could have killed you just now, but I have hopes that you will be valuable to me, given time. Out there" – he swept his arms across the arid tracts of chaparral and ruptured stone – "are nigh twenty thousand other sons of Cadra, thirsty for foreign blood. We are not a tolerant people. If you are welcomed by us, consider it an advantage not to be wasted. I am the son of Joren, but even my father's fame and my own reputation will not protect you should you stray from the embrace of the T'lil."
Elenya seemed ready to retort, so he held up a hand. "You aren't reconciled to stay. Otherwise you would listen to your teachers, Yetem, and cooperate with them. Be like your brother, with his natural desire to study regardless of the conditions. Perhaps you will succeed in your escape next time, and it could be your ruin. The wights should serve as a warning. Those crypts are old, and they litter our landscape in odd places, away from the common routes. Lost children have been attracted to them from miles away. You were drawn to that particular site because you couldn't recognize the taint in the air. Any adult born in this land would have been in no danger."
"We didn't thank you for our rescue," Alemar said.
"No, you didn't. I am, in a sense, offering you the chance to show your gratitude. I won't ask how you ran so fast – your bedrolls still held warmth when we discovered you missing. Nor will I ask how you possessed the sorcery to destroy a wight and set its captive souls free. It is enough that we riders saw the aura of your magic and could locate you in time. You are more than you seem. So be it. Remember that you are in my debt."
The first bat of evening whisked overhead, though the sun hung clear of the horizon. Lonal turned and headed back toward camp. He let the twins follow as they might. The war-leader's confidence was overwhelming, Alemar thought. Soon he and his sister were trailing close behind, mulling over the war-leader's advice.
Only once did Lonal stop and speak to them again, just before they entered the camp. He seemed deeply intrigued.
"Do you believe in auguries?" he asked.
XI
THESNAKEBACKHILLS HAD EARNEDtheir name. They twisted with serpentine abruptness, jagged S curves as rugged as the Ahrahikte Mountains hanging over them in the west. The T'lil seldom ranged so far, but Joren and his clan needed the pasturage to be found on their slopes. Furthermore, Setan was nearby, and Joren reasoned that it was an auspicious place to be with the child due.
By his calculation, she was in labor already.
Alone, he climbed over a precarious section of scree toward firmer ground near the ridgeline. So far he had crossed the back of the snake three times, though it was early in the day, and would probably continue his destinationless trek until the light failed. Here, it was said, an ordinary man could be closer to God than any spot in all Zyraii. From any high point, God's Peak could be seen challenging the sky, so near that the glow of the moons could be seen on its snowfields in winter.
Would God consider his prayers? Was he worthy?
As he stopped at the crest to view the mountain again, his foot dislodged a large stone, sending it crashing down the grade he had just vanquished, into the scree. It created a small but noisy avalanche.
"Help! Help!"
Joren barely heard the voice as the din of the slide diminished. "Where are you?" he yelled.
"This way! In the hole!"
Joren searched the hilltop. Guided by continuing cries, he finally located an opening in the ground a short way down the other side of the hill.
"Don't get near! It crumbles!"
The warning came just in time. Though the earth appeared to be granite, near the hole it had cracked, and some pieces at the lip were loose. Two chunks fell. Dust billowed up out of the pit.
"Thanks."
"Sorry. How did you get in there?"
"The hole wasn't here until I walked by. The mountain must like to eat holy men."
Joren shifted to a boulder securely attached to one side of the opening, from which he could manage to peer within. The sun's angle favored him. He could see a dusty Zyraii in the grey robes of ahada Zee-no-ken, standing in the center of a near-perfect spherical chamber within the ground. It was hard to imagine what had made the cavity. Joren could only guess that the upheaval that had built the hills themselves had left a giant bubble within the rock, trapped until the Zee-no-ken's misfortune exposed it to the light of day. It was just a little too deep to allow the man to jump out. Moreover, the geometry of the chamber made scrambling out impossible.
"I don't suppose you have a rope with you?" the Zee-no-ken asked.
Naturally Joren had a rope; he wouldn't have gone wandering in the Snakeback Hills without one. Before long he had anchored it to the boulder and thrown the free end to the trapped man. Soon wiry, middle-aged hands emerged, followed by the gaunt, but obviously strong, figure of the priest.
"Thank you," the Zee-no-ken said. His robes were torn, exposing a pair of scrapes, but the vigor of his climb out and the ease with which he handed the rope back to Joren belied any serious injury.
"How long were you in there?"
"As of dawn, two days."
"Would you like some water?" Joren asked, noting that the other had none.
The man accepted the goatskin without hesitation, and drank one long, fulfilling swallow. He seemed entirely satisfied with that. As Joren knew, Zee-no-ken had control over their bodies in ways that mystified other human beings. Two days without water in this land often killed.
"I am Esidio. I am in your debt, Po-no-pha."
"I am Joren, war-leader of the T'lil. You're welcome."
Esidio seemed surprised. "I assumed you to be searching for a lost goat, but a man of your station would not do so. God must have designs to send such a rescuer."
"I would have no idea about that," Joren said. They prudently put a little more distance between themselves and the pit.
"Surely you're here for some reason?" Esidio smiled gently.
Joren paused long enough to coil his rope. Could it be that God had heard him? "I came seeking counsel with myself. My wife will soon give birth."
The priest had probably not seen a baby in decades, but he nodded understandingly. "Your first?"
"Yes, if all goes well. The other three times I have been given girls."
"Ah. Have you considered another wife?"
"She is my other wife."
"I see."
Joren nodded, and they sat down together to view God's Peak. Near midday the currents of the heat in the air made the mountain's contours shimmer, as if it were melting into the heavens.
"You don't seem at all disturbed that you might have starved to death in that hole," Joren wondered out loud.
"I was disturbed while I was in there. Now that I'm saved, it doesn't make any sense to fray my nerves worrying about what would have happened if you hadn't come along. I don't mean to seem indifferent. In fact, I would feel much better if there were a way I could express my gratitude."